Witches, Voids, and Other Sanity Suckers

It takes three people four trips to bring all of Az’s bags into the house. I swear the pack credit card is still smoking and there have been three calls from the issuing company about possible fraudulent activity. She invites Greta into her room for a fashion show, but I quash that idea as soon as the words are out of her mouth. While it would be fun to let Greta play babysitter, we have more urgent things on the to-do list. Besides, having to sit through an endless parade of outfits is likely to put Greta in a homicidal mood. That’s generally something I try to avoid. Especially since we’ve already averted one Greta-plosion today.

I want to give my pack as much protection as possible as quickly as possible. Az wants to shower and change clothes. I tell her to get her ass to the living room. She just stares at me. I glare. After a moment she caves. Good. With the rest of the pack watching, I can't allow her to disobey orders. It would not have been a pretty lesson. At least now she knows that Alpha Glare beats Princess Pout.

Az clings to my side – something about her drawing energy from the strongest source in the room – as she directs Greta, Ike, and Jose in the fine art of amulet making. The herbs stink to high hell. At least, they do to Shifters. They don't seem to affect Az at all.

"Okay, Ike. You have to keep the Wainroot away from the Greganweed." Az uncoils an arm from around my waist to point at the bags of stinky herbs spread across the coffee table in the living room.

With the tip of a finger, Ike slides a bag of black spiky herbs away from a bag of green puffs. "Can I ask why?"

"Well, if Wainroot comes in to contact with Greganweed and the slightest bit of moisture, they create a gas called Death's Breath."

Ike drops the green puffs to the floor. The others freeze. Sweat beads across Jose's forehead. It's a damn good thing he's far from the two volatile ingredients.

"Princess."

She turns her face up to me, lips twisted in a grimace. "This is one of those early disclosure things, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Any other potential hazards we should know about?"

"Nope. We're good. Well," she pauses, taps her chin thoughtfully, "we're not going to blow up the house."

It takes the rest of the morning to create enough amulets to protect my pack against emotional manipulation, massive energy drain, psychic attack, and sleeping spells. Fortunately, when the herbs are tied in bags and attached to each other, the smell cancels out. I don't think a Shifter would last two days surrounded by the odor of unblended herbs. Once the nickel-sized amulets are hooked on a copper chain, Jose loops them around necks like he’s on a Mardi Gras float.

Tommy sets up his portable tattoo station in the middle of the living room. Oscar, as predicted, balks. So we make him go first. Greta pours six shots of vodka down his throat and holds him down in the chair. Princess perches on the arm of the sofa with her jeans rolled over her left knee. The Writ of Angalis fades in and out for a moment before solidifying.

If it hurts to keep the words from fading, she doesn't give any indication. She had mentioned a need to practice making the text appear and disappear. Oscar bitches like a little girl while Tommy tattoos the two lines of text on his right shoulder. Once the ink is dry, he bucks Greta off him and makes a mad dash for the kitchen.

"The cherry vodka's in the freezer," Greta calls out as she takes his place in the recliner. She had wanted to go last, but I need her to tattoo the words onto Tommy, and she can't do that if her shoulder is still sore from the needle.

"You should be glad this isn't the Rite of Quali. That's sixteen lines," Az muses when Jose takes his turn in the chair of pain. "Or the Word of Ioan. Eighteen lines. Long words. Lots of punctuation."

Jose's eyes go wide. The pungent aroma of fear wafts through the room. The younger Shifters pick up on the scent and cower from Tommy.

"Not helping, Az," Ike mutters. He's next in line, and his eyes are a little fearful. The man who tattooed a portrait of his wife on his left bicep is afraid of a two line spell?

"Sorry, big brother."

Someone needs to mentor our void. She needs to know the ins and outs of living with a pack of Shifters. Greta is the best candidate for a number of reasons. I trust her. She's a chick so that'll keep Az from embarrassing us both with any chick-related questions. Plus, Greta's not a hereditary Shifter. She remembers being human and her indoctrination into Shifter life.

By the time I sit in the chair, Az's face is nearly translucent. Lines of pain bracket bloodless lips, and her hair is drenched with sweat. Hardly surprising given that it's taken us two hours to get to this point. The hands I cradle between mine are ice cold.

"Can you keep it together for two more rounds, Princess?"

"I can go all night."

It's a lie, but she gets credit for trying. I have no doubt that if we needed her to, she'd keep the text visible until she passed out. "When we're done, you can take your shower and change."

"You can show me that dress you were talking about," Greta offers.

Ha. Which one? Half those bags contain nothing but dresses, and Az has spent the past hour-and-a-half describing each one. I now know more about lace, fabric – what the hell is poplin? – hemlines, and necklines I ever cared to know.

