The Witch With No Name

I glanced at the clock on the cable box. It was very close to sunset in Cincinnati. Stretching, I took the remote and clicked over to CNN. Sure enough, an excited, somewhat nervous man was standing at Fountain Square, the sky still holding the pink from the sun. I had figured they’d be either there or in Detroit. It was too early for Chicago. Behind the reporter were clusters of living vampires. The atmosphere was one of breathless anxiety.

“Sunset . . . ,” Trent whispered, and the newscaster spun, voice rising as he described the sudden appearance of nearly twenty surface demons. My expression twisted as the cameras zoomed in on them, their ragged auras and gaunt limbs standing out against the sunset-red sky, making it look like the ever-after. People squealed, and most of the surface demons ran for the street, looking for somewhere to hide.

Two, though, hesitated, hunched and furtive as they hissed at the vampires coaxing them closer. Trent said nothing, and I clicked back to New York. The undead there had probably figured it out and were likely in the streets looking for their souls.

“Mmmm,” Trent grunted, easing closer to the TV as a news reporter tried to stay in the limited streetlight as she nervously explained what was going on behind her. The sun had been down for a while. It was dark enough for the undead.

My lips parted as the camera swung and steadied to show a surface demon melting into a rapturous vampire. He wasn’t a master vampire. He was hardly a vampire at all, actually, one of New York’s homeless vamps living under the streets and existing on addicts until someone bigger took him out. But he’d found his soul—and it was trying to bind to him.

“My God, Landon did it . . . ,” Trent breathed, but I wasn’t so sure this was going to have a happy ending. You couldn’t see an aura through a TV, but it still didn’t look like a repeat of what had happened up in Luke and Marsha’s apartment, even if the vampire was sobbing, holding on to the corner of the building as the guilt and shame of his soulless existence crashed down upon him.

Spontaneous joining? I wasn’t buying it. “What’s to keep it from spontaneously leaving?” I asked. We’d had to burn the gateway through which Felix’s soul had entered him to keep it from simply going back out.

Someone had stopped to help the vampire, now weeping inconsolably. The newscaster looked uncomfortable as she told people to stay off the streets and out of the way as the vampires found their souls.

“I guess they think we’re dead,” I said, not feeling at all good. I wanted to call Ivy and see how Felix was doing. “The surface demons will be showing up here in about three hours,” I said as I looked at the bright golden light.

His eyes on the TV, Trent got to his feet. “They seem to be staying in the main population centers.”

So far, I thought glumly. “You really think they’re free? For good?” If they were, then that soul bottle I’d made was going to be more than useless.

Trent hesitated, watching the TV as if it might have the answers. “I’ve no idea. Maybe their release was what you felt on the stairs.”

Or the attack in my mom’s spell room, I mused, an ugly thought trickling through me. If it had almost taken me, then maybe it had hit the demons, too.

I jumped as he spun, almost running to the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“To get Bis!” he shouted.

Fidgety, I looked out the big windows at the bright sun. “Trent? He won’t be awake,” I called, then gestured as if to say “I told you so” when Trent came back with Bis perched on his arm like a huge sleeping owl. My bag was over his other arm, looking funny against him.

“We have to get to the ever-after. Find out what happened.” Trent stumbled into the living room. He thrust my bag at me as he sat down on the edge of the couch. Motions tense, he tickled Bis’s ear. “Bis, wake up.”

The little guy scrunched up his eyes and pushed at him with one leathery wing. One red eye opened, saw me, and squinted closed in the sun. “It’s kind of hard when he’s in the sun like that,” I said as I shifted to put him in my shadow. “Bis!” I shouted, pinching his wing.

That sort of worked as Bis flung his wings out to smack Trent in the face. “Bis, wake up!” I shouted again. Kind and gentle wouldn’t work. We’d be lucky to get even an eye open again. “Bis, we need to get to the ever-after. Bis? Bis!”

But he didn’t even stir.

Trent stared at me, and my teeth clenched. “I’ve got an idea. Trust me?” I said.

“Uhhh,” Trent stammered, and I tugged my shoulder bag onto my lap and grabbed his arm.

“Bis!” I shouted, touching that awful ley line and shifting all our auras into it.

