Chapter Thirteen

Doppler

My newest host prepared for work while I skimmed memories of Enchanter Evergreen’s latest exploits. It didn’t take much, whispering my will into the mind of this witch. Witch. More like a warlock given the criminal activity, yet the term warlock was only ever applied to witches who were convicted of their wrongdoing. Ignoring the semantics of law and the actions of this deviant, I prioritized learning what Milo was doing, which cases he’d solved, and where his fate fell. Strangling the subconscious of my current host and changing desires subliminally allowed me to control this witch from afar without actually having to exert command.

Deep in the depths of this mind, the hairs on my neck rose. A fabricated sensation, sure, but one that grounded my nerves into something tangible. Did Milo sense my movements? Did he feel the acute shifts of my frequency, the familiarity of synchronization I offered? I smiled, studying Milo while evading his ever-present clairvoyance. Not entirely, that much I could be certain of.

Dragging Jasper throughout the city by the reins to Cassidy’s club had already left me drained. Moving Finn without suspicion took a degree of delicate maneuvering even my best infiltration skills struggled with. Most of all, that goddamn chimera put up more resistance than anticipated. Loud clanks came from the deep pits of darkness in this new witch’s inner core. So much for willingly accompanying me during the transfer.

I chuckled, skimming posts about Milo locked here in the subconscious memories. In fairness, the demon probably didn’t appreciate his new housing accommodations, and I savored the joy it brought me, knowing nothing the chimera whispered or attempted would faze the current mind we stayed inside. There were already so many twisted fantasies dwelling in this witch, sinister and sadistic, that the chimera’s haunting words wouldn’t rattle him like they had Jasper.

A reposted selfie of a shirtless Milo and Hayden standing beside members of the Chicago Fire Department after wrapping up a case against some fire-casting warlock that’d scorched their dress shirts. I smirked. Milo wouldn’t have struggled against this low-ranked wannabe criminal, but he knew how to set up thirst traps for his audience while also promoting a young acolyte. Seemed the public clambered for more on the mini-Milo, Hayden. I didn’t like that. It presented potentials I couldn’t predict.

She’d tagged @GlobalGuildCompany in the picture of Enchanter Evergreen meeting with representatives from the Global Ranking. These types of posts helped steer my next steps.

As the top-ranked enchanter in the city, the state, it was easy following news on Milo. There were entire Instagram pages set up for Enchanter Evergreen sightings. There were dozens of Twitter fan pages posting The Inevitable Future’s solved cases. News alerts, articles, videos, and so much more funneled online every day.

A layman would see the glorious work of a dedicated enchanter; I saw the paths of futures Milo followed. While I no longer had access to the newest visions passing through his mind each day, I did study the tens of thousands I had glimpsed nearly a year ago when all Dorian observed was a single void vision. Knowing which cases Milo took on, which events he handled, delegated, or ignored—all of it helped me dodge him until my final arrangements had been made.

“Hey!” the chimera shouted, followed by a loud bang. “Puppet! Puppet, can you hear me?”

I waved a hand, sending the images studied by the host back into the subconscious. “What?”

“You can hear me.” He strummed his fingers, a rhythmic pattern against the metallic box I’d encased him in.

Floating through the darkness, I approached the only sliver of light reflecting off the silver box I’d conjured.

“It’s such a tight squeeze in here.” Even tucked inside a box half the length of a casket, I could feel the smile on his face. His jovial tone, the light snicker between his words, and the damn strumming of some melody. “You’ve put me in a box with so many locks. It’s like you don’t trust me. Why even ask me to behave? I told you I have no intention of compromising your little plan, puppet. I’m thrilled by the initiative you’re taking. It’s bold and brazen. Foolish and foolhardy, too.”

I ground my teeth, almost tempted to hurl him into the deepest depths of this mind, but if I couldn’t hear him, track him, he’d win. With even a second of privacy, that demon could dole out too much trouble. Let him mock me from his prison; that box will be his coffin soon enough.

“How ever will you join me in here? Don’t you want to torture me? Find ways to break my link to your beloved? Sorry. Dorian’s beloved.”

“Is this what you intend on doing? Pestering me with pointless barbs.” I folded my arms. “I expected better from a former devil.”

