 
All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Broken Witch

Episode One

Copyright © 2018 Odette C Bell

Cover art stock photos licensed from Depositphotos.

www.odettecbell.com

Broken Witch

Episode One

By day, Serena's a police recruit. She hunts witches alongside her strapping Sergeant, Jake Parata.

By night? Serena Sanders is a witch. When her mother died, she gave her a gift - a split personality. Her other side - the dark side – only comes out when pushed.

When a witch kingpin moves into town looking for Serena, her history rises up to meet her.

...

Broken Witch is sure to please fans of Odette C. Bell's Hell's Angel

# Chapter 1

I woke up at 2 o'clock in the morning to hear a man with mud-covered shoes jumping onto my bed.

The mattress creaked as he shifted forward.

Fear owned me.

Total gut-wrenching, stomach-punching, debilitating fear.

I tried to scream.

He shifted forward and clamped a hand over my mouth.

A hand that was covered in magic.

He pressed it against my skin, the light and force of the power biting into my lips, tickling down my cheeks, and sinking into my throat.

"You know," he hissed, fetid breath breaking against my cheeks as he pressed forward, his wide, yellow-rimmed eyes hauntingly visible through the darkness, "I get a kick out of murdering humans. Ever been hunted by a witch, little lady? I'm going to take you up to the forest behind town, I'm going to set you free, and I'm going to hunt you down like the animal you are. Dirty fucking human," he spat.

His eyes blazed out of the darkness, so powerful, so full of hatred and violence.

He drove his magic-covered fingers harder against my mouth until my teeth almost cut my lips.

I tried to throw him off; he was stronger.

I clenched my stomach muscles, shoved my back into the mattress, and rounded my shoulders – none of it worked.

He laughed, his lips pulling back to reveal saliva-covered teeth.

With his hand still pinned against my mouth, enough magic lacing it that he didn't need to drive a knee into my sternum to stop me in place, he casually tilted his head to the side. "What kind of room have you got here?" he muttered to himself.

He licked his lips, sparks of magic dancing over his tongue, escaping into the air and flickering about.

There was a click as the light switch turned itself on.

Light spilled into the room, and I jerked my head to the side at the sudden illumination.

It revealed the guy in full. He was six-foot, with sandy-blond, oily hair that sat in front of his face like a curtain as he leaned toward me.

His hair was like a frame for his yellow eyes. Light rimmed his irises like a halo.

Confident there was nothing I could do against his spell, he tilted his head to the side casually, staring at my room.

His gaze darted from my TV to the small box of cheap jewelry on my dresser then skipped over my bedside table.

Sitting on it was a photo – one of my best friend, Sally. We were standing in front of the Federal Police Force training compound, decked out in our cadet uniforms. The day I'd taken that photo had been the happiest of my life.

"What have we here?" The guy leaned over and casually grabbed up the photo, his magic-covered fingers never moving from my face. He whistled as he danced the photo back and forth. "Lookie here, you're a cop. Damn, didn't I pick the right target." He leaned in, spreading his lips, letting them slide over his teeth until all I saw was the saliva-covered enamel glinting back at me. "I fucking hate cops. I'm going to enjoy murdering you."

... I... could barely breathe.

Something was... something was....

The guy pitched the photo over his shoulder. It struck the carpet beside my bed, the frame denting as it fell on its face.

He continued to look around the room. "Cheap. No one's going to miss you, are they?" he asked cruelly. "That's a shame. I like it when my name hits the papers. You're a cop," he chuckled again, "so I guess it's going to hit the papers big time. I'm going to write my name all over your corpse in permanent marker," he snarled. "You know who I am, don't you? The papers call me The Marker. You know how many humans," he spat that word viciously, "I've killed this year?" He brought up his hand and tried to count, then gave up. "Too many. Now sit up." He latched a hand on my shoulder and dragged me up, my head banging harshly against the headrest behind me.

My head....

My thoughts....

I... something was stabbing through my mind.

Something....

He brought his face close to mine, those yellow, luminescent eyes more than close enough to touch. "Do you want to know why I hate humans so much? Especially cops? You've hunted witches for centuries, running my kind down. So that," he yanked my head forward until his lips pressed alongside my left ear, "is why I'm going to do the same to you. Get ready to run."

I wasn't fighting. Not anymore.

There was no point. There was a ringing in my head. A ringing....

He wrenched me up. He dragged me toward the door, my limp legs pulling the covers from my bed.

The ringing only got worse. It was drumming through my brain, rattling through my thoughts. It was... it was dislodging something. It was....

As the guy walked out of my room, he whistled and licked his teeth.

The light turned off.

He dragged me toward the window on the opposite side of my living room. It was open. It was obviously where he'd climbed in.

There was a fire escape out there, so I was sure to keep the window locked.

To somebody with his magic, that would mean nothing.

My mind locked onto that thought, but it was whisked away, pounded by that ringing once more. I couldn't pay attention to the fact this guy was The Marker – a serial killer the police had been hunting for a year and a half. A witch who'd murdered countless men, women, and children.

Because the ringing in my head, it just... it....

I'd lost my mother when I was three. She was murdered right in front of me.

He hauled me onto his shoulder as he straddled the window, jumped down, and landed on the fire escape, the metal ringing.

The sound went nowhere. He licked his teeth again, sending magic through the air, covering his moves.

He didn't bother to close the window. He walked down the fire escape, whistling with me over his shoulder.

The fire escape emptied into a blind alleyway. There were dumpsters, but that was it.

It was 2 o'clock in the morning, so none of the other lights were on in my apartment block.

There was no one to see.

No one to help.

No one to....

My mother had been murdered right in front of me. I'd forgotten that, but now the memory slammed into my head. I saw her falling, right in front of the couch I was hiding beneath. I saw her face dropping down just a few inches in front of mine.

I saw her eyes. I saw—

The guy jumped off the fire escape, despite the fact he was still a good 10 meters away from the ground. It didn't matter, as he struck the ground with a muttered spell under his breath. It ensured his knees didn't break. The spell, however, didn't extend to me, and I jostled hard over his arm, his bony shoulder banging into my stomach.

There was a car waiting a few meters away.

He spread a hand toward it, and the door opened with a creak.

I'd been hiding under that couch. She'd protected me. She'd hidden me from her attacker. She'd sacrificed her life for mine.

He continued to whistle, that droning sound pitching through the alley but not making it out of it – the spell he'd cast on the air protected him.

He opened the back door to his car, dumped me inside, and stood, but not before tracing a finger down the center of my head from the top of my hairline, right down my nose, over my lips, then to the tip of my chin. Magic rushed up his thumb, spreading into my skin, sinking down, down....

My mother had been murdered when I was three years old. And as I huddled there under that couch, I'd watched the light leave her eyes.

And the light, the light had gone into mine.

A sharp pain stabbed through my brow, snaking from one side to the other, feeling as if someone had taken a scalpel to my gray matter.

The guy paused above me, a sudden frown marking his lips. "Got a little pluck in you after all? Shouldn't be moving after that spell," he commented as again he dragged a magic-laced thumb down my face.

It left this god-awful numb sensation eating into my muscles. The kind of sensation that made you wonder if you were seconds from dying.

When I didn't move again, he finally seemed satisfied. He closed the door, the metal banging shut with such a ringing thump, it should have alerted anyone out on the street.

It didn't.

I could feel his magic lacing the air.

He walked around his car, got in the front seat, started it, and drove out of the laneway.

I lay in the back, incapable of moving, my eyes pressed open, my mind....

"Your murder is going to make the front page," he chuckled to himself as he started to drive out of town. "I'll make it a good one. One fitting for a cop," he spat.

I lay there, face pressed against the bad smelling leather of his back seat. This was where my mind should be exploding, imagining every horror that was about to happen to me.

But....

I'd been adopted at four years old. I'd never known my biological parents.

Or at least, that was the story I'd always told myself.

But the horror of being kidnapped was waking up a far greater horror in my mind.

I was seeing flashes of something I'd never known – a memory that had been so deeply hidden, it was taking the threat of death to dredge it up.

The guy kept chuckling to himself, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as if he was dancing along to some imaginary song. "You know, you weren't even my original target. The man next door was. Wasn't in, though. I felt you sleeping through the wall, and figured I wasn't going to waste tonight. Lucky me. You're a cop," he repeated, stuck on that fact as he bared his teeth with another wet slap of his lips, "and I'm going to enjoy every last second of this."

I'd lived a happy life. Up until this point, at least.

I loved my adoptive family, but my mother, I....

The guy took a harsh turn, heading onto the highway that would take us right out of town.

I saw her eyes again, my mother's eyes, staring into mine as she died in front of my face. I saw something in her pupils, something dancing, something—

"I don't work alone, you know? Shouldn't be telling you this, but it's not like you can live through this. I just can't resist gloating in front of a cop. You bastards are the ones who hunt us down, after all." He shifted between chuckling with almost unstable glee, to spitting with utter vehemence.

I didn't reply. I couldn't. And it wasn't just the spell he'd cast on me holding me in place.

My mind was... fracturing. Every time I saw my dead mother's eyes, I....

"Got a brother. Watches my back. Finds my targets. Gave me your next-door neighbor as a target," the guy scoffed. "Bastard works for the papers. Writes shit about witches every day. Don't worry, though," he said earnestly as he turned and shot me a flashing-eyed look, "I'll get him tomorrow."

The guy didn't bother to say another word as he drove me out of town.

I lost all track of time. Because I lost all track of myself. Something seemed to be shaking inside me, cracking, falling away to reveal something beneath.

Something hidden.

Something precious.

Something that shouldn't—

The next thing I knew, we stopped. I felt the crunch of tires as we rolled up in a dirt parking lot.

The guy stopped, settled his hands on the steering wheel for several seconds, then arched his head over his shoulder. I watched his lips tick into a grin. "Time to run, girly." There was a click as the car switched itself off, then a creak as his door opened.

He got out. He walked around to my side of the car. He opened it.

He reached in, grabbed me by the back of the neck, and hauled me out. He dumped me by his feet. My face smashed against the dirt car park, my cheek cutting against a particularly jagged rock.

He stood there for several seconds, doing nothing, just breathing, the hollow sound echoing through the dark night.

"You know," he said after a significant pause, "maybe you don't even get to run. Maybe a pig like you doesn't deserve it. Maybe I should off you right here, right now, so I can see the look in your eyes?"

My mother, right in front of my face, the light in her eyes....

I practically felt something snap in the guy's head as he came to some vicious decision. The next thing I knew, he locked a hand on the back of my neck, turned me over, and jammed a thumb into the center of my head.

More magic sank into me.

It should have robbed me of the ability to open my eyes, let alone breathe.

He stared, and I watched as whatever was left of his mind cracked.

"I'm going to write witch proverbs all over your body in permanent marker. Every sacred belief my people have had torn from us. I'm going to hunt you, human—"

I watched my mother die in front of my face. I watched the light spread from her eyes to mine. And I watched her lips open. "You'll live, no matter the costs."

The guy reached down and clutched my throat, his fingers bending in with the force to snap steel.

And just like something in him had snapped, something cracked in me.

That wall that always sat between me and my true history.

You see, there were two people inside of me, and it was time to let my other side shine.

As the guy tried to crush my throat, I pushed.

I pushed right through the magic spell holding me in place. It cracked around me, shattering like a mirror.

The guy spluttered as he was shoved back, and his eyes blasted wide with surprise.

"I underestimated you, but if you think—"

My leg snaked out, and I kicked the bastard in the throat. The move wasn't mine. Too compact, too fast, and far, far too strong.

Despite the fact he was a witch, that didn't matter. As my move impacted, he was thrown back. He slammed against his car with the force to dent the metal door.

I stood.

All around me, memories slipped into place. Fractured memories that were kept from me during my waking hours. Fractured memories my mother had sealed away.

My body didn't shake. It was loose, ready, in-control.

The guy shook, then he blasted to his feet. His luminescent gaze ticked up and down my body, his lips slicing hard over his teeth. "What the fuck—" he began.

I jolted forward. So fast. So damn fast. It didn't matter that I didn't have any shoes on, that I was in flimsy, thin pajamas and it was a hell of a cold, biting night.

I reached the guy just as he brought up an arm in defense, his skin blazing with magic.

I shifted in behind him, looped an arm around his back, and threw him to the side.

He tried to elbow me – and the move connected.

But it didn't count.

As I threw him, he slammed against the jagged stones of the car park – just like he'd done to me minutes before.

He didn't jump to his feet this time. He jerked back, dragging his body away from me, his eyes so wide, you could have used them as torches. "What the hell are you? Are you some kind of witch? Was this some kind of trap?"

I didn't answer. There was no point.

My body knew what to do as my mind knitted itself back together.

There were two people inside my head. And there'd been two people since the day I'd seen my mother die.

There was the ordinary me – the innocent, simple me who lived out her entire life not knowing what she truly was.

Then there was this me.

"I exist to protect the other one," I said.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I exist to protect my other self."

He kept trying to scamper away, smart enough not to push to his feet, knowing it would give me all the time I needed to close the distance between us and kick him in the throat. "You're a witch, aren't you? This was a trap, wasn't it? My brother will make you pay," he spat. "We've got friends in real high places."

"I will hunt your brother down," I said, my voice automatic, the thought automatic.

Everything had slipped into place.

I was a different woman. As I stood there, taking another looming step toward the man, body poised for anything, there wasn't a scrap of fear left in me. Just determination.

And understanding.

When my mother had died all those years ago, she'd transferred a spell into me. As the light had left her and entered me, it had sealed her powers within me.

The power to erase memories.

I was a witch.

A forgotten witch.

The guy finally attempted to fight back again. I felt him incant an unheard spell under his breath, and a second later, yellow-gold magic spread down his arms. He punched a hand toward me, and force shot off it.

It slammed into my chest.

It should have shunted me backward, should have thrown me into the car. Hell, with the amount of energy crackling off the move, it should have killed me dead.

Instead, it buffeted off my own magic as it suddenly encased me. It sprang from my heart, winding around every muscle, covering me like a shield.

"Jesus Christ, you are a witch. You trapped me. You bitch, you trapped me," he spat. He was still down on his butt and hands, and he bared those saliva-covered teeth at me, looking like a trapped animal.

Me, I just took another easy, loose step toward him.

"I've got friends in real high places," he said again, voice shaking. "They'll find you. Hunt you down. Kill you. Doesn't matter if you've got magic – they've got more."

"Then I'll hunt them down too," I said matter-of-factly.

Maybe there was something about the fact my tone was emotionless, because the guy finally realized something. Something I'd known since the moment he stole into my bedroom.

I was not the hunted. I was the hunter.

I tilted my head to the side, my messy hair bunching over my shoulder. "What's your brother's name?"

"Do you think I'm gonna—"

I pushed toward him.

He tried to jerk a foot up, attempting to kick me in the knee, but I just leaned into the move, using my greater momentum to force myself down and onto him. It was enough that his leg clicked to the side as I body-slammed him.

He grappled, attempting to lock his fingers around my throat. His nails dragged across my skin, the short jagged edges trying to cut me, trying to grab my eye sockets, my lips, my nostrils – anything.

But his fingers just slipped off.

My body was too covered in magic, and it was far, far too strong for him to break through.

I shifted up until my knees pinned his chest.

I settled my hands on his shoulders, and I stared down into his eyes.

"What's your brother's name?"

"You go after him – his friends will kill you. I don't care what kind of—" he began.

I brought his head up, and I slammed it back down against the gravel. "What's your brother's name?"

Fear bolted through his eyes. "You kill me—"

I shifted forward, my weight moving with me, crushing his lungs as I brought my face close to his. It was replicating the move he'd done to me when he'd pinned me against my bed. "Who said anything about killing you?"

Silence. It shook through this darkened car park. Even the wind rustling through the trees stopped as that statement hung in the air.

He wheezed. "What the hell—"

"I'm going to track your brother down. I'm going to track his friends down, too. And you know what I'm going to do to them?"

He wouldn't speak now. His bravery had washed away. He simply lay there, as scared and beaten as the countless victims he'd murdered.

Though I could bet his expression was slightly different. You see, unlike his victims, this bastard knew something – he'd always had this coming.

Karma had caught up with him.

"You know what I'm going to do to him?" I asked coldly.

He was now too terrified to speak.

"I'm going to wipe his memory. Erase it. Lock it away forever. And in doing so, he will lose his spells. And if he loses his spells, he loses his magic. He'll become a human," I said, lips contorting around the word, "just like the humans you hunted."

"What...?"

"And you know what? You're going to become a human, too."

"That's impossible—"

I didn't let him finish. I let go of his shoulders until his head banged against the gravel.

Just as he had done to me, I crammed my thumb against the point where his third eye should be.

He trembled, then stopped as if someone had made every single muscle in his body contract.

I closed my eyes. As soon as I did, I saw my mother's eyes.

All those years ago, when I'd only been three years old, she'd made the ultimate sacrifice.

Another witch had crept into our house. One who'd been hunting her for years.

She'd hidden me under the couch. Then she'd died, and as her sightless eyes had stared into mine, a family spell had shifted from her into me.

The witches of my maternal line had a spell few other witches did.

The power to make people forget. Whether it be a few seconds or their entire life, we could erase the memories with all the ease of somebody rubbing marker off a whiteboard.

That power built in me now, rising up through my chest and dancing through my limbs.

The guy didn't make a move, not anymore. He couldn't. He simply stared up at me with fear-filled eyes. "You're a witch," he muttered with the last of his vocal control. "You should understand what we are doing. Getting revenge. We deserve revenge. Our people have been hunted by the humans for too long. They deserve to feel the fear they put us through."

I stared into his eyes as my unique power rushed through me.

There are two types of monsters. Those that recognize what they are, and those that justify it.

Though my mother hadn't said a word as she'd passed this spell to me when she died, the look in her eyes had been enough.

Love.

Not revenge.

Not hatred at the fact she'd been killed.

She'd wanted to keep me safe and nothing more.

Did I have the power to kill this bastard? Yes.

Would I?

No.

Because I was different.

I understood one very important fact. There was only one thing separating humans from witches. Magic. Take it away, and we're exactly the same.

This guy didn't deserve to die. He deserved to live in the weakened state he'd spent his entire life reviling.

I closed my eyes as my magic spread through me, as it lit me up like a candle.

He could no longer speak. I was in complete control of his body as my own body pulsed with the power to make anyone forget.

I opened my eyes, I stared into his, and I uttered a single word under my breath.

It erased every memory that made the man up. Every violent murder, every thought of revenge.

It washed them away, never to return. And with it, it took his magic.

Every spell, every incantation – they were erased from his mind, never to be re-taught or learned.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his cheeks becoming sickly white.

Until the day he died, nothing would be able to unlock this spell.

As the spell took its course and he fell unconscious, I stood.

I stared down at him as I felt something click within me.

It was the same spell that had initiated when this bastard had crept into my room.

The spell that was designed to keep me safe.

You see, when my mother had died in front of me all those years ago, she'd given me a gift, one that had made me understand humanity in a way no other witch could.

I was both a human and a witch. Most of the time, I was the happy, carefree, awkward Serena Sanders. But when I was pushed?

I would fight back.

I leaned down, threw the unconscious man over my shoulder, and walked back to his car.

He weighed nothing.

Not to me. Not in this state.

I dumped him in his back seat, and I drove away.

I parked his car in a car park downtown, and then I left. Not before I pulled that permanent marker out of his breast pocket and wrote "The Marker" over his forehead.

When it was done, I dumped the marker in his lap, closed the door, shoved my hands into my pockets, and walked away.

All the while, I kept incanting a spell under my breath, ensuring no one could see and no one could hear.

I made it home. I closed the window that led to the fire escape, fastening the latch tightly shut.

I cleaned the muddy shoe prints off my carpet with several well-placed spells. Then I walked into my room. I made my bed, cleaned the mud, and finally leaned down and grabbed the photo frame sitting face down on my carpet.

I picked it up, brushing a thumb down the glass, cleaning the bastard's fingerprints.

I set it down on my bedside table. I whispered until the light turned itself off, then I went back to sleep.

Serena Sanders wouldn't remember this in the morning.

That was the point.

My mother had wanted me to grow up normally. Half of me got to do that, while the other half existed to protect.

# Chapter 2

"We are so damn close to graduating, Serena. Buck up. You've got one hell of a frown on you today. Didn't you sleep well?" Sally Enders leaned in and slapped me on the back.

As soon as her flat palm jolted against my shoulder, it woke me out of my reverie.

"You look like shit this morning. What happened to you last night?"

I hesitated, then shrugged. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I've got a terrible crick in my neck. Felt like I didn't sleep a wink, but at the same time, I'm pretty sure I was asleep all night." I shrugged, looking as awkward as I felt.

Sally rolled her eyes. "For someone who's about to graduate from the Federal Police Force, you sure are ridiculously cute." She leaned in and tapped my cheek before turning around and locking her attention on the drab, sixties gray concrete enclave in front of us.

We'd already walked through the main gates and had our IDs swiped. Before us was what the other recruits lovingly called the Compound. It had high metal gates surrounding it from the rest of the city.

Other recruits and officers walked through the grounds around us, the majority of them heading to the main squat building in the center.

Sally slapped her hands together, the sound ringing out. "I can't believe we're only two weeks away from graduating. You know there's talk that we might be considered for the squad?" Her voice shot up high as her lips spread wide.

