The Bound Witch by Ivy Asher
12
Ilean back against Rogan, resting my cheek against his bicep as we watch Elon work. He shifts me in front of him and wraps his arms around me in a strangely comfortable chokehold-ish cuddle. I settle against him, my back to his front, and he drops a soft kiss to the top of my head as I do. The small but sweetly intimate gesture makes me smile, and I reach up and lace my fingers with his.
Elon types away at the kitchen island, his laptop the most high tech thing I’ve ever seen. It looks like something out of an end-of-the-world movie that a high up military member hands to the president because it is the case that holds the nuke launch codes. The rest of us are scattered around the kitchen, watching him work with bated breath, but the audience doesn’t seem to faze Elon at all.
“We’re sure about this?” I whisper to Rogan, and I feel him shake his head and sigh against me.
Okay, maybe this is like the hundredth time I’ve asked this question since they told me their plan, but it all feels counterintuitive, and I can’t help but be a little squirrely about it. Rogan nuzzles me, dragging his nose and scruffy face across the top of my shoulder before moving up my neck, and I can’t help but feel a little squirrely about that too.
Moon shits, he feels good.
He nips at the lobe of my ear and then chuckles deeply in my ear when my body betrays me and gets all shivery and goose bumpy in front of him. I had a firm plan to keep his ego in check and not get too melty with all this new contact, but apparently my inner fiend has declared mutiny and is currently making my good sense walk the plank.
“I hear what you’re saying, Lennox, we all do, but this is the right move. We will be ready for them when they come for us, and this will buy us the time we need to get there,” Rogan reassures mefor the hundredth time.
I huff a resigned sigh and try to keep my mouth shut.
“Just remind me one more time how does this buy us more time?” I ask, and Prek and Marx both groan.
I flip them both the bird, and Marx pretends to excitedly catch it and put it in his pocket. I laugh at his antics, and the tension in the room drops a notch.
“It buys us time because it forces them to focus on something else other than us for a moment. They’ll know we’re behind this—our parents will most definitely want to retaliate—but first they’ll have to do damage control,” Elon explains...again.
“We know we’re the underdogs in this situation. We know that we’re up against a titan of power when it comes to the High Council as a collective. This will help us create a divide and help to possibly level the playing field,” Rogan adds, and I nod and try to relax in his arms again.
“I’m just checking that the videos are looped and the bots are ready, and then we can go,” Elon announces, and that must mean something to the others in the room, because a sense of relief fills the atmosphere.
“So how many videos do you have?” Tad asks, and I glare at everyone when no one gets annoyed with his question.
“I fed fifty into the program, so it will filter through those, but it will also create new content, based on what gets the most views and if other witches start posting their own claims in addition to ours,” Elon answers nonchalantly. “The marriage between the tech and the magic isn’t exact, but it will adjust as we go and should get the job done nicely,” he adds enthusiastically, pride shining in his voice.
I can’t really blame him. If I’d created a program solely designed to rapid-fire all the evidence I’d collected over several years, documenting the corruption, lies, and downright evil behavior of the High Council, I’d be pretty damn proud too.
They’ve put together their own smear campaign, only this one is nothing but truth and filled with bombs I still don’t know how to process. Rogan and Elon are both counting on the fact that the High Council likes to keep secrets even from the other members of the High Council. So, when some of those secrets are revealed, the goal is to help them start to implode from the inside out. They’re also hoping that the public outcry these videos will hopefully stoke, will help the crumbling of things by putting a lot of pressure from the outside for justice and reforms.
As nervous as I am to pick this fight after what happened with the demon earlier, I can see their point. I can even enjoy the fact that their parents taught them all about how brutal it can be to be judged in the court of public opinion. This fight is personal, but I also am starting to understand that it also needs to be political and most importantly public. Well, not the part about us and the real reason Rogan and Elon were renounced. But with the shit I learned in the handful of videos I watched, they don’t need to spill their own secrets to get a reaction; the mancer population will be frothing for blood and retribution in no time.
Elon taps away for another minute, and then all at once, he closes the laptop and slowly gets up. I watch as he blows out a deep tension-filled breath and looks over to Rogan with a look I can’t decipher.
“It’s done. Cohen’s going to track the program for a bit, make sure everything is filtering to every possible channel and page it can. By this time tomorrow, every mancer who has access to the internet or a TV will know the same things we do about the leaders of our race,” he declares, and I offer him a warm supportive smile.
I know this can’t be easy on them. They’ve been preparing for this eventuality for a long time, but planning for something and actually doing it are very different things. I can feel that Rogan is relieved but also anxious. He’s resigned to win at all costs, but all of this is taking a toll. He and Elon have worked so hard to get where they are now, and in a way, they’re destroying all of that in order to take this stand against their parents. It’s hard to say what will be left of the life they’ve fought to build when the rubble of this war is cleared away and the dust finally settles.
