2. Patrick

Chapter two

Patrick

Several Hours Earlier

S tanding in front of the kitchen sink I ran my fingers through the thick crown of hair on my head. The colour had shifted from dark brunette to salt and pepper, and a whole lot more salt than pepper. Even in my late forties, I needed regular thinning at the barber shop, otherwise the thickness of my hair made me sweat. I liked my hair kept short, at least on the sides. It made the whole thing far more manageable.

I also attempted to smooth out my beard. When you're attuned to the magical vibrations all around you, it's hard to turn off that connection and so sleep proved to be a restless activity and deep sleep a rarity. I hadn't woken up in the morning feeling rejuvenated and rested in over a decade. Welcome to being a "man of a certain age," and a witch. The storm last night had coursed with raw energy. It kept me on edge. However, a night of fitful sleep meant my hair would be sticking out in all directions. All the hair.

And tufts stuck out all over my head, chin, and chest.

Argus sat at my feet. His head damn near on the counter. He studied the landscape, hoping for scraps.

"Sorry, bud. No breakfast yet. Soon."

I scratched my balls and realized they too needed some attention. Being as furry as I was, regular maintenance was a necessity, not a nicety. The coffee maker gurgled and sputtered, indicating the final drops of black liquid goodness had been created. Coffee was an essential part of every morning.

I poured myself a cup, then went out to my back deck where the sun shone brightly. The storm from last night had passed. It had been a doozy, as evidenced by a scattering of branches littering the yard. That would be one of my many tasks today. Clean up Mother Nature's tantrum.

With yesterday's local newspaper in hand, and my cup of velvety richness promising a caffeinated start to the day, I lay out on my favorite chaise, bathed in golden sunrays, naked, and natural. This was my quintessential summer morning routine, and I always felt a touch grumpy if I didn't get it. Argus had padded out beside me, faithfully.

Caw .

I glanced around.

Caw .

"Where are you, Kaos? You little gremlin." I spied all around me again, ducking and hiding my head, knowing full well what was coming.

Caw .

"For fuck's sake. Where are—"

The fluttering mess of black feathers descended upon me from above before I could spy out the location of the bird. Her talons gripped my shoulder as she came to rest. I winced.

"You're too big to be sitting on my shoulder, and thank you, that hurts." I admonished the beast.

She headbutted me, then ran her beak along the outside of my ear.

I laughed, then returned the favor by stroking my fingers along the feathered body, a caress she always enjoyed.

"Come on, up ya go." I shrugged the one shoulder she had perched on, and obeying my request, she repositioned herself on the edge of the lounger, above my head.

Argus watched as a single black feather fluttered through the air and landed directly in front of his nose. He whined, then rolled onto his side, forgetting about the bird.

Caw .

"You only show up when it's dinner time or when—"

"Patrick? You around back?"

Stanley. And that's why Kaos had shown up. Something was afoot.

I glanced down at my naked self, took a sip of my fresh coffee as Sheriff Stanley rounded the corner and came up onto the deck, completely oblivious to my current state until it was far too late.

"Stanley." I took another swig out of my mug.

"Ah, shit." He glanced away. "Sorry, Patrick."

"It's fine. You know I'm out here like this more than I'm not. And we all have the same parts. Relax."

"Well, I dare say you look after yours better than the rest of us!" He chortled, holding onto his belly but his skin had flushed nonetheless.

Being the area's resident water witch and local Magician for the Council of Mages came with benefits, and responsibilities. The biggest task was ensuring our bodies were kept in the best health possible. Casting magic took a toll, but being in shape meant casting came easier.

"You want a cup of coffee?"

"A quick one maybe. I think we have a problem. Well, no, there's definitely a problem, whether or not it's yours or mine is the issue."

"I'm intrigued. Black?"

"Yes, please."

"Gimmie a second."

I got up. Kaos fluttered, eyeing the sheriff warily. Stanley flinched as the bird flapped its wings. The two had never really gotten along.

Fetching a coffee for Stanley and returning, I sat back down on the chaise as I picked up my cup and took another sip.

"You're not going to put anything on?"

"No. Now, what makes you think I need to get involved?"

