A Witch's Trial (Witch's Path Series: Book 3) Page 3

  Wells picked it up and flipped through the pages. It must've passed his inspection because he didn't ask to see the original. Tension in my shoulder relaxed, and I hoped he attributed any changes in my posture to the subject matter rather than legitimacy of the book.

  "What's so special about this book?" he asked.

  "Do you want to know what I think of the book or would you prefer to read it before you hear my thoughts?" I knew what he'd say, but I was looking for any chance to escape. This was a conversation I'd gladly procrastinate.

  "I'd like to hear your thoughts." He crossed his arms and leaned on the table.

  "Remember when I told you about the woman at Adder's house dropping the book?"

  Wells nodded.

  "I picked it up because I suspected it could be important. With the way things happened that night, I didn't want to give you the book in case it was spelled. I examined it, and it appears to be a completely harmless collation of thoughts put on paper."

  He studied me. "If it's harmless, why were you concerned about eavesdropping?"

  "The writing is the problem. It's the diary of a woman who was taken by a demon to be used as its host. At the end of the book, the woman also confesses to being Elron's wife, who was believed to be dead for the past two centuries."

  Detective Wells's expression didn't change during my explanation. I would've felt better if his face showed some emotion.

  "Does Elron know about these claims?"

  I met his gaze. "Yes, I told him. I'm sorry if that affects your investigation, but he's my friend. I couldn't keep something like this from him. He needed to hear it from me."

  "This book… it claims that there is a demon behind the trouble we've been having?"

  I nodded.

  Detective Wells leaned forward. "Michelle, does that make sense to you? Demons have been extinct for thousands of years."

  He still had on his best blank face, and it was good. I couldn't tell if he believed me or if he was getting ready to take me in for a psychiatric evaluation.

  "I'm not sure what to think," I answered. "It seems very convenient for me to find a book explaining a demon's role in the current troubles, along with a connection to my new neighbor. If word of a demon got out, there would be panic. People can't cope with an ancient evil returned to terrorize the modern world. Demons are somewhere between a fable and the ultimate bad thing in children's stories."

  I shut my mouth before I could get myself into hot water. While I was perfectly willing to believe a demon was causing trouble, Detective Wells needed to decide on his own. Nothing I could say would persuade him as much as reading that book. Maybe Sylvia would even grace him with a late-night visit. That was an illuminating experience he shouldn't miss.

  Wells studied me while I drank my tea and tried to look comfortable. My best guess was that I looked more like a rabbit ready to flee than a professional having a serious discussion.

  "Did you have them spike my drink?" he asked with a smile.

  I snorted. "Please. If I'd done that, we would be having a fun conversation, not this depressing talk of evil, doom, and gloom."

  He tipped his head in agreement. "Thank you for giving me the book. I'll get in touch after I read it."

  Detective Wells shook my hand and was out the door before I had a chance to say anything else. Perhaps it was for the best. He needed to come to his own conclusions, and I didn't want to sway his views. I sat there and finished my tea as Elron's brokenhearted sobs played through my head.

  Maybe Landa would have good news for me when I got home. Maybe he would be better. Or I could walk by his door and hear the haunting sobs again. If that was the case, I would do my part to turn earplugs into a fall accessory.

  Chapter 2: Michelle

  The tea was a pleasant memory, and I was feeling brave enough to handle whatever was waiting for me at home when I left Coffee Time. My phone rang as I was slipping the key into the ignition.

  "Oaks Consulting," I answered.

  "Michelle, it's Queen. I need you up here. I have a—" There was a loud crash and the sound of glass breaking. "Situation," she yelled into the phone.

  Three more crashes followed the first. Heavy panting and indecipherable yelling filled the space within the clatter. I had the car turned around and was pulling onto the street before Queen had a chance to finish her explanation.

  "Queen, what's going on? Where do I need to go?" I was headed for the highway, which was enough of a direction for the moment since Page Queen worked in Jasper, one town to the south of me.