I pressed my lips together, my brow crumpling. "We?" I questioned as I shook my head. "There's no way with my scores that I'd ever get into the squad. You, on the other hand," I took a step back and motioned her up and down, indicating her lithe six-foot form, "have a real shot at it."

Sally's shoulders slumped. "Cut yourself a break. You may not be the most impressive physical specimen of the grad recruits, but you've got a brain on your shoulders. You have a talent for getting out of trouble, too."

I gave an awkward chuckle at that. "If by talent you mean never going out, never doing anything, and leading the most boring life out of anyone here – then sure, I guess I have a talent."

"I'm just saying don't be so hard on yourself. There's a chance—"

"There is no chance that I'm going to be selected for the Witch Detection Squad," I said squarely. "It's the most sought-after squad in all of the FPF. The best of the best go there. Not those with mild abilities to keep themselves safe by not courting trouble."

Sally opened her mouth, but from her strained expression, I could tell that even she was running out of excuses.

I smiled. I secretly hated my smile. The way it dimpled my chin, the way it tugged up my cheeks at the wrong angle. I know it made me look cute. With my size, I know everything made me look cute. Just as I was fully aware as a recruit of the FPF looking cute should not be high on my list of aspirations.

"All I'm saying is you never know what will happen next." Sally shrugged.

"No, but you can make an educated guess, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to get a desk job." With that, I put on a little speed, marched up the steps, opened the door for Sally, and waved her through.

Though I'd only intended to open it for her, a bunch of other recruits walked up behind, and every single one of them walked through, only a few bothering to thank me.

... Because that's where I really sat among the other recruits. Sally might have the kind of good heart to think I was worth it to be in this program, but most of the other recruits disagreed.

One of them in particular – Stephen Vanderbilt – always took every single opportunity to make that known. He took his time striding up the steps, and when I went to dart through the door in front of him, he growled. "No way to show respect for your fellow colleagues. You keep that door open, Cadet, because we both know that's all you're good for."

My heart sank.

I should have a thicker skin when it came to Stephen, but he kept finding novel ways to poke holes in it.

"Why the hell did you join the police force anyway?" He spat as he walked through, his voice low so no one could pick it up. "If you want to prove a point, go prove it somewhere else. You're going to get someone killed." He strode away, every step accompanied with heavy footfall. The guy was a titan, coming in at six-foot-four. He was a wall of muscle, and he acted like it.

Despite the fact all the other recruits had walked through, I remained there for a few seconds, hand becoming sweaty as it locked around the handle.

... Why had I joined the police force?

I couldn't really say. I think I'd woken up one day and it had felt like a good option.

... No, that was wrong. I'd woken up one day, and I'd felt entirely compelled to do it, as if some switch had been flicked in my brain.

I got that sometimes. Call me an obsessive personality, but some mornings I'd roll out of bed and feel like a different person. I'd have this... residue, I guess you'd call it. It would tell me to do things, tell me to make some sudden change in my life. I'd moved houses three times because of that feeling. And yeah, I'd joined the FPF recruitment program because of it, too.

Did I have a point to prove? Not really.

I knew I was small and weak, knew I wasn't as fast as the others, and knew I didn't have that great a head on my shoulders. But....

"You don't have to hold the door open for everyone, Cadet Sanders."

A rumble came from my side, and I ticked my gaze up, appreciating I'd slipped into my thoughts.

I stared back at Jake.

Detective Sergeant Jake Parata, the six-foot-five Maori who headed up the Witch Detection Squad – the same squad that every single recruit wanted to join. He was a wall of muscle with a face just as handsome as it was responsible. That was the thing about Jake. Stare for even a second into his large, soft brown eyes, and anyone would get the impression he was a warrior of old. He wasn't some tough, ridiculous macho guy who spent all his time Instagramming his perfect body. No. He didn't have the time. Every second of every day, Jake protected people.

And right now, he shot me a pressed-lipped frown. There was a flash of disappointment in his eyes. "You shouldn't let them bully you."

"I don't mind opening the door. It's polite. There's nothing wrong with being polite," I tried, too bashful to make eye contact.

Every single woman in the recruit program had a crush on Jake. There were plenty of other good-looking recruits, but Jake's attractiveness was only partially built on his body. Most of it came from his sense of duty.

Anyone would get the impression that Jake was the kind of man who would do anything to protect others.

"You're right, it is polite, but you don't need to extend that to people who don't appreciate it."

I opened my mouth, still staring at my feet, then heard a siren far off in the distance.

It caught my attention, and I tilted my head toward it.

There were always sirens, especially downtown. The compound backed onto the city's biggest FPF station. One side was for training, and one side was for the real police work.

For some reason, the particular pitch of these sirens sounded off.

Jake watched me silently for a few seconds. "I'll give you one thing, Cadet Sanders. You have good instincts."

His left-field comment got to me, and I twisted my head back to him, for the first time making enduring eye contact. "Sorry?"

"There's a big case on. An important one. That's what the sirens were."

"Oh."

Jake walked several steps, then turned, those soft brown eyes locking on me. "You gonna stand there all day opening the door for people, or are you going to get to class? My class," he added.

Cheeks reddening, I finally walked in the door, closed it, then felt the need to pat the sweat off my hands. I just stopped myself, hooking my hands behind my back instead.

I was well aware of the fact I looked like a flustered idiot.

We strode along, and it took me a few seconds to realize that we were walking together. With Jake's long legs, he could easily stride ahead, but he was obviously measuring his pace.

Which only made me more embarrassed.

Sometimes – okay, most of the time – I hated how pathetic I was.

I couldn't help but wonder how my life would be different if I just had more confidence.

Every few seconds, Jake shifted his gaze toward me, as if he was expecting I would start a conversation.

Me, I just kept my hands clamped behind my back, my fingers now so sweaty, I was sure anyone would be able to see how nervous I was if they caught sight of them.

"Any idea," Jake began, obviously sick and tired of waiting for me to start a conversation. He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence.

An officer came barreling down the corridor, skidding to a stop in front of him. "There you are."

Jake immediately went into responsibility mode, and he lengthened his back, becoming even taller. "What's going on? Is it something to do with the case?"

The guy shook his head. "No, Sarge. Found another one," he said, his voice bottoming out low.

I didn't recognize this guy, but that didn't mean much. The Compound, despite the fact it backed onto the primary Police Department, was pretty much a silo. The true officers, detectives, and agents who worked for the actual Federal Police Force never had much reason to come in here. Only the trainers did.

Jake paled, making it obvious that despite the fact this guy hadn't given much information, Jake knew exactly what he was talking about. "Where?" He demanded, his tone quick.

"In a car park downtown. Some bin men found him this morning."

"So he's a man, then?" Jake demanded.

The guy nodded. "About 32, no previous anything. No tickets, no crimes, no nothing. The guy was off the grid," he added, as if Jake hadn't already gotten the gist.

Jake brought up a hand, anchored it on his chin, pressed his lips together, and breathed through them slowly. "I'll get onto it once the class is finished."

The officer looked incredulous. "This is important. Just shrug the class off."

Jake straightened his back even further, clearing his throat as he looked at me specifically.

Either I was too small or insignificant, because the officer hadn't picked up the fact I was a recruit. It was one thing to suggest Jake blow off his class in front of another officer, but apparently quite a different thing to suggest it in front of me.

The guy's cheeks slackened. "What time will you be finished? Make it quick. They've already transferred him to St. Jude's. He's like the others," the guy said, cagier now, obviously appreciating that it wasn't appropriate to share the details of an ongoing case with someone who hadn't even graduated from the recruitment program yet.

Jake clearly didn't have the same qualms. "You mean he's got no memory at all?"

"Can't even remember his name. But that's not all."

Jake took a hard breath. "What else?"

... I should probably have left this conversation as soon as it had started. Yeah, okay, for some strange reason Jake had been walking with me, but when it had become obvious this was a work conversation, I should've walked past.

Instead I stood there, listening to every word, lapping them up. I was curious for some reason. No, curious was the wrong word. I was involved. My body tingled as if I'd been running this case myself.

I was poised forward, balanced on the tips of my toes, hearing sharp and gaze even sharper as I assessed both men's expressions.

"There's neural evidence, ha?" Jake asked, voice low.

Again the officer darted his gaze toward me, but when Jake didn't snap at me to leave, the guy obviously appreciated Jake didn't care what details were discussed in front of me. "Yeah," he nodded hard, "doctors have already run a scan. It's clear a spell was cast on him. His memories are gone."

... I think something inside me twitched.

This tension suddenly built in my stomach, feeling as if someone had grabbed my intestines. It shot up my back, tingled along my neck, and pressed into my skull.

I... for the strangest reason it felt as if I'd just learned a lesson. As if I'd just acquired some new fact I hadn't known before, a fact that would make me better....

I shook my head, the thought disappearing into a fog.

Jake noticed the move, darting his gaze toward me. "It's a recent spate of cases," he began to explain. "We're working on them with the Witch Squad."

I paused, then nodded. "They sound important."

"That's an understatement. We're pretty sure there's a mind bender in the city."

I could tell that the other officer was surprised that Jake had shared that fact, but Jake sure as hell hadn't done it by accident. He was looking directly at me as he spoke every word.

I simply stood there, my hand still behind my back. By now that strange fog had disappeared from my mind, and I became just as awkward as ever. "I thought they were impossibly rare."

"Yeah, well, Mag City brings in the rare." He shifted his attention back to the officer. "I'll be with you just after class. Protect that guy. Make sure no one goes near him. I want a full police detachment."

"Already on it." The officer walked off, but not before giving me a confused glance.

Hell, it was a glance I completely understood.

Why had Jake shared these details with me? The Witch Squad was a pretty closed off affair. As one of the most important detachments of the Federal Police Force, they had to be. Every single person who got in was vetted, and the cases they dealt with were some of the most secretive and sensitive.

As he turned and continued to stride toward class, I felt Jake's gaze on me.

I swallowed. "I won't tell anyone, sir. I understand my obligations under police ordinance—" I began, ready to tell him that he didn't need to be worried that I'd share the details of that case.

He chuckled softly. "What are you planning to do after graduation, recruit?"

My stomach twitched, my stupid, idiotic mind wondering what kind of question that was, whether it was a prelude to asking me out after the graduation ceremony in two weeks.

When my expression stiffened, and my eyes widened, Jake chuckled even further. "When asked for your preference, you wrote down desk job," he said. "I read your file, Cadet," he added when I stiffened even more.

I blinked. Finally catching up to what he was talking about, I ran my teeth over my lip. "Yeah, I wrote down desk job. It's what I'm best suited for."

"Every single other recruit in your cohort put their preference as the Witch Squad. You put yours down as a desk job. After that, you put yourself down for traffic duty. In fact, your preferences are a complete reverse of everyone else's."

I swallowed. "I guess someone has to buck the trend."

He laughed softly. "It's healthy to aspire."

"It's also healthy to be realistic," I said, voice quiet. This was potentially the longest conversation I'd ever had with Jake, but with the degree of familiarity he was using to converse with me, it was obvious he knew exactly who I was. In my head, Jake would've written me off the day I joined the recruit program, just like everyone else had.

I was just the small one, the meek one, the one who lacked confidence, but the one who still doggedly went through training every single day. To most, I was an enigma, but the kind of enigma that was quickly and easily forgotten.

The way Jake was conversing with me, it was clear I was more than a side note to him.

We finally reached the right class. The door was closed. He paused in front of it. I went to open it for him.

He chuckled. "I can open my own doors, Cadet. But only you can open yours," he said seriously as he fixed a hand on the handle and turned to me.

I looked up into those large brown eyes. "The Witch Detection Squad is only going to take three recruits out of 200. Some doors aren't worth reaching for."

He narrowed his gaze at me. "That doesn't stop you from trying." He twisted the handle, then turned back to me. "Oh, and, Cadet—"

I looked up at him, for the first time, my gaze hard. Sometimes... Sometimes I felt like a different person. Like a stronger person, like a confident person, like someone who wasn't just in control, but someone who had the power to pretty much do whatever they wanted. I got a measure of that right now as I stared at him unflinchingly. "I won't share a word of the case. You have my word on that."

He paused, then the left side of his lips ticked into a smile. "And that's why you should reach for more doors," he muttered. "You've got good instincts, Serena." With that, he turned and opened the door.

He left me there, blinking, confused. I didn't see how predicting what he had been about to say meant that I had good instincts.

I shook my head, hair trailing over my shoulder as I paused for several more seconds, then finally walked in.

I didn't want the other recruits to think I'd been walking with Jake.

As soon as Sally saw me, she waved me over. She'd obviously been keeping a chair vacant for me.

Head down, I scurried forward, sat quietly, and immediately tuned out.

My mind locked on the details of the case I'd overheard.

A man, his memory wiped by a mind bender....

Just repeating that sentence made the skin along the back of my head tighten as tingles raced down the back of my neck.

But it wasn't that detail that set my stomach grumbling, nerves darting through me as if I'd swallowed a flare.

The one refrain I couldn't get out of my head was the fact that there'd been neurological evidence of the man's mind being wiped.

... Evidence.

Jake went through the standard lecture we got before any training class. From the proper use of weapons, to a reminder on the rights of the suspects we would track down.

Though I usually listened with rapt attention, my head was in a fog today.

By the time the lecture was over and everyone got up to enter the training room, Sally had tapped me on the shoulder before I walked off.

She leaned in. "You're in a daze today, kid. You really don't want to be in a daze. This training session is gonna be critical. A bunch of the other sergeants from the other squads are going to be there. They're gonna start picking people for their teams."

I didn't point out that that sounded like we were at a sports meet, I simply nodded, pushed up from my chair, and ran after Sally. I reached the chair that Stephen had been sitting in. When he'd gotten up, he'd pushed it out, and it was blocking the path through the aisles. I pushed it in conscientiously. As I reached the door, I realized Jake's eyes were on the back of my neck. That didn't stop me from opening the door for Sally, waiting until the last recruit had gone, then glancing up at him.

He was still paused behind his desk, his fingers spread as he tapped them on the wood. He looked up at me from under his brows. "I told you, Cadet – I can open my own doors."

I didn't come back with a comment. I just quietly walked through and closed the door.

"What was that?" Sally said from beside me as she hooked her hair behind her ear. "You get into trouble with Jake?"

"No," I muttered as I tilted my head to the side.

Far off, I swore I heard the sound of sirens again. And just like before, they reached in and made my stomach clench.

Sally shifted forward and waved a hand in front of my face. "You with it today, or what? Did you ignore the fact that I just told you that today's training session is going to be one of the most important? Unless you want a desk job, you're going to need to stay on your toes."

I hadn't told Sally about my preferences. She thought that just like her, I'd put down all the most active placements.

I didn't bother to correct her.

We quickly made our way to the training room.

It was a gymnasium. It was huge. It was fully equipped with everything a budding Federal recruit would need to learn the skills required to keep this city safe from not just humans, but witches.

We were already dressed in activity clothes, and I pulled off my jacket, resting it on the seat beside Sally as she checked the laces of her shoes. She grinned at me. "I can't wait to see what they pit us against." She brought up her muscles and flexed them. "Because I pity the fool."

I chuckled, leaning forward and checking my own laces. I hunched my body over my knees and froze still for half a second.

... This position felt familiar for some reason. Like I'd been doing it recently – like it had been important at the time....

I almost caught a flash of something in my consciousness, but then I shook my head as it was swallowed up by that fog.

"Dammit, you look out of it today. Just keep it together enough that you don't get kicked out," Sally said, her voice shaking with honesty.

Though she spent most of her time pretending I was just as good as any other recruit, right now I could tell she was seeing reason.

If there was anyone more likely not to see it through today, it was me.

And yet, part of me suspected that I wouldn't let myself fail.

I get it, that sounds confusing. I'm the one without any self-confidence and strength, remember?

Yet....

I don't know, it kind of felt that the same impetus that had seen me join the police in the first place wouldn't let me get kicked out.

It was important. Being here, working for the Federal Force – it was key.

We filed into the training ground, all of us standing in front of Jake.

The back of my neck started to itch.

There was this weird, prickly sensation that ran down the skin.

I brought a hand up and scratched it, but when there was no insect bite or anything else, I let my hand drop.

The itching didn't stop.

The guy taking the session kept going on about how important this would be. He kept reinforcing that this would be the most important lesson of our lives. We had to show what skills we had.

I didn't pay a scrap of attention, even as the doors at the back of the gym opened and I saw all the heads of the squadrons walk-in.

I kept itching the back of my neck, digging my fingers in, trying to get at that strange tingle.

But it wouldn't stop.

Sally was no longer paying much attention to me. Her chest was punched out, her hands behind her back as she stood up just like the dutiful recruit she was.

Me, I started to wonder if there was something seriously wrong with my head.

I—

I tilted my head up.

The ceiling was high, arched, and had steel supporting beams keeping it aloft.

Far in the distance, I swear I heard more sirens. I don't honestly know how I picked them up. The walls of the gymnasium were too thick. Yet they echoed and rattled in my skull.

My head was still tilted up, my neck muscles straining, my eyes narrowing at those rafters as if I expected to see—

Red.

I picked up a red crackle.

It was quick, faint, barely there.

I threw myself backward just in time, just as that red dot fell down from the ceiling.

The next thing I knew, all chaos broke loose. Because it was more than two glistening pinpricks of red light. It was a goddamn witch.

My body acted long before my brain could catch up. Hell, long before anyone else could catch up in this gymnasium full of cops and soon-to-be cops.

I'd had moments like this before. Split seconds where I react, where my apparently small, awkward form finds the coordination it's been lacking all these years.

Now was one of those times.

In the moment it took everyone else to react to the witch – in the moment it took them to realize the man was holding a magic bomb – I pushed forward. I was like a blast. The way my arms moved – I was a goddamn explosion.

I reached the witch, wrapped an arm around his middle, and shoved my other hand against his shoulder. The move was strong enough that I hauled him off balance. Though I shouldn't be the kind to rugby tackle anyone – unless that person was a kid – the way I moved my body made it count. I took hold of his momentum and used it against him until the next thing I knew, I got him on the ground.

I jammed my knee into his elbow, and finally his magic-laced fingers let go of the bomb before he could activate it. It rolled out of his grasp.

I found myself staring at his magic-laced fingers, as if I'd seen them before or something similar. And that – it brought me back to the here and now. I'd just tackled a goddamn witch. I—

All hell broke loose behind me as the pounding of footfall, screams, and blaring alarms started to shake through the building.

Though there were plenty of recruits around me, no one rushed to my aid. They were meant to be the best of the best, while I was just—

Reality court up with me – what I'd just done, and more importantly, what I was still doing. There was no way I could pin a goddamn witch.

Just as fear pulsed through me and I felt my skin becoming clammy with sweat, the witch started to buck. Don't ask me what the hell had been keeping him slack and pinned on the floor until now – but sure as hell it hadn't been my slight 50-kilo form.

"Oh God," I had time to stutter.

I finally heard thundering footsteps right behind me. "Keep him pinned," someone spluttered.

I looked up sharply to see Jake skidding to his knees beside me.

"I'm too small—" I began.

"You flipped him onto his face, Cadet. You can do it."

There was something about Jake's assurance, or maybe there was something about the magic building in the witch's body. The next thing I knew, I shoved my patella harder into the middle of his back, then I shifted my arm under the guy's throat, ignoring the tingle of magic racing down his skin, and I pulled his neck up.

I used strength I shouldn't have – maybe training I shouldn't have, either – and I stopped the guy from muttering an incantation, my small arm pressing hard enough into the base of his throat that he couldn't get the words out.

Jake was by my side, his hand pressed flat against the blue crash mat in front of me. He was looking right into my eyes as he appeared to be counting down the time on his watch. He wasn't helping. He was—

"All right, test is over." He flicked me a smile as he rose to his feet.

The witch beneath me became still, no more magic shifting over his form. Hell, he managed to let out a chuckle. It was gurgling considering how tightly I had a hold of him, but I still picked up the amusement shaking through his tone.

"What the hell is going on?" I heard Stephen splutter.

I was still locked on the spot with fear, something deep inside me starting to curl as I realized I'd been tricked.

This had never been real – it was a test.

Jake chuckled, and the entire time, he didn't take his eyes off me. "That right there was the initiation program for the Witch Detection Squad. You all know you we can only take 3 out of 200 recruits."

I still had a death grip on the witch, and the guy was slapping a broad hand on the mat beside me.

Jake shifted toward me, jamming a thumb up. "You can let him up now, Cadet. You've done your bit." He made enduring eye contact. "You did well; you're the only one who actually passed."

My muscles became jelly as I finally let go of the witch's neck.

The guy coughed and patted his chest with the base of his palms several times. "Dammit, you've got a good grip. But do you mind getting off me?"

Still surprised, I pushed to my feet. I swiveled my gaze up to Jake, knowing full well I must look so surprised I could be on candid camera.

He chuckled. "Relax. You passed. Looks like I was right about you, after all."

Something inside me – that part of me that felt betrayed – doubled down, a truly sick, twisting feeling shifting through my gut as if I'd failed big time, even though on the face of it, I'd passed when no one else had.

I slid my gaze around the rest of the room, noting the expressions of every single one of my classmates.

Though a few of them still looked surprised, the majority appeared overwhelmingly disappointed. Then there was Stephen and his ilk – they looked solidly pissed off.

"She got lucky," Stephen said with a barely hidden growl. "Her grades are the worst there is."