He let out a deep sigh. "I did lake patrol early this morning. There was a canoe over on the island. "

"Oh." I sat up in my chaise. People generally adhered to the signage that basically said: get the fuck out. "That's not good."

"Which is also why I went to investigate."

"And?"

"Three dead bodies. One more who was unconscious, with a good-sized bump on the back of his head. He was bloodied but alive."

"You just left him there?" My eyebrows pinched together in the middle as my hands opened up, palms to the sky.

"You told me if I ever found anything that might even smell like it was one of your people, I shouldn't touch a thing and come directly to you. And so, here I am." The sheriff took a gulp of his coffee. "Hmmm, this is good. Why is it so good?"

I cocked an eyebrow at Stanley. "Don't ask questions you don't want answers to." I reminded him. It wasn't the first time my retort for what he thought might be a banal ask would end up twisting his nose hairs if he knew the truth. Or so I led him to believe.

All I had done was sprinkle some cinnamon into the coffee grounds and add a pinch of salt to the pot.

Okay sure, both were magicked.

He threw a hand out toward me. "Forget I asked!"

I laughed.

"Okay. Let me go throw some clothes on, and we'll go out and take a look at your crime scene."

"Thanks, Patrick. I appreciate it." I wasn't sure if his appreciation lay in my agreement to assist him, or for putting on clothes. His face had morphed into one of concern but was also laden with stress.

"What is it? Is there something else I should know before we get there?"

"It's pretty gruesome. I've never seen anything quite so… disturbing."

"Oh. Great." Frowning with that information, I stood up, grabbed my coffee, and went inside to find some clothes. My day, officially ruined, would require something stronger to drink especially once disturbing my morning routine. I pitched my now cold morning pick-me-up into the sink.

The beasts followed me into the house and watched me get ready for the adventure ahead.

As soon as we stepped onto the protected island, I could feel the thrum of spent energy. A lot of energy.

The plants, rocks, and water still vibrated from the residual power which had resulted in one hell of a catastrophe. The sheriff hadn't been wrong.

I knelt down on the shore, held out my hands, closed my eyes, and concentrated.

The sand beneath my palms shifted and stirred. Swirling in a counterclockwise, or widdershins motion, they showed me the massive rush of water that inundated the island the night before during the storm.

Scrunching my mouth over to one side, I scanned the area.

What. A. Mess.

Trees were uprooted and lying sideways, the beach had been heavily eroded, and debris lay strewn all across the small rock-based land mass jutting out of the water in the middle of Sylvan Lake that we called Gateway Island. I had seen news footage from the aftermath of tsunamis, and this looked no different.

The soil, saturated with moisture, indented with every step I took, filling each impression with water as I lifted my shoe.

I would expect to see this kind of a scene along an ocean coastline. Not an inland lake.

Sheriff Stanley gave me the lay of the land and then directed me toward the bodies, and the sole survivor.

"You can go. I'll tend to this."

The sheriff nodded his head once in agreement, then turned, climbed back into his boat, and departed.

As Stanley disappeared in his motorboat, I scanned the shoreline for the canoe Stanley had mentioned. Spotting it, I walked over and inspected the listing vessel.

The canoe wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. The oars were missing, and a fist-sized hole near the waterline of the craft sloshed in lake water as the boat rocked with the shoreline waves. The tree trunk sticking up through the bottom of the boat had relegated it as trash for the landfill.

I would have to find another way home.

I closed my eyes and tried to confirm the source of energy that had caused this. An event this big, occurring hours ago, should have had enough time for the magical vibes that had caused it to wither away. Magic does that. It's collected, focused, spent, and then once the intended purpose has been completed, the energy is reabsorbed by all living things within the immediate vicinity.

Instead, the sensations I felt meant the magic still had a source, one that was close by. And one that was still expending energy.

I followed the undulations of energy, which to my eyes looked similar to waves in the air, enhanced with glistening sparkles and ripples. It reminded me of what you see coming off a highway in the middle of summer—the shimmers—my grandmother had called them. Unsurprisingly, the signatures of spent magic led me to march directly to the only survivor. But as I walked past the tree line where the shore ended, and the vegetation began, I found the first body caught up in the snarls of buffalo berry shrubs and swamp birch saplings. The remnants of a human cadaver lay twisted, and bloated, and in the intense heat of the day had turned sour quicker than normal.

