God Hammer: A novel of the Demon Accords (32 page)

“I’m pretty perked up now,” Declan said with a slight grin.  Stacia swatted his arm, but it was a very light swat.

Arkady came over from the guard station.  “Idiot boy is on roof with Deckert.  Helicopter will fly to airport, then plane to West Coast.”

“What about Remy?” I asked.

“Young Queen is with him, requesting food for wicked warlock.  She will tell him after helicopter leaves.  You should be up there for Remy to feed,” he said to Declan.

“Wicked?  I am so far from wicked at the moment,” Declan said.  “Still, it’s good to have something to aspire to.”  He shuffled over to a chair and slumped into it.  Stacia watched him, concerned, and I noticed Lydia and Nika watching
her.

Outside, the protestors marched back and forth, but they all kept glancing inside as if trying to figure out what our drama had been all about.

“Declan, that’s the work of the Church of the True.  We have a possible response but it will hinge on our friendly reporter, Brystol Chatterjee.  Lydia thinks she will want an interview in exchange.  With you.  Are you game?” I asked him.

“I guess.  What’s she gonna ask?  I’ve got to be a little careful about outing the circles or I’ll have the whole witch world out to get me,” he said.

“Aren’t they already?” Lydia asked.

“Yeah, pretty much, but at least they haven’t gotten hostile with me yet,” he said.

“You don’t have to answer all of her questions, just the ones you’re comfortable with,” I said.

“Plus,
I’ll
be with you.  Brystol and I are friends.  We’ll keep it civil,” Stacia said.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Lydia and Nika glance at each other.  “Okay, that sounds good.  Lydia?  You gonna contact Brystol?”

She turned slightly and I could see she had her phone already at her ear.  She pointed at it and rolled her eyes at me.
Duh!

“Holy crap, does she ever give you sass,” Declan said from his chair.

“All night, every night.  It’s why I get up in the early afternoon.  Gotta have a few moments without all the yakking and backtalk,” I said.

Lydia’s eyes narrowed but she was too deep in conversation to respond.

“When do you want me to talk to the reporter lady?” Declan asked.

“As soon as we can get her in here,” I said, looking back at the mini-vampire on the phone.

She turned her back on me when she saw me looking, but I have super hearing too.

“Sounds like we’ll bring her in through the heliport.  First, we’ll want to give her the clip we found, then she’ll want to sit down with you.  Just answer what you’re comfortable with.  We didn’t promise you would spill the secrets of the ages, just a discussion.”

“Okay.  Guess I better go order an omelet from Remy,” he said, not moving immediately.  Then he pulled himself forward by the arms on the chair and stood up.

“Right, off I go,” he said.

“Come on, Declan, I’ll go with you so you don’t have to eat alone,” Stacia said, slipping an arm through his.  The two moved toward the elevators, leaving me with Nika and Lydia.  I didn’t say a word until the elevator doors closed and I heard the machinery engage.

“So what happened there?” I asked the two vampires.

“Offhand, I’d say that someone has gotten very attached to your intern,” Lydia said, putting her phone away.  “Attached and intensely protective.”

“Yeah, her rage was very real,” Nika said.  “Part of her took it as an attempt on his life, and that part wasn’t having it.”

“Let me guess… the wolf part?” I asked.

“Bingo.  I’m not sure if she’s even aware of how strongly she feels.  Seems like it might have snuck up on her,” Nika said.

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” I said.

“Well, we threw Stacia at the kid figuring he’d follow her like a puppy, but it seems like it might work both ways,” Lydia said.  “That’ll make Tanya really happy.”

“How do you feel about it, Chris?” Nika asked, watching me closely.

I looked at the elevator while I tried to sort my feelings.  My ego was taking a hit, but I knew, deep down, that I would never leave Tanya, so while I liked Stacia and found her attractive—who doesn’t?—there was never going to be anything between us.  She and Declan were only a few years apart and both were outsiders of sorts in their respective societies. 

“I think I’m okay with it.  But will it last?”

“Oh, it’s way too early for any predictions.  They haven’t admitted it to each other and Stacia hasn’t admitted it to herself.  But that will happen.  Then we’ll see what kind of couple they might make,” Nika said.

“Nope, I disagree.  I think the writing’s on the wall.  Wolves mate for life you know,” Lydia said, smiling.

“Declan’s not a wolf,” I pointed out.

“Please. He’s a guy.  What straight male on the planet wouldn’t want to wake up next to a beauty like that who never ages?” Lydia said.

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.  They have different lifespans,” I said.

“Have you seen Declan’s aunt?  She looks what?  Twenty-five?  I think she’s pushing forty.  Powerful witches age slower than mere mortals,” Lydia said.  “I think they could be just fine.  Now let me get these security people orchestrated so I can get my blogger in here.”

She shot off to make Deckert’s life crazy, leaving me with Nika, who was still watching me.

“Honestly, I’m okay with it,” I said.

She smiled.  “I believe you, but it’s okay to have a few twinges of what if and what could have been.”