  "Liquor store on Old Philadelphia Road. Their clurichaun has gone crazy. I think I can keep him in the store, but I don't know how to stop him."

  "I'll be there twenty minutes." I was almost to the highway, and the liquor store was on the near side of town.

  The swearing in the background got louder. "I've got to go. Hurry." She hung up the phone before I could say another word.

  After I pulled onto the highway and got up to speed, I set my cruise control. I wouldn't do her any good if I got pulled over for speeding.

  Page was a solid hedge-witch, working in Pickens County. She was the reason they were one of my best accounts. When I'd opened my business, she'd bullied the department into putting me on retainer, swearing that they wouldn't regret it when they needed magical backup. Her boss had been reluctant until I'd spelled a few public buildings to shrink giants and other large races down to a normal size after a local giant's size-reduction charm had worn off while he was in the courthouse.

  I never did see the hole he made in the second floor, but I heard that the judge—who was understandably startled to have a head and shoulders pop through his floor—tried to hold him in contempt of court. In the end, he was charged with destruction of public property. While the locals were glad to have me around, I was equally happy to have a client that paid promptly and rarely needed my assistance.

  It wasn't surprising that Queen was having trouble subduing a clurichaun. They were a lesser-known, grumpier version of a leprechaun. While leprechauns were known for practical jokes, granting wishes, and house magic, clurichaun were drunken, ill-mannered guardians of spirits. Liquor stores liked to have them in residence because they would prevent employees and patrons alike from stealing. On the other hand, if a clurichaun had a bad day, he could ruin the entire inventory. Along with a foul disposition, they had magic. Like other fey, it was hard to know exactly what they could do, but they were plenty powerful enough to avoid a hedge-witch.

  Hedge-practitioners were much more limited in ability than witches. Witch was a species. I'd been born a witch, and I would die a witch, power notwithstanding. Hedge-practitioners were generally humans who could manipulate energy as a witch could, but on a much smaller and more limited scale. Not only was the human body unable to withstand large energy transfers, but humans couldn't sense magic efficiently.

  Highway was a bit of a misnomer for this part of the road, which was why it was commonly referred to as the four-lane. The road was divided with a nice grassy median between opposing lanes, but there were traffic lights and turn lanes. While I was waiting for the light to change, I stuffed a few healing charms in my pockets. I took a left at the light for Old Philadelphia and immediately took a right into the liquor store's parking lot. I didn't bother to find a parking space—with the seven police cars, two fire engines, and the ambulance parked haphazardly around the building, my car was the least problematic.

  The liquor store was a big metal building that bore a striking resemblance to a warehouse. I had my wand in hand and was getting out of my car when I saw one of the walls bulge out, leaving a vaguely human-shaped impression in the metal. I slammed the car door shut and sprinted for the building. Humans don't fare well in impacts with metal.

  "Wait! Stop—you can't go in there." A policeman charged over.

  I slowed down but didn't stop moving toward the door. "I'm Michelle Oaks, the witch. Queen called me. I need to get in there."

 
; He reached out to grab my arm, and I took a quick step back.

  Stepping closer to me, he said, "I'm sorry, I can't let you go in there. We have a situation."

  "I know," I growled. "Page Queen called me to help. I'm here to make sure no one else gets thrown into a wall. Let me do my job."

  "Fine, but I can't guarantee your safety." He didn't sound happy but filled me in anyway. "We got the employees and customers out. A couple of officers and Queen are the only ones left inside."

  Without replying, I resumed my sprint for the door. If the customers had been evacuated, odds were a police officer had been the one to hit the wall. Wand at the ready, I pulled open the glass door and walked into the liquor store.

  It was dark inside. Remembering the crashing I'd heard on the phone, I crouched down while my eyes adjusted. The quiet bothered me. Without the hum of the air conditioner, the buzz of the florescent lights, or the sounds of people shopping, the store had taken on an eerie quality.