The aroma assaulted my nose.

I knelt down to get a better look.

The skin had swelled and turned that sickly black pallor associated with a dead rotting body. It's amazing how quickly the body decomposes.

Extending a finger, I pushed into the dermis. Water seeped out and my impression left a dent.

"Hmmm."

Surveying the body, I was surprised to see that the head was missing. The thoracic cavity had been split open almost like the head had been ripped off. "What in hell's name could do this?"

A variety of insects had already infiltrated the remains. Looking into the cavity was an instant mistake on my part.

Being the local Magician, more specifically a water witch, the occupation demanded knowledge about nature and her ecosystems. Nature held an infinite amount of beauty but she also contained a myriad of horrors. In fact, Mother Nature could be hideously cruel and gross.

Good gods. I was not expecting to have to deal with the dead on such a gloriously sunny day.

I got up to scan the area until I discovered the missing body part in the brambles several feet away.

There it lay. Lifeless, eyes milky white and wide open. The facial skin had begun its decomposition and distention just like its body.

"Hmmm." I went back to the body and cringed. I hated touching dead things. I had to roll the body to one side, hoping to find anything that might give me personal identifying marks like tattoos or scars.

And yes, it wasn't the first time I had been up close and too personal with a cadaver.

My search turned up nothing. I had hoped for a wallet. Something that would tell me a name. I glanced around. Shit lay strewn everywhere. My search would have to continue.

"Nameless bodies, killed on Fae-protected land, presumably through magic. That's gonna cause some issues."

I surveyed the area again. This had obviously been the campsite. A seriously bad decision, especially on this particular island.

Gateway Island held protection status as it contained one of the few known portals to the Fae realm, and because of that, the Fae often congregated here. The treaty to stay off their land had been in effect for decades. Trespassing was dangerous for humans. Desecrating Fae land though…well whatever damage these boys had done would have to be ascertained later, but it would be costly.

I toed a red cooler laying on its side, its contents spilling out. Tent material torn to shreds littered the area, as did a few sleeping bags. It would take a while to clean this all up.

And off to one side, beside a large outcropping of boulders, lay the unconscious male body of the lone survivor.

Closing my eyes, even briefly, and concentrating on the young man, I felt the currents of energy still pulsating from him. They were weak but palpable to someone with training.

Someone like me.

I closed the gap between where I was, and where my newfound witch lay, face down in the muck; out cold but still alive. Kneeling, I put a hand on his back to determine a heartbeat, and an intake of air, confirming the sheriff's statement of aliveness. Indeed, he lived, but the boy was flat out, and not even my touch produced a recognition of my presence.

If he had come into power, the volcanic eruption of magic would knock him out for at least for twenty-four hours. I know when mine happened, I lay dead to the world for over thirty-six. The body needed to recuperate from funneling so much energy, especially when not trained in advance.

"Well, this is going to be a two-trip deal." I said, while trying to get a grip on the young man's wet skin.

Grabbing his upper arm and hugging him in a death grip around the waist, I tossed him over my shoulder, fireman style. It wasn't as easy as it would have been ten years ago. My age was starting to slow me down.

I mean, only a little. I'm still capable, but I'd be foolish to think I could still do everything I used to be able to do in my twenties.

Hauling around an unconscious, fully grown man would cause some body aches and pains tomorrow. Guaranteed.

Walking to the water's edge, I rebalanced my castaway, then with one hand holding him in place, I pointed my right hand toward the surface of the lake.

Drawing a glyph and reciting a few words, caused the lake water to respond with a gentle swirl. The ebb and flow attempted to fight back, but I tamed it until it relented to my control. Concentrating the molecules in the liquid, a disc formed. The water hardened. It was a useful spell, allowing the caster to stand on the lake by increasing the density of the surface tension within a small radius. Magic's best and easiest spells lay in enhancing an element's inherent properties.

A secondary spell used the lake's natural currents to propel the disc forward.

I was grateful that the island's position on the lake placed it far away from any developed campground, of which this lake had several. The month had been too warm, the storms too persistent. That meant less people were about, which was good because I didn't need any voyeurs. The island wasn't too far from my cabin. These attributes meant getting the unconscious fledgling witch off the island and to my place unnoticed would be possible.

