50. Dark Witch

fifty

Tobias escorted her through a blended campground of RVs, tents, and small one-room cabins circled around shared fire pits. Just as Stefan had implied, the campers all appeared to be men and women in a mix of ages from early twenties to late fifties. Many of them wore gray fleece vests over their long-sleeved thermals and flannels, with the bright green Erlich Industries logo embroidered over their hearts.

To her disappointment, Lou and Donmar waited at the entrance with the silver Land Rover. Donmar, still in his Enforcer blacks, looked as though he’d spent the night in a ditch, where Lou, dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and her hair in a ponytail, wore not a hint of what had passed the night before. Milla stared at the Light Witch for a long moment, a hundred accusations dancing on her tongue. Lou’s arms were crossed, her back against the driver’s side door, and she waited. Her stance and expression daring Milla to speak what was on her mind.

It wouldn’t end well for either of them. Milla knew it with a confidence that was a little startling. She had seen something she hadn’t been intended to see and had learned a little something about how Lou ran her team. Milla was fairly certain C.R.O.W. hadn’t exactly sanctioned the sending of a Dark Witch to cleave Shades to the point of death, and she was absolutely certain that she hated the Light Witch for asking Darkly to do so.

No, not asking. Where did consent exist in the power deferential between the Simmons siblings? Lou controlled his Way. She treated her brother like a sultry teen, at best, and a tantrum-throwing toddler at worst, shutting Darkly off from the very thing that made him him .

There was no asking, no polite requesting that he cleave Shades.

She made him do it.

And all of that before the wealth of her other suspicions about the witch.

Milla remained silent, offering her wrists to be bound. If she were right, this was just the tip of the iceberg. The opening round of a game. Milla barely knew the rules, but she knew how to play this.

Lou lifted her chin in a smug, close-lipped smile. “ Dún ,” she said, releasing Milla’s wrists. It took every bit of restraint she possessed not to marvel at her wrists and the lightness there as Lou patted the rear door with the flat of her hand. “Get in.”

They rode in silence, creeping through the woods and out onto a small country road. Milla tipped her forehead against the window, letting the sun-warmed glass burn away the lingering chill in her bones. Across the road, they passed the entrance to Barry Power Plant, where a large banner read, “Now an Erlich Industries Clean Energy Plant!”

Lou started talking then, filling in Milla on the key details she had missed with no small amount of judgment. “Donny couldn’t get close enough for solid readings, meaning all we have are the distorted signatures prior to Keir’s insertion, and Horned God knows he never turns his E.R.I.E. on. Toby pursued one of the assets through the woods but wasn’t able to catch her. Keir, at least, was more successful. He secured three Shades for interrogation, even with your little interference.”

Milla snorted. “I was just doing my job.”

“And what is it you think your job is? Distracting one of my Enforcers to the point of injury?” Lou’s tone told Milla she wasn’t talking about the bandages on her fingers.

“To help you catch the ritualists,” Milla replied.

“Your job is to do whatever it is I tell you to do,” Lou snapped back.

Milla sat up, digging her nails into the upholstery. “How can I do that if you don’t tell me anything?”

“It is a fair point—”

“Shut up, Toby.”

“Don’t tell him to shut up; Tobias is the only one willing to tell me the truth.”

“It is not your place to know the truth, Ludmilla. You are a junior member of this team, and Keir has a job to do. One he excels at.”

“One he hates.” Milla rose her voice to meet Lou’s condescending tone. “You’ve seen what it does to him and what he needs to do to cope. Why make him do any of this if it so obviously kills him to do it? How can you be angry that I’d trip into the Neitherworld with him when you know—you’ve known the toll it takes.”

“About that—”

“It’s a Death Witch thing.” Milla brushed the half-formed question aside. “If C.R.O.W. weren’t so hell-bent on burning or cleaving us the moment we’re born, maybe it would be more widely known.”

“It is useful,” Donmar offered. Though he spoke quietly, his tone had a bit of resolution directed at Lou. She met his stare, nodded, and turned her eyes back to the road.