“Patience, puppet. It’s all about patience.” He hummed. “Something you clearly lack. When you strolled into Cassidy Gardner’s place, I expected you to grab her. Lock us inside the mind of the witch running Chicago’s undercity. But you didn’t. Why?”

“Because I have no use for her.”

“Or were you worried her magic would sniff you out?” The glee in his voice was grating. “Afraid a real witch might be able to fend you off? Is that why you avoided her lieutenants as well?

“Shut up.”

“I just want to know why you went someplace where you could’ve grabbed a witch with enough magic to end Dorian Frost, yet you left housing us inside the body of some second-rate patron who actually goes to the most notorious arms dealers in the city to see the dancing witches.”

There it was. The chimera didn’t understand my intentions, couldn’t glean it from my guarded thoughts, and more than anything, he wanted to protect his perfect host body—Dorian Frost. He didn’t understand how a simple witch with no real power in his magics or his connections held such a vital role in my plans.

Besides, I didn’t need a proper host to end Dorian. I could do that on my own. What I required was a warlock with the magic to unravel the chimera from Finn.

“Pay attention, demon. If you listen closely, you might catch on.”

Ronald Kowalski drove through the first checkpoint into the parking lot of his job, already sick and tired of what awaited him. He hadn’t even clocked in, and he was ready to go home. Couldn’t blame the guy. The Metropolitan Detainment Center housed some of the deadliest witches and warlocks in Chicago accused of criminal activity. Heavy emphasis on accused.

While each of them awaited their day in court, they sat inside a heavily enchanted facility filled with thousands of sigils meant to ward off intrusion, prevent casting from those wearing dampeners, and allow for the best detection of any magics at play.

I quelled my branch, holding my breath and hoping the release of my telepathy didn’t rouse Finn’s awareness or allow the chimera an opportunity to break loose from his confinement.

Ronald crossed through the second checkpoint, scanned his badge, and walked through the long white corridor. Not a single sigil glowed. It seemed my presence remained hidden.

As Ronald continued going through various layers of detection and crossing through each new entry point, I smiled, having chosen the perfect host to tuck away my consciousness. Ronald had a way of evading the alerts, allowing my magic to bypass the systems. Unbeknownst to him, of course. After all, Ronald didn’t only attend Gwendolyn’s Gals he found a way to supplement his income by occasionally delivering packages to those inside the MDC. His deliveries consisted of gifts for magic or luxuries conjured by magic and easily concealed by those inside their tiny cells. A lucrative business for Ronald. Not that he made much profit since he ran up a tab every night, showing the lovely ladies what a big spender he was. I doubted anyone was impressed, but Ronald believed this gig would take him to better places.

It would. It’d take him on a necessary path that’d offer me the best future I deserved. When I joined Milo, reunited us with Finn, and lived my best life, perhaps as a thank you to Ronald Kowalski, I’d steer his fate off The Inevitable Future’s radar. He was but a blip, nonessential, and unlikely to cause much harm anyway.

In order to break Dorian’s mind and take possession of the body that was rightfully mine, I needed the one man who came the closest to killing Dorian, not once but twice. Inside the MDC, Theodore Whitlock awaited his day in court. With his magic, I would soon have everything I deserved, and Finn would be released from the shackles of the chimera.

I twisted my thoughts toward Ronald’s desires, piquing his interest in seeking out Theodore, patrolling his cellblock.

“Puppet,” the damn chimera called from the depths of the subconscious, locked in his box but resisting the restraints I’d placed. “Were you thinking of me? My ears were ringing.”

Liar. Guarding my thoughts, I remained more vigilant, not to let the chimera glimpse my intentions. He didn’t know Theodore Whitlock like I did. He didn’t know how that warlock would snuff him out instantaneously. I merely needed to time my strike.

Drifting toward the shadows of this mind, I pulsed magic against the metallic box, shrinking its size, tightening its constraints, and doing all I could to leash this demon’s connection to magic. My eyes were heavy and tired. So tired of balancing everything so meticulously.

“Hey, Kowalski,” a scratchy hiss of a voice drew Ronald’s attention, snapping free of the suggestion I’d whispered.

Dammit.