“Actually, the way things keep happening, I think there’s a whole lot less randomness to life than we all believe,” I said, thinking of a certain angel and his cryptic messages from on high.

I think I was more anxious about the reporter girl and her questions than I would have been tangling with Anvil.

“So witches are real?” was her opening gambit.

“Are all witches real?  In the sense that they proclaim themselves witches and they are real people, then yes.  But if you mean that some people can actually affect reality with their minds, then yes, there are spellcasters that are real,” I said.

Brystol pulled back, digesting my answer, then turned to Stacia.  “What did you tell him about me?  That I was like some kind of legal interrogator?”

Stacia was sitting to the side, legs crossed and the upside foot bouncing energetically over her knee while she studied her fingernails.  She flicked her gaze from Brystol to me and back again, shrugging.

An outside observer might have labeled her the gorgeous but shallow girl who was bored because the conversation wasn’t about her.  I mean, that’s the picture she presented, like some movie cliché. But I wasn’t fooled.

“By the way, thank you,” I said to her.  Her attention lifted from her cuticles and zoomed in on me.  Eyebrows rose up.

“Thank you for checking on me and thank you for what you did,” I said.

She frowned.  “I overreacted.”

“Yes, and thank you for that,” I said.  “People don’t overreact for me.  I liked it. But if you’ve got anything you need to be doing, I think I’ll be fine.  Right, Brystol?”

The reporter girl had been watching our byplay closely, and now she nodded.  “Yeah, sure.  The kid’s guarded like he’s his own attorney, but what the hell.”

“You getting rid of me?” Stacia asked in dangerous tone.

I leaned back and waved a hand at her posture.  “You’re twitchy and distracted.  I thought you might be dwelling on stuff you need to get done or something.”

She looked down at her bouncing foot and it stopped.  Leaning back, she crossed her arms and focused on us.  “Nope.  You have my complete attention,” she said, expression closed.

Something sure as hell was bothering her, but it looked like she was just annoyed with me.  Awesome. Declan O’Carroll—smooth talker.

“Oookay.  Back to the interview.  So witches are real and they cast spells.  They whip up potions and ride broomsticks, too?” Brystol asked with a smile.

“Spell casting… yes.  Potions… for some.  Riding broomsticks… hey, what they do in the privacy of their own homes is their business, right?” I replied.

Brystol laughed.  “Okay, that’s better.  So let’s dig into this spell thing.  How does it work?”

“How long is this interview?  A week?” I asked. “That’s a huge topic.  Let me trim it down a bit.  Spells are methods of focusing the mind to direct the energy the witch is trying to work with.  Much like a student will use mnemonics to memorize information before a test.”

“Huh?  You’re saying the whole
eye of newt and cobweb in the pot
is just a study aid?” Brystol asked.

“Sorta.  It’s about concentration.  Losing focus while you’re playing a song on the piano can result in a discordant note.  Losing focus while casting a spell can cause a discordant wave of energy that can wreak havoc at worst or just plain fail to achieve the desired goal at best,” I said. “So the components of the spell act as mental place markers for the caster.  In the old days, that might have been animal parts or an organic, naturally strong substance like cobweb.  Today’s witch might choose a photograph instead of amphibian chunks and paracord rather than spider silk.”

“And this energy?  It comes from where?” Brystol asked.

“Well, my AP Physics teacher used to tell us that everything is made of energy.  Atoms bound into patterns.  The witch pulls energy from her surroundings, usually from one of the four elements, whichever one she has an affinity for.”

“The four elements?  Let me guess, Earth, Water, Fire, and Wind?” she asked.

“Well, yeah, but we usually refer to the last one as Air,” I said.

“So you just yank energy from your pet element?  How does that work?” she asked.

“Good question.  I don’t have an answer.  It just does.”

“Can you show me?” she asked, eyes glittering with curiosity.

I rummaged in my gear bag and pulled out a lighter.  Nothing fancy, just your basic Bic disposable.  Lighting it, I stuck my index finger into the flame and held it there.

Brystol looked startled, then fascinated and slightly alarmed as she leaned closer.  Stacia’s attention was suddenly focused on my little act too, although she didn’t look worried.

At first, Brystol watched like she was trying to figure out the magic trick, but as the seconds ticked by and my finger remained in the flame, she started to frown.  After almost a full minute, I snapped the lighter off.  Then I held up the index finger for her to see.  It was just a tiny bit red.  My other hand came up and a little flame sprang up from that index finger, looking identical to the lighter’s output.

“So, I absorbed the heat from the lighter and took its energy inside myself.  Then I projected it out the end of my other finger.”

“Fire doesn’t burn you?” she asked.

“It’s a question of scale.  A lighter?  No.  A flamethrower, probably.”

“Probably?  Okay, I get fire.  It’s very obvious energy. But how about water?  Or air?  How does that work?”

“Well I don’t get along with water so I’m not the best source, but basically, if you have an affinity for an element, your expression of its energy reflects that.  Water witches make very good healers, as our bodies are like over ninety percent water.  Air witches usually are very good at divining the immediate future or visualizing distant events.”

