Witches Protection Program (9 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I
said, come on,” Alastair urged the younger man.

“I want to go to a hospital.” They stood in the smelly hallway, Wes’s bloody foot leaving a trail of red footprints.

Alastair shook his head. “What are you afraid of? Witches are synonymous with healers. Baby Fat’s practically a surgeon.”

“What do you mean, practically?” Wes roared. “I’m not going in.” He limped after Alastair, who stood firm.

“Shapeshifting witches sometimes release
slow
-acting hormones that can enter the bloodstream and wreak havoc on a person’s nervous system. It starts with an elevated temperature.”

Wes felt sweat drip from his temple down his warm neck. His body shook with a tremor.

“You’re looking a little flushed there.” Alastair reached up to press his cool hand against Wes’s overheated cheek. He tsked. Wes pulled away. “Listen, conventional medicine doesn’t have a clue…”

“All right, already,” Wes said, giving in. He felt lightheaded. “I don’t know if I trust her.”

“Do you trust me?” Alastair asked, his eyes boring into Wes’s. The younger man looked away.

He was still protesting after Baby Fat had placed his foot on a dishtowel on her lime velvet couch. She ignored his complaints as she poked around the hole oozing blood, which she collected into a porcelain cup. “For later,” she advised Alastair, who nodded sagely. “Nothing like fresh blood.”

“Fresh blood. Alastair, get me out of here!” Wes wailed.

Luna pounced on his chest, walking down to his abused foot to look at the wound. She meowed loudly.

Junie looked up, her bulbous eyes grossly enlarged by the thick glasses she wore.

“I know. It does look Italian,” she commented back.

“Italian, you say?” Alastair bent over to observe.

“Mmm, see the teeth marks? These particular panthers come from the hills over Catanzaro.”

“Catanzaro…I thought they only bred cougars,” Alastair commented.

“Only the old ladies hunting young men in the bars.” Junie laughed. “No, no, this is definitely a panther bite. There’s a coven that roams the area. Nasty women, famous for their hot tempers.”

Wes drifted, despite the conversation. Junie patted his rear, advising him that this was going to sting a bit.

Hot needles stung his foot from toe to ankle as a boiling towel was placed on his abused limb. Wes reared off the couch, only to have strong hands hold him back. A rainbow of colors danced before his closed eyes before they rolled back in his head.

“He’s out,” Alastair told Junie.

“I can tell from his aura,” she replied as she cleaned his wounds. “Better this way.”

“He didn’t want to come. I told him some faradiddle about panther hormones.” Alastair held up a lamp for her to see better.

“Good. It’s more believable than the truth.” Junie sliced open his foot, squeezing out the poison. “A few more hours, and he’d be dead meat.” She stood back, cracking her back, satisfied with her handiwork. Together they removed his shirt, then Junie dabbed the scratches on his shoulders. “Hmmm…nasty piece of work here.” She threw a fuzzy knitted blanket over him.

“How long till he wakes?”

Junie walked back into her tiny kitchen to return holding a lacy curtain of caul fat from a midsize animal. It was draped over her hands and smelled like rotten meat. “Hold his foot elevated.”

“Sheep?” Alastair asked.

“Goat.” Junie shrugged. “I read his leaves, and I got goats.”

“Who’d have thunk it?” Alastair laughed.

Baby Fat wrapped his foot with the thoughtful competency of a practiced nurse. “Don’t laugh. I don’t make these things up, I only treat.” She grabbed her willow branch from a side table and, bowing her head, hummed loudly. Alastair hastily moved to the other side of the room.

“I don’t want it touching me,” he told her.

“This ain’t my first rodeo.” She cleared her throat loudly. “Maaaaake him beeeetter, maaake it heeeeeal.” She sounded like a billy goat, and Alastair bit back a smile.

“Meeeelt the faaaaat, into his heeeel. Faaaaaster, faaaaaaster and on this note, maaaaake the paaaanther lose to a gooooat.”

An eerie blue light surrounded Wes. The animal fat sizzled on his foot. The room smelled like a Sunday barbecue. It turned liquid as it dissolved into his skin.

“Well,” Baby Fat said as she put down her wand. “That should do it. Coffee?”

“I need to see if anything made the news.”

Baby Fat nodded, indicating Alastair should follow her. “I’ve got a small TV in the kitchen.”

“So, how long will he sleep?”