Jake turned to him, patted his hands on his pants, even though he hadn't done a thing but count how long I could pin the witch, then ticked his considerable jaw to the side. I swore I could hear the click of his muscles and joints from here. It was easily the equivalent of someone cocking a gun. "Are you about to tell me how to run my recruiting program, Vanderbilt?"

Though Stephen hadn't hidden his pissed off expression until now, he finally reigned it in, his cheeks becoming cold and slack. "I'm just saying that some of us deserve another chance."

"Why?" Jake crossed his arms, the ceremonial tattoos up and down his forearms catching the light. "You think you will get another chance out there?" He jammed a thumb in the direction of the police station behind the Compound. "You think a witch's gonna give you another chance if you fail to act and fail to protect your comrades?" he said, really emphasizing the word protect. He spat it so hard, in fact, it made me wonder if he'd overheard Stephen's barb earlier when the guy suggested I was a risk to everyone around me.

Stephen shifted his gaze to the ground, pressed his lips in, and finally appreciated he couldn't get anywhere by arguing with Jake.

Jake swiveled his gaze between everyone in the group. "Out there," he kept his thumb jammed backward toward the city, "a split second with a which is the difference between you dying and you living. You need to have more than good grades," he said as he shot Stephen a pointed look. "You need to have more than good physical fitness."

I could tell Stephen wanted to snort at this, but fortunately the idiot kept his mouth shut.

"You need to have the kind of instincts that will tell you when danger is around. Most importantly, you require the kind of instinct that will see you run toward trouble," Jake pointed to where I'd tackled the witch, "and not away from it." He let that same hand flick toward where the majority of the cadets had run to.

I was still down on my knees, as confused as hell.

The witch had already stood, and as he stretched out his shoulders and patted down his jacket, his gaze slid to me.

My stomach clenched with an unholy rush of nerves. It didn't make me afraid – just the opposite. I got the sudden urge to curl my hand into a fist, to sink it into the witch's jaw, and to make him forget this ever happened.

But the urge quickly shifted away as Jake motioned me up.

Though I hated – absolutely hated – to be the center of attention, I still rose, standing dutifully by his side. I probably looked like a garden gnome at the foot of a giant, but Jake accommodated by shifting back so he didn't crowd me.

"You can all think that the training you've gone through will see you make it as cops. I'm gonna be the first to tell you it won't. You may think you already know what you will do if you face danger, but I will tell you you don't. If you have any intention of going through with your oath to serve and protect, you have to be like Cadet Sanders." He motioned toward me with a broad hand. "You have to run toward trouble, not away."

"And you need to have a choke like a wrestler," the witch muttered under his breath, quiet enough that no one should be able to hear.

But I picked it up. It rang clear in my ears as if the guy had shouted at me in front of my face.

I was still stiff and unimaginably cold, no longer aware of the fact I was the center of attention. Behind the scenes of my mind, it was almost as if I was processing something monumental. Coming to some decision – trying to figure out if something was a threat.

"From today, you will technically graduate. The last two weeks of your training will be placements."

"I thought we still had the training to go?" Sally piped up, though her tone was deferential and miles away from the barely concealed anger Vanderbilt used.

"Training in the field is the only training that ultimately matters. Sanders here has earned a position in the Witch Squad. The rest of you are going to be placed in each of the various police departments. The best performers in their respective fields," he emphasized best with a blast of air, "will be invited to take up the two remaining positions in the Detection Squad with Sanders. Now, go and think about what you could've done differently."

As everybody else walked away, I stood there. I was still confused, even though I'd ostensibly been given all the facts to understand what had happened to me. That wasn't why I couldn't move. My subconscious, or whatever you wanted to call it, was still processing something at a million miles an hour, attempting to figure out if I'd made some awful mistake.

Though I wasn't staring at him directly, my eyes locked on the witch in my peripheral vision. I seemed to be using skills I didn't have to assess whether he was a risk. To assess whether he'd figured something out about me.

... Wait, what? Figure something out about me? What was there to figure out? I'd gotten lucky. As that thought forcefully reasserted itself in my consciousness, my confusion started to ebb.

Jake was still beside me, and he took a warm chuckle. "Still confused? I guess this will be a change of fortunes for you."

I made eye contact for the first time since this test had been revealed, and I controlled my expression so it didn't look as if Jake had shattered my world. "With all due respect, Sir, I don't think I'm—" I began, slipping easily into the formal tone I was so good at. I might not have the greatest grades, and God knows I wasn't the best shot, but I did have a diplomatic voice, and I used it now.

It didn't work on Jake. He chuckled heartily. "I don't think you're about to say a respectful statement." He clamped his hands on his hips, showing off his muscles for everyone to see.

I blanched.

He didn't go all drill-sergeant-mode on me like he had with Stephen. He just made more of that enduring eye contact he seemed so good at. Maybe it was the color of his soulful brown eyes, or maybe it was his endearing personality, but he seemed to have the unusual ability to stare through your defenses. "Don't look so shocked, Cadet. You know what I mean. It's profoundly disrespectful when someone who has the skills to help chooses not to. Now I would assume that this demonstration here today has proven to you what I already suspected. You've got good instincts – great instincts. And I don't want to see them wasted at a desk job. So go pack up your things and head to the Witch Detection Squad on level 8 of the police station. We've got a big case on. And I'm going to need your help."

I stood there, as cold as stone. It was as if my body wanted to revolt, turn me in the opposite direction, and run me away.

But then... I started to ease. The tension climbing through me began to recede almost as if my subconscious had come to the sudden decision that this wouldn't be so bad after all.

That obviously played over my expression, because Jake chuckled. "You'll be fine. And if," he said as he half turned away, "after two weeks you decide that you're really not suited for it, I'll get you that desk job." With that, he walked away.

Though most of the other cadets had already disbursed, Sally was waiting dutifully by the chairs. As soon as Jake was finished, she rushed over to me, her face full of amazement and sheer pride. That was the thing about Sally – even though I knew for a fact she'd wanted to get onto the Detection Squad with all her heart, she wouldn't begrudge the fact I'd gotten there before her.

"Don't look like that," she hissed.

"Like what?"

"Like this is torture. Kid," she said, her voice arcing high with total amazement, "you should have seen yourself. You were like a different woman. You moved so fast. Your attack was perfect, too. There was no way any man would have been able to throw you off."

"Even Jake? How about Stephen?" I challenged, my gaze flashing toward Vanderbilt.

Though everyone else had already come to terms with what had happened and wandered off, Vanderbilt was standing by the doorway, his arms crossed. His gaze was shifting between his phone then over to me, and I shouldn't need to tell you that it wasn't friendly.

Sally pressed her lips together, appeared to think, then winced. "Maybe not Jake and Vanderbilt. They do have a full foot and a half on you. But that doesn't matter. Muscles are one thing – magic is something else. You took on a witch."

"The guy was a test. He had no intention of killing us. Speaking of which, I had no idea witches worked for the Police Department," I said, my tone strange. I wouldn't call it strangled, but it sure as hell wasn't confident, either. It was... suspicious.

If Sally noticed, she didn't let on. She shrugged. "I've heard of a couple of cases. Mostly people who've fallen into witness protection. You might think that witches are only nasty toward humans – what they do to each other is worse. My guess is that guy came to the police force for protection, offered them up some valuable enough information to earn it, and has been here ever since. It makes sense to be able to train with a real witch."

"... Yeah," I forced myself to say, realizing I couldn't just stand there staring off into space, a deep frown marking my lips forever. I let out a sudden sigh, bringing up a hand and latching it onto my shoulder.

Sally chuckled too. She leaned in to slap me on the back but stopped halfway through. "I wouldn't want to bruise you further. I imagine you want a hot bath after that. Did you strain anything?" she asked caringly.

"Except my pride."

Sally shook her head, her ponytail trailing down her back. "Only you would assume that was embarrassing. It was amazing. Now, do you know where you're going?"

I couldn't ignore Sally's kindness anymore, and I turned to her, forcibly forgetting what had just happened. "I'm really sorry, by the way."

"Nope, stop right there. I know what you're going to say, and I don't want to hear it."

"But, Sally—"

"If you think I'm the kind of person who is going to be jealous because my best friend got to a position I wanted before me, then you don't know anything about me." She crossed her arms, a fake angry frown marking her lips. "I would have really expected more of you, Miss Sanders."

I latched a hand onto the back of my head and shrugged into it. "Sorry. I just... I didn't even want this job."

"Way to go to step on everyone else's feelings," she said as she shifted in close and hissed. "You may not want to be at the forefront of witch protection in this city, but every other recruit does. You'll be hunting down witches; you'll be keeping people safe; you'll be learning their secrets," she added as an afterthought.

Learning their secrets?

Something within me seemed to twitch at that. Was it that strange part of my subconscious that had been reeling since she'd found out this was a test?

... Witch secrets.

Targets.

Those two phrases rolled around in my head as Sally led me away.

God knows I was still confused, but it wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. You see, my confusion would never last long. It would become sharp, then it would simply ebb away as if it had never been there at all. Which is precisely what happened now as Sally led me out of one of the alternate entrances so we didn't have to shift past Vanderbilt.

It was time for me to join the Detection Squad, and she didn't want me to be late.

# Chapter 3

I was sitting at home, staring at my uniform. My real uniform.

Though I'd nominally joined the Detection Squad today, there'd been nothing to do. Yet. I'd been introduced to all of the staff, given a desk, been outfitted for a uniform and weapon, and been told to come back fresh and early for the first shift in the morning.

And now here I was, standing nervously over my uniform as it was pressed flat against the kitchen table.

"This is insane," I told myself. Though the words echoed out, they didn't shift that far into the room, if that made any sense. Or maybe what I was trying to say was that they didn't shift that far through me. You see, even though I'd spent most of today reeling from the fact that I – the smallest, weakest cadet – had managed to achieve the impossible, another part of me had just accepted the fact. This was happening, and in many ways, it was good. Maybe I did have something to give back to society, after all?

Jamming my thumb into my mouth and chewing on the nail, I finally pulled myself away from my uniform, but not before giving it a dutiful pat, brushing off some imaginary speck of dust.

I walked over to the fridge.

By the time I'd made it home, it was already 7 o'clock, and it was dark.

I swiveled my gaze to my window, noting just a thin glow of light pollution above the tall darkened building across the laneway.

I got the strangest urge to walk over to my fire escape, open it, and stare down, almost as if I expected something to be there – or someone.

A weird sense of déjà vu prickled up my back, and I forced myself to lean into my fridge, grab an old container of Chinese takeaway, and pull it out. I settled it down on the chipped counter by the side of my microwave, opened the lid, and shoved it in. As soon as the microwave was on, I clamped my arms around my middle, turned, and leaned against the bench.

I stared at the floor.

... Something began to prickle up my back. This... sensation as if I could feel someone walking across my grave. Or maybe that wasn't right. It was almost as if I was an antenna and I was picking up an unexpected message.

I ticked my head to the side, the drone of the microwave loud behind me, the old machine shaking the counter as the mechanism inside rotated.

I felt a frown marking my lips.

I went to tick my gaze back toward my uniform for some reason but locked it on the opposite wall. Not the one with the fire escape, the other one that backed onto my neighbor Jeff's apartment.

I barely knew the guy. He was just a journalist or something.

Why did I now get the urge to go see him?

Why did I—

I heard a tinkle. It sounded like glass smashing against a hard floor.

Then there was a thump.

Adrenaline pulsed through me, my hands spreading wide and slackening by my sides. The next thing I knew, I was pushing forward off the bench and heading for the door.

I reached it, wrenched it open, and pivoted, throwing myself down the few meters to Jeff's door.

I went to knock, but that's when I saw it was open a crack.

"Hello, this is the police. You okay in there?" I managed.

I was not a police officer yet. I was a goddamn recruit with two weeks left to go before graduation, but that didn't stop me.

I expected Jeff to trundle up, frown at me for faking my identity, and tell me to piss off. Of the few interactions we'd had, they'd been brief and only barely polite.

... Except there was nothing.

Was there another thump? Did it travel ever so slightly through the floor and shake up into my knees?

I pushed forward.

"This is the police—" I began once more.

My gaze tracked through Jeff's small apartment. It was like mine, but while mine was on the corner of the building, his only had one window and was even more cramped. There was a kitchen that led into a small living room, and two-bedrooms and a bathroom beyond.

That glass I'd heard breaking? It wasn't a bowl or a mug. It was the window.

My eyes opened wide in a snap of fear as I swiveled them over to it.

Jagged bits of glass jolted out of the frame, with more scattered over the carpet. And just here and there, I saw them splattered with mud and something else – fresh droplets of bright red blood.

Before I knew what I was doing, I bolted forward, heading for Jeff's bedroom.

My movements were fast, my arms pumping beside me, my breath quick and free.

Grabbing a hand onto the doorway, I threw myself into the guy's bedroom.

It was in time to see that the room was a mess.

The bed – the fourposter bed – was on its side as if it had been tackled by a giant.

His dresser was on its back, every drawer pulled out, clothes scattered over the floor.

There were broken picture frames of family members on the wall, and mud – mud everywhere. It was up the walls, over the bedspread, and even on the ceiling.

I let out a shuddering gasp.

Along my tongue, I swore I tasted something. Something that sparked, tingled, and zapped. That something sank through my mouth, into the back of my throat, and down my neck. It jolted easily into my spine and pushed me forward.

It was just in time.

There was a rattle from the built-in wardrobe beside me. As I shoved forward, something pushed out of it.

A bolt of light and energy blasted over my left shoulder, sank into the carpet, and left a smoldering hole.

I didn't let out a scream. I dropped down to my knees, pushed, and rolled over the mud-covered carpet until my sweatshirt and pants were covered in muck.

I pushed up, the movement snapped, and I saw him.

A witch. He had a clamped, clawed hand around Jeff's mouth. My neighbor was awake, but he couldn't move. His eyes were wide with fear, one of them red and bloody from where he'd been punched.

His limbs were jelly, making him look like nothing more than a terrified doll.

That wasn't to mention the witch.

The guy next to him was tall, about six-foot-one, and had an angular face with eyes that... eyes I swore I'd seen before.

They stared into me, and I stared back.

"Cop bitch," the witch spat. "I guess I'll make this a double murder."

Murder.

I... I remembered some creep coming into my room last night. I remembered him clamping a magic-laced hand over my mouth and making me just as limp and useless as Jeff. I remembered being dragged down my fire escape and into the back of a car. I remembered being taunted as I'd been driven out of town.

And finally, finally I remembered fighting back.

One by one the walls that held my other side back crumbled.

Serena Sanders slipped away, and the witch returned.

"You think you're clever? You think you managed to dodge that attack because you're skilled? You got lucky. I'm gonna roast you alive. I'm going to chop you up and scatter your bits through the police stations in Mag City. I'm gonna send them to your family members. I am going to kill you and enjoy every single second," the witch spat with vicious pleasure.

I stood there. Whereas once my skin had been clammy with sweat, now it had dried. Whereas once my heart had beaten like thunder, now it was even and steady, ready to respond to my every command without the need to overreact.

Jeff was still staring at me in total fear, and though he could only move his eyes, he kept deliberately swiveling them toward the door as if he were trying to tell me to leave and save myself.

I brought my hands up, patted them on my pants, removing the mud from between my webbing, and tilted my head to the side. "You here for revenge?" I asked conversationally.

I watched the witch's eyes turn into two pinpricks of violent attention. They easily reminded me of his brother's.

"This bastard killed my brother. He's obviously got witch friends in high places. I'm going to find out who they are, and I'm gonna kill them one by one. Because—"

"Don't tell me, you've got friends in high places too?" I said as I sighed, the conversation boring me.

That got to the witch, and he spread his saliva-covered lips over his teeth. What was with this family and saliva? Couldn't they swallow before they talked?

"You—" I began, intending to shift forward and end this. It would be easy enough to knock the witch out and wipe the memories of both men in the silence and darkness of this very room. I didn't need to take this witch out to the forests. Here would do.

But something... something stopped me.

That asshole last night had bragged about knowing people in high places – witches who could protect him from anything. Though I could assume it was nothing more than bravado, nothing more than the ramblings of a completely shattered mind, here his brother was, repeating the refrain.

The only way I could protect my other side was with information. Blasting through any witch dumb enough to climb into her bedroom window was one thing. But preventing any witches from being able to make that move in the first place was where my true powers lay.

I crossed my arms and took a nonchalant step toward him, knowing my gaze was as easy as somebody who was about to take on a fly. "Who are your friends?"

"You think I'm going to tell you, cop?"

"Sure. You're going to kill me, remember? So satisfy my curiosity. That's what your brother seemed so keen to do last night when he was driving me out of town."

The witch's eyes bolted wide open, the skin down his face stretching like plastic wrap someone was trying to tear in two. "What?" he spat, the word trembling out of his lips.

"Your brother." I clamped my arms harder around my middle, but not out of fear – out of the desire to show him who was in control. Slowly, I spread my lips, ticking them into a smile.

I didn't bother to make eye contact with Jeff. There was no point. Though he was still fearful, his minute control over his brows had seen them crumble hard over his eyes. He'd be confused. I'd erase that from his mind later.

"What the hell are you talking about? Do you know what happened to my brother?"

"Define know? I attacked him. Is that good enough for you?"

"Bitch!" the witch roared. Though he'd been keeping hold of Jeff until now, he bolted forward. Not before clamping his thumb and forefinger hard into either side of Jeff's lips. There was an audible click that ran through the room, and I tasted magic washing up and down the back of my throat.

The witch threw himself forward, his eyes a flash of menace, his body charging with magic.

I didn't bother to step out of the way.

With a spell under my breath, I spun to the side, made a fist, and punched him right in the jaw just as he lunged for me.

The punch was strong enough that as it connected, the guy spun to the side as if he was a clay pigeon I'd shot from the air.

He thumped hard into the carpet just as Jeff lost all muscular control and fell face-first onto the floor. This witch had to be powerful, because even without a clamped hand on Jeff's mouth, the guy couldn't move.

He just lay there, sweating and crying into the floor as he waited for death.

It wouldn't come.

I took a strong step, both of my hands squeezed into fists now, my gaze as dead and dark as the witch's had once been.

The guy quickly rolled to his side, his eyes blasting open wide in violent surprise. He stared at me in shuddering shock, blood spilling down from a split in his lip, tracing along his chin, and mixing with the already screwed carpet.

It would take more than a few muttered spells to lift this grime.

I tilted my head to the side and opened my eyes wide. "Who are your friends in high places? Tell me why I shouldn't kill you," I added.

"What the hell?" He went to shove forward, then obviously his instincts caught up with him, and he shuddered back.

He tried to stand as he shoved his elbow into the carpet, but he'd landed on it so badly, he winced in pain.

That didn't stop him from scuttling further back until his back banged against the wall. "You are a witch? Did you fucking kill my brother? Did you trap him?"

I inserted a finger in my ear and cleaned it. "He attacked me. I simply finished the job."

"You scumbag. You killed my brother."

As the guy spat that out with total gut-shaking vehemence, I confirmed one thing. He obviously didn't know that his brother was still alive. Fortunately the police force could still keep a lid on these things.

I was not about to disabuse this asshole of his ignorance. I took a step forward, my head tilted to the side, my expression easy and one of curiosity as if I was doing nothing but staring at a strange speck on the carpet. "Who are your friends in high places?" I demanded again.

The guy snapped forward, rage or stupidity getting the better of him. He kept down low, his body blazing with yellow fire. He started to mutter something under his breath, something quick and effective.

The very floor beneath me began to shake. If the spell was allowed to run its course, the floor would crack, and I would sink through to the neighbors below.

I didn't let the spell run its course. I brought my heel up and stamped it down, sparks escaping from the move, sinking through the sodden carpet and reaching the witch.

He jolted back, his eyes blasting wide as the magic that encased his form flickered out. It didn't last, and a second later he pumped a hand into a desperate fist, and it reignited. But the damage was done. "You counterattacked my spell?" Finally I heard what should have been there to begin with. Fear. Not anger. Desperation. The kind that would own someone's body and soul as it told them they were about to die.

He took a shuddering step back, eyes as wide as two reflective pools of water.

I stood my ground.

Fortunately Jeff was still conked out, face down on the floor, even if he would be listening in to this entire conversation.

Like I said, he wouldn't remember this. No one would. Heck, even I wouldn't remember this until the next time Serena needed me.

I took one small step forward. It was neither menacing nor friendly. It was just a step, and as it echoed out, my feet thumping against the carpet, it invited another step, and another, until I was standing over the kneeling man.

He looked up at me in shuddering shock. "What kind of witch are you? I've never seen you before. I've never met you."

"I'm just a witch. But if you want me to answer your questions, I suggest you answer mine," my countenance changed, my lips moving viciously around my words, "and I suggest you tell me who you work for. If you don't want me to kill you," I purred, "then tell me why I shouldn't."

It was as if I was offering the guy a lifeline, and the fear changed, momentarily being replaced with something close to arrogance. "Yeah, that's right, bitch – I've got friends in high places. You take me on," he patted his chest with a shaking hand, transferring sparks of magic and flecks of blood and mud over his soccer jersey, "you take on the Kingpin."

My eyes narrowed. "Kingpin? Who the hell is she?"