“Rachel!” Trent exclaimed, but I wasn’t sure if it had reached my ears or was only in my head as we suddenly were in the line, broken and tasting of earth and sky all at the same time.

With a mental gasp, Bis was awake, startled as he suddenly found himself floundering.

Dalliance, I thought, and with a curious flip of awareness that I had yet to master, Bis tuned our auras. If I could get any answers at all, it would be at Dalliance.

Chapter 14

What is wrong with you!” the little gargoyle shouted, red eyes glaring, his voice echoing in the empty space as we materialized. “I was sleeping! I could’ve dropped you!” His voice came back again, all the louder. But then he turned, wings drooping as he saw where we were.

Dalliance was currently an Asian eatery, the low tables holding bowls of steaming rice and pots of tea, overlooking a courtyard complete with a koi-stocked pond, raked pads of sand and gravel, and tiny trees. A jukebox, out of place and time, stood as the only indication that everything was a solid illusion. Several cups of tea had spilled, and the place was empty.

“Where is everyone?” Trent said, his tension evolving into a cautious investigation as he lifted a lid and breathed in the steam. There was no damage, no evidence of threat apart from the spilled tea. They simply were not here. Anyone. Not even the staff.

The teapot clinked as Trent set the lid back in place. An elven spell had attacked me. I’d barely fought it off. But I wasn’t a cursed demon. Al . . .

“Bis, take us to the mall,” I said, scared. I could probably find someone at the mall who’d talk to me without charging me for it.

Subdued, the little gargoyle nodded. Trent stepped to us, and with hardly a breath of displaced air, the varnished wood and rice paper screens melted into loud eighties music and a steamy warmth.

My mouth dropped open. People were everywhere, howling, dancing, swinging from the banners the demons had hung to try to dampen the echo. Shocked, I fell back against the fountain. Foam spilled up behind me, and I jerked forward. There was a bubble charm in it, and blue-and-pink froth spilled over and onto the floor.

“What happened?” Trent gripped my elbow and pulled me off the jump-in circle.

Speechless, I shook my head as I tried to take it all in. People were everywhere. They were ecstatic, even the familiars in charge of the shops had left them to get slushies and ices from the abandoned pushcarts. It was as hot as always, but goose bumps rose when I realized that there were no demons here. None.

“Bis, take me to Al,” I said, and both Bis and Trent turned to me, aghast. “Take me to Al!” I demanded, hiking my shoulder bag up higher. “The demons are gone! That’s what I felt! Something attacked them!”

“How?” Trent whispered, but I was already pulling him back onto the jump-in circle.

The demons were gone. Every last one of them. Something had tried to kill me. Al had to be alive. He was stronger than I was.

But as Bis’s field enveloped us, I realized what had happened. I was a witch-born demon, free of the original elven curse. Al wasn’t. That’s what the elven spell had been looking for to invoke on—and Al had it.

My heart pounded as the heat and noise of the mall vanished, echoing in my thoughts as the scent of woodsmoke filled my lungs and the stone floor of Al’s spelling kitchen formed under my feet. If not for the accompanying glow from a nearly dead fire and the subliminal whisper of voices from that creepy tapestry, I’d never know we’d arrived. Bis was getting good at these short hops, and I touched his wide-spaced claws on my shoulder as I looked to the small hearth and then the shadowed ceiling. It was dark, but I could tell that Al wasn’t here.

That doesn’t mean he’s dead, I thought, my shoulders nearly to my ears as I handed my bag to Trent and went to stir up some light from the fire. There was a stack of actual wood logs instead of Al’s usual peat-moss chunks that reeked of burnt amber, and I put the smallest on the coals. Orange sparks flew when I dropped it on, and I wiped my fingers free of the greasy bark, turning to take in the room as it brightened.

Mr. Fish sat on the bottom of his glass, gills pumping, and I frowned at the tall glass-fronted cabinets, all open and the books and ley line equipment gone. The small table between the two hearths was clean, not a notation or hint of script remaining. Anything smaller than a bread box was missing.

“Where’s his stuff?” Trent said, and a muffled, surprised grunt came from the bedroom.