“What did you learn about the main asset?”

“CEO of Erlich Industries.”

Donmar snorted. “That had to make you smile, little witch.”

“On the contrary,” Milla said. “He told me he lost a bidding war to Diego, then read the reviews for my store. He’s probably going to use it as grounds to evict me.” Tobias laughed at that, quickly covering his mouth with a hand. “He says he’s from an old witch line,” she continued. “And that the ritualist Tobias chased mentioned he was the power behind the ritual or something.”

“Any daughters?” Lou glanced at her in the mirror, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

“None. Apparently, the Holfstaedters have been cursed with boys since the 1920s.” Milla chewed her lips, thinking through the night. “Cyrus was there.”

“So Tobias informed me,” Lou said. “Though he could not corroborate the claim. And there was a corpomantic?”

She sat back, staring at the ceiling. “Froze me right at the end.”

“I told you,” Donmar sang at his wife, needling her with a finger. “Donmar Bolatov does not fall asleep on missions.”

“I did not accuse you of falling asleep,” Lou sniffed, adjusting her grip on the wheel. “I accused you of severe ineptitude and the reckless endangerment of my brother.”

The large meteomantic swallowed, his shoulders hunching as he dropped his head. He muttered something under his breath that earned a soft look from Lou. Milla rolled her head along the backrest to ask Tobias, “You think it was that girl you chased?”

“It is possible,” he shrugged. “She vanished into the trees, and I circled back for Keir.” He cleared his throat and dropped the next bomb. “The ritual leader also vanished after the burnout.”

“We’ll have C.R.O.W. subpoena a list of registrations from the Panhandle Coven,” Lou said, “and see if we can narrow down our ritualists to those unaccounted for over the next few days.”

“You should compare it against a list of Barry Power Plant employees as well,” Milla offered. “The whole campground was some corporate retreat to celebrate the acquisition.”

“Good thinking.” Lou tapped her hands against the steering wheel and sent Milla a tight smile through her reflection in the mirror. “If Diego is willing, I can have Rai help him; she’s decent with data.”

“I can help after tending to the demesne—”

“No need,” Lou said. “You and Toby will be needed to assist Keir with his conversations once we’ve settled on a specific pursuit.”

Tobias cursed under his breath and glanced at Milla, who couldn’t figure out what was so terrible about a conversation that it warranted German expletives.

And that was that. Donmar got on the phone with C.R.O.W., Lou drove, and Tobias fell asleep.

The trees blurred into a haze of green outside her window, and soon enough, they were in Tallahassee, and she was hobbling across a parking lot on insanely sore legs to use the restroom. They’d caught up with the minivan at some point, and Milla waved to Dies-well, pumping gas under his umbrella. The vampire looked exhausted and cantankerous, which wasn’t unusual for him, and Milla made a mental note to find out if the cultists in St. Augustine were running anytime soon. One of them was almost always willing to get drunk.

“What are you still doing here?” she called out. Dies-well replied with a blank look, shallow eyes boring into Milla. She raised her eyebrows, and he relented with a haughty snort.

“Protecting the Madame’s assets.” He tapped two fingers to the inside of his forearm, just below the elbow, then asked in a softer voice, “Are you sure that was wise, goody witch?”

“No,” she admitted. “But it was necessary.”

Dies-well only nodded, waving Milla on her way.

Finished in the restroom, Milla picked through the convenience section of the gas station. Donmar and Tobias were making coffees at a kiosk, and she spotted Lou pacing at the far end of the parking lot, gesticulating wildly as she yelled into a phone. Stepping onto the curb, she scanned the parking lot and waved when she saw Diego peering at her from over the top of the minivan.

“?Apurarse!” he mouthed, gesturing for her to hurry over with a cartoonishly wide sweep of his arm. Milla hustled across the parking lot, hissing and wincing as she did. The clunk of doors unlocking greeted her, and Milla tugged the handle, waiting impatiently for the sliding door to open enough for her to slither in.