Tommy glances down at Az's leg. "I think I have that memorized if you need to take a break."

Az shakes her head furiously. "No, no." Her hands grip mine. "If you misplace the two commas, you have the Writ of Idris. Conjuring wraiths? Never a good idea. Misspelling any word could change the nature of the writ."

Tommy's hands quiver. Great. This is exactly why I didn't want him to know all the ins and outs of the text before he started tattooing. With my luck, I'll end up with a smeared writ that curses me with erectile dysfunction and bad breath.

Az slips her hands out of my grasp. Though her legs wobble like a colt's, she moves to Tommy's side. "Hey, hey. You've done this twelve times already, and you've done an amazing job. Really precision work. Those cedillas can't be easy. Dad smeared two while he was doing the Rite of Uli on my right arm, and that was after a year of writing on me."

"They are hard, but if you flick your wrist just a little, they come out all right."

"Sweet trick." Az kisses Tommy's bearded cheek before retaking her place on the sofa. "I want to get something on my right ankle. It's the only place without text. It feels naked."

I'm not entirely sure mentioning the word 'naked' is a good way to calm Tommy's nerves. It sure as hell doesn't settle mine. Funnily enough, Tommy's hands relax. His eyes dart down to Az's knee before he presses the needle against my bare skin. "What were you thinking about getting?"

"A lily. They symbolize freedom. Maybe something pretty like a rainbow or a daisy. Or a heart and a rainbow."

"Those are some awfully girly tattoos, Princess," I say, holding back laughter.

"Then it's a good thing I'm a girl, isn't it?" She shrugs and then leans back on her elbows. The earlier strain seems to have eased. "I don't know. It's just a thought."

Once the last letter is inked in flesh, Tommy and Greta clean the station while I check on my pack. Most of them are in the kitchen. The bottle of cherry vodka is empty. The bottle of tequila is not quite there. Yet. Judging by the way Jose and Ike are passing it back and forth, it's only a matter of time. Shifters metabolize alcohol quickly. In an hour or so, I'll have a pack of hurting puppies.

I don't feel the slightest twinge of sympathy.

"Shower," Princess says as she breezes past me to the stairs. "We can call Uncle Evan when I'm done."

Sure. Why not make the day even crappier than it's already been? Maybe I can join the guys for a drink or six before we make the call. I would probably get along better with Mages and witches if I kept my blood-alcohol level at three times the legal limit when dealing with them.

Greer calls twice while I'm challenging Ike to a shot race. Both calls go straight to voicemail. I doubt I'll even listen to those. I've already reached my asshole limit for the day, and Az hasn't even called her godfather yet.

My phone is buried in a box of Cheerios in the pantry when Az joins us in the kitchen. The empty tequila bottle is in the sink. I have a death grip on a half-full bottle of grapefruit vodka. Ike and Oscar have tried to take it from me three times. They've ended up face-first on the floor three times apiece.

"Oh, dear," Az frets, pleating the shiny fabric of her pastel print dress. "I'll call Uncle Evan tomorrow."

Oh no. I did not sign myself up for a massive hangover just for her to chicken out. The room sways a bit when I lurch out of my chair. She rushes to wrap her arms around my waist and shove a shoulder into my chest.

Seriously? She's like a kitten. What's she going to do to keep the big, bad wolf from falling flat on his face? It's more likely I'll drag us both down and squash her like a fly.

"You're a silly drunk," she laughs. "Am I a kitten or am I a bug?"

Great. I said that part out loud. Because giving her ammunition against me makes things fun. "You're a pain in the ass. Let's go, Princess."

The small room off the dining room was originally supposed to be my office. Somehow it turned into the pack library and study hall. It's a good place to go when you need privacy. A point that is lost on the seven Shifters trailing behind us like well-trained puppies. Which they are. Except for Hank and Jose. And Oscar. And Mark.

Greta, one of the few sober people in the house, sets herself up at the cherry desk in the corner of the room. She's responsible for taking notes. She excels at picking up on vocal inflections and hidden meanings. Az will make the call on her burner phone. I don't want the Mage of St. Louis to have the landline number, and we can ditch the phone if he proves to be a complication.

Az doesn't have to put the call on speakerphone. Shifter hearing is better than the human sense modern phones are designed for. Curled into a corner of the couch, she pulls her knees to her chest, smoothes the hem down her shins, and rests her chin on her left knee. Does she even realize what message she's sending? The Mage of St. Louis hasn't even answered the phone, and she's already turned herself into as small a target as possible. Not at all reassuring for everyone else. Body language and its importance are two things Greta will have to work with her on.

"Hello?" a gruff voice on the other end demands after four rings.