Already aggravated by another early shift that’d last twelve hours, Ronald eyed the twitchy, bug-eyed warlock, who he knew would only further piss him off. Something about this scrawny man seemed familiar. I scrunched my face, looking deeper through Kowalski’s blurred vision. Too much late-night drinking, among other vices, left the guard’s sight sensitive to the bright lights. It didn’t help that my energy waned, and I couldn’t filter the shiny haze clouding Ronald’s sight.

“What do ya want, Pete?”

Pete hunched, folded his arms over his chest, and averted eye contact while distancing himself from inmates traipsing by. Not enough. Ronald knew they’d been hassling Pete, pushing the boundaries to see how far they could test him since his return to the MDC. Despite the booze drowning most of Ronald’s memories, the details he had on Peter Graham rose to the surface, and I was finally able to recall where I knew this scrawny inmate.

Christ, without his branch, this warlock was nothing. And he was a warlock. He might be in the MDC awaiting trial for now, but he’d been through the Chicago prison pipeline long ago. A powerful, deranged warlock who razed West Chicago during his heyday with his deadly branch that spread through the air like a toxic plague and fed off any magic nearby until, of course, Enchanter Evergreen put a stop to him well over a decade ago.

That was a name I hadn’t seen in a long time, one Dorian barely held in his own memories—just some random warlock who made the news before disappearing from the public eye. But I took caution to memorize every threat Enchanter Evergreen dispatched, every warlock he encountered, every life he brightened because, unlike Dorian, I cared about Milo beyond measure. Hell, I even cared more for his grating students, understanding the intricate facets of their being better than my lesser half.

Dorian professed to care about his students, doing everything to better them, but he knew so little about their lives. Except for the ones he favored because Dorian was transparent and petulant. I knew Peter Graham as the warlock who nearly slaughtered half of the enchanters of Basilisk Guild. The same guild that the Martinez family ran. Gael’s family.

Dorian never made the connection. Why would he? He didn’t watch Milo closely a decade ago, too lost in his grief to function. But I watched Milo, studied him and the lives he gently guided. In my observations, I always wondered what he saw in the futures he nudged. Did he layer every life he bettered in such a way intentionally, or was it serendipity that led to fates he saved crossing paths at later dates?

If Peter was in the MDC, that could only mean he’d served his sentence and yet again found his way back inside the lovely institution of corrections. It was a shame since magic like his could’ve likely flourished in the guild industry. Then again, he didn’t have the temperament to handle the disgust most people held for the entropy branch, vilifying it for its poisonous, venomous nature. I didn’t care for the man or pity his blight behind bars. Neither did Ronald, who made it abundantly clear the warlock had nothing to offer him, so in turn, he wouldn’t offer any of the goods he procured for inmates.

“You got a few weeks left in here, Pete,” Ronald said firmly, intent on squashing the subject before Peter continued pestering him. “Keep your head down and try not to fuck up your parole next time. Doubt they’ll send you back here if you screw up again.”

“It’d just be more bearable if—”

Ronald shoved Peter back, reminding him of his place. I half expected Peter to lash out, say something threatening, but there was no fury in his thoughts, no vengeance, merely survival. Truly fascinating to see a warlock so profoundly powerful humbled by the silver trinket bound to his right wrist. Something so delicate, engraved with the same symbols lining the walls of this jail, and yet the dampener cuffs synced specifically to each inmate’s casting and frequency.

Ronald continued his shift, making his rounds, peddling his products, blowing his own fucking ego on loop. It was nauseating, but I used the time to study this institute, recover my strength, and read up on Milo’s cases so I could navigate my way around his clairvoyance. Still, with all the changes I’d made, the ripple effects, I couldn’t be certain any singular breath wouldn’t have a butterfly effect on Milo’s magic, shifting the winds of futures.

Walking up to a cell, Ronald slammed his baton against the bars. Inside sat two men, one face down with his head on a pillow while the other hunched over him, jabbing him in the back with a melted pen he kept heating with an enchanted matchstick.

“This isn’t fucking art class,” Ronald snapped. “What’d I tell you about this, Cromwell?”

“More discretion and always have your cut ready,” Vincent said.