“Half hour, maybe an hour, and he’ll be kicking his heels in no time.”

Both Alastair’s and Junie’s chuckles floated through the apartment to merge with Wes’s disturbing dreams. He roused from the noise, then let himself be sucked into the strange, mountainous world he had entered. He was high on a hill, the wind blowing harshly, stinging his eyes. He climbed higher, and higher, but he couldn’t figure out why.

Junie pointed the remote, and the television lit up with the evening news. Alastair’s face turned grim when the screen filled with his SUV racing down the streets with the hawk plastered against his windshield.

The newscaster stated, “The question of the day is, who let the dogs out? Or the panther and hawk. At two o’clock this afternoon, a panther mysteriously appeared to chase this Escalade, then strangely disappeared at the same time this gray hawk attacked the SUV while it traveled down Avenue of the Americas. No one has claimed the wild cat, and the hawk cannot be traced either. Tony Arrolos found out that onlookers say they came out of nowhere.”

The screen changed to the city street. The reporter, in a crowd, held his microphone for an eyewitness.

“Can you tell us what you saw?”

The bystander shook her head. “They appeared out of nowhere and just attacked that car. It wasn’t as big as a panther. It couldn’t be one. I think it was an oversize cat. You know, a feral one. It had a man by the foot, but the car took off so quickly, I thought I imagined the whole thing.”

“Yeah,” a man in painter overalls added. “It looked like they hit a lady in the street. I tried to help her, but she ran in there.” He pointed to the Pendragon building. “She looked stunned. Had some blood on her cheek.”

“Did you see where the cat went?”

Another woman pointed to an alleyway across the street. “It ran away. It was afraid of the hawk. It was trying to protect the man.”

“There you have it, folks. Three versions of one scene. All we know is the SUV took off with the hawk on the windshield and animal control has not seen either animal. Commissioner Bannor has stepped up patrols in the area and has asked the public to report any strays. This is Tony Arrolos, reporting live from Manhattan.”

Junie looked at Alastair. “They don’t realize they are witches.”

“Yet,” Alastair said ominously.

CHAPTER TWELVE

M
organ changed into one of Gabby’s tees. It swam on her, but it was clean. She cleaned the scrape on her forearm, then dabbed her shoulder with antiseptic, her eyes watering from the burn.

“Ugh,” Gabby commented, handing her a clean towel. “Is that blood yours?”

“No.” Morgan shook her head. Some of Wes’s blood stained her hands. She had handed him a rag, and when he touched her hand, he must have gotten blood on her. She remembered because there had been a distinct spark between them when their hands met. The bottom of the yellowed porcelain sink turned pink, but her fingers wouldn’t come clean. Morgan scrubbed hard, her white skin turning pink from her ministration.

“Did you get it?” Gabby asked. “Try this.” She poured a clear liquid from a brown bottle over Morgan’s small hands. Morgan reared back, her hands on fire.

“What is that?” she screamed, her eyes watering.

Gabby looked at the label. “Witch hazel.” She turned on cold water and held her friend’s burning fingers under the stream. They watched with stunned fascination as the blood absorbed into the abused skin. “Oops,” Gabby said quietly. “I know what will make you feel better. Let’s get you something to eat, and then we’ll upload the information and watch the shit hit the fan.”

“Where are you uploading it?” Morgan asked as she flopped down on the couch. She was staring at her hands, not liking the tingling sensation. She rubbed them on the couch but felt no relief.

“Lucky Charms!” Morgan shouted with glee. Gabby placed a cracked bowl and a container of milk on the coffee table.

“They’re magically delicious,” Gabby replied. “We are going to inform the
twenty
-two thousand followers on my blog, my eight hundred thousand Twitter followers, Facebook, Instagram, my website…all about Auntie Bea’s weird cosmetic ingredients.”

Morgan reached into her bra, taking out the USB with the stolen information.

“Ooh la la,” Gabby said, snatching the device and plugging it into the port on her laptop.

“Won’t be long and Aunt Bea will have to reconsider her product line.” She turned to look at Morgan, her blue eyes appealing. “Maybe you’ll run the company.”

“I don’t mind Bea. I just don’t like her methods. She has been a strict parent to
me
—”

“More like a commandant,” Gabby interrupted.

“But still a parent. Yay,” Morgan said, changing the subject, her mouth filled with dissolving marshmallows. “I love this stuff.” She hated talking crap about Bea. Despite her controlling ways, she loved her. She was the only parent she’d ever known.