“Oh sure, do not ask if there is room or anything,” Dies-well greeted her from the driver’s seat. Milla stuck her tongue out at him and climbed over Rai, spotting Darkly’s long legs immediately. Stretched between the pilot seats, she followed their length to a gaunt, haggard face, sunken closed eyes, and a rear window full of shadow.

“Horned God.” She settled on the edge of the empty pilot seat, looking at Rai. “How long?”

“It’s nothing to—”

“You fed him that kava kava, poison witch.”

“For protection!”

“How long.” Milla demanded, her face inches from the vinefica’s. Rai glanced at the front seat as if Dies-well or Diego could save her from the pissed-off Death Witch. Dies-well lightly coughed unsubtly began rolling up the partition. “How long has he been in there?”

“A few hours.”

“Son of a bitch.” She crawled over Darkly’s legs and into the backseat. “What is it this time?”

“Solomon’s Seal, pollen, clove,” she rattled off quickly. “Barberry and—”

“Weed. Got it.” Somehow, knowing he’d retreated to his usual blend was worse than if Rai had given him something different.

He’d changed into clean clothes: his gray joggers and a white V-neck with short sleeves that revealed the gauze wrapping his forearm. White bandages wound around each finger, and another peeked over the collar of his shirt. The scent of ointment hung fresh and clean in the air, and Milla could have cried.

She had done that to him. Hexed him without a second thought.

Again.

After losing control and desecrating him in a moment of panic.

Again.

She bit her lower lip as she grabbed Darkly’s injured hand, cradling it in her palms and swallowing a cry at the lifeless chill before curling up on the bench seat beside him.

Milla looked up when Diego climbed inside, settling in the pilot seat beside Rai. “We should go,” he said to Dies-well.

“Happily,” the vampire replied.

Diego twisted around to examine Milla, smiling faintly as he checked her over. His fingers twitched at his side, and the smile lost most of its strain.

“You warned Marie,” he said.

“I did.” Her arm throbbed, the pinpricks of Marie’s fangs long gone, but the ache remained. “Did she find you?” He nodded, and she could have cried. “I needed you and the cultists to be safe.”

Diego looked away as he blinked rapidly, sniffing and raising his glasses before wiping the heel of his palm at an eye. “Josh wanted me to tell you—whatever you need, they owe you a favor.”

“Good.” She looked down at her blackened fingers thin and brittle between Darkly’s knuckles. “I could use a favor right about now.”

Dies-well chuckled. “You certainly could, goody witch.”

“What are you going to do?” Rai asked.

“My job.”

Dies-well had them on the road before Lou was off the phone. Milla let the bump and sway of the freeway lull her to sleep beside her Dark Witch. She woke when his hand twitched, lifeless fingers curling around her palm as warmth bled back into his skin. She lifted her head from his shoulder, watching Darkly open his eyes.

No death rattle marked his return, no sepulchral moan to give warning, just a seamless stepping from one world to the next.

When the black had withdrawn and his pupils were their normal size, Darkly rolled his head along the headrest to look at her. “Too much?”

Milla shook her head. “No, Darkly. Not too much.”

His fingers twitched, and he frowned, throat bobbing before he asked, “Too far?”

Milla focused on the road and the landscape speeding past: swamps and marsh, the rise and fall of a panhandle town, and the blur of Spanish moss dripping from the trees. They had come so far since that first day, and as she let her vision blur and the world split into three, she saw just how far they had to go.

“Leannán?”

“No,” Milla said, accepting the potentials for what they were: potential. Not set; undecided. A multitude of paths laid out before them, as broad and boundless as the Neitherworld.

“What do we do?”

She tore her face away from the potentials, gazing at the witch who kept choosing her for some maddening reason, weighing his question against all she knew and all that he could have intended in those four little words.

What do we do?

About C.R.O.W., his sister, the missing ritualists, and the faceless witches haunting Milla’s every step.

What do we do?

Or maybe he spoke only of them.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, heart aching in more ways than one as she pulled her attention back to the potentials and chose. “But we do it together.”