I chuckled. Seemed his time behind bars hadn’t left the warlock easily humbled. However, I doubted anyone would find the muscular, heavily tattooed man who tried to murder a bunch of students nearly as intimidating if they realized he’d been taken down by some branchless kid who was practically destined to die that day.

Still, quite impressive that he’d flourished so well in holding. Ronald had a business arrangement with Vincent, who’d become everyone’s favorite tattoo artist. His brands might’ve lacked magic behind bars, but a lot of inmates liked his tattooing talents. Too bad they didn’t realize the hidden brands he tucked inside the ink of their exquisite pieces. Crafty. Too crafty for someone as dimwitted and greedy as Ronald to realize. He got so many different ingredients, yet never bothered checking what the right alchemic combination created.

It seemed Theodore already had machinations of his own, keeping his fellow warlock friends well-placed in the MDC. That simply wouldn’t do. Carefully, I surveyed Vincent’s limited knowledge about the worst Whitlock and his agenda, all while ensuring the chimera didn’t suspect my intentions or investigations.

“Take this shit somewhere else,” Ronald said, standing at the open doorway of the cell.

“We’re almost done, boss.” Vincent kept working with a smile almost as cheerful as the woman he etched onto the back of his most recent client.

“He’s not threatened by you,” I whispered, having no patience to follow his long rounds any further and wishing to find the warlock that drew me to the MDC.

Ronald fumed. Damn. It did not take much to light the short fuse on this guy. He was half a second away from unloading pent-up rage onto Vincent and the other inmate before I steered his anger.

“You think that’s gonna work?” I dug my voice deep into his thoughts, hacking away at the insecurities that fueled his fury. “You wanna send a message? You need to send a message. You don’t deal with punk ass grunts.”

Ronald clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth so much it almost dulled the constant pain in his molars. Almost. And that pissed him off even more.

Perfect. I cracked my neck, straining as I cemented my sensations with the already aching body I borrowed. I’d nearly regained my full strength, but I didn’t want to push the boundaries yet. I wanted to wait until I’d guided him where I wanted.

“You should take this up with Theo—”

“Teach him a fucking lesson,” the chimera roared, banging against his box. “Beat him. Break him. Show this little warlock who’s boss!”

“What? No!” I turned my attention to the depths of darkness below, glaring at the shiny metallic box which shook and shimmered.

Ronald approached Vincent and went to snatch the warlock by the collar of his uniform. Vincent jumped back, instinctively guarding himself with his hands. A defensive maneuver when retreating but one we’d all regret since his makeshift tattoo kit jabbed Ronald in the arm.

The tiniest prick and droplets of blood pooled on Ronald’s arm, swirling with black ink. Fuck. Ronald stared at the blood and ink representing the fury and hatred this man carried with him each day. Holding back the tsunami of rage in Ronald took nearly all my strength.

“Attack him.” The chimera cackled at my efforts, relishing the futile chaos he’d provoked. “Show him who’s in charge.”

“No!” I shouted. “Stop.”

I pulled at the fibers of violence that seeped into Ronald’s conscious and subconscious mind, the same strings the chimera tugged upon to provoke such easy control over the correctional officer. Once I’d torn the rage from the demon’s grasp, I manipulated the anger, conjuring more blades than my eyes could count, and impaled the chimera again and again. He might claim pain did nothing to faze him, but obviously, I’d made his accommodations too comfortable.

The chimera spent so much time riling Jasper’s mind with forgotten fears, I’d forgotten there were so many other buttons in the human psyche one could push if they sought to elicit a reaction. Of course, that monster would incite Ronald’s worst qualities.

“When you hinder my objectives, you don’t anger me, demon,” I hissed. “You only add to the satisfaction I’ll gain when I finally purge you from this plane of existence.”

“Right back at ya, puppet.” The chimera wheezed through the agony.

Ronald wiped his arm. The black ink had disappeared, but the blood pooled yet again.

Fuck. Fuck. Goddammit! Can nothing go right for me?

Releasing my own anger so it wouldn’t sync to Ronald’s, I took a deep breath.

“Take this up with Vincent’s boss. Show him who’s really in charge. Not Vincent. Not some chump. He’s not someone worth your wrath.” I fed into his ego, cradling this man-child’s need for respect, for authority, for dominance. Oh, how it left a sour note of putrid sludge in my throat. “You need to confront the one who thinks he’s running things, the one who caused such an action to occur. Do you think Vincent would’ve ever dared if the warlock he follows didn’t believe himself above you? Remind him you are the authority here. You.”