“I got plenty more where that came from,” Gabby informed her. “Time for a celebration. I went shopping today.”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Gummy worms, gummy bats…”

“I love those,” Morgan crooned.

“Licorice spiders, and we’ll wash it down with a BK Oreo Milkshake.”

“Where’s the protein?”

“I said bats.”

“You’re wicked,” Morgan told her with a grin.

“I’m trying.” Gabby smiled back. “We’ll go back to salads tomorrow. Tonight, we feast!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

W
es felt a chill dance down his spine, pulling him out of his slumber with an abrupt start. A solid weight held him down. For a minute, he panicked, until a low meow informed him of his oppressor. He sat up, pushing both Luna and the shabby crocheted blanket from his chest. He was naked from the waist up. He touched a healed scratch on his shoulder. Gingerly, he placed his foot on the floor, marveling that the pain was gone. It felt greasy and was smelly, like the souvlaki joint that operated under his apartment.

He heard the sounds of a television coming from the small kitchen. He rose to his feet unsteadily, walking drunkenly toward the sound. His foot had the same sensation as if it was asleep. He stamped it, wincing with the pain as his blood rushed through it.

Alastair and Junie were sitting at the table, a steaming cup before each and a
half
-eaten marble cake on a plate. Wes felt his mouth water, and his stomach rumbled noisily.

“I love a man with an appetite.” Junie stood. “I have some stew on.”

“No stew!” Wes told her loudly.

He weaved a bit. Alastair pushed him into the chrome chair. He looked up at the
black
-and-white television.
Black and white?
he thought.

Alastair pointed. “We were watching the latest report. They’re saying the animals escaped from a photo shoot for a commercial they were doing in the Pendragon building.”

“Those weren’t animals!” Wes shook his head.

“As far as the public knows and is willing to admit, they were. People look for the most reasonable explanation.”

“So, witches are not public as of yet,” Wes said, turning to look out the window. Luna purred contently and jumped on his lap. He considered the moon. It was waning just a bit more tonight. Another week or two to no moon and his plan to be out of this program. An owl hooted; he wondered where owls found a home in Brooklyn under the elevated train. A shiver made his whole body convulse, though he wasn’t cold. Wispy clouds moved across the sky, covering the face of the moon, making Wes feel smothered. He cleared his throat, a sense of unease creeping over him. His insides felt jittery. The only person he could think of was Morgan. The owl hooted again, this time with a response from another bird.

Junie came up behind him, her head cocked.

“Alastair,” she whispered. “Did you hear that? I have to get out of here. Now.”

Wes turned to face the other man, his face filled with astonishment. “Morgan’s in trouble.” He couldn’t explain how he knew it, but he did.

“I know,” Alastair said quietly, looking into his eyes.

Wes wondered how he knew and why he was so sure of it. “Do you know where she is?” The cat leaped from his arms.

“She hasn’t left her friend’s place.” Alastair held out his shirt. “I have someone watching.”

The old woman ran to the kitchen. Wes heard her slopping that stupid stew into a
fast
-food container.

“Leave it,” Alastair called.

Junie ignored him. She stuffed it into a bag she pulled from under the table. Looking into the depths of her old mirror, she said, “Sorry, old friend. Maybe I’ll be back for you.”

Wes watched,
wide
-eyed, as the mirror brightened, then went dark.

Alastair silently closed the lights. In a minute, they were gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

G
abby waltzed into the kitchen to open the refrigerator door. Buttery light bathed her freckled face. She hummed a song, searching through soggy Chinese takeout containers and
rolled
-up balls of wax papers holding bits of leftover sandwiches. “No, no, no…
yesss.
” She found the milkshake, took a long sip, and shivered with delight. “We have to share. I only have one,” she called back to her friend.

Her slim back to the window, Gabby failed to see the flapping wings settling down to morph into the dark shape of Wu. Crouching down, Wu peered through the glass, her eyes flitting around to take in the contents of the shabby room.
Not much to work with,
she thought with a sneer. There was a small Formica table filled with candy, gummy insects spilled all over its surface. Wu considered the mess.
Be discreet,
Bernadette had ordered. She could kill the redhead. Wu considered the option, but remembered Bernadette’s warning. “I’ll get you another day,” Wu whispered to the girl who thought she was a witch, the pretender. She needed to get Morgan out to where she could scoop her up from the street. She had to find a way to separate her from the safety of her friend. The girl and the gummies. She frowned. Not much to work with.