"He. New witch. More powerful than any sorry ass practitioner in Mag City," he said as he let his gaze slip up and down my body, obviously inferring that while I was strong, I'd be nothing compared to this Kingpin.

"Does this witch have a name?"

"Sure does. I'm not gonna tell you. I'm just gonna wait around for him to get his revenge. He's gonna crush you like a fly."

"You seem to have forgotten something." I patted down my hair casually as if I was momentarily more interested in neatening my appearance than torturing this fool. "Unless you give me a good reason, I'm going to use my superior skills to blast you through this room. There won't be any evidence. What will be left of you," now I let my gaze slide down his form, "will be too small to pick up even with a microscope."

Fear blasted back into the guy as he appreciated he wasn't in control after all. He took a shuddering breath. "You don't want to take him on. He'll kill you. He'll destroy your entire family."

"I don't have a family."

"All your friends—"

"All my friends are in the police force."

The guy's face crumpled as if someone had grabbed hold of his brow, dug in between his temples, and scrunched his brain, destroying his faculty to control his features. "You're in the police force? But you are a witch."

"I know that. They don't. Now tell me, what's his name?"

"No witch could work for the police. They'd figure it out."

"Tell me his name," I threatened, appreciating that I'd had my fun and I needed to wrap this up quickly in case anyone else noticed Jeff's door was still open.

"You've got no freaking clue—" he began.

"Tell me his name," I droned, letting out each word in percussive breaths that climbed with anger.

It had an effect on the guy, and he shuddered back. He bared his teeth.

"You know I can make you tell me his name?" I pointed out, my voice purring with happiness. It was an act. Everything in this mode was an act. You see, when I was like this – when I was the protector and guard of Serena – I knew how to deal with witches. And there was only one way.

As a breed, to a T, we understood violence, not compassion. My mother... goddammit, my beautiful mother had been different, and without her, I would be different. But the rest of my kind understood that the only way to survive was by gathering more power. And the only way to do that effectively was through violence. So I took another menacing step toward the guy, even though that made my shoe brush up against the crumpled fabric of his sweatpants.

He bared his teeth even wider, saliva slicking down his lips as his eyes shuddered, the whites fully brimming his blue irises. "He's gonna kill you. I don't care if you work for the damn police force – he is way more powerful."

I put my hands on my knees, leaned down, and brought my face right up close to his. I forced him to stare into my eyes, right into my eyes.

He stilled.

"What's his name?" I asked in a droning, low monotone.

The guy's throat constricted. It didn't look as if the move came from him – it looked as if an invisible hand clamped around his trachea and squeezed.

He spluttered, eyes widening even further until it looked as if they'd fall from his skull. "... What?"

"Is his name," I finished the sentence, never blinking once, as to do so would reduce the effectiveness of my spell.

"He's... I don't know his name. Owns the Messiah club. That's where we go for orders."

"I see. What do you call him?"

"Just Kingpin."

"If I capture another witch at the Messiah and use that name, will they recognize it?"

He nodded.

"Do you have anything else useful to tell me?"

"The Kingpin's here to take over the city, to use it as an example in the oncoming war."

For the first time, I almost accidentally blinked as my brow compressed hard over my eyes. "... War?"

"He's part of a new breed of witches who are sick of being held down by the Man. It's time for all of us brothers to rise up and reclaim our freedom."

There were plenty of witch proverbs that abounded about the witches finally shrugging off the yoke of man. There were all as violent and vile as each other. And they were all fantasies. In them, the witches would find their power, join up, and bring down civilization, finally ruling the people who had once subjugated them. But here's the thing – the one reason that could never happen – witches, by a matter of course, could not work together.

We hated each other too much for that.

"Has this guy got plans? Real plans? Is he intending to do anything to the city soon?" I asked, even though it technically wasn't my problem. If this city was about to become too screwed to live in, it would be safer for me to leave. But... in this form I understood my mother's sacrifice, and it repeated in my mind as it reminded me of her inherent goodness.

"Yeah, he's got something planned. Assassination of the Mayor. Two weeks from now. He's going to blast her away at City Hall when the latest recruits graduate from the police force."

My stomach twitched. "I see."

"Good." There was no longer any violence or anger in his voice. There was just confusion. As my spell started to run its course, he lost all of his pluck and became nothing more than a droning sleepwalker.

"Do you know more details of this plan to assassinate the Mayor?"

"No. I'm just an errand boy. Me and my brother were just here to keep fear in the city, to show the human bastards that they can't keep us down."

"Do you know anything else important?"

"Nobody can go up against the Kingpin. He's got magic no other witch does. Anybody who joins him gives them their loyalty 150 percent."

I frowned. "What kind of witch is he?"

The guy managed to shake his head, even though with every progressive shake, he became weaker and weaker, his eyes blinking sleepily as if he wanted to succumb to unconsciousness.

There was only so much information I could pry out of someone with a spell like this before it began to take its toll, and it was finally taking its toll on this bastard.

That wasn't the only thing.

In the distance, I heard the blare of sirens.

Out in the corridor, I picked up footfall, too.

With a practiced breath, I sent a spell lacing through the air. It rushed through the room, out into the rest of the apartment, caught the open door, and slammed it closed.

I heard people gasping in surprise.

"No more time I guess," I muttered to myself as I brought the man's face close and started to wipe his memories away. No more spells for him and no more magic. His dream of destroying humanity and rising to the top would be lost forever.

Once he was done, I pulled Jeff up and latched a hand on his shoulder. The guy was trembling, so frightened, if he'd had control of his body, he would probably have evacuated his bowels.

"Relax, I'm not gonna kill you, Jeff." I brought my face forward and wiped his memory. But this time, I covered my tracks.

I remembered the conversation I'd heard with Jake in the corridor at the training facility. The police were onto me. Whenever I wiped someone's mind, obviously I left a distinct enough neural trace that they could detect what I'd done.

Not this time. I worked thoroughly, not leaving a trace of my magic.

Once I was done, my sharp hearing picked up the fact the police were just outside the apartment.

Fortunately there was a small window in this guy's bedroom.

As I flicked a hand toward his carpet, muttering a cleaning spell that got to work quickly, charges diving through the pile and eliminating every stain, I walked up to his window.

With a flick of my fingers and another incanted spell, I sent magic charging through the room, out into the main room, and into the broken window. It picked up every fragment of glass, pulling them back together and sewing them until no one would even be able to see a crack.

I reached the small window above the guy's upturned bed just as I waved a hand, whispered another spell, and put his room back together, the bed floating up and remaking itself as the drawers pushed back into his dresser and the clothes neatly folded themselves in one by one.

I reached forward, latched a hand over the witch's back, and hefted him onto my shoulder.

I opened the window and jumped out.

I was quick, because I had a job to do.

In two weeks, the grad recruit ceremony would be blasted apart with an assassination attempt.

Not if I had anything to do with it.

As I sailed down into the darkened alleyway, magic laced my form, but even if anyone had been able to see me, they wouldn't have remembered.

I stole away into the night.

# Chapter 4

"Don't look so nervous," Brown chuckled as she stood by my desk and handed me a cup of coffee. "We all heard what you did in your training session. You keep doing that, you'll be an asset to this team."

I accepted the cup of coffee and took a sip way too quickly, the burning hot liquid scalding my lips.

"Whoa," Brown chuckled, "don't drown yourself. We've got a long day ahead of ourselves," she said as her tone changed, a cloud marking her features.

I tilted my head to the side. "What are you talking about?"

"Fancy doing a double? Then again, you already look pretty tired. Didn't sleep last night? Too excited?"

I shrugged. I cast my mind back, frowning. "I think I slept the entire night. Sorry if I look tired," I added like the dutiful recruit I was.

She chuckled. "Jake said you were a sweetie."

My cheeks began to redden.

Brown glanced from the left to the right, ensuring that everyone was out of earshot. "I'd keep that blush under control, kid. I know where it comes from – God, any red-blooded woman would. Let me tell you something about Jake – he doesn't do relationships. Doesn't have the time."

"What? No—" I said, waving my hands in front of my face.

Brown chuckled as several other officers walked up behind her.

"How's the new recruit settling in? If you use the skills you used yesterday, maybe we'll have a chance to get through this case."

My brow crumpled. "What case? Is that why I've been hearing sirens – more sirens than usual?"

"You've got a good ear on you. If you asked me, Mag City is never not filled with sirens. But I guess there are more police out today. We found another one," Jenkins revealed, his lips twisting to the side. "Or at least we think we found another one."

"Another what?"

"Unknown witch who has woken up with no magic, no memories, and no clue. This one was the brother of the guy we picked up yesterday. You heard of the Marker?"

Something twitched in my belly, but I shrugged, ignoring the sensation. "Sure – he's in the papers all the time. A serial killer—"

"Not anymore. Had his memory wiped. Obviously ran into a mind bender," Jenkins said, something between awe and outright fear widening his gaze.

I didn't comment; I couldn't.

"The guy they picked up this morning was his brother; we've already got a DNA match. If we didn't already know his brother was a witch, we'd have no clue this new guy had had his mind wiped."

"... What do you mean?" I managed slowly and quietly.

"This case – the mind bender – we've been following them for years. Witches will turn up with their memories completely blocked and their magic gone. A while back, we started to appreciate there was a pattern – neurological evidence left over as long as we got to the witches in time. But last night," Jenkins shook his head, "obviously our witch is evolving, because there was no longer any neurological trace."

"So how do you know—" I began, but I shook my head. "Because the guy's brother was a known witch and he no longer has magic," I answered my own question, my voice... tight.

Why did I feel as if I'd made yet another stupid mistake?

"We found him outside City Hall. You think someone's trying to send a message? The recruit graduation is there in two weeks," Brown said thoughtfully as she frowned, pressing the rim of her hot coffee cup against her lips.

"Message? Whoever this mind bender is, they're way beyond helping us." Jenkins shook his head.

"They're getting rid of witches, though. More than we do," Brown added.

"I'm not about to put up with your equal rights for witches crap," Jenkins' mood changed in a snap.

"Did I say equal rights for witches?" Brown snapped back.

"All right, all right," a deep voice reverberated out from behind them, and I looked up sharply to see Jake.

He looked different, even though he was wearing the exact same uniform he always wore even when he taught us recruits. He looked... I couldn't put my finger on it. In his element, maybe?

He stared between the team, offering me a brief smile before he flattened it into a frown for Brown and Jenkins. "Do we really need to argue in front of our recruit? Is that the kind of disciplined team vibe we want to share?"

"No, sir," both Brown and Jenkins said at once.

"You're free to bander around theories about what our mind bender is doing, but keep them civil. And remember they're just theories. Not one of us has a single idea what that witch is up to. But it has become clear we have to catch them before it's too late."

I sat there. I looked at everyone, at least out of my peripheral vision, but simultaneously I never made eye contact. It was like I was soaking in every detail for later.

"But even though the mind bender is an important case, it's not what we're working on today."

"You mean there's been another murder?" Brown piped up, her face freezing with controlled disgust.

Jake pressed his lips together and nodded once. "There's been another murder. Brutal," he added. "Looks like a witch forced someone to swallow a magic bomb."

Everyone receded in disgust.

Me... I frowned.

Jake's gaze instantly ticked toward me. "What are you thinking, Detective?"

I blinked hard at that.

"You're a detective now. Or at least for the next two weeks as far as I'm concerned. So why are you frowning? Share your theories with the team. And I take it for granted, considering how polite and diplomatic you are, that you won't descend into a petty fight." He looked pointedly at Brown and Jenkins before they dropped eye contact and shuffled to the side.

"You sure it's a simple matter?"

Jake frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You said this was another one, right? Were the others killed in the same way?"

Jake nodded. "All of them were made to swallow magic bombs."

"Whichever bastard is doing this is sick as hell," Jenkins interrupted.

His tone was completely different from Jake. Heck, maybe that was the real difference with everyone else compared to Jake. He didn't call witches bastards or assholes. He didn't bandy around insults. He just worked, his head level, his heart always in the right place.

I didn't let that distract me; this seemed important. Incredibly important.

Jake waited there, standing dutifully and not interrupting as my thoughts settled.

"That's a ridiculously specific way to murder victims," I managed with a deep frown.

"The Marker always had patterns, too. Most serial killers do," Brown said informatively.

"I get that – but the Marker killed in all sorts of ways. Sometimes he chased victims; sometimes he just attacked them. He used different spells, too. At least that's what I learned in the papers. For him, it wasn't about how he was killing people – it was about control."

"So what are you thinking?" Jake asked, his voice even.

Strange tingles ran up my back and sank into my jaw. Were they trying to stop me from speaking, or were they encouraging me to say more?

Hell, what was I saying? I just had this diffuse sense that something else was going on here, one that kept forcing me to speak even though I didn't know what I wanted to say.

When I drifted into silence, Jake gave me a kindly smile. "It's okay not to have a formed theory yet. In fact that's a good thing—" he began, obviously about to lecture me on evidence and keeping an open mind.

"It sounds like practice to me," I blurted.

Though there'd been plenty of other people in the Detection Squad doing their own thing, a lot of them stopped and looked at me.

Jake frowned. "Practice?"

"I don't really know much about the murders you're speaking about, but I do remember reading about a couple of them in the paper. All women in their fifties who were forced to swallow magic bombs, right?"

Jake conceded my point with a nod.

"Though the details in the paper were sketchy, they were all in large buildings, up on podiums, in fact. Is that the same with this murder?"

"Yes, it is."

"Then it's practice," I said conclusively.

"Practice for what?"

"I don't know," I said, even though before my voice had been confident. "But what if... what if our perpetrator is just attempting to get as much data on how an explosion like that would affect a woman of that age in an area like that..." I trailed off, realizing I sounded like a fool.

Though Jenkins and Brown had been watching me with open interest, both of them now turned around.

"We've already got an appointment with the criminal psychologist who specializes in witch serial killers," Brown said.

Jake didn't look away. He was still staring at me, his frown pronounced. "That's an interesting theory. One that makes me start to think. Though I was going to ease you into work, you're with me today."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"We're going to head to the scene of that murder. You can use those same instincts. And by the end of the day, if you've got more evidence to suggest your theory is right, we're going to take it further up."

I stared at him in open shock. "But—"

Brown leaned in conspiratorially, even though she was in front of everyone. "Here's a tip, rookie, if you're about to say you're too green eared, don't. Jake hates it when people underestimate their skills."

I pressed my lips to gather and shifted my gaze to Jake. "Brown's right. We've already had this conversation; I trust we won't have to have it again. Now, finish the paperwork for your transfer, and meet me in the armory."

"Armory?" I squeaked.

"We always arm ourselves properly when we go to the scene of a recent witch crime," Brown explained. "You never know when other witches might be sneaking around the recently dead – macabre bastards."

I swallowed.

Jake kept his gaze on me until he turned, chatted quickly to someone else, and strode off.

I pushed up, shot Brown an unsure grin that made her laugh, then rushed off.

"I can see why he recruited her," Jenkins said. "But she's got a long way to go."

Those words echoed in my ears as I scurried off after Jake.

He didn't let up his pace until we made it down to the armory.

Though I'd seen the armory several times in training sessions, now it took on a completely different feel. There were no other cadets goofing around, and there were no sergeants dedicated to showing us the ropes and stopping us from touching all the shiny weapons.

Considering the number of attacks the Witch Detection Squad had to put up with, their section of the armory was huge. Restricted weapons were kept behind a lockup, a guy called Stanley Towers the main sergeant in control. He was behind a barred, reinforced glass window, and as soon as he saw Jake, he leaned forward, locked his elbow on the bench, and chuckled. "After the murder scene already? You never catch a break."

"I'll catch a break when the city does," Jake chatted back smoothly as he shifted over, reached the door beside Stanley, and waited for Stanley to buzz us through.

"Running a tour?" Stanley frowned at me. "I thought the current run of grads had already seen the armory?"

"She's the latest trainee for the Detection Squad."

Stanley, to his credit, hid his frown as he let his gaze tick up and down me, obviously taking in my less-than-impressive form.

I smiled back and offered a small, stupid wave as I ran in behind Jake.

Back when we'd been allowed into the armory as part of our training session, we hadn't been allowed in here.

The reinforced door led to a small, cramped concrete corridor. That emptied out into two rooms. Both of them were stacked with metal shelves, and every single shelf had weapons arranged neatly in order of size and deadliness.

"Have you used a shotgun?" Jake asked as he walked up to one, grabbed it, held it, threw it up to check its weight, then looked straight at me.

I latched a hand on the back of my neck and scratched. "Technically. But—"

"If you're about to tell me you're not good enough—"

I shook my head. "To be honest, they're too heavy. If you want me to be effective, I suggest a smaller weapon."

Jake considered my point then conceded it with a shrug. He walked quickly over to the weapons rack and picked up a handgun.

He chucked it up, appeared satisfied that it was light enough, and handed it over to me. "That gun fires the latest range of nano bullets. Theoretically, you fire enough of those – even into a strong witch – and it will sap their magic, starting to shut down their circulatory system and their power."

I nodded competently. "The 5600 range – these bullets were only developed last year, and we only got them a few months ago," I commented.

Though Jake had turned around, he smiled, the awkward move crumpling his lips. "Remind me again why you apparently had abysmal grades? From quoting the book at me to knowing everything about our weapons, you don't seem like the bottom of the class."

I shrugged awkwardly. "There's more to police work than being able to remember things."

He grabbed himself a shotgun, easily holding it in his large hands. "You're absolutely right. And that more is instinct. Now you've got both of them, you're going to make a great detective. Grab yourself a holster, hook yourself up, and head out to the car. I don't think we've got much time on this one."

I frowned at him. "Why?"

"This is not the only case like this that's come up recently."

"You mean more murders?"

He shook his head. "Kidnappings. I know it sounds crazy, but those have me more worried than our current case."

I didn't tell the already perfectly moral Jake that kidnapping was not as severe as a murder; I just frowned, matching his move. "What do they have in common? Who's being kidnapped? Where—"

Jake chuckled. "One case at a time. We'll see how today goes, and if you're seriously interested, I can give you some paperwork to go over at the end of the shift. You'll have to read it in the station. No taking casework home in the Squad."

I nodded competently. "I understand. The case details we deal with are far too sensitive, and you'll never know if a witch is on your tail."

"That's right. Now, suit up."

I walked over, grabbed a holster that fit my narrow hips, and pulled it on, tugging it tight before settling the gun into it.

As soon as the gun pressed against my leg, though it sounded stupid, I felt like a real cop.

Not, of course, that I was. All of Jake's faith in me aside, I had to appreciate this was just a trial run.

It took until we reached the door, waved at Stanley, and strode to the lift for me to appreciate what I'd just thought.

Before that test in the training session with the witch, I'd been adamant that all I'd wanted was a simple, quiet police job. Now this felt right. Right enough that as I matched Jake's pace easily, my mind kept ticking to the next case, then the next. A sense of... anticipation built within me, like I'd finally found a place I could be safe.

And that didn't make sense, did it? Because the Witch Detection Squad was the least safe department in the police force. Though they kept the personal details of everybody involved tightly under wraps, just like the Army did with people in their special forces units, detectives were still murdered. There were still leaks, and if a vengeful witch found out the name of a WDS detective, there'd be nothing stopping them from heading around to their house and eking out justice in the middle of the night.

The elevator ride was short – too short to start up a conversation. Though it quickly became apparent that Jake didn't want to. I could tell he was focused on his task, his gaze locked forward as he carried his shotgun reverently and carefully in his hands.

Some people gave you the impression that they were a menace when they held a gun – even cops. Not Jake. You could tell he would never fire without thinking first.

We reached the basement where they kept the cars, and everyone Jake passed said hello to him before they all swiveled their confused gazes to me. At least they were all professional enough not to point out that Jake was mistakenly taking a kid along on a real case.

Once Jake had selected his car, locked his shotgun in the trunk, pulled a handgun from the lockup, and shoved it into his holster, we were ready to roll.

I sat in the passenger seat, buckled up, and waited as he called our car through.

A minute later, the massive locked gates at the front of the basement car park opened, allowing us to exit onto the streets above.

The entire police station was locked down – especially the floors that led up to the armory and the lockup cells. They had to be. When you were fighting witches with the power to blast through concrete with nothing more than a whispered incantation, you had to have precautions.

It wasn't until we were out of Main Street and had driven several blocks in the morning sunshine that Jake said a word. "10 murders so far, all within the last five weeks, all at even intervals. All – as you already pointed out – in open spaces."

I couldn't contain my surprise, or disgust. "10?" My voice shook.

He looked at me grimly, momentarily taking his eyes off the road as he nodded. "10. And they're all of women in their fifties. You were good to make that connection. Now you've pointed it out, I've gotta say, it makes me sick to my stomach."

I shook my head. "You're lying."

He frowned quickly.

I put my hands up, the slightly too large sleeves of my uniform rubbing against my seatbelt. "I'm not saying you weren't sick to your stomach. I'm saying you'd already made this connection. You'd already figured out that all women were in their fifties, and you already knew they were all in wide open spaces."

It took half a second, then his eyebrows clunked down. "I was wrong about you."

I paled.

"You've got even better instincts than I thought. Pretty good at picking up a lie, aren't you?"

I shrugged, jerked my gaze forward, and tried not to blush. "I guess."

"And I thought I was good at acting."

I shook my head. "You're too genuine for that."

"Right," he said as if he couldn't think of a better way to reply to that.

I winced as I realized that sounded awfully familiar, as if I knew Jake well enough to know what he could and couldn't do.