Ronald bolted down the block, abandoning a bewildered and frightened Vincent, ready to confront the warlock I sought. Unbridled rage painted Ronald’s already blurred vision in shades of red and hot white. I squinted, ensuring I didn’t act too soon or too late. I didn’t need C.O. Kowalski actually doling out his authority. I simply didn’t have the patience to follow his long rounds any further.

There he was in all his glory, perched atop a table, legs planted on the bench, and haunting blue eyes that sent a shiver so strongly through Ronald it cut deep to his core, making even me tremble.

This was the man who nearly slayed Dorian. Me, by extension.

I unleashed my magic, sending waves of agony through the nerves of Ronald’s mind. In an instant—a searing, brutal instant—he passed out, leaving me to control his body. Slipping into his body, I fought the urge to wriggle as the weight of his muscles, his fat, his exhaustion pulled at my being.

There were a lot of correctional officers who worked for the MDC. Some had easier minds to mold, some knew how to skirt the security check-ins, and some had better branch magics for when the time came to approach Theodore Whitlock. But I chose Ronald because the notion of hijacking his waking mind didn’t bother me. It wasn’t the same as puppeteering the sleeping, sluggish Jasper. No, no, no. Snatching control over a host while consciously awake had long-term effects. It shattered memories, broke desires, changed personalities.

I wouldn’t wish that upon the many C.O.s here doing their best to enforce structure in this lawless place. It was something Milo and Finn would disapprove of, but the sanity of this corrupt man, the warlocks he detained, didn’t concern me. If I broke his psyche beyond repair, it’d be worth it knowing I saved Finn and reunited the three of us again. They’d understand. It was a small price to pay to carve out the happiness I deserved.

I positioned myself at a warded pillar, silently observing Theodore from a distance and ignoring the curious thoughts of onlookers who wondered why C.O. Kowalski remained idle. Apparently, he was a man who often over-asserted himself when displaying his authority behind these bars, whether by pedaling his products or stomping on the throats of anyone brazen enough to talk out of turn. Burying every unwanted insight I continued gaining on Ronald Kowalski, I focused on my true target.

Theodore had the same observant eyes as his sister Tara. There was a quiet understanding that came from generations of knowledge bestowed upon the Whitlock family. They sat atop a throne of wealth and power; it made sense they kept it by remaining aware of the peasants clamoring to reach their heights.

He saw everyone in this cellblock as nothing more than pawns to a game of chess he waged against his father, a battle he believed he hadn’t lost. Fascinating and disturbing.

I squeezed my chest, Ronald’s chest, fighting back the psychotic pleasure wafting in the air. It carried a drumbeat, something so potent it gave me palpitations when listening too closely to Theodore’s eerie thoughts.

Whereas Tara’s ocean swept all those who dared enter into the undertow, her brother had an inviting inner core, yet I dared not enter the open gates of his depraved fantasies. Darkness lurked at the edges of the illuminated space, ready to pounce and consume the weak-willed. A trick a lesser telepath would fall for, one I was certain other state officials had fallen for, too.

Theodore shared a striking resemblance to his sister. The same blond hair and blue eyes. But his eyes held a hollowness more like his father’s than the sorrow dwelling in Tara’s. The same model-like features and a tall, slender build had painted him as soft in here, though it seemed that was no longer the case. Theodore sat in the center of the rec room of his cellblock without a single inmate encroaching on his space. Distance was offered out of respect or fear—perhaps both.

Definitely both.

Delicately, I tiptoed at the edges of Theodore’s mind. His deepest desires lay bare. His biggest fears exposed. His secret hopes revealed. All ploys because this warlock knew how to turn his thoughts into venom, decaying anything that sought to create a connection.

What I needed, what I required, was the piece of his mind he didn’t use as bait. I strained, focusing on not only Theodore but the many minds around. Piecing together the scraps of knowledge they possessed mixed with the snippets he kept buried.