"Hello, Uncle Evan," Az responds, voice pitched so that it is respectful and submissive. Is that how one is supposed to address a Mage of Evan Shica's caliber? Perhaps Mages are more like Shifters than I am comfortable admitting.

"Astraea!" Shica infuses her name with pure joy. Though I can't detect any deception, it sets my wolf on edge. Have I mentioned it's a possessive, overprotective bastard? "This is a pleasant surprise. Where are you?"

"Houston."

"Is your father there with you?"

At the mention of her father, Az pokes out her tongue and crinkles her nose. An understandable response. "No. I believe he is back in New Orleans with Mother."

"Do you need me to pick you up?"

The room goes utterly silent. Thanks guys. We obviously need another session on subtle eavesdropping.

Az doesn't hesitate for a second. "No. I'm okay. More than okay. As a matter of fact I'm -." Before her enthusiasm can set off warning bells, she cuts herself off. "I'm good."

"Are they there with you right now?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember what we talked about on your seventh birthday after your stay in Idaho? I gave you a phrase to memorize and instructions on when to use it."

Az rolls her eyes. "No code words necessary, Uncle Evan. For once, I am exactly where I want to be. I'm with friends. I have a favor to ask."

"For you or for these friends of yours?" Shica asks.

The way he sneers the word 'friends' incites a chorus of growls. Az slaps her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and glares at all of us. I admit that it's a pretty fierce glare. It doesn't faze me in the slightest, but it works well on the others. That's one lesson Greta can skip.

"For me," she lies without compunction. "You know how I like to keep my… uniqueness… under wraps. The garden-variety witches around here won't have a clue, but if there's someone stronger, older, then my secret could be at risk. I'm not real keen on a repeat of the Annapolis incident."

Maryland. Another "M" state. Why am I not surprised? Princess and I will be discussing the "Annapolis incident" as soon as I'm sober enough to hear the tale. Or maybe a little drunker than I am now so that I don't set off for Maryland with a pit stop in New Orleans along the way.

"Someone from the old families would have enough power to recognize your abilities. Give me a moment, dear heart." After a few moments, Shica returns to the phone. He rattles off a list of five names. Az checks the spelling on each one, giving Greta time to write them down.

"Thank you, Uncle Evan." She chews on the fingernails on her right hand for a second. Her eyes are fixed on the watercolor near the door. "There was a spike recently. It tasted like the Rite of Yulaga."

Shica's laughter is a little too jovial. Too forced. "That's a forbidden rite, Astraea."

"I know."

"It could have been the Rite of Divad. When your father was a child, he used to confuse the two all the time."

It's clear from the expression on her face that Az isn't buying that explanation. She doesn't contradict Shica, though. "Could be. Thank you for the names, Uncle Evan. I'll be sure to steer clear of them."

"Dearest girl," Shica murmurs before she can end the call. "These friends of yours, will they protect you?"

Az's eyes dart to mine. Well, that's insulting. She nods at me. "Yes. They would."

"To the death?"

What the hell kind of a question is that? I don't like the direction this conversation is taking. There are many reasons Shica could have for asking that question. It would be nice to believe that he's asking out of concern for his beloved goddaughter's wellbeing. I don't live in that ideal hearts-and-flowers world, though.

"Yes," Az answers. "If it came down to it, they would."

"It may, my dear. It may very well." Shica heaves a sigh. "Do call soon, Astraea. Your aunt and I worry about you. I did not always approve of your father's methods, but he did his best to protect you from those would use you or harm you."

"Give Aunt Evelyn my love," she responds, ignoring the last half of his statement. Connection cut, she sets the phone on the side table and scoots so that her feet are flat on the floor.

The call went better than I'd expected. Just because he hadn't named his price, I don't for a moment believe that Shica won't demand a favor in the future. Jose abandons his attempt to braid Tommy's hair and flings himself at Az. The little shit shows off by fully Shifting mid-air. It's a trick he's recently mastered. At least he doesn’t bust up the coffee table this time.

Princess ignores the fact that the ocelot cuddled against her could take her face off with one swipe of his massive front paws. She strokes behind Jose's ears. The purring is loud enough to make the floor rumble.

"The nuns I stayed with in Evansville had a margay. I used to play with her all the time," she starts hopefully.

"No way, Princess. We already have one pretty kitty. We don't need another."

"Hey," Hank protests half-heartedly.

"Sorry, man."

"No problem."

Az bats Jose's tail away from her eyes and meets my gaze with surprising solemnity. "It's good that he asked about me, right? He cares about how well I'm being protected."

"Sure. That or he's trying to determine how big an army he'll need to drag you away from us."

"Oh."

The crestfallen look on her face is like a punch to my gut. I get the importance of family and how it hurts to lose it. "He's going to need a big damn army, Princess. Fucking huge. No one tears apart my pack."