I pressed my lips together, wanting to withdraw into silence so I didn't draw myself into any further embarrassing conversations, but the facts of the case started to target my curiosity. All too soon, I found my gaze swinging over to him again. Apparently, he had never stopped looking at me.

"What do you think you need to know?" he asked directly.

"Was the bomb the same? I mean, not that I understand anything about magical bombs, but did it have the same... explosive power?"

He shook his head. "They mixed it up. It has become progressively stronger with each murder."

I pressed my lips together.

"Are you starting to doubt your theory?"

I shook my head. "I think I'm starting to accept it more."

"Why?"

"Because it sounds as if our perpetrators are attempting to find out what kind of yield they can get away with to exact maximum damage."

"That's a jump. And the first thing—"

"A good detective should do is control their assumptions. I know."

"See, you've got a good memory. I only said that once back in your first initiation class."

"I guess I took it to heart. But... I don't know, this feels like too much of a coincidence. As little as I know about witch serial killers, they don't act like this. It's about the thrill to them. They don't regiment their killings. They don't keep them in the same areas, and sure as hell they don't use the same weapons over and over again. I mean, does this guy even have a calling card, a kind of tag?"

Jake shook his head. "Keep going. Keep thinking and coming up with theories. But remember at the end of the day—"

"Only evidence will solve this case," I said, getting there first.

I withdrew into silence.

It wasn't too much later that Jake announced a gruff, "All right, we're here," as he pulled the car smoothly up to the curb.

I placed a hand on my seatbelt, ready to unclip it as I tilted my head to the side, angled it up, and frowned at the large brick warehouse in front of us. "This place has a podium?"

Jake chuckled but said nothing as he yanked the keys out of the ignition, pulled open his door, and got out. He looked left and right up and down the street, his eagle-eyed gaze counting every single car as he grabbed his shotgun from the trunk.

I took my time, and I wasn't sure why. From the way Jake was moving, to the fact he'd pulled me onto this case first thing in the morning, it was clear he wanted to get this done quickly. If I wanted to show him I was a good recruit and I wasn't here to waste his precious time, I should jump to it.

I didn't, even though I was blaring in my mind to open the damn door and to not sit around like a scared newbie.

My gaze was simply inexorably locked on the building. Something felt... strange.

Was there something tingling along the base of my tongue? Why did I feel as if someone was watching us?

I lost all track of time until Jake rapped his knuckles on the windscreen.

Surprised, I jolted, finally unclipped my seatbelt, yanked it free, and clambered out of the car.

Even as Jake shot me a questioning look as to why I was wasting time, I kept my gaze – and my frown – locked ahead.

After a few seconds, he chuckled. "We're not even there yet, but you're already like a dog after a bone. Though I commend your watchful attention, the crime scene's inside. If," he began, obviously about to say that if I didn't have the stomach to view the scene of a grisly murder, then I could wait in the car.

I shook my head, looked past him, and headed for the main door.

It was barricaded with police tape, and I almost reached through the stuff to yank the door open.

Jake cleared his throat. "We're going to head in around back. We're pretty sure that's where the perpetrator brought his victim."

I let my hand drop. "Sorry."

He chuckled. "You don't need to be sorry. You do, however, need to tell me that you're okay with this. The body is gone, but then again, there wasn't that much of it to pick up. Most of it's on the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. It's grisly," he said point-blank.

I wasn't someone who had a great stomach. I didn't eat meat, because I couldn't handle the stuff. From the scent of flesh cooking, to filleting a fish, it made me sick to my stomach. Yet at the prospect that I was about to see someone – a human being's remains – smeared across the room, I shrugged. I turned it into a quick and direct nod. "I'll be fine. You have my word. Lead the way," I added as I nevertheless walked past him.

I felt Jake's gaze on my neck. I swore I heard his lips jerk up into a smile. But by the time we made it around the narrow laneway that rested between this old factory and an old brown brick store to its side, the smile had well and truly disappeared. In its place was hard-edged determination that gave you the impression Jake and his expression were carved out of steel.

I noticed his grip on his gun had changed, his lips pressing into a line, making it obvious he was no longer going to engage in any chitchat.

His watchful gaze swept back and forth around us as we reached the back of the building.

While the front door had been covered in police tape, the back door was free to use. There were bollards with police tape all around. There was also a guard. An armed one. I'd never seen the guy, but that didn't mean much considering this was my first day on the job. He was beefy – about six-foot-four – and he looked as if the Army would've paid a fortune to lure him into the special forces.

If you had the world's most precious jewels, this beefcake was precisely who you'd want guarding them. From his hardened expression, to the hefty combat shotgun clutched in his stiff fingers, he was not someone you would mess with – not without a nuke on your side.

Jake walked up to him. "Anything?"

The guy shook his head. "Newbie?"

"Trainee from the current recruits. Meet Detective Sanders."

I brought up a hand and waved awkwardly. Suffice to say, the meat-wall in front of me didn't return the cutesy wave.

Never shifting his fingers off the barrel of that large, deadly gun, he gave me a small nod. "Warning – it ain't pretty in there."

"Murders like this never are. We'll be in radio contact if you need us. If—" Jake said, tapping a broad hand to the radio holstered at his hip.

The beefcake got there first. "If I hear anything – or smell even a trace of magic – I'll call you."

I frowned.

I didn't say anything, but as the guy stepped to the side and allowed Jake and me through, I shifted closer to Jake. "What does he mean smell magic?"

Jake glanced over at me. "You didn't read much about the Witch Detection Squad before you joined it, did you?"

Fortunately this factory had several rooms, because we didn't enter into the crime scene. We were in a long, narrow, concrete corridor, and at the end was another door. My gut told me that behind it would be the scene.

This was where I should be shaking in my boots, grasping hold of my stomach, and hoping like hell it didn't let me down in front of Jake. I wasn't preparing myself, though. It was like a part of me just didn't think I'd need it.

"I didn't honestly think I'd be picked," I reminded him.

"That's a lie." He glanced at the butt of his shotgun – checking it for what felt like the thousandth time. "You didn't want in on the Witch Squad. And so it makes sense you didn't plow through every single ordinance we have like the rest of the cadets. They may not be able to quote standard police procedure at me," he flicked me a grin, "but they can sure as hell tell me every single aspect of witch detection."

I looked at my shoes.

He chuckled. "That's why you ask questions," he said smoothly. "And I'll be here to answer. Barry back there is ex-Army."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "I figured."

"He's old special forces, to be precise. A lot of their men come through the police once they finish their tours. They've got skills – training we can't afford."

"What kind of training?"

"Magic detection."

I pressed my lips together, my nose scrunching up. "What do you mean?"

"Certain sensitive people when they have appropriate training can sense magic in the air. Apparently it tastes like a bitter tingle along the back of your tongue. The Army refines those skills, and thankfully, once they're done with most of their soldiers, those brave women and men come work for us. They are a hell of an asset. They come fully trained, with combat skills that eclipse what we can teach our recruits."

I wasn't listening anymore. I was stuck on one thing.

The bitter tingle along the back of my tongue. The same tingle I'd tasted well before learning what it could be.

A thrill of pure terror chased up my back, blasted into my jaw, and soldered my teeth shut.

... Could I... could I detect magic?

I....

"You look confused." Jake flicked his gaze over me as we reached the door into the crime scene.

"... I'm fine," I forced myself to say.

It was as if saying it made it so. I felt a momentary blast of fog ripple through my brain – an intense period of confusion – and then... I was fine.

Jake flicked his gaze over me several times, his eyes sharp with an assessing quality, then he shrugged.

Holding his gun in one hand, he reached forward and opened the door. "The place has already been swept by forensics. That being said, try not to touch too much."

I straightened. I waited for a wave of revulsion to slam into me as he pushed the door open, the old hinges creaking like someone stepping on sleeping cats.

The first thing I noticed – the first thing anyone would notice with a functioning nose – was the smell. It was this godawful punch of sulfide, rotting flesh, and burnt remains. It smelt as if someone had been burning carcasses in here for days.

Though that alone should be enough to upset my sensitive stomach, for some reason, I held onto it as I reverently walked in behind Jake.

Though I was a few steps behind him, I was to the side, and I could see a slice of his face. It was set with determination but a strong measure of compassion, too.

That's what drew most people to Jake – it wasn't just his insane body and great looks. It was the fact he was the entire package. If he wanted to, with his broad shoulders, he could be a macho man, but he chose to be sensitive instead.

As distracting as that thought could be, it wasn't powerful enough.

I walked in, and as the scent abated, my nose adjusting to it slightly, I saw the stains. The pulpy, fleshy, bony stains that looked as if someone had gone to a butcher, swept up underneath a chopping table, mixed the muck with chicken blood, and sprayed it all over the walls, floor, and ceiling.

I had to remind myself this didn't come from any chicken – it came from a goddamn human.

I'd never seen a dead body. Even as a recruit, though they'd taken us to the morgue, I'd always been too trepidatious to go gawk inside the body bags. While my classmates had seemed to take some sadistic pleasure out of it, as if the ability to ogle a dead body and keep your stomach made you better than everyone else – I'd always been too overcome by the fact that a dead body meant a loss for some family.

Now... I didn't know. Sure, my heart overflowed with compassion for whoever the victim was and the people she left behind, but as I stared at the stains... a new sensation rose through my gut. It was hot, it was shaking, and it felt like fire slicing down my limbs.

It took me a moment to recognize it was anger.

Jake stood roughly in the center of the large, 50 meters by 20 meters empty storage room and tilted his head methodically from one side to another as if he wanted to get his bearings so he didn't get lost.

That was facetious. Someone like Jake wouldn't get lost anywhere, let alone in an empty room. What that detective was rather doing was getting his bearings regarding the accident. I watched his gaze with fascination as it darted from the corridor behind us over to a small podium made out of packing crates, then back to the corridor. It was clear he was tracking the probable path of the offender.

He shifted to the side, never letting go of his shotgun and pinning it easily against his chest as he leaned down on one knee and dragged a thumbnail gently over the floor.

I peered over his substantial shoulder, realizing it looked as if there were drag marks in the dust.

Whatever this factory was, it had obviously been empty for a while, and cobwebs and dust and general muck covered everything. That which wasn't covered by mangled body bits, that was.

Though I should probably just stand there and watch what Jake did, learning from the best, a tingle up the back of my spine told me to shift to the left. I walked toward the podium, every step slow and deliberate, as if most of my brain was currently doing something else like a computer running a subprocess in the background.

I found a deep frown etching over my lips as I reached the edge of the platform. Rather than stand on it, I got down to one knee, crouching carefully so that not even the fabric of my pants dragged through the dirt on the floor and only the tips of my toes rested on it.

I tilted to the side, easily capable of crunching in half as I stared through the gaps in the packing crates.

I heard the creak of Jake's muscles as he walked over to me. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not sure—" I began. I stopped.

Something in my stomach suddenly clenched. It was a hell of a strong feeling, as if I'd had a tug rope around me and it had been attached to a jet that had taken off.

My cheeks paled, becoming as white as ice.

The next thing I knew, I pivoted, threw myself up, grabbed hold of Jake, and tried to pull him back. He was right behind me, so as I turned, I wrapped my arms around his torso.

But here's the thing. Sally was right.

I was five-foot; he was six-foot-five, and even if I hit him with all my might, I couldn't move him.

"What—" he asked, confusion filtering through his voice at the fact some trainee detective had just given him a body hug.

"Get out – bomb," I spluttered.

He didn't need me to warn him twice. He didn't need to check if I was right, either. He picked me up, anchoring his massive arms around my back, his biceps sliding easily into the small of my spine and hauling me to the side. He didn't keep carrying me, just pivoted until we were both facing forward.

We ran.

I'd always been good at running, even though I didn't exercise that way.

I still had strong cardio, somehow, as if my body ran while I was asleep or something.

I used that now as I ran, ran, and ran to the door on the opposite side of the room.

My mind narrowed until the rest of the room fell away, until the blood and guts splattered over the walls no longer meant a thing. That tiny doorway into the reinforced concrete corridor was all that mattered.

Jake reached it first, his much longer legs making him a far more formidable runner than I could ever be.

He burst through it, rounding his large shoulder into the thick metal door and forcing it to shove open.

He pivoted just as I heard a high-pitched ringing blast through the air behind us.

Jake grabbed a hand on my back, swept me close, pinned me against his chest, shoved his shoulder against the door, and closed it in one smooth motion.

He brought me down, crumpling me in front of him as if he were trying to force me to sit on his lap, and he bolstered the door with his back.

A second ticked by, a second where I wondered what I'd done – if I'd gotten it wrong.

Jake didn't release my back – his fingers only tightened, his hand on my head as he pushed me down further.

Then the explosion rang out.

A blast of pure force shook the floor, smashed into the door, and thundered through the building.

Heat shifted around me, blistering and scalding my skin as the floor continued to shake and the ceiling gave a violent wobble above. Concrete dust blasted out everywhere, and all the while, Jake just pinned me closer, his body like a vice as it protected me.

Instantly I lost my hearing, the force and violence of the explosion leaving this dull ringing pounding through my skull, reverberating between each ear with a drone that made me wonder if I'd ever get my hearing back again.

I instantly became disoriented, my eyes blinking in the dust and smoke.

There was the pound of footfall – I could feel it reverberating through the floor behind me. The next thing I knew, someone was at our side – Barry.

Jake managed to pull himself up.

I couldn't breathe – the smoke was too acrid as it swirled around us, filling my nostrils, pushing into my lungs.

It filled me with fear, but I didn't leave Jake's side. I didn't make a run for it. As my bleary gaze made out a rectangle of light at the end of this smoke-filled corridor, I stayed steadfastly by Jake's side. Though Barry had an arm around Jake's shoulders and one around mine too, I shrugged out of his grip, trying to say, "Help him. I'm fine."

I had no idea if the words actually made it out of my lips – nothing but ringing droned in my head – but Barry repositioned himself, using his huge form to drag the equally large Jake forward.

Just when we were a few meters away from the door, I... tasted it. Suddenly, everything that had just happened to my body – the brutality of the explosion – it all washed away. My hearing became sharp, my eyesight sharper. It didn't matter how many clouds of dust and smoke whirled around us. It didn't matter what it did to my lungs. The only thing that counted was that tingle along the back of my tongue. It was bitter as if I'd licked a lemon that had been sitting in salt.

It was powerful, too, as if I'd crammed a battery down my throat.

And it was utterly impossible to ignore.

The next thing I knew, a part of me reached a hand down, grabbed my gun, and pulled it out in one sweeping, effective move. I brought it up and angled it forward. Before I even saw a magic-laced body pushing through the smoke toward us, I started to fire. One shot then another, they blasted through the smoke, leaving swirling eddies as each one hit home.

There was a scream, and the next thing I knew, I saw a witch.

My well-placed shots had gotten him in both shoulders just as he'd swept through the doorway, his hands covered in magic – damn well pulsing with the stuff as if he'd covered his fingers in tar then set them alight.

He screamed, his pitching shouts echoing around me.

I heard Barry splutter from behind me. The next thing I knew, he shoved forward, powering past me, his powerful form somehow just as quick as it was strong.

I was aware he'd dropped his shotgun when he'd grabbed hold of us, but that didn't matter, as he had two powerful Desert Eagles holstered at his hips. He pulled one out in such a quick move, he looked like a loaded spring.

Just as the witch staggered back from my barrage, Barry lined up more shots.

A part of me knew precisely what was going to happen. A part of me wanted to close my eyes. The rest of me? It hardened the hell up and kept my eyes firmly open, watching as Barry fired two high caliber bullets right through the guy's head.

The man's body was so charged with magic that as the bullets lodged between his eyes, he exploded in sparks.

I didn't see bone and blood burst out and splatter over the walls, floor, and the tips of my shoes – I saw pure energy. It arced out in a wave as the witch fell down to his knees and onto his back.

I still had my gun in my hand, and somehow, despite the terror and disgust flooding through me, I kept a solid, trained grip on it.

I heard muffled footfall behind me. That's right, I heard it. A few seconds ago – before I felt the witch and fired – I hadn't been able to hear a thing but the dull, droning ringing in my ears. Now my hearing had become just as sharp – if not sharper – than usual.

I... I wanted to be confused by that, but instantly something swept that confusion away.

I felt so primed that it was like my body simply couldn't allow confusion right now.

Jake staggered past me, one hand on the side of his head. There was a long cut down it, and blood trickled down his temple.

As he shifted by, grabbing out a handgun holstered at his hip, despite the fact he was wobbly, my gaze instantly ticked up to the back of his neck. It locked onto the badly blistered skin I knew would be there.

That explosion had been packed with heat, not just power, and despite the fact that thick metal door had thankfully saved us from the brunt of it, it would've heated up like a griddle.

It didn't matter to Jake – not now, at least.

He pulled the gun from his holster with an even swifter, more practiced move then Barry had, and he shifted out of the swirling smoke to back me up.

I could have just stayed there and let the two men deal with it.

I didn't. I turned, and though all my body had wanted to do several minutes ago was run the hell out of this smoke-filled apocalypse, I brought my gun up and pointed it back the way we'd come.

Though Jake was almost past me, he paused. In the swirling smoke, he locked his gaze on me. I tilted my head over my shoulder, made brief eye contact, then turned around.

He hesitated, then I heard footsteps as he pulled himself away. They were heavy, and I heard as he shuffled, practically dragging his legs, but at least he was standing.

And you know what, so was I?

... I... me... what?

For just a fraction of a second, confusion flooded back in worse than before, but once more, it was swept away by that sharp fog.

I... I think I'd felt like this multiple times over the years. Maybe when I'd almost been mugged, maybe when a guy had followed me home from school. I hadn't been able to remember those times until now for some reason.

And even as they resurfaced, they were swept away as if a hand was in my mind, forcibly sorting through my memories, only dragging up what it wanted me to see and hear – what it needed to make me stay focused.

Though I was still breathing in smoke, my lips were pressed closed, and every inhalation was controlled.

I didn't know why I thought I needed to guard the corridor back –

I saw another magic-laced finger.

This guy was crouching low, shifting through the smoke, somehow changing it – deliberately controlling it so it enshrouded him and protected him from view. I only caught just the faintest charge of blue flickering through the air – something that shouldn't be there, and something that instantly grabbed hold of my mind.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was firing again.

This witch was different. He didn't come at me – exposing himself.

He stayed back, as if all he wanted to do was observe.

As my bullet slammed out, I heard a gasp, and I saw blood splattering up the wall, but the smoke was still thick, circling around the witch, never letting me see through.

I fired again, but the next thing I knew, the witch slammed into the concrete wall beside him, plowing through as effectively as a wrecking ball taking down a building.

I went to follow.

My body pushed forward, my muscles tensing well before my mind caught up with me.

Someone else caught up with me, though. I felt a hand on my shoulder, yanking me back. It was Jake.

As I shifted around, I looked into his eyes and realized one was bloodshot. That didn't matter – his gaze was just as direct. "Don't follow – don't follow," he screamed, his voice pitching as he obviously tried to speak over the ringing in his ears. "We've got no idea how many of them are there. Get out. We need backup." He jammed his thumb behind him.

I... almost ignored him. In a split second, my brain had to come to a decision. It wanted – no it needed to follow that witch. It had to get to it, do something to it – stop something from happening. But....

I couldn't do anything in front of Jake.

These thoughts were momentary and flashed by so quickly, it was like they'd never even happened in the first place.

The next thing I knew, I dropped my gun and followed Jake out of the corridor.

It wasn't until I reached the relatively clean air outside that I started spluttering.

Still holding onto my gun, I pressed one hand into my knee and breathed, choking through the smoke in my lungs.

... And yet, it was partially an act. I didn't feel that bad. The ringing had gone, and though I was certainly irritated by the acrid scent in the air, I wasn't like Jake.

As soon as he pulled himself out, he fell down onto his knees, locked his body forward, and heaved as he struggled for breath.

With one hand still down on my knee as if I needed to keep up some act, I widened my eyes and saw Barry dragging the witch's body out of the corridor.

Before I could question why he was messing with the crime scene, I appreciated he was trying to guard the body.

He dragged the headless figure all the way over to us, dumped it unceremoniously, and pulled his Desert Eagle out of his holster once more. He shifted his gaze over to me. "You okay?"

Still spluttering, I brought up a hand, wiped it over my mouth, then raised my gun and held it tightly. I nodded once.

Barry managed a snort. "They make you recruits tougher these days," he commented under his breath. "Backup is on their way. Two minutes. We've just gotta hold on for two minutes."

He swiveled his gaze up and down the building in front of us, his gun angled toward the door.

I twisted, taking up position in front of Jake, protecting our backs.

Time slowed down to a trickle. It felt as if we had to earn every second with sweat, tears, and bloodshed.

Despite Jake's injuries, after a few more spluttering breaths, he dragged himself to his feet, but his muscles still shook, and even from here I could smell the nasty scent of burnt flesh. I imagined once he took off his flak jacket, the skin beneath would be so badly blistered, he'd need a graft.

His hands were scorched red, too, and I appreciated he really had taken the brunt of that explosion for me.

"Detecting a buildup of magic," Barry spat low. "Come on, we can survive this."

I started to feel a tingle along the back of my tongue, but it wasn't as sharp as before.

It lingered, but it didn't change, suggesting magic was close at hand, but it wasn't coming closer.