  Stretching out my power, I found the entire building had a faint hum of energy. I wouldn't be locating the clurichaun that way. The door behind me had a stronger hum than the rest of the building. Closer examination revealed a spell that repelled fey. It was a nifty bit of work, using minimal power, that encouraged the target to feel satisfied staying in the building. Queen was a savvy woman.

  Once my eyes acclimated, I could see broken glass and a turned-over display, which explained the alcohol burning my nose. In the distance, I heard a bottle shatter and shuffling feet, but off to my left I could hear a soft moan.

  I headed for the person moaning because the sound was coming from the same direction as the dent in the wall. Making my way around the counter was a noisy event. When I wasn't crunching glass, my shoes were making squeaky sounds.

  As I got closer, the moans stopped, but I could still hear heavy breathing. Stepping around a table, I found a crumpled shape. Keeping up a running commentary, I inched closer. "My name is Michelle, and I'm here to help. In a moment I'm going to touch you. Please don't be startled."

  Resting my fingers against the person's hairy wrist, I felt a steady pulse. That was good news.

  "I'm okay," the shape muttered. With a groan, the person moved around, and I was looking into the whiskery face of a werebear.

  "You don't sound okay, and there's a big dent in the wall." I pulled a healing charm out of my pocket. It might not heal everything, but it would help with the aches and pains.

  He gave a purely male snort. "I'll be fine, especially if I can get out of here soon. I broke a few things, and I'd prefer they were properly aligned before they start to heal."

  For someone with broken bones, he was remarkably coherent. I activated the healing charm and laid it on his chest. "This will help with the pain."

  It would also make him heal faster, but I had a plan for that. His body relaxed as the charm took effect. Standing up, I cast a small levitation spell on him. It wasn't enough to make him weightless, but it did reduce what I had to move physically. A shield spell followed because I didn't want him to get any more damage from the glass.

  "Arms, collarbone, ribs, back? What's broken?" I asked. One way or another, I was getting him out of here, but it would be nice to do it without causing more damage.

  "Couple of ribs, one leg, split open the back of my head, and maybe a cracked wrist." There was a steadiness in his voice that made me think he knew what I was about to do.

  "I can get you out of here, but it's going to hurt." Maybe I should have said it was going to cause indescribable agony, but I had a feeling he knew what I meant.

  "Do it." He held out his arms. "The right one hurts, but it's mostly in the hand."

  I tucked my wand into my wrist sheath and then got a good grip about halfway down his forearm, inches away from his wrist. The first step was hard. He was a big man, made bigger by being partially shifted. Breath hissed out between his clenched teeth.

  I kept moving and asked, "Do you want me to stop?"

  "No," he gasped.

  After that I didn't ask any questions. Each of those steps seemed to take minutes rather than seconds. We couldn't have been more than twenty feet from the door, but it was a difficult journey. Dragging a person wasn't easy, and his condition only made it more difficult.

  Halfway to the door, I glanced down and saw tears running down his face. After that, I didn't look back, but I could hear his soft whimpers. It was safer for him outside, where he could get the help he needed, or that's what I kept telling myself.

  A commotion started in the back of the store. Ignoring the distant yelling and shattering glass, I pushed the door open with my back and pulled the werebear into the parking lot.

  I gently set him on the ground and released the spells. Kneeling next to him, I could hear his shallow breathing. In the bright sun, he looked worse. There was a jagged cut across the left side of his face, his right wrist and hand were badly swollen, and his leg looked wrong in ways I didn't want to think about.

  The policeman who'd tried to stop me from going in was standing a few feet from the door with his jaw agape.

  "Help him," I ordered, pointing at his broken coworker. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I yelled, "Officer down. We need an EMT over here!"

  There was a flurry of movement around the ambulance. Satisfied that I'd done my part, I turned to go back in. A hand grabbed my ankle, and I looked down to see the werebear try to smile.

  "Thank you," he whispered.

  Our eyes connected, and message delivered, he released my ankle and closed his eyes.