My prodding caused a spike of hatred so sharp the thoughts practically sliced through the air, painting grainy images of Theodore’s first days behind bars. Bruises. Blood. Stabbings. Carnage. Death. So much pain radiated off Theodore, the fight for his survival mixed with the pleasure he gained from subduing those intent on snuffing him out.

It seemed Tobias Whitlock liked loose ends even less than I did, but in his arrogance, he sent the wrong men to remove the threat Theodore presented, allowing his son to rebrand his image almost immediately here in the MDC.

Theodore didn’t have friends in the Metropolitan Detainment Center; he didn’t have enemies either. Those bold enough to oppose the slim, rich boy with bound magic, like everyone else, had fatalities in one place or another. The medley of minds around conveyed as much.

All that remained in the MDC were sheep who followed the Whitlocks’ suggestions and wolves who knew to stick to the outskirts of the forest, for a demon acted as the shepherd of this cellblock. That was what they saw him as—a demon in human flesh, a monster who controlled monsters. Even without his magic, he ignored his pain, he held no empathy, he offered only death and brutality.

But I knew a real demon. Theodore was dangerous, yet controlling him was something achievable. Unlike that chimera.

Theodore’s lips curled into a twisted smile as his thoughts stretched out like a gnarled tree, looming over me and everyone in this cellblock. It was maddening, glimpsing his exposed mind. “ There’s a psychic in the air. ”

Theodore’s open mind encouraged the energy I trickled outward into his thoughts. Even with his magic dampened and no indication of telepathy rummaging through his thoughts, Theodore felt the gentlest tug. I plucked at his thoughts, delicate, but they were not strings. They were webs, and he was a spider who’d laid a trap for anyone daring enough to leap into his mind.

“ I’ve missed the rough thrust of a telepath in my skull. ” Theodore cocked his head, searching. “ Who are you? ”

He studied the guards first, crossing off each one, including Ronald, because surely there had to be someone new in the rotation. Next, his eyes flitted to inmates in the cellblock, each with magic as bound as his, but curious if someone had landed a little trinket to bypass the wards and cast a bit freely.

“ No, no, no. I know every branch here, so where have you been hiding? ” Theodore closed his eyes, creating a silhouette of his image, rising high in his mind and climbing to the edges of those decayed tree limbs he considered lively thoughts. “ Where oh where are you, my friend? Come say hello. I won’t bite. Unless you like that sort of thing. ”

I had no desire to address Theodore, to tip my hand, to end up wrapped inside this psychopath’s mind. It was layers upon layers of hatred, arrogance, conviction, remorseless lust for carnage, and a thousand other culminating factors that would make controlling him that much harder.

“ Come out, come out, wherever you are. ” Theodore strummed his fingers against the table he sat at, feigning boredom while his thoughts raced in every direction, sniffing at the magic in the air, desperate to find and latch himself to my telepathy.

Every sinister whisper of his mind made my skin itch. The hairs on my neck rose, and goosebumps trailed my arms like I could almost feel him reaching out for my magic.

For the time being, I needed to remain on guard against Theodore’s thoughts, carefully analyze them without being bound to his being. He controlled demonic energy. Based on the research I’d gleaned from the doctor who worked with Theodore, she’d implanted brands that housed fiends into the minds of branchless witches. I could also use his magic to control the chimera and remove it with ease. It’d be difficult, damn near impossible, but I needed his branch to properly contain and eradicate the demon tethered to Finn.

“Is that your plan, puppet?” The chimera chuckled from the depths of the subconscious, wriggling against the blades I’d impaled him with.

I ground my teeth. I needed to remain vigilant and on guard against the chimera, too. Soon, I’d rid myself of him, and so long as I kept my attention focused, I’d keep him imprisoned where he could do no harm.

“You think you can jump into his mind?” The chimera strummed his fingers against his prison walls, with a startling similarity to the rhythmic beat of Theodore’s.

Blocking my thoughts, I tightened the shackles containing the chimera and whatever foolish attempt he contemplated about casting magic.

I knew I couldn’t jump into Theodore’s mind at this moment. There were too many factors. The MDC dampeners made Theodore’s branch useless to me right now. Theodore’s chaotic mind proved another complication. I needed to observe everything about him, learn ways to manipulate and control his very being. Then, only then, I could take hold of Theodore. But I’d have to wait for the right opportunity.