We were being watched, but obviously the watcher was not brave enough to attack.

It took an agonizing two and a half minutes until we heard the blare of sirens.

Though all I wanted to do was collapse down onto my knees, stare at my hands, and question what the hell had happened, I stood there, holding my ground, even though part of me had already told me there was no point. The threat was over.

I didn't believe that part until we heard the thankful thunderous sound of footfall, and armed officers flooded into the area.

The rest, suffice to say, was a blur.

Once a full contingent of the special armed unit took up position around us and began to scout the perimeter, our job was technically done.

I'd been told by other officers in the recruiting program that after your first real critical situation, you would be like an adrenaline filled battery for days. It would take you ages to holster your gun, and you'd grip it like a safety blanket.

That didn't happen to me. As soon as the real police got here, I put my gun away smoothly.

I turned to Jake.

He crouched down onto one knee, then the other, forcing himself to sit, his large back and shoulders pressed forward as he tried to release pressure on the skin along his spine.

It wasn't until the armed unit cleared the area and confirmed there were no more witches around that Jake swiveled his gaze up to me.

His expression was unreadable.

Barry had left our side a while ago, paring off to fill the rest of the police in on what had happened.

As Jake watched me, I felt compelled to lock my hands behind my back and stand up straight.

Despite his injuries, this forced him to chuckle. "I guess I was wrong about you," he managed, his voice twice as gravelly as it usually was. It grated like bone on bone. The poor man's throat must feel like someone had taken to it with sandpaper.

Whereas mine... felt fine. I still forced myself to cough, for some reason. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you needed training." Whatever he wanted to say, he stopped as paramedics were finally allowed in.

Though the space was crammed with officers, they made room as an ambulance slowly crept forward. It parked right in front of Jake.

"I don't need a whole ambulance. It's getting in the way," he muttered to himself as he nevertheless picked his body off the ground.

A second before his stiff legs could overbalance, I grabbed him by the arm, trying to keep him aloft.

I was a little like an ant trying to prop up a tiger, but at least I managed to steady him long enough for his unresponsive muscles to play nice.

He flicked me another grin, this one broader and a lot slower than the last. "If you were a real detective, you'd get a commendation for this. You saved everyone's lives. Three times," he said, bringing up his fingers, having to part them slowly as the scalded, red skin protested at the move.

"But I'm only a trainee," I finished his sentence. "So I guess I better keep trying harder."

I wasn't usually one for jokes. And come on, this was not a situation for humor.

Or maybe this was precisely what Jake needed, because he laughed properly now, for the first time the pain leaving his handsome features as his eyes opened. "You can catch a ride in the ambulance to the hospital with me."

I looked at him quizzically. I opened my mouth to ask why, then appreciated we'd both just been in an explosion. While he had technically taken the brunt of the heat, and his red skin proved that, I'd been in the same corridor breathing the same smoke and putting up with the same concrete dust flying in my face.

And technically, I still shouldn't be able to hear. Though it was now clear from the way Jake had dialed down his screaming that he was starting to regain some of his hearing, there would still be a residual ringing in his ears.

Jake watched me. "The adrenaline," he commented. "It works differently on everyone. I picked you for someone who can manage it. Adrenaline picks you up, makes you feel invincible, and gets you running toward danger, not away from it," he repeated his favorite saying. But," it was almost as if he ground to a halt, and he turned a serious look on me even as two paramedics tried to pull him toward the back of the open van, "you aren't invincible. Your face is burned," he said as he brought up a hand and gestured to his own left cheek. "Your voice is raspy as hell, and you need to be checked out. So come on." He jammed a thumb in the direction of the van.

"It's policy only to take one injured cop at a time," the chief paramedic said quickly.

"Screw policy. She's coming with me. Because we need to get that body," he pointed at the headless witch who was surrounded by half a team of armed police officers, "to the hospital morgue right now. I don't want to wait this one out. I certainly don't want to hang around for the armored morgue bus. It's coming right now, and a contingent of police can follow on every side."

The paramedic didn't look happy, but it was obvious he could see Jake's point. He shrugged and got to work completing his initial assessment of Jake's injuries. When he went to remove Jake's flak jacket, Jake shifted forward.

"Don't take it off until we get to the hospital," Jake said. "I think it's stuck to my skin."

"I'll be the judge of that." The paramedic sat Jake down on the back of the van.

"Don't forget about her." Jake nodded toward me.

The other paramedic walked up with a shrug. "She looks as if she's fared a lot better than you."

"She'll still have smoke inhalation and ringing in her ears."

I hesitated as the paramedic motioned me forward.

Would I... have evidence of any of those things?

Because my breathing was fine, wasn't it?

Before I could finish that thought, I let out a wheezing cough. It wasn't fake; it rocketed right out from my chest, as if somebody had suddenly manifested smoke deep in my lungs.

It was such a hacking, spluttering cough, I had to cram a hand over my mouth and bend forward.

The paramedic acted quickly now, motioning me away.

The rest was a blur.

We were loaded onto the van and taken to the hospital.

They made Jake lie on his stomach instead of his back, and they forced me to ride up front.

It wasn't until we were taken in the back to the emergency room that something struck me.

I could have died today. Three times over. But instead of dying, I'd saved everybody else.

... Was I somehow more powerful than I'd ever imagined?

# Chapter 5

I blinked against the harsh luminescence, the fluorescent bulbs of the morgue like trapped stars. They were the kind of lights that, even if you didn't want to see something in detail, they forced the eye to pick up every spatter of blood and bone.

I was starting to rue the fact I hadn't been like every other cadet and studied up on the Witch Detection Squad.

If I had, I would've known that whenever we brought in a dead witch, one of the attending offices had to sign off at the morgue to confirm the body had been delivered on time as quickly as possible.

Jake was still in the emergency ward far above being treated for his burns. As for Barry, he was still back at the crime scene guarding it.

It wasn't until Brown had come picked me up from the emergency ward after my smoke inhalation had been treated that I'd started to grasp the seriousness of this crime.

Though I'd only just met her in the morning, she'd seemed cheery, affable, and critically, unflappable.

But as she'd tapped me on the shoulder and informed me I had to go sign off on the body, she'd looked thrown. The police officers on guard outside of the hospital – men I recognized from my tour through the police station earlier today – looked equally as thrown. They all had pale cheeks with pressed, drawn frowns.

Brown had checked with my attending physician that I was okay to leave, and the guy had shrugged telling her I'd been lucky.

Now I walked into the morgue, Brown at my side, wondering why I wasn't feeling as sick as I had the last time I'd come here.

All recruits of the police department had to come through here, multiple times if it could be arranged. You needed to be comfortable with death. As a police officer, you faced it – especially in a city like Mag.

Our recruitment cohort had only seen the morgue once, but the memory of it was still in me, this visceral lump in my chest and throat. I remembered the horror as I'd just stood in the corner, wondering what family the dead body being gawked at belonged to.

Now... dammit, I was like a different person.

Brown flicked her gaze to me and kinked her pale lips to the side, managing a smile, but the rest of her pale, drawn face didn't bother to get in on the act as it quickly fell from her lips. "Guess Jake was right about you, ha? I heard what happened." She brought up a hand and patted me gently on the shoulder. "You're an asset to the team. There'll be a cake waiting on your desk when you get back. Now, that being said, I probably shouldn't have mentioned food. This isn't a pretty sight. What were you like when you toured the morgue? Just tell me now if you can't handle blood and bones that much. You don't have to stare at the guy for that long – you only have to glimpse him, recognize him, and sign off. If you need a vomit bag – there's one by the door."

I shrugged, shrugged like I'd done this so many times before. Like the sight of a dead body – especially a witch – was completely irrelevant to me. "I'll be fine."

Brown shot me an impressed look, and for the first time as she smiled, the rest of her face smiled with her. She let out a brief chuckle.

It froze when she heard footfall.

A senior looking doctor strode up to us. A woman in her sixties, though she was diminutive in stature – just like me – she was one of those short women who made up with it with presence. From the way she held herself, to her commanding gaze, I swore she could even stare Stephen Vanderbilt down.

She nodded once at Brown. "You ready to sign off?"

Brown brought up a hand. "Wasn't me. It was Sanders here. Serena Sanders," she added.

The doctor pressed her lips together. "You look a little young to be a detective in the Witch Detection Squad."

Brown brought up a hand and scratched her temple. "Trainee. Just started with us today."

A flash of kindness pressed the doctor's lips together, but it was immediately swallowed up by her professional attitude. "I see. I'm sorry you couldn't be eased into the life of a police officer more gently. This is one hell of a case. My name is Doctor Edwards – Vanessa Edwards."

"Serena Sanders," I said, a second later appreciating Brown had already introduced me. "Where's the body?"

Vanessa gave the smallest smile. "I can see you're already a professional. I assume that's why you were drafted onto the Detection Squad as a trainee. Come with me. I will warn you, though—"

"I saw the body at the scene, Doctor. I'll be okay."

She arched an eyebrow and shot Brown a look that was half impressed but half disbelieving.

Vanessa strode ahead, reached a set of swinging doors, and pushed through, anchoring one of her shoulders against it as she pushed it to the side with a smooth, practiced move, opening it for us.

I walked in.

There, under even harsher lights than the rest of the morgue, was the dead witch.

My eyes could have locked on the tattered remains of the guy's neck – on the small fragments of blood-covered bone that were jutting out of his collar, but they didn't.

They didn't tick down the scorched remains of his clothes, either, noticing the unique burn marks that his magic would've made after the bullet had ripped through his body, dislodged his control of his magic, and forced it to explode inside his own veins.

None of that caught my focus. Instead, I found myself dragging my tongue against my palate, pushing in and curling it as it seemed as if I wanted to scoop out my damn brains.

I didn't know what I was looking for, but as I kept my tongue anchored there and I closed the last few steps up to the metal table, I didn't feel anything.

Vanessa reached behind her, grabbing a clipboard and a simple plastic ballpoint pen off a stainless-steel scrub table behind her. She pulled it around and handed them both to me. "I need a report confirming this is the body, going over the procedure of how it was brought to the hospital, and a succinct summary of how the witch died."

My gaze ticked over the paperwork, then settled on the man.

I knew it was him, yet I still peered forward and dutifully looked at every part, not a single twisted blast of nausea pushing through my stomach.

I could have easily been looking at a doll.

"It's him," I said as I clicked the pen and got to work filling out the paper.

Once I was done, I signed, added the date, and leaned over to Brown, getting her to notarize my signature.

The entire time, Vanessa kept her gaze on me. "You passed the test, then," she chuckled dryly, though the mirth lacked the childish, boyish quality of the guffawed laughs the recruits had used in the morgue when they'd been trying to show bravado.

I frowned. "Test?"

"I had Brown waiting with a vomit bag. Now, if ever, is when you're likely to empty your stomach – right over the evidence. But you seem fine. Not your first dead body?"

I shrugged. "First dead body up this close. I mean, apart from when I shot the guy and guarded his body," I added.

Vanessa opened her mouth to say something, but her phone rang.

She plunged a hand into her pocket and pulled it out.

It, like everything else in the morgue, had the kind of case that could easily be washed down with bleach. She walked away several meters to take the call.

Brown cleared her throat behind me. As I watched her pull a vomit bag out from behind her back, the rustling plastic even louder than Vanessa's muttered, careful tone, she let out a brief chuckle. "They don't make them like you anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Graduate recruits who come out ready for action, not arduous training. Most of the recruits who come to the Detection Squad don't last a few weeks."

I frowned. "I thought you took an intake of three every single round?"

"We do. It's not well known, however, that most of the time they don't last. They ask to be placed somewhere else. Yeah, we get a good name through the recruits, but that's because they have no idea what working for us is like."

"I see."

"Finally a recruit who enthusiastically put her hand up and is worth it."

"I didn't put my hand up. I wanted a desk job," I revealed, even though I should probably have kept it hidden.

Brown looked at me, then ticked her head back and laughed. "Very funny. I know cops like you, Sanders," she said, and for some reason my mind told me she could have called me kid, not Sanders, and the fact she hadn't was a very important one, "and you're driven to make a difference. That's why you aren't evacuating your guts as you stare at that mangled body. Because you can put it in perspective and appreciate that beyond the horror is justice. If you reach hard enough, you can get it. Now, you want to get out of here and see how Jake is?"

"I have a few questions for Doctor Edwards." I angled my head around, appreciating Vanessa had finished.

"The brunt of this case is now out of your hands," Vanessa said. "It's serious enough that it will go straight to a special investigation unit. That was the Commissioner on the phone. They think this was a trap to assassinate Jake and drive a hole through the heart of the Detection Squad," she added.

I frowned. "Who thinks it's a trap? And why would somebody waste so much time and effort setting this up?"

"It's not a waste," Brown said with a growl, not directed at me, but at what Vanessa was suggesting. "And it makes perfect sense. Jake's the backbone of this team. The bastards," she spat. "They were just waiting to lure him onto one of the crime scenes, get him alone, and—" she couldn't finish the sentence, clenching her teeth hard instead.

Me? I jerked my attention back to the dead body.

I shifted forward, looking at it with a far more prying gaze. The gaze didn't come from me – if that made any sense. It came from something deep within me. It was as if my eyes wanted to scour every detail of this man until I saw a clue.

"Did he have a wallet on him?"

"No personal effects." Vanessa gestured to a bare table next to her, and I assumed that would be where the personal effects would go if there'd been any.

"What about his watch?" I pointed to it.

Vanessa shifted forward. "We can't remove it. Soldered to his skin. When his magic exploded inside him, it superheated the metal case. I'll remove it once the corpse has been thoroughly investigated – with a saw," she added.

My stomach didn't turn. I frowned, getting close to the watch. "Can I touch the body? I mean, with gloves, of course," I added, hoping I didn't sound like I had no clue about forensics.

Vanessa was looking at me with a calculating gaze again, but it had lost the edge of disbelief. Without another word, she leaned over to one of the trays behind her, grabbed up a pair of latex gloves, and handed them to me.

Though I could tell Brown wanted to get me out of here, when she opened her mouth, Vanessa shot her a quick look. "If you think you can find something on this body – evidence I've missed – go ahead. I've already got the Commissioner breathing down my neck. You shot this guy – even if Barry finished off the job. You might have memories of something that hasn't come to the surface. Split second flashes you would've picked up during the attack," she added.

I tuned her out. I pulled the gloves on, one by one, the latex thwacking as I ensured they were tight over my fingers and pressed down into my webbing, even if the inside of the latex left dust grating against my skin.

I leaned forward. I pressed my thumb on the watch, then brought my knuckle around and tapped it.

"What are you doing?" Brown asked.

"Why is this watch still on him?" I managed.

Vanessa cleared her throat. "I already—"

Before she could repeat that she'd already told me and before disappointment could replace the impressed look she'd been shooting me before, I shook my head. "I was there when this guy was shot. I saw the explosion that took out his head. It was big enough that it rocked the building. So why is this watch still on him? It's a piece of crap. I see them down at the markets. It's not even from a department store. One of the Chinese knockoffs you get in the stalls along Quick Street on a Saturday afternoon."

Frowning, both Brown and Vanessa now took more interest, shifting past me and locking their gazes on the watch.

"She's right," Brown said. "Those things are a piece of crap. My brother bought me one once, and it lasted all of two days before the face cracked."

"Precisely," I said. "This thing shouldn't just be melted onto him; it should be a clump of plastic and shattered glass. It's still," I gently picked up the guy's wrist and rotated it, my fingers anchored on the melted rubber of the band, "mostly intact. I don't know much about magic, but can't we assume it was protected somehow?"

Vanessa now shifted forward, took the guy's wrist off me gently, angled down further, and assessed the watch in full. "You're right on all counts." She fastidiously placed the man's wrist back down and bent his burnt fingers forward so they were spread evenly, turned, walked over to the wall, and pressed her knuckle into an intercom button. "I want a witch down here now."

My back arched at her request, and I blinked quickly.

"One of the retainer witches we keep on the Detection Squad," Brown informed me quickly. "They're the only ones who'll be able to tell us if you're right and that watch has some kind of protection spell on it. It'll take them a while to get here, though," Brown said louder as Vanessa finished her call and strode over, shoving her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat.

She looked at Brown sharply, then settled her gaze on me as if I was somehow the senior detective here. "We'll have the results by the end of the day. I'll have the report to you a few minutes after that. Good work, Detective," she said, emphasizing that word.

Brown patted me gently on the shoulder. "Excellent work. You've had about the best day a trainee has ever had with the Witch Squad."

I brought up a hand and went to scratch the side of my mouth, then realized the latex gloves were still on me.

I pulled them off with a thwack. "I wouldn't call it the best day, but at least I didn't fail anyone."

Brown laughed loudly at this. "Fail anyone? You saved two people. Why the heck would you fail anyone?"

"I didn't have the best grades. In fact, I had the worst grades of the entire recruitment class," I revealed, even though a sane person would keep that fact hidden.

Vanessa, hands still in her pockets, shrugged. "That's sometimes the way. They can only teach you so much in the recruitment course. They can prepare you, but that preparation is often wasted. It's not your ability to rugby tackle cadets, pump iron, and write assignments that makes you an effective police officer. It's how much you can control your instincts. I'd say today, you've proved the rest of your class wrong. You aren't the worst; you're the best. Now keep your head up high, and I'll get this report to you as soon as possible."

I nodded.

Throwing my gloves into the bin and using the hand sanitizer by the door, I strode out with Brown.

Just before I did, I turned over my shoulder, my gaze locking on that plastic watch. That part of my brain that had been buzzing all day since this incident had started to unfold, seemed to grasp hold of that watch with all the mental acuity I could muster. If I was a computer, my CPU would be blasting at 100 percent.

It was like I was... taking a mental print of it for later – the equivalent of a visual fingerprint.

I quickly turned away. For some reason, I felt like I had work to do tonight.

# Chapter 6

I sat at my desk, arms locked in front of me, hands drumming on my elbows as I tilted my head to the side, considering the paperwork sprawled out over my desk.

I'd already glanced up at the clock to see it was seven.

Only my first full day of work, and I was already doing a shift and a half.

We all were – everyone who could had come back into the office considering the enormity of the attack.

"You can go home already," Brown said as she handed me yet another cup of coffee.

What did that make, five already? I wasn't a big coffee drinker, because usually caffeine made me scatty, but today, it was keeping my mind sharp.

Today... I couldn't even finish that sentence.

It wasn't because I couldn't fill in all of the strange details of how many unusual things had happened to me – it was because that fog grew up in my mind once more, flitting through my consciousness, crowding out my thoughts.

It took me a moment to regain control of my awareness, Brown having to shove the coffee right in front of my face.

"Sorry," I muttered as I grabbed it from her, rearranged it in my grip, and sat back, stretching out my tired shoulders.

Brown's eyebrows peaked. "Don't you work too hard on your first day – you'll put the rest of us to shame."

I shrugged, took a quick sip of my coffee, despite how hot it was, then shrugged once more. Shrugging was easy – a basic body movement. Coming up with something witty to say, let alone something that didn't sound like I was a complete idiot was a lot harder. My brain... I couldn't even go there.

Ever since I'd gotten back to the office, it was like my mind was planning something in the background of my consciousness without letting the normal me in on the details.

"You look tired, Sanders. Go home and get some rest. You can come back here bright and early in the morning, and I'll have that cake for you."

I let out a breathy chuckle. "I don't see why I deserve a cake – I was just doing my job."

She clicked her fingers at me. "Which is precisely why you deserve cake. You saved two people's lives today, Sanders," she slowed down each word as if that would finally make me comprehend what she was trying to say, "and you might very well have blasted through a case that's been haunting us for weeks. You deserve credit where credit is due."

I shrugged but didn't say anything.

My gaze ticked back to the paperwork on my desk.

I'd asked Brown for it after we'd gotten back to the office, even though that was probably overstepping the line. You see, it was all the current data on the kidnapping case. Jake had told me if I did a good job, he'd let me go through this. He wasn't here – he was back at the hospital. So maybe I'd overstepped the line when I'd asked Brown to glimpse the case files. There was nothing else to do. Well, apart from giving in to Brown's less-than-subtle hints and go home already.

"Chocolate or cream? Or both?" Brown said with a grin, her tone suggesting this was a test.

I scrunched my nose. "... Both?"

"Congratulations, you passed. You can stay on the Squad." She leaned over and patted me on the shoulder.

I flicked my gaze up just in time to watch her eyes open, a surprised splutter forming on her lips.

Before she got the chance to say whatever she wanted to, I heard someone gruffly clear their throat behind me.

Don't ask me how, but I knew who it was well before Brown spluttered, "Jake? You're out of the hospital already? I thought you had to have skin grafts?"

I locked a hand on the desk, turning around so hard that I spilled my coffee over my hand.

"I think you're already burnt enough for today," Jake said as he reached over, grabbed a tissue, and handed it to me.

It took me a blinking moment of surprise to realize what it was for.

"Your hand," he pointed to the scalding liquid still covering the webbing of my thumb.

"Yeah, right. Sorry," I apologized, even though I didn't know who I was apologizing to.

I put the cup down, shook my hand, and wiped it off on the tissue.

Then I – and everybody else in the detective department – locked their full attention on Jake.

"You're back," I said, even though there would've once been a time I wouldn't have dared speak in such silence. Back then, I was never the first to put my foot forward. Back then, I'd always been the last to act.