  I took a deep breath, grabbed my wand, and walked back into the liquor store. The smell wasn't any better the second time. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if I was drunk by the end of this. My eyes adjusted faster this time, but I was tired. Between the spells and the physical effort of moving the werebear, I wasn't in the best shape to go after a clurichaun on a bender.

  The building was quiet again. Given what I'd heard last time, I didn't trust the silence. On a hunch, I headed for the back of the building. It was where I'd heard the last crashes, and if I could find another person, they could give me some tips.

  Broken bottles, spilled liquor, and deformed shelves littered the floor in every direction. The few displays that were standing were missing individual shelves or had spilled much of their goods on the floor. Hopefully the owner had a good insurance policy with a rampaging-fey rider.

  "I don't know who's moving around, but you need to get down and stop making noise." The barely audible whisper came from the other side of the still-upright shelf I was standing beside.

  I froze. "Can you tell me what's going on? I'm the witch, and I can't help without information." That wasn't entirely true, but information was always beneficial in these situations.

  A familiar and smiling face swung around the corner. "Am I glad to see you." Page Queen's blond ponytail was askew, and chunks of hair were falling down around her face, but her blue eyes were still sparkling.

  "Likewise." I carefully stepped around the edge of the shelf and squatted down next to her.

  "I don't know what to do with it," she whispered. "It's thrown off any spell I've tried. So far the only thing that's worked is the spell on the door, but that could be coincidence. In the beginning, it was hurling bottles and committing general property damage." She pointed in the general direction of the sound of crashing bottles. "He tends to drink the liquor and throw the empty bottles. All that alcohol is keeping him drunk as a skunk, and he's gotten nasty. He cornered one of the officers by tossing bottles, magic, and tables at him. When Briggs tried to distract the clurichaun, he ended up getting tossed into the wall. Quite a feat for someone four feet tall."

  A four-foot-tall man who was strong enough to throw a werebear had magic and a bad attitude, and it made me wish for a simple case like a possessed coffeemaker. I couldn't bounce back from the damage a shifter could withstand. Witches had skills, but we weren't much sturdier than the average human.

 
"I got Briggs out of here."

  Queen closed her eyes and exhaled. "Thank you."

  "I think he'll be okay. Do you have a plan?" I knew the answer. I was her plan.

  "I'm looking at her."

  "Do you have a backup plan?"

  She shook her head.

  "If I fail, get some elves or vampires in here."

  "The vampires won't be up for hours, and the only elf on duty today is dealing with a domestic between a giant and a dragon."

  Given the option, I would've picked the clurichaun. "All right, any tips? Is he using any magic to conceal his location?"

  "I don't think so. He seems to retreat and drink. We've found him a few times, but we can't get close enough to cuff him. He's attracted to noise and movement."

  One of these days I was going to have to find a better tool for my police friends. Magical handcuffs designed to neutralize magic and strong enough to hold a dragon were all good and well, but you had to cuff the beastie first.

  "Where are the rest of the officers?"

  Queen shrugged and motioned in the direction of the back corner. "The other two guys are over there."

  I grabbed a bottle of tequila off the shelf and tossed it toward the center of the building. The sound of the bottle shattering broke the unnatural silence. A second later, a few more crashes followed.

  "I found you now," a rough voice cackled. The clurichaun swooped down from the ceiling, a half-empty bottle of vodka in one hand and Kahlúa in the other. He took a swig of vodka, followed immediately by a mouthful of Kahlúa.

  "You didn't say he could fly," I hissed at Queen.

  "Oops."

  The clurichaun wasn't going to be winning any beauty contests. Not only was he short—four feet at best—but he was rather squat. Not brawny, but of a study build with shorter-than-average legs and overly long arms. His face, which could best be described as having been sculpted by a young child, didn't improve upon his unusual proportions. His nose was bulbous and lumpy, his ears stuck out from his head, and his short hair shot out from his head in uneven spikes.