“Time for you to listen to me, do my bidding like a robotic zombie,” Wu murmured as she flapped her arms, watching in satisfaction as Gabby dropped the shake, her hands lifeless at her sides. The girl spun to look out the window, her eyes yellow blazes of light. Wu turned her attention to the candies on the table. Moving her fingers in swirling motions, she chuckled, watching the outcome of her spell.

“Spiders, worms, and bats can swarm; to that, Morgan will run outside with alarm.”

The tabletop became a squiggling mess of black, red, and orange nature could not reproduce if it tried. Tiny bats squeaked, flying en masse around the cramped kitchen. They landed on Gabby, who held out boneless arms. Gummy spiders created lacy, gummy webs. The worms and spiders used them to march onto the girl, covering her skin with crawling bugs.

“Gab,” Morgan called. “Where’s my shake?”

Wu raised two fingertips, making a walking motion. Gabby robotically wound her way into the next room, bugs covering her, a nest of gummy bats in her red hair.

Morgan sat on the floor, the laptop before her. She had the USB in her hand and was examining it. “Hey, Gab,” she said without turning around. “Something’s wrong. It’s not loading. Gab?” Morgan slowly looked up, her eyes widening with fear. Her friend was covered with squirming insects, their sticky residue turning her fair skin dark. She stood, dropping the computer, the USB forgotten in her hand, her mouth opening in a silent scream. She hated spiders. Morgan could face anything but spiders. She had a primal fear of the little beasties. Her heart jumping in her throat, she inched backward as Gabby pushed toward her, her face devoid of expression, her eyes a fierce yellow.

Her bag was across the room, her wand hidden in its dark depths. Picking up a pencil, she waved it frantically at her friend. “Candy is dandy; stay sweet, and turn back into a treat,” she said in a rush to no avail. Morgan moaned, trying something else. “Sugar melt quick as ice; candy should always behave nice.” Nothing. They were moving like a solid wall of gelatinous critters. “Bad magic, go away. Turn back to candy, come what may!” Morgan cursed loudly as she backed away, slipping on a gummy spider. Bats pulled at Gabby’s hair, fluttering toward her, their gummy wings ripping strands right off her friend’s oblivious head. Shooting cobwebs reached for her, snagging themselves on her
T
-shirt. She brushed them, her hands sticky, her face stark with horror. She looked wildly around. “Bea, let her go!” she screamed. “Stop it! Please, Aunt Bea.” A worm made the leap, landing with a plop on her forehead. Morgan screamed again, clawing at the slimy crawler.

Wu watched with amusement from her perch on the window, her smile lacking humor. Spiders attached themselves to Morgan’s arms. Her flesh was glued to the things. The girl sobbed helplessly, turning when the door splintered. A blond man stepped through the wreckage. He took one look at Gabby and flicked a Darrow Trance Lifter from his pocket, enveloping the victim in a blue haze.

The light surrounded Gabby, forcing her to convulse. Her yellow eyes turned white until they rolled back in her head. Wes held out his trance lifter, the laser beam aimed for the middle of her
candy
-encrusted torso. He tucked it back into his pocket, his strong arms grabbing Morgan, brushing the creepy crawlers until they fell from her body. A warm jacket surrounded her. Morgan sighed with relief. She recognized the tangy scent of a familiar
aftershave
—the cop, what was his name? Presley, Wesley. Wesley Rockville had her in a solid embrace. Rock solid, Morgan thought hazily.

“We have to get out of here.” His muffled words vibrated. Morgan felt safe.

“Gabby?” she asked breathlessly.

“Help is on the way.”

“My bag. Grab my bag.”

Wes spied the hobo on the floor, covered with melting candy. Brushing it off, he tucked it under his arm. “Got it!” Wes told her as he whisked her out of the room.

Wu smashed the glass window as she watched her spell dissolve. “No, no, no!” she screamed.

“Ni hao! You yige meihow de yewan, ni fengkuang de nuwu?”
Alastair said, greeting the witch and asking if the crazed sorceress was having a nice evening in perfect Mandarin. He stood in the alley, looking up at her on the fire escape.

Wu spun, cursing right back at him in Chinese.

“That’s not nice!” Alastair said, looking up at her. His hands were in his pockets. He looked like a person out for a stroll.