Now?

I didn't need to explain now to you. With today's action still ringing in my head and, importantly, trapped in my muscles, it felt like I'd be running toward trouble for the rest of the day. Or night... something added in my mind before flitting away.

Jake pressed his lips together and twisted them into the most awkward smile I'd seen – on him, at least. I didn't know if it was unsure, or just confused. But it sharpened as it ticked over my paperwork, then back to my face. "You've still technically got 13 days until you can join the team. As much as Brown would like you to join us officially now – that can't happen."

I blanched. "I just asked for this paperwork because I didn't have anything else to do. I wanted to—"

"Relax. I'm not angry at you for looking into the kidnapping case. Shows initiative."

Brown jammed her thumb toward Jake. "He loves initiative."

I looked up at Jake but didn't say anything.

A few of the other detectives shifted away from whatever they were doing to assemble around us in a large arc.

Jenkins was the first to clear his throat. "From what I heard from Barry, that was a coordinated attack. Are the witches turning on us?"

The question was sudden and seemed to hang in the air.

As I swung my gaze over the other detectives, I could see hardened fear playing through their eyes.

Though Jake had been put on the spot, he didn't waver. He looked down at his feet once, then up at Jenkins. "It seems that way."

"Then we're gonna need to go into lockdown," Jenkins hissed through a harsh breath. "My second kid is on the way. I don't want witches coming around my house in the night."

Jake put up a hand before any of the other detectives could join in. "I can assure you, the department is taking this seriously. I'm going to deploy forces where forces are needed. If you're working on a sensitive case, you can get protection. And though this sounds brutal, those with families will get a larger slice of the pie. I want to say we have all the resources to dedicate to this at the moment, but we don't."

I was lost, barely following the conversation. It wasn't because I couldn't comprehend what was being said – that bit was easy. There was now a credible threat to the detectives in the Squad, and we were going to take it seriously.

What I couldn't understand was... I don't know, this just seemed wrong. Like they'd come to this assumption because it was easy.

That, of course, raised the question of why I thought that.

All the facts of the case led to Jake's conclusion. From the fact that bomb had been waiting there for us, to the fact two witches had been close by, ready to attack.

It seemed as if it had been a trap for us detectives.

So why did it feel as if that was just the easy conclusion somebody wanted us to take?

I withdrew into my own little world as I attempted to figure out why I felt so wrong about this. I must've had a heck of a frown playing across my lips, because once Jake had finished pacifying the rest of the detectives, he swiveled his gaze to me. "What? You've got that specific frown on your lips again – the one that tells me you don't agree."

I opened my eyes wide, appreciating I'd just been pulled up in front of everybody. Before I could blush, recede, wave my hands in front of my face, and tell him it was nothing, my lips ticked to the side, partially opening. "I just..." I fixed my gaze on the far distance on some part of the wall and tried to think.

"Whatever you're thinking, ignore it," Jenkins said. "You've never been in a situation like this, but while it might be tempting to assume we aren't in danger, that kind of attitude will get you killed."

I pressed my lips shut, realizing now and here was not the time to voice my concern. Because if I was wrong – everybody else could pay the price.

"Hey, don't shut her down – let's hear what she thinks." Brown nodded at me in encouragement.

"She's a rookie. She got lucky today—" Jenkins began.

"Shut your mouth, Jenkins," Brown snapped, losing her civility for a fraction of a second. "She's earned this. You should've seen her at the morgue – damn professional. She's got a good set of eyes and ears – so what do you think?" She looked directly at me.

She wasn't the only one gazing at me – every other detective was. But their gazes were nothing compared to Jake's. It was prying in a way I'd very rarely felt. The kind of gaze that was engineered to slice through every one of your defenses.

This was where I should tuck my head in and shut up. But I couldn't give in and ignore the suspicion niggling in my gut. "I don't know... I just feel like we're missing something."

"Of course we're missing something," Jake said. "I'm assuming you have more of a theory."

He didn't demand I share it, unlike everyone else. Maybe he was appreciating that despite everything I'd done today, I was only a rookie, and it was a little unfair to put the security of everyone in this department on my shoulders.

I pressed my lips shut, then I swear something inside me opened them, and there was nothing I could do to fight against her. "What if it wasn't a trap? What if it was a test?"

Jake frowned. "Test?"

"Don't get me wrong – I genuinely think someone tried to kill us back there. But," I ticked my lips to the side, running my tongue over my canines.

Maybe Jake thought my lack of willingness to make eye contact meant I was trying to hide some trauma, because I watched his shoulders drop down a little and compassion flood his features. "Look, Jenkins is right. Sometimes—" he began.

I didn't let him finish. "We never got that second witch. And judging by the fact that he didn't try that hard to attack us and I only barely picked up he was there – I'd say he was there to watch the entire thing. Maybe to relay the information back to somebody else – our real target," I added with force. "Attempting to kill us aside, they would have learned our reaction times. Everything down to the competency of the detectives in our squad, to how long it would take the police to act on a critical call."

Jake hadn't said anything or done anything, but now his thick brow twitched, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"That's—" Jenkins began.

Jake uncrossed his arms and brought one up, his fingers flattening in a stopping motion. "An alarming theory."

"Yeah, well, you don't want to ignore possibilities just because they're uncomfortable," I said. There was... something different about my voice. I wouldn't say it was harsh; it was just snappier. More than that, I was very much not the kind of girl to ever take someone's point and throw it back in their face.

Jenkins didn't look pleased, but he sure as heck didn't interrupt.

I scrunched my lips to the side, narrowed my brow, and drummed my finger on the paperwork in front of me. It was kind of like being interrogated – heck, it was very much like being interrogated. I was the only one sitting, and everyone else was standing. I didn't let that get to me. I just felt... I felt everybody needed to see this before it was too late.

"I'm not that up on the different classes of witches, and I sure as hell don't know much about the department's magic sniffers, but couldn't... couldn't somebody head back to the crime scene and try to figure out what kind of witches were there?"

I finally put my foot in it, because Jenkin's angry but slightly awed expression crumpled. "You aren't that up on witches," he said forcefully. "What you're suggesting is impossible."

My back didn't arch, but I did frown. I stopped myself from pointing out that he was wrong.

... Because he was right. He obviously knew more about witches than me, so why did it feel....

Jake had been watching me the entire time. Hell, it felt as if his gaze was tethered to my body. "There might be some evidence we can find. What makes you so sure of your theory?"

I looked up at him sharply. "Gut instinct."

"You're going to need to temper those—" Jenkins began.

I looked at him sharply. "I'm the only one who saw that second witch," I said flatly. "You can either choose to ignore my interpretation, or accept it. That witch didn't attack. He only attacked once I shot him."

"That just means he was waiting for an opportunity," Jenkins tried.

I wasn't trying to get Jenkins offside, but the more I disagreed with the guy, the more I could see his hackles rising.

I wanted to tell myself to stop – but in this mood, I appreciated I just wouldn't.

Something else – or someone else – seemed to be in control of me, and she was barreling forward despite the costs.

"That makes no sense. If he were waiting for an opportunity to attack, he would have pincered us from behind. He was powerful – the guy could control the wind and smoke. He had the power to blast right through an inch-thick concrete wall. A wall that, incidentally, that magical explosion couldn't blast through. And you're telling me that he was just biding his time?" There was no emotion in my voice, just force.

Something passed over every detective, and they made eye contact with each other, but nobody said anything. They appeared to be waiting for Jake.

Jake brought a hand up, latched it on his jaw, and slid his thumb along his chin line. Then he let it drop. He looked at me once, and that prying gaze was back. Dammit, I felt like he was grabbing me with his eyes, drawing me close, and staring into my freaking soul.

"You're right. The more I think about it, the more that doesn't make sense. It would have made sense for that second witch to attack as soon as Barry tried to help me. We had our backs to it, after all."

"And the first witch would've taken me down," I agreed. "But that didn't happen. So we were being watched."

"Isn't this a leap?" Jenkins tried.

"We've got no hard evidence – so if we throw all our resources behind a single theory, we'll be shooting ourselves in the foot." I didn't let up. There it was again – that hard edge of defiance. The voice of a woman who was used to barreling into danger.

Jenkins' cheeks were already pale, and I could see his lips were tightening with tension. "Did you hear me? I've got a goddamn baby on the way—"

Jake immediately brought up his hand, the move stiff enough that it told everyone the conversation was now being reined in. "Your family will be protected, Jenkins. You don't have to worry about that."

"What about the rest of the Squad? Are you really going to pin their lives on a damn rookie?"

"No," Jake said flatly. "I'm gonna go in both directions at once."

My eyes narrowed. Finally the idiot was coming around to my theory, ha?

Wait – what had I just thought? Jake wasn't an idiot. Where did that thought....

"Look, the protection of the Squad is a priority. But we're still going to head back and run through that crime scene with a fine-tooth comb. I don't like this – any of this. We're not gonna stop until we have the perpetrators under wraps."

After Jake had given his assurances and further instructions, the team started to disperse.

The entire time, Brown stayed steadfastly by my side as if she was my trusty knight or something.

She didn't even walk away when Jake obviously came up to have a private conversation with me.

"You need to learn... to be a little bit subtler," Jake said to me. Yep, that was the first thing he said to me.

I'd saved his life three times, and now he was reprimanding me.

Serena Sanders wanted to recoil in shame. Something else inside me wanted to slap him.

Now was not the time to be subtle. For God's sake, the entire city—

Before that thought could run its course, I looked away sharply, sucking in a deep breath.

"Seriously, sir?" Brown didn't hold back. "That's what you say to her after she saved your life and quite possibly pulled this case back on course?"

Jake controlled his expression as he shot Brown a pressed-lipped smile. "Is there somewhere else you need to be? For instance, home?"

"All I'm saying is you need to cut her some slack. You didn't see her at the morgue. She knows what she's doing. She's got a good eye – and a great memory. I get Jenkins' point – I really do. But if we—"

"Don't see the writing on the wall and we take this case in the wrong direction, then there will be blood on our hands," Jake said flatly.

My stomach twisted at his blunt explanation. Back in training as a recruit, you appreciated that your mistakes would cost, but the magnitude of those costs was often swept under the rug. They probably felt that if they screamed in your face every time you fucked up that someone would die, you'd quit and run crying home to mama.

Now Jake pulled no punches.

Brown didn't shift from my side, but she did swallow a breath.

"Seriously, Brown," Jake said as he shoved his hands into the large pockets of his chinos, his shoulders dropping. The fabric of his loose shirt scrunched up over his dressings – the first time I'd seen them as they peeked out of his collar.

... I had to remember he was injured. Dammit – he was either drugged up on painkillers, or the man had refused them. Either way, he was thinking insanely clearly for someone who'd just gone through what he had.

"This isn't a reprimand. I just want to talk the rookie through her first day. You have my word," Jake promised.

Brown let out a breath. "Don't bully her, or you won't get any cake tomorrow." With that, she patted me fondly on the shoulder and walked off.

Though everybody else had returned to their tasks, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jenkins watching us sharply, even though he was pretending to fumble with some paperwork.

Jake turned over his shoulder to see where I was gazing. "Let's go take a walk." He shrugged toward the door.

I went to stand up, but as I did, I knocked my desk with my knee. It upset my coffee cup, and it tumbled over, spilling over the paperwork.

"Dammit," I spat as I clutched at the paperwork, snatching it up, but not in time before it was all stained brown from coffee.

The coffee pooled over my chipped brown desk, slid down the legs, and splashed over my shoes.

"God," my shoulders crumpled, "I'm so sorry. Dammit," I spat. As I said I'm so sorry, I sounded like the frightened new recruit I was. Yet as I spat dammit, I sounded like someone else entirely.

"Don't burn yourself, Sanders. And don't beat yourself up. There are always copies. There's nothing in that file but paperwork. No direct evidence," he said once more clearly. "Just leave it for tomorrow."

"Shouldn't I put it in the shredder bin then?" I leaned over, grabbed some tissues from the box on my desk, and fastidiously started mopping up the coffee, chucking the soggy tissues into the bin beside me.

"It's on the way." He jammed his thumb toward a large orange shredding bin by the doors.

I scooped up the sodden paperwork, tried to ignore Jenkins' pointed gaze, made it to the shredding bin, and dumped them inside.

By the time I made it out into the corridor, the original me was back.

My shoulders were hunched, and a disappointed frown marked my lips.

Once the door closed behind us, Jake actually chuckled.

That made me even more crestfallen. "I'm...."

"If you're about to say sorry again, don't. Kind of got a split personality, don't you?"

The comment came from nowhere, and my reaction to it came from the same place. My ears pricked, my eyes widened, and I became stiff as if I was using every single body process – every damn ounce of attention – to figure out if that was a joke or something more.

"Relax, it was just a joke. Only commenting on the fact you're an action woman one moment, and a klutzy cadet the next." As soon as the words were out, Jake seemed to regret them. "I don't mean klutzy—"

I brought up a hand. "It's fine. I am klutzy. And I... I dunno." I stared at the wall, no longer making eye contact.

He paused. "You've had a long day. You need to head home. Let me know if you need tomorrow off, too."

I looked at him sharply. "Why would I need tomorrow off?"

He stopped in front of me. He stared at me, this time using all of his force until it felt as if I was standing in the path of a laser. "Serena," he said, uncharacteristically using my first name, "you were in a fight for your life today. You barely survived. You need time to process that. Trust me, it might seem as if the rest of us just sweep it under the rug, but we don't. It takes time—"

I shook my head. "I don't need time. Time costs lives."

His lips crumpled. He let out a harsh breath. "I'm not going to lie to you – it does. But you still need to look after yourself."

"I'm fine."

"And I'm telling you you're not. People sometimes get uncharacteristic personality shifts during times of great stress."

I pressed my lips hard together, scrunching them in as I swallowed. "This isn't a personality shift – this is me. I've got two sides, I always have," I said authoritatively.

Problem was, it was a lie.

I was very much a one-sided coin. I had no other personality than the meek, aspiring, but ultimately pathetic Serena Sanders who was never meant to achieve much.

So why was I suddenly so adamant?

He pressed his lips together until he made a crumpled, confused smile. Or maybe I was interpreting it as confused when he knew precisely what he meant. "I guess I never really had enough to do with you to learn your other side. Not my point, though."

"Your point is that you want me to go home, switch off, and come back with a fresh face tomorrow. I will. But I'll still be the same," I warned him.

I wasn't expecting it, but he suddenly laughed. I'd never heard him laugh like this, either. It was warm – embracing somehow. I know that sounds crazy – but it was the impression that filled my mind as his large chest pushed out rhythmically to accommodate the move. "Thanks for the warning. I wouldn't expect it any other way. Promise me one thing, though."

For some reason, tingles shot through my belly and down into my legs. Was it the look in his eyes? The fact his pupils had dilated just a fraction? Wait, how could I pick up that his pupils had dilated just a fraction? Why did I suddenly feel as if his attention had sharpened on me in a way it never had before?

"... What?" I forced myself to say.

"Sleep. Get a full night's sleep. Sleep is the key to success in this business. And if anything happens at your apartment, I need you to call me."

I frowned. "Why would anything happen at my apartment?" My voice brimmed with indignation and just a touch of frustration. It was almost as if I was incredulous at the fact something could happen that I couldn't deal with.

"Is that your split personality again? Or are you just starting to get tired? Forget what we were discussing back in the Detection Squad? I know you may not take much stock by Jenkins' theory, but we still need to be careful."

I let my cheeks pale. "It wasn't that," I lied. "I just... I can't see anyone going after a rookie."

"None of us can see the future. Also, considering what happened last night at your apartment block, I just want you to be careful. Lock the doors and deadbolt the door – you know the drill. If anything happens – anything at all – give me a call. I'll be here all night."

I froze. Or at least I froze without looking like it. I didn't suddenly look like the proverbial deer in the headlights. But within me, something tightened.

... What happened last night at my apartment?

"If you're scared—" he misinterpreted my pause.

I shook my head. "I've got a good door – great deadbolt, too. I'll be fine. But—" I said before he could interrupt me as he took a deep breath, "I'll call if there's any trouble. That being said," I frowned, "shouldn't you follow your own advice and get some sleep?"

He chuckled. "Dismissed, Cadet."

"Cadet? I question you about getting some sleep, and I'm already demoted?"

He laughed again, looking as if he was enjoying it and not as if he was going through the motions. "Don't worry, I won't get rid of you yet as long as you follow my orders and show up tomorrow bright and sunny as always." With that, he turned without another word and strode back into the Detection Squad.

... Bright and sunny as always?

I was bright and sunny?

I thought I was klutzy and awkward?

For some reason, I found myself standing there, my head tilted to the side until my neck hurt as I stared at the swaying door of the Detection Squad, as if that would help me understand what he'd just meant.

Finally, however, I pulled myself away. Quickly. You see, I couldn't shake the feeling I had something important to do tonight.

Get some rest, right? One part of me thought.

The other part?

I swore she smiled.

# Chapter 7

I was walking down the street. Not Serena – me.

I'd been in her mind all day. I'd had to be. Not in her long life had she lived such a day of action.

And if I had anything to do with it, she wouldn't have to endure one again for a very long time.

As soon as I'd gotten home, I'd cast a few spells around my house – undetectable ones to ensure any police who came to check on me would have no idea I wasn't really there. Then I jumped out the fire escape, cast some cloaking spells, and headed into town.

I was under a cloaking spell now – just a simple disguise spell, really. Nothing complicated.

The less complicated a spell, the less detectable it was. If you knew your magic – and I knew nothing but magic and action – you could weave a powerful incantation from very few elements.

Magic, technically at least, came from the heart. The powerful ancient words of the witches that unlocked the magic within were nothing more than gateways to a reality of power that rested within us.

Different words opened different doors – some blasting them open like a battering ram, and some only pushing them until you could glimpse what was within.

Confusing? It's meant to be.

Magic is power, brute force – fundamental energy. You can pretend to understand it and wrap it up in theories and proverbs, but at the end of the day, it's fundamentally unknowable.

Point is, though, if you weave together the right words, opening the correct doors within, you can do pretty much anything.

My mother... dammit, before she died, she didn't just transfer the abilities of a mind bender over to me. Critically, she gave me access to our family spells, too. The thing about being a mind bender – especially a hereditary one – is over the years my family had encountered practically every spell there was. They were now stored within me as a kind of genetic memory. So yeah, a disguise spell was the least of what I could do.

As I strode down the cramped, old back streets of downtown, my hands in my pockets, I kept an eye out for the crowd around me. It was only a Tuesday night, but that didn't matter – there were revelers everywhere. Especially around these parts.

Mag City was old – one of those sprawling affairs that had grown up on a dock site. As such, there'd been no city planning, and while some of downtown had been rebuilt on a gridlike block to make things logical and easy to navigate, the rest was a warren. Especially the old part of the city. It nested just next to the massive towers and stations of downtown, but it was like entering another world. The streets were cramped, twisted and bent like tributaries of a river, and due to heritage laws, they had pretty much the same buildings they'd had 100 years ago. Old stained gray sandstone façades lined the roads with pressed tin metal awnings right next to grand two-story Art Deco theaters.

It was beautiful.

The streets were also a maze, though, and mazes, by their definition, hide things.

As I kept my hands firmly tucked in my pockets, my thumbs pressed against my forefingers as I continued to incant spells in my mind, I flicked my gaze methodically over everyone I passed.

I was wearing a simple disguise for now, but as I got a feel for all the revelers around me, I ducked into an alleyway, found a comfortable, out-of-the-way position behind a dumpster, and spat a single word under my breath. Sharp and biting, it split through reality, and let me tell you, there was no English equivalent.

As soon as I uttered it, I felt my body morphing, though it wasn't my body – it was the film of magic that rested over my skin and altered my appearance. With a great undulation like some kind of snake made from the very air, there was a spark, and the next thing I knew, my appearance right down to my clothes and shoes altered.

When I stepped out of the alley, I paused and walked behind an already drunk group of partygoers. I looked essentially like an amalgamation of them. Someone who wouldn't stick out.

I was in a silk top, satin high heels, and black slacks.

I had long blonde straight hair and hipster glasses. My figure, however – or at least my stature – was essentially the same. I knew my body. I liked my size, too. Witches always underestimated me, and with my lithe frame and small form, I could squeeze into places and put on bursts of speed that others couldn't.

This was unusual for me. Not heading out to a club in the dead of the night – but being conscious without there being some crisis. I hadn't been activated because some witch bastard had pressed a knife to Serena's throat. I'd pulled myself up from the depths of her consciousness as soon as she'd gotten home.

I... had a confusing relationship with my existence.

Anyone in my situation would. I didn't exist all the time – I became conscious only when pressed. But as soon as I manifested, I would gain access to Serena's memories, and this blast of information would rise high through my mind.

I would feel like a person who'd just been sleepwalking. But here was the thing – I wasn't the real person; Serena was.

I had a rough idea of where the Messiah club was. I say rough, because I was no idiot. The actual details of the Club Messiah listed on the Internet would not be the real magical location of the Kingpin.

If the guy was half as powerful as his lackeys had intimated, he would have some kind of proxy location set up.

No matter. I'd hunt it down.

I was gratified to find that the group of revelers I was following was headed to the same location as me.

Twisting to the side and shifting down a cramped alleyway that was nonetheless packed with expensive sports cars and people, I saw two black-suited bouncers standing in front of a set of sandstone steps that descended down into a building that looked as if it had been cut out from the street.