After all, watching a grown man, carrying another naked man across his shoulders, while gliding over the surface of the lake wasn't something the general public should ever see. We made a hasty retreat to my place.

I'd have to return later to deal with the mess and make amends to the Fae who owned the island. I needed to get the boy cleaned up, comfortable, and in a place where he could recuperate.

My wayward baby witch had inadvertently broken a long-standing treaty with the wild ones, the Fae. Trespassing on their land was discouraged, but sullying it by committing murder? That wouldn't go unnoticed.

I was shocked that none of them had made an appearance while I was there all alone to deal with the boy. I fully expected an encounter when I returned.

Admittedly, when attending to someone who's unconscious and in need of assistance, nudity was the least of my concerns.

I couldn't be sure that the young man would have agreed with that.

His body, covered in dirt and sand, needed to be washed. There was no way I was wrapping him up in linen and blankets to keep him dry and warm and ruining a nice set of bed sheets. So, the naked boy got a quick sponge bath, ridding the majority of filth from his exposed body parts.

As much as I was trying not to look or notice, my guest had one hell of a body.

"Okay, mister, I know it's been a while, but keep it together and focus on the task. To look and enjoy the view is one thing when they're conscious and also enjoying being ogled. You have a job to do here. Besides, remember the fate of your last dating fiasco."

That had ended in disaster. And the resulting relationship had even been with another witch. You would have thought that the two of us would have understood the need for solitude, the hours poured into study, and the inherent dangers that were ever present when you kept yourself open to the unseen realm.

But no. Two witches living together only managed to cast a bright shining light on how incompatible we were, although the sex had been earth shattering.

Then again, we were from opposing elements. He had been a fire witch; I was a water witch. There was a lot of steam, admittedly, but the spark got doused pretty early, and then it became torture to live together.

In the end, I got burned.

I thought often of Serge.

I hoped he was okay and doing fine. Last I heard he had moved to the American Southwest. Fitting for a fire witch, really.

Running the wet, warm sponge over my unconscious guest should have been a clinical exercise. And yet… I couldn't help but notice the light dusting of hair across the bottom of his pectoral muscles and how the damp sponge laid them flat against his skin. Or how his nipples had hardened. His skin tone was light, containing pink hues, whereas mine was more taupe, olive even. Especially this far into summer when most of me had seen too much of the sun.

My mom's family had Mediterranean ancestry.

Dad was dark Irish. Hence my swarthy complexion.

My sole survivor's face seemed to calm as I cleaned him. If I didn't know any better I'd say he enjoyed the bath.

I was making too much of this.

But he was so handsome.

I stood back and looked at the boy. Boy wasn't the best term; he was a man. All man. I might have spied out how much of one too, but the age between us could be measured in decades. So much younger than me. It would be hard to not think of him as a kid. And the fact that he was a newly fledged witch just re-emphasized that notion.

His dirty brown hair needed a trim—it curled and twisted over his eyes and ears. His face needed a shave, but a few days of growth gave him a rugged look. His body was toned. Lean. The odd scar peppered his body here and there, but then, who among us didn't have some battle wounds?

I had to readjust myself. My white summer shorts had become far too tight.

He'd need protection and spiritual cleansing while he slept off his power blast.

Wrapping him up in the purest of linen sheets, which were a light cream colour, I added stems of burdock, nettle, lavender, and sage. Mugwort and thyme stems were placed with care in an intricate pattern over his heart.

Then I covered him in a quilt that had been stitched by a local white witch. The sigils embedded within each square would ward off anything homing in on his energy, and that would leave me free to go back to the island and clean up.

I poured a tall glass of water, placing a single rose quartz stone in the bottom of the glass. I kept a bunch of rocks in the freezer to use as ice cubes, but also to infuse the beverage with various properties. The rose quartz would aid in whatever cleansing needed to happen for this young man.

After that, I set Argus at his feet, and Kaos perched on the headboard.

"Now, come get me if he wakes up, or if trouble arises." I pointed toward the raven. She was a difficult one, but I couldn't help but love her to pieces.

Caw .