Rogan unwraps his hands from around me, squeezing my shoulders once. “I’ll go grab my shoes then,” he announces, and I step to the side to let him past me. He and Elon head upstairs, clearly wanting to talk about something, and I lean back against the counter and try not to care about what it might be.
“Hey, Lemon Drop,” Tad greets as he sidles up next to me.
I snort out a laugh and try not to smile. I worry about his safety, but I have to admit I’m glad he’s here.
“Heading out to talk to Prek’s demon guy?” he confirms, and I nod, not sure what to expect from today’s excursion. “What’s the deal with him anyway? I thought he was an Order soldier through and through. I’m surprised you’re trusting him after the whole car accident thing and then getting demon-napped right under his nose. None of that seems worrisome to you?” he presses, dropping his voice so no one else can hear us.
“Do you have a weird vibe about him or something?” I ask, curious.
I know what I think, but I don’t want to dismiss anyone else’s instincts around me, mostly because I have no idea what I’m doing. Winging it doesn’t even begin to cover how I’m rolling these days.
“No, he seems fine. I just want to make sure you’ve got your eyes open just in case.”
I give Tad a side hug and sneak a glance at Prek and Marx.
“I thought Prek was the same way too. It was little things I saw when I was with him and his team in Chicago that started to make me wonder,” I explain, and Tad leans down to better hear my whisper. “His boss gave him orders to not let me have a phone unless I was being supervised. He didn’t follow them, choosing to trust me instead. It was clear he did not like Rogan, but I heard him lecturing his team once about being respectful and keeping any thoughts they had about his presence to themselves. I discreetly asked around about him, and what I got back was that he was good at his job but would never advance the way he deserved because he wasn’t enough of a company man, if you catch my drift.”
Tad nods thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on mine.
“The High Council fed him and his family some bullshit story about what happened to his aunt, but Prek wasn’t buying it. He wouldn’t stop looking into it, no matter how many dead ends he hit. Rogan told me that, and then when I was digging around the Order because I didn’t have anything else to do, I heard the same thing. He didn’t trust the High Council. He didn’t believe what he was told. It made me think he actually might have a good head on his shoulders.”
“I mean, he definitely has that going for him among other things,” Tad teases, waggling his eyebrows.
I chuckle and shake my head at him. Leave it to Tad to take the conversation there. I look over at Prek again and shrug.
“He’s good-looking,” I agree, my tone casual and unaffected.
“Awwww, you’re so booed up it’s nauseating,” Tad taunts, bumping his shoulder with mine.
“Excuse me, weren’t you the one insisting I ride that dick for posterity’s sake?” I remind him. “You cannot be disgruntled when you were pushing for this from the get-go.”
“Fine, fair enough. I’m just jealous anyway. You two have the thing, and I want the thing,” he declares wistfully. “But for real, if he fucks with you again, I’ve already scouted out some excellent places where we can bury him without ever having to worry about him being found. I support your ability to forgive, I am on board too, but I will snatch his soul if things go sideways,” he states matter-of-factly.
I laugh and reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Tad hugs me tightly and then moves to the fridge to inspect its contents. “What time do you think you’ll be back? Does your man have a crockpot? I’m thinking something hardy and warm is in store for dinner. Especially if you’re going to spend the day learning about demons.”
“I have no idea, but I give you full permission to go through all the cupboards in search of one,” I offer with a cheeky smile and a shrug. “You don’t have to cook though; I honestly have no idea what time we’ll be back.”
He waves me off. “It’s fine, I don’t have a lot of other things to do around here if you all are gone. Besides, I’m not picking up any interested vibes from this clan of hotties you now run with, so I figure it’s time to show off some skills and see if I can reel anything in.”
“Got it. So, you want me to text you when we’re half an hour away so you can be doing bendy yoga stuff when we get back?” I ask evenly.
He high-fives me. “And this is why you’re my people.”
“I got you, fam,” I announce with a wide grin.
“Spot Conlon is missing out,” Tad declares, like the fictional character from my favorite childhood movie is real.
“Damn straight,” I agree without missing a beat. “Rogan will do though,” I add, as though it’s a hardship I’m willing to shoulder.
“True, wish he was hotter though,” Tad counters, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
“We all make sacrifices,” I agree solemnly.
“Who’s Spot Conlon?” Rogan asks, his broad, well-muscled chest brushing my back as he walks up behind me.
I swallow down the surprised squeak in my chest, and a blush crawls up my neck as I shoot Tad my don’t you dare eyes. My romantic obsession with a counterfeit Newsie stays between me and Tad.
“Don’t worry about it,” I chirp a little too airily, and Rogan narrows his eyes at me. “You ready to go?” I ask sweetly, refusing to succumb to the demand for answers I see brewing in his gorgeous green eyes. “Let’s do this,” I call out to the rest of the kitchen, clapping my hands like I’m some overzealous sports coach.
“Totally threw him off the hunt,” Tad chuckles under his breath.
“Nailed it,” I sing-song back, tossing him a wink for good measure.
And then I scramble away from Rogan as fast as I can, ignoring all the things I feel in our tether that he wants to do to me to get me talking. Such a filthy slew of emotions that man has.