According to what I read online, the Messiah was in an old building that had been reclaimed when they'd tried to break ground on a car park.

Even if I hadn't read that, as I approached the steps, falling into line with the people around me excitedly chatting about the club, I felt age. To someone who wasn't a witch, that wouldn't make sense. To me, it tingled along my back, spread down my fingers, and raced up my chest.

Age has this sense of weight – especially ancient things of import.

Humans, though they often appreciate the historical importance of antiquities, don't appreciate the sheer physical power that comes with age.

Witches do.

So as I made it down the line to two more bouncers by the narrow door, I pressed my lips together and drew in the energy.

This – that ancient feel of importance crackling through the air – would give the Kingpin the ability to cast a proxy spell, I was sure. A proxy spell, to make a complicated point short, would allow you to walk through one door in one location, then end up somewhere else. Think of it like a transporter from sci-fi, but one that only worked between two already programmed locations.

With half an ear, I listened into the inane chatter of the group of revelers in front of me. Though mostly it was irrelevant, a few times they spoke of how exclusive the true Messiah club was. Not the one everybody else got into – but the one on the second floor. If you were good enough – if you were hot enough and rich enough – you might find yourself tapped on the shoulder by one of the suited bouncers that prowled the dance floor and be invited to climb the stairs.

My stomach clenched.

I wouldn't need an invitation, I told myself as I curled my hand into a fist.

When the group ahead of me got through, I reached the bouncers.

The first thing I did was assess whether they were magical.

Running my tongue along the palate of my mouth, as if I was attempting to scrape through to my brain beneath, I picked up just a few tingles of bitter magic. Nothing strong – nothing to suggest these two men were witches of my caliber – but enough to confirm they had some magic.

If it was me, and I ran this joint, I'd want to filter out the witches from the ordinary fray.

Sure enough, as the bouncers leaned in to check people's IDs and to stamp them, they were a heck of a lot more touchy-feely than they had to be. When they stamped people, they grabbed their hands, flattened their palms with a thumb between their fingers, and stamped them with a deliberate move.

Their lingering contact would allow them to pick up even the faintest crackle of magic along someone's skin.

As one grabbed my hand, firmly pressed his thumb into the center of my palm and gripped it like he was going to read my destiny, I kept every last trace of magic hidden. I pressed a smile over my lips. "I heard if you're a good girl," I purred, "you can get invited upstairs."

The guy flashed me a look. "You're not hot enough," he said blankly. Once he was done checking my ID – incapable of seeing through the very sophisticated spell I'd used to fake it – his mate opened the door.

I walked in.

The scent of sweat and alcohol laced everything. Cologne and perfume, too. But there was only so much artificial scent could do for that raw stench of humanity.

In this mode, I took full advantage of my witch senses. I had the kind of scent detection that could beat a bloodhound.

So I could smell the drugs, every illicit substance from pure cocaine, to nasty fakes cut with paint thinner.

I swore I could discern every brand of cologne and perfume, too – right down to the cheap ones from the drugstore, to the exorbitant ones you bought at the uptown boutiques a few streets over.

I barely ever got to use these senses – even though they brought me a sense of pride and power.

When I was running down threats, it would take me minutes, tops.

This... I didn't want to go there – but the thought rose up nonetheless.

This was nice. Though maybe nice was the wrong word. This was... I needed this. Trapped in Serena's head all day long, only conscious when a threat came along – this was like I was being let out for a field trip.

But this wasn't a field trip, I reminded myself harshly. And the only reason I was being unleashed from within Serena was to save her from a potential catastrophe.

There was no time to waste, grab a glass of whiskey, and mingle.

I strode right past two necking couples inconveniently pressed in the doorway that led to the bathroom stalls.

Taking advantage of my small form, I crammed my hands into my black slacks, twisted to the side as if I was a ballet dancer, and shifted past them in one smooth move.

There was a line of people waiting for the bathrooms.

I walked straight in, even though two socialites spluttered at me.

"Hey—" a woman snarled as I walked in front of her, grabbed a stall door, strode in, and locked it firmly.

She hammered on the door with her fake fingernails. "Hey – I'm going to get security. You bitch—" she began.

I ignored her, instead bringing up a hand, pressing my fingers together, and muttering several words under my breath. Every single syllable opened unique doors in my mind down to my magic until the next thing I knew, the disguise spell sitting over me writhed like snakes in a pit.

One second then two, then it was done.

I grew a few inches, even though I didn't like operating with a larger body. I'd have to make do. I changed my heels and changed my outfit. I went from looking pretty, to a bombshell. Or at least what the drugged-up, drunk fools in this establishment would conclude was a bombshell. They were so fake and spent so much time on the Internet they'd forgotten what real women looked like.

I would play into their fantasy if it got me upstairs.

I strode out in a small black dress that plunged past my considerable bust, the only detail two silver beaded strings that ran down and collected right through my cleavage. Uncomfortable, but at least it led the eye.

The woman who'd been rapping on the door and threatening to call security stood there with her mouth dropped open, a terrified look in her eyes as she stared past me, trying to figure out how one woman had walked in but another had walked out.

As I shifted past, I brought up a hand in front of her face and clicked a few centimeters from her nose. "Enjoy your night," I said in a monotone voice.

All of the anger and surprise left her gaze as she straightened up, looked confused for several moments, then walked into the stall and locked it.

As I shifted past all the women in line, I gazed at each one in turn, and if any of them looked confused, I cast a small spell under my breath. All the time, I was sure to keep my spell simple and the power pushing through it to a minimum.

I couldn't afford to garner the attention of any of the bouncers who strode through the crowd, picking up drinks, breaking up fights, and occasionally tapping the best and the beautiful on the shoulder and leading them upstairs.

That made my gut twitch. Whenever I saw somebody being taken by the elbow up the stairs, a sense of dread ran over my back – hard an unmistakable, like someone was trying to carve the very word into my vertebrae.

What the hell were they doing up there?

Though I saw people come up, I never saw them go down. Maybe it was a hell of a party and nobody wanted to leave – or maybe they couldn't and the Kingpin was doing something to them.

Though, on the face of it, this club didn't feel magical – apart from the ancient vibe of the building outside – under the surface, if you literally scratched beneath the paintwork, you could feel it. And that's what I did now as, shifting past that same necking couple, I tilted a hand out and ran one perfect red-painted nail over the wall, dislodging the paint. It crackled, though faintly enough that the uninitiated would have to press their face forward and lick their tongue over it to pick it up.

I shifted into the main dance floor, eagle-eyed gaze locked on that set of stairs as I tried to discern what kind of magic eddies were shifting up and down it from here.

It was hard. It was clear someone was protecting the spells cast on this place.

My gut clenched.

How long had this club been running? In Mag City, right under my nose?

The answer was, it could have been months – even years, though I doubted that. From what those two brother witches had said, it sounded like the Kingpin had moved in recently.

Still... when I was like this, not actively hunting but slowly investigating a threat, it reminded me of how much I could do. How much I could do if I had control of my body and I wasn't just the guard at the door protecting Serena, that was.

If I... if I didn't have to wait to be attacked to emerge, I could have cleaned out this club years ago.

I continually swept my gaze over my environment like some kind of targeting scanner picking up data for an imminent attack. As soon as I saw another one of those suited bouncers, I angled up to him.

With a stupid smile on my face and the scent of alcohol lingering on my breath – even though I hadn't touched a drink all night – I banged into him.

When he shifted and his pupils dilated as they locked on my body, I gave a cutesy shrug, patting a hand on his arm, letting my nails trail down his bunched shirt. "Sorry, didn't see you there." I leaned in, patting my hand further up his arm. "You want to dance with me? I'm so lonely tonight – no one here to play with."

I didn't know exactly what kind of routine would work best on this guy – innocent and drunk, or drunk and plain stupid.

Or maybe I just needed the dress and cleavage, because he looked right down me unashamedly with the kind of glance that, if this wasn't a club, would get him slapped. He nodded toward the stairs. "There's a better party up there. The party for those who deserve it."

Deserve it? Was that a deliberate choice of words, or just an awkward guy trying to figure out how to speak to a pretty lady?

Or something else?

A few seconds after he said it, I felt something try to wheedle into my ears. It was an almost indescribable sensation – as if the syllables had turned into tiny little knives in the air and once they hit my eardrums, they tried to cut right through.

It was ticklish, but importantly, highly manipulative.

I allowed my eyes to dilate – forcing a momentary spell into them as I took control of my body's autonomic processes. "Let's go," I said breathlessly. "Right now," I added as, wrapping an arm around his, I pulled him toward the stairs.

He chuckled. "I like your enthusiasm," he said in a gravelly voice. "So will the King."

A cascade of nerves danced up my spine on that term.

King. It didn't take a great leap of imagination to assume he was talking about the Kingpin.

Finally. Obviously this night of distraction wouldn't last very long after all. If the Kingpin was right up the stairs – things were about to get interesting.

I leaned on the guy heavily as we walked up the stairs, and at least it gave me the opportunity to sense everything around me, breaking down the concrete of the steps, the paint on the walls, the metal of the railing – everything as I attempted to find out just how many spells were locked within. The answer was too many.

Too many to count.

Though this didn't usually happen, and every fight I'd ever faced had been one I could win easily, a clump of nerves started to grow at the base of my spine. It was tight and it was tingly, and with every step it shifted in further as if, short of a scalpel, I would never be free of it again.

We reached the top of the stairs. There was a closed off big door – one that you couldn't see from the base of the stairs for some reason, even though they were straight and didn't curl around.

It was obviously not an original feature of the building. The door was too thick. It was made of what looked like blast-resistant metal – as if this door would lead out to a space station and not to some elite club in Mag City.

This would be the portal back to whatever proxy spell the Kingpin was using to hide the real location of his operation.

I pulled away from the bouncer, or at least I tried to. He grabbed my hand, pressing it against his elbow, leaning in as he grinned, his breath hot against my cheek. "Wouldn't want you to wobble on those heels."

Suit yourself, you asshole, I thought quickly. At the end of the night, I'd take pleasure in wiping this bastard's memories. When I was done with him, I'd reinvent him a new life and make him a pious priest. That'll teach him.

As he shifted forward, rapping his knuckles on the door in a specific pattern, it began to open.

It didn't creak and rather shifted seamlessly as if it was being carried by fairy wings.

It opened, and we walked through. The problem was, we didn't walk into some fancy clubroom.

It was a corridor. One with a seemingly impossible view to its side.

Though even as a witch I didn't have an altimeter – I didn't need one to appreciate we were now at least 30 flights up.

My gaze swiveled to the windows beside me, my sight sharp as a specific bitter tingle raced along my tongue.

I went to shift away, to get a better view, to try to figure out based on the topography of the buildings around us twinkling in the night lights exactly where this tower was located.

The guy chuckled, shifted in closer, wrapped a hand tighter around mine, and started to stroke it. He wasn't a complete creep. Though, actually, he was a complete creep. He wasn't stroking me like he was some Victorian lover-boy showing his affection for a beautiful object. He was casting a mesmerizing spell.

I could hear it – that's right, I could actually hear it as he whispered it so carefully under his breath, you'd have to be inside his mouth to pick up the words. But with me, the magic called to me, and I knew precisely what it was as faint tingles escaped over my skin.

Though all I wanted to do was assess my surroundings and appreciate just how much magic it would take for a proxy spell of this kind, I let my shoulders droop, tilted my head to the side until it rested on his shoulder, and gazed out with a dead, lifeless stare.

He chuckled. "You're an easy one. That'll be good. He likes easy ones."

Inside, my stomach clenched. Just what exactly was this Kingpin creep up to?

I wanted to ball a hand into a fist and strike it not just into this bouncer's face, but into every bastard who had anything to do with this operation. And here's the thing – I would soon get my chance.

I'd get it right behind the door that was coming up in front of us.

I could tell it was important, because as the bouncer approached, he no longer hid the fact he was a witch. He brought up his free hand, spread his fingers wide, and, putting as much distance between his thumb and his pinky as he could, he let magic dance over his skin. It was light – just a faint touch compared to what I could create. But it was there, and as it glowed, flickering over his fingers and terminating on each nail, he finally spoke out loud. "Open. Another is ready."

It was unusual to cast your spells in English. English just didn't have the kind of power to open the doors in your mind that the ancient language of the witches did. Another indication that this guy, while big on the outside, was about the least impressive witch I'd ever seen.

It would make sense to just use him to guard the doors. A guy like him could manage an open spell and a manipulation spell, and not much else.

The door in front of us looked like a standard office door – okay, with a few embellishments. It was large, the ceiling in this corridor high. It was clear we were at the top of the building, and whatever this door led to had to be an important room indeed.

As the guy muttered open, I heard a complicated locking mechanism click, making it sound as if there were hundreds, literally hundreds of locks within the door.

With a final burst of white atmosphere as if this was an airlock into outer space, it opened.

What the hell did I expect to see? A large office? A King on an actual throne?

It's not what I saw.

Instead... it looked like some kind of operation. The room was large, and along one wall were plastic chairs seated in front of the dramatic view of the city behind. As the night lights shone up from below, vacant socialites and partygoers sat on the chairs, their hands dumped in their laps, their shoulders loose, their gazes suggesting while they were technically awake, no one was home.

On the opposite side of the room were more broad-chested men in black suits and even the occasional woman.

They were walking to-and-fro, tablets and phones in their hands – as if they were organizing some complicated operation.

There were tables – surgical tables. More of those vacant socialites were on them, lying there, wide, dead eyes staring up at the ceiling as witches leaned in and whispered in their ears.

They were Mesmers. Mind Benders weren't the only type of witches who could access people's thoughts. But while we could wipe them, Mesmers could put subliminal thoughts into people's brains, making them do things and changing their personalities.

If a mind bender worked with a Mesmer – not that I ever would – you could completely change who a person was, taking someone, wiping their memory, and writing a new one in its place.

My spine straightened, my breath shuddering so hard into my stomach, I twitched.

Though the bouncer had been seemingly content that I was under his spell, as I twitched, he looked at me sharply. "What the—"

A few of the other witches turned to look at me, too.

I tried to hold onto my magic, but I could feel it slipping.

This was... it was insane. It was horrible on every level. It was why I'd joined the police force. No, I hadn't joined the police force.

I wasn't Serena.

But this was wrong. And I had to stop it.

I knew why I was here – to get information, to run into the Kingpin, and to take him down. So there was no point in showing my hand early.

But—

The door on the opposite side of the room opened. If I'd thought the airlock-like door into this operation was complicated, that door was on another level. It was gold, for one. Real gold – or at least steel that had been magically convinced into looking like gold.

As it shifted open, I watched a man leading a woman out by the hand.

Her eyes were open, her body was moving, but there was nothing – absolutely nothing – behind her gaze.

As a thrill of total gut-wrenching fear jolted into me, I appreciated one fact that only a mind bender could.

She'd just had her mind wiped.

She was one thing. The man leading her out was another.

His gaze locked on me. And I stared back.

As our gazes met, something transferred through them, jolting into me and jolting into him as I watched his hand tighten around the woman's fingers, twitching as he suddenly lost control of his knuckles.

He was... it was hard to explain.

Handsome? It was clear he was meant to be handsome. He had a broad build, a tall form, a well-proportioned body, and great, dazzling eyes.

He looked like the kind of man who'd easily been able to get what he wanted in life just by his looks alone.

But did that make him objectively good-looking?

To me, it made him terrifying. Everything about him from his neat pressed shirt with the sleeves rolled up, to his white-knuckled grip on the vacant woman's hand, to his eyes boring into my soul made me scared.

Serena often experienced fear. Serena had no idea what I could do.

While I felt momentary bursts of adrenaline, nothing could compare to this. Nothing could have ever prepared me for this.

As he stared at me, he recognized me. Just as I recognized him.

He was a mind bender.

As our gazes met, it was almost as if an electrical explosion went off in the air between us. It was like our stares were two wires that couldn't be crossed.

Even from here, I could feel heat prickling across his skin – or at least I knew it would be. I could feel his muscles contracting, his lips jerking open wide and his eyes, his damn sparkling blue eyes opening with an intensity few people could match.

I lost awareness of everybody else in the room. All that mattered – all that would ever matter – was him.

I watched, practically in slow motion as his lips spread. They carved two words that rang in the air, sounding like bombs going off either side of my head. "Mind bender."

No time. No more time.

I said I'd never experienced fear like this before, but some part of my body was prepared for it. Maybe it was a gift from my mother – or maybe it was a gift from Serena. It told me I could no longer be arrogant. I had to get out of here. I'd walked into a situation I could not control.

I shifted to the side, viciously throwing the bouncer off me, using the hard base of my palm and shoving it against the soft flesh underneath his chin.

It felled the big brute in a single hit, and he crumpled next to me as if someone had filleted him like a fish.

The mind bender let go of the woman's hand, and she instantly fell down to her knees like a doll that had lost its master.

By now the other witches in the room had obviously figured out something was up, but they couldn't react as quickly as the mind bender. Or me.

In a split second, I calculated my only way out. It wasn't behind me – I was a lot of things, but that door was a lot more. It would take me time – critically time I didn't have – to blast through it.

There was only one option. And that option was through the windows to my left.

I was a mind bender – and though we were unquestionably powerful, few creatures will survive if they throw themselves out of a window on the thirtieth floor of a tower.

I had certain spells at my fingertips – ancient incantations that had been passed down my mother's line.

I could control the wind when necessary.

"Stop her," the mind bender screamed.

"Yes, King," the closest witches to me managed.

Two of them threw themselves at me.

Even without turning around, I stamped my heel into the carpet and twisted.

The move was strong enough that it powered into the floor, scrunching it as if it was nothing more than paper.

They were thrown off their feet.

Without turning around, I punched a hand up behind me, spread my fingers wide, and sent a shot of force blasting into the closest witch who'd been knocked off his feet.

As the spell lanced into him, his head jolted back viciously against the floor, and he lay still.

"Come to me," the Kingpin ordered. He wasn't talking to his witches. He was talking to me. Those three words rang out. They were like hands clutching hold of me. They shifted into my brain, attempting to control me on every level.

His power was... insane.

It almost overcame my own.

He was stronger.

That thought... I couldn't comprehend it, not now.

I had to get out. Had to escape.

Though there were several socialites sitting on cheap plastic chairs in front of the window, I swept a hand to the side, this time using a gentle breeze spell to push them out of the way.

A few of them tumbled down to their knees, but rather than rise, they remained there, just like the vacant woman the Kingpin had led from his office.

Whether they'd already had their minds wiped and they were waiting for the Mesmers to create them new ones, or they hadn't completed their session with the mind bender yet – it didn't matter. Because I wasn't going to leave them alone.

That thought slammed into me. It seemingly came from nowhere, then I heard the specific tone, the voice that thundered through my head. "We can't leave them here."

It was Serena.

... Was she... somehow resurfacing in this, my most fraught moment?

Just as I reached the glass, the Kingpin closing in from behind, I paused. It was for a fraction of a second – and I didn't lose any time – but it was long enough that I came to a decision.

My side – the protection side – knew that if we took these people with us – I mean me – they would slow us down. It was one thing falling out of the side of a building and controlling your fall with a well-placed wind spell – it was another to do the same for an entire group of people.

But I couldn't leave them alone. I was here to serve and protect.

Serve and protect.

Those two words echoed in my mind as I flared a hand forward, catching hold of the glass and wrenching it to the side.

I didn't waste it, and rather spun on the spot in a beautiful, graceful timed move. The pane shattered, and as I splayed my hand to the side, spreading my fingers wide in a cutting motion like I was doing a judo chop, the glass blasted out through the room.

It even stopped the Kingpin as I put all of my might into my spell, using a rare incantation that came from deep down my family line.

The other witches who'd assembled behind the Kingpin were blasted back, some of them so weak they hit the far wall, falling onto their asses.

It didn't wrench the Kingpin off his feet, though he had to bring up an arm and hide behind it, his blazing gaze no longer visible as he incanted something under his breath to stop the superpowered glass from cutting him.

Just as I spun on the spot and started to sweep my hands toward all of the innocent humans in the room, I saw his gaze out of the corner of my eye. It was surprised – maybe impressed. Or maybe greedy. The look of a man who'd just encountered a spell he didn't know – and the look of a man who would soon grasp it – and the enchanter – in an iron grip that would never break.

I had no experience with rescuing people from the top of a 30-floor tower.

I didn't have to think. The spells aligned in my mind until I chose a net spell and started to weave together the strands of air between the various victims.

Air didn't rush through the hole in the window. Not yet. I was keeping it back.

Until now.

Just as the Kingpin gave a roar and reached for me, closing two meters of the 20-meter distance between us in a split second, I flattened my hand toward him and let magic blast out. It caught the wind and made it 100 times worse until the force of the gale split through the room, shaking the walls.

It didn't stop the Kingpin. He pressed both arms in front of his face, then he pushed forward once more. "Come to me," he commanded.

I shuddered, feeling as if somebody with an icy hand had run their fingers over every centimeter of my flesh.

I didn't stop. With one last glance over my shoulder as my hair whipped viciously around my face, I grabbed hold of all of the people, I turned until I was facing him, and I fell back out of the window.

The last thing I saw was his gaze – as undiluted as raw magic itself – staring a hole into me.

It was the kind of gaze that told me without words he would come for me. He would tear this city apart until