Wu looked at him and then at her Harley parked at the end of the dark alley. Raising her arms over her head, she pointed to her motorcycle, lifting it twenty feet in the air, letting it levitate, and then throwing it at his head. Alastair deftly stepped aside, watching with amused interest as it landed in a smoking heap.

“Now how did you expect to get home, Wu? Fly?”

Wu shrieked, opening her arms wide, her dark body transforming into feathers, her face the beady visage of a hawk. The scream eerily echoed down the dark streets, bouncing off the closely packed buildings, as though another bird was answering.

“I know you’re alone,” Alastair shouted. He peered through the darkness, nodding to Wes, who was running toward the car, the girl in his arms. “Get out of here,” he called to him.

Wes looked back, shaking his head. “I’ll be right there.”

“I plan on ruffling her feathers. I got this,” Alastair said confidently. He looked up to Wu. “Why don’t you come down and we’ll do this with a minimal amount of damage?”

Wu circled high above him, her eyes bright pinpoints of light. She widened her route. Her face turned to Wes and the girl he escorted to the car.

“Don’t even think about it, Wu. You’re not going to make it,” Alastair called.

The hawk shrieked loudly, feinted left, but dove right.

“Bad bird!” Alastair called out as he reached into his trench coat, snapping a metal lasso that was attached to the end of his Steampunk gun. The thick chain arced up with a crack, and in a
snake
-like movement, flickered near Wu’s face. Wu lifted up, changing direction, and dove at him, her wings spread as wide as a small plane. Alastair ran toward a Dumpster, squeezing behind it. The hawk came out of her descent, speeding upward and landing on a fire escape. Her black gaze peered through the darkness, waiting for Alastair’s next move.

Alastair inched out, holding his lasso tightly looped in his capable hands. His eyes found the bird, just out of his reach. The two adversaries measured each other. Alastair flicked the metal lasso so that it sparked against the pavement, lighting up the dark night. He raised his arm, letting it fly through the night air, uncoiling to snap near her ribcage, but the bird never flinched. Wu opened her shoulders, her wingspan stretching over the fire escape. She lifted off, hovering over him like a dark cloud. Her black silhouette hid the stars. Alastair twirled the whip higher. She landed on another fire escape and laughed, which sounded like a keening cry. Alastair reeled in his lasso, patiently waiting her out. “Come on, you tough old bird, show me what you’ve got!” he called, standing defiantly in the open, daring her to attack.

Wu screeched in outrage, turning her beady gaze on him. She leaned forward, launching herself in a dive aimed directly at his chest. Alastair waited, his fingers squeezing the coils of his lasso so that his knuckles turned white. “Come on,” he said quietly. He felt the air currents change and smelled the fetid odor of death. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the heavy chain directly at the plummeting bird, expertly pinning the wings against Wu’s heaving sides. Wu pulled herself away, propelling herself against a wall, stretching the whip to its full extension. Alastair struggled, planting his feet, using the Dumpster for leverage. He pressed a lever that set mechanical gears in motion, reeling in the long chain. Wu strained against the chain, but Alastair held on, his knuckles white. He felt his body shake with the strain, but he closed his mind to everything but reeling in the bird.

“Alastair!” Wes yelled.

“It’s as easy as flying a kite,” he called back, fighting to keep control of the hawk. “Get. Her. Out of here!” He smiled. “What goes up…must come…” He yanked the chain, watching it squeeze the breath from Wu, who plummeted to land in a heap of leather and feathers at his feet. “Down.” She immediately morphed into herself. “Hello, ol’ thing.” He reached into his pocket, taking out the roll of duct tape and quickly placing a generous amount across her mouth, sealing it from uttering a spell. Resting his booted foot on the winded woman, he asked, “Now, what’s so special about the shipment?”

Wu’s garbled response did not appear to be helpful. Narrowing her eyes, she kicked out, missing him.

“How’d you like to be sent home on a slow boat to China?” Alastair said, bending down so that his breath fell on her face.

Wu snarled, her arms fighting with the chain. A cell phone broke the silence.

“I believe it’s for you, but being you’re tied up at the
moment
—pun
intended
—allow me.” Alastair plucked the phone from her breast pocket. Blowing gently, he dislodged a dark feather.

He swiped his finger and put the phone to his ear.

“Wu?” A voice demanded. “Do you have her? Wu?”

“Bernadette,” Alastair said flatly.

“Alastair.” The line went dead.