“Remote viewing and clairvoyance?” she clarified.

“Pretty much.  Air is a pretty common affinity.  Earth witches are good at growing things and understanding the lay of the land,” I said.

“So the witch has an innate sense of that element?” she asked.

“Exactly.  A water dowser is someone with latent water witch abilities, if only a trace.  The person who everyone claims has a green thumb might actually have a few genes passed down to them from an earth witch.”

“Wait, you make it sound like these traits are common.”

“Maybe more common than you think.  But they’re just traces.  A true witch has a much greater concentration of those traits,” I said.

“Do you call males witches or warlocks?”

“Witches. We call them both witches.”

“So where does the term
warlock
come from?” she asked.

“It’s a special term for a male witch who has been… adapted for war,” I said. “Very rare.”

“Do you know any?” she asked.

“Yes. Next question,” I said.

Her eyebrows went up a bit a that and she looked at Stacia, who just smirked.

“Ah, okay.  Not going to forget that but we can circle around.  Okay, which are more common, female or male witches?”

“Females by far.  Males are very rare.  Usually much weaker, too.”

“But not warlocks?” she snuck in.

“A warlock isn’t magically stronger than a witch, just adapted for combat,” I said.

“Huh?  What’s that mean?” she asked.

“Duh.  Physically stronger and faster,” Stacia said, back to checking over her fingernails.

“Oh.  So by combat, you mean they actually fight, not stand back and throw plus one magic missiles?”

“Yeah, exactly.  Nice reference to Dungeons and Dragons, by the way,” I said.

“You play?” she asked, surprised.

“Of course.”

“Because you’re a witch?” she asked.

“Because he’s a nerd,” Stacia threw in, flashing a brief smile at me to take the sting out.

“That’s actually true.  I’m an official nerd,” I said.

“One who never needs a lighter to light candles, except you have one… why?” Brystol asked.

“Because lighting candles and stuff with a thought is a great way to get attention.  Witches don’t want attention,” I said. “There’s something about ancestors being burnt at the stake that will make you avoid attention.”

“You go around lighting a lot of candles in public?” she asked.

“Look it’s just a lighter.  I also have twine, two different knives, a first aid kit, like a dozen Sharpies, four colors of chalk, a multi-tool, a little flashlight, a bottle of water, and a candy bar,” I said.  “It’s just stuff I carry.”

“Why?  Because he’s a nerd,” Stacia said, grinning at her own joke.  Her hand flipped out, open and palm up.  “I’ll take that candy bar, Intern O’Carroll.”

I glared a bit at her, but it bounced right off.  Reaching into the bag for the chocolate, I turned to Brystol.  “See what it’s like?  Senior staff bullying interns.”

Brystol watched as Stacia opened the extra large Snickers bar and took a big bite.  “I frigging hate you and your stupid wolf metabolism,” she said to Stacia as another big bite of candy bar disappeared.

“Okay, so I’m not interested in corporate abuse stories or any of that.  Take it up with HR.  Let’s get back to this witchcraft thing.  It runs in families?” Brystol asked.

“Yup.  We call a group of witches a circle.  Circles spellcraft together, share power and skills.  Most of the bigger circles keep track of each other and will occasionally have meetings or, I don’t know, mixers maybe.  Sometimes people are… exchanged.”

“Exchanged?  You talking like hostages or do you mean like as potential partners?”

“Ah, well, actually it could be both.  Usually not hostages, but some of these circles are paranoid. Odd negotiations can occur. Anyway, mostly it’s for the introduction of new bloodlines,” I said.

“Ooooh.  Life wife swapping or something?” she asked, leaning forward for the juicy details.

“In a word?  Yeah.  Males aren’t usually swapped but sorta lent out, so to speak,” I said, uncomfortable with the direction we’d taken.

“Like stud service?  No way?” she asked, grinning.  “Is that what you have to look forward to?  Is your circle going to stud you out?”

“I’m not part of a circle.  My mom and aunt left the family circle and moved here,” I said, feeling a frown form itself on my face.

“But you’re a male witch.  And you go to that school that Demidova Corp sponsors, right?” she asked.  I just nodded.  “So the girl witches there must be looking you over, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s a bit worse than that.  Parent weekend at school is kinda of a scary thing for me,” I said.

“Oh come on?  They can’t all be hags, can they?” she asked.

“No, most of the witches at school are okay.  In fact, Ryanne and the twins are more than okay,” I admitted.

“Hah!  Twins?  That’s like every guy’s dream, isn’t it?” Brystol asked gleefully.

Before I could answer, a balled-up wrapper shot between us and landed smoothly inside the wastebasket in the corner of the room.  We both turned to Stacia, whose expression was bland.  “Men are pigs,” she said, standing up.  “I actually do have some things to do.  Brystol won’t bite, right?  Good.  See you later,” she said, striding away.

“What crawled up her ass?” Brystol asked after the door shut behind the werewolf girl.