I spun to the archway as the thick wooden door engraved with spells and embedded with metallic symbols swung inward. Light spilled out, and I squinted at Al’s trim silhouette, his gloved hands holding a mundane oil lamp. I backed up in relief, both happy to see him and unsure how he might react. He was okay, but that didn’t translate into his being glad to see me.

“Newt?” he said cautiously, low voice utterly devoid of his usual British lord accent.

“It’s me,” I said. “Thank God you’re all right. Wha—”

I gasped, backpedaling. My back hit the slate table, and then Al was on me, his hand across my neck. “Al!” I cried out, and then my voice gagged to nothing. I smacked his arm, digging at his fingers, and he let up enough for me to breathe.

“I said I’d kill you if you ever showed up in my rooms again!”

“Stop!” I cried out as Trent grabbed Al, and my air choked off again.

“Detrudo!” Al snarled.

I heard Trent and Bis slam into one of the cabinets, glass and wood shattering.

“I had to know if you were okay!” I said, and then his fist tightened again, choking off my air. Reaching up, I pinched his nose, and he jumped, fingers easing enough to let me breathe.

My air came in quick, thin pants as he lowered his face until inches separated us. “You came to steal my things!”

I fixed on one of his eyes, seeing myself in their red, goat-slitted pupil. “I came to see if you were alive,” I said, and his grip tightened, his eyes narrowing as my breath gurgled to a stop.

“Let her go, you ass!” Trent shouted from the floor, and the sounds of sliding glass became obvious as he shook the shattered cabinet off. “She’s here because she thought you might be dead.”

“To steal what’s left of my miserable life,” he breathed. My hands ached and my arms began to shake as I kept trying to wedge him off me. If I used magic, he would, too, and he knew more than I did.

“She thought you were hurt!” Trent said, his voice between us and the fire. “She doesn’t care about your things. She thought you needed help!”

Snarling, Al pressed into me, fingers tightening until black stars began to blot my vision.

“You are killing her!” Trent said, and I heard a dull thud as his fist met Al’s face.

Al’s fingers let go. My breath came in with a gasp, and I rolled to my front, the cool slate of the table soothing against my flushed cheek. Hand to my neck, I choked and gagged, eyes watering as I pushed myself up. Bis was on the mantel beside Mr. Fish, scared to death.

“You are going to kill her, you putrid little elf!” Al snarled, and Trent drew himself up, his face white and his expression hard. “There is nothing that will survive what’s coming. And it’s your fault.”

“I’m okay,” I croaked, trembling as I waved Bis off, and he landed on the back of Ceri’s old chair, still in its accustomed place. Seeing me upright, Al scooped up a carpetbag and tried to shove the rolled-up tapestry into it. Trent was going to kill me? Nothing here was his fault. It was sort of mine. Trent stood between us, my bag spilling out over the floor behind him, and I don’t think I appreciated him more than at that moment. “What’s coming?” I whispered, voice raw.

“The end,” Al muttered, his frustration growing as he fought to get the tapestry into the bag, clearly bigger on the inside than the out. “I see you washed the Goddess slime off you. Too bad it will keep coming back.”

He was talking about the mystics, and I squared my shoulders. It was going better than I had thought it would. I was just glad he wasn’t dead. “An elven spell tried to kill me,” I said, and Al turned the tapestry end over end to fit it in the bag, but it unrolled as if trying to stay out. “It wasn’t the Goddess, it was the dewar and the enclave.”

“Surprise, surprise,” he muttered.

“It couldn’t get a grip on me,” I said, gently pushing Trent’s hand off me when I edged past him. “But then I heard the collective cry out. I thought . . . it took you.”

Shoulders hunched, Al threw the tapestry at the wall in frustration. It hit with a thud, the sliding fabric sounding like a muffled scream as it landed on the floor and slowly uncurled. “It was . . . ,” he said, eyebrows lowered as he stared at me, “. . . a cry of joy, Rachel Mariana Morgan.”

My chest hurt. “Please don’t call me that. You left me. I didn’t leave you.”

Al flicked his eyes at Trent as he yanked his carpetbag up. I stepped closer, feet scuffing to a halt when Al growled, “Yes. You did.”