Yum.
* * *
Prek presses a button on a brass panel, and a buzzing sound fills the late afternoon air. I bounce on my heels, trying to rein in my excitement over the fact that we just rode a ley line to freakin’ Scotland.
Scotland!
There’s a cool drizzle that can’t quite make up its mind about whether it wants to be rain or not, sprinkling down on us, and even though I know my hair is going to reject the level of moisture hanging about in the air, I’m so excited I could scream.
We apparated into a line behind something called Tesco. I got from the size of it and the loading docks at the back that it might be a grocery store, but Rogan wouldn’t let me go confirm my suspicions. No, instead we walked a short ways away to Fenella Street where we’re now standing outside of a stone building, waiting to see if Mr. Muda is going to let us in.
Sadly, I spotted zero kilts on our way here, and I stood next to a group of men talking while we waited at a crosswalk and legitimately thought they were speaking another language until I was able to pick up an English word here and there. To my utter shock, I realized that they were in fact speaking the same language as me, but with a brogue so thick and foreign that I could barely recognize more than three words of what they were saying. Something about a bird, a fanny, and a pint.
Prek presses the buzzer again, and Rogan moves closer to me with the umbrella to make sure I’m fully covered.
“That’s very sweet of you, thank you,” I tell him warmly.
“Yes, very sweet of you,” Marx grumps as he tries to crowd the door to keep from getting wet now that Rogan moved the umbrella so it’s only covering us.
“I told you to grab an umbrella,” Rogan reminds him, and Marx grunts in response.
“The app said it wasn’t going to be raining,” Marx defends.
“It’s Glasgow, it’s pretty much always raining at some point in the day. Should have listened,” Elon teases as he holds his own umbrella over him and Prek.
“Maybe he’s not home?” Elon observes as Prek buzzes for a third time.
“He’s home, he just hates company. He’ll give in eventually,” Prek reassures us, but I don’t feel reassured barging in on a mancer who clearly doesn’t want to be disturbed.
If I weren’t at a loss for what else to do about the demon situation, I’d tell everyone to let the poor guy be. Unfortunately, this is our one and only lead.
“He’s cagey, but this is his job. He just likes to make it clear who’s boss before he lets anyone in. It’s a power trip,” Prek explains, not at all fussed by the fact that we’re being ignored by whoever this Mr. Muda is.
Prek explained last night about his first assignment with the Order and how they were tasked with hunting down a demon who was killing affluent mancers in the business district. Prek was on research and paperwork, which is how he ended up learning about Mr. Muda and speaking to him for the first time.
Turns out that the head of an elite family was trying to take out his competition. He was discovered and purged, and the demon was given what he was promised in the contract and sent back to his realm. It all sounded pretty cut and dry until Prek told me that what was promised in the contract was every single one of the Contegomancer’s children.
I had gaped at him for a solid minute when he revealed that little tidbit. I also learned that, in the eyes of witch law, if you are under the age of fifteen, you are technically considered property of your parents. As property, you can be traded or sold to anyone, including a demon, in exchange for whatever you want.
I had no idea the rules were that archaic. It still makes me queasy and mad. Apparently, there are lots of loopholes too in the witching world for owning another magic user. Like, for example, forcing someone to become a familiar. While illegal and a prosecutory offence, if you can hide it for five years, you’re then home free, because that’s the statute of limitations for that particular crime. I might have given Rogan a dead arm when I learned that. I now have every intention of going home and studying the laws, just to be sure I can protect myself in this messed up culture I’m now forever a part of.
Prek buzzes again, and just when I blow out a forlorn sigh, Beast, from Beauty and the Beast, snarls a “what!” in that deep, dark, rich way that he does.
A shiver works its way up my back, but not from fear; that damn voice is the stuff of many a red-blooded woman’s fantasies, and I’m not ashamed to say I’m one of them. Disney freaking knew what they were doing when they cast that voice.
“Circummancer Orson, Phonomancer Bevit, Osteomancer Kendrick, Hemamancer Kendrick, and Osteomancer Osseous request a formal visit with the Linker,” Prek states firmly, and the speaker goes silent.
I try not to fidget as I wait to see what happens now, but a higher pitched buzzing starts, and Prek reaches for the handle of the door and pulls it open. I guess that’s a good sign. Prek does the hand motion that signals the rest of us should go in before him. The guys all look at me in that ladies first kind of way, but I swear they’re just hoping this guy will be less likely to yell at me than he is at them. Jokes on them though: the Beast always sounded the hottest when he was being all grumpy and bossy, so I’m here for it.
There’s only a set of large red double doors in front of us, so I make my way toward them. Just as I get close, one side opens and a very tall, well-defined man stares down at me. From the minute my toffee-colored eyes connect with his silver ones, dread starts to hammer in my chest. I don’t know how I know or why Prek would have failed to inform us, but I’m staring into the eyes of a fucking demon, and he looks like he’s ready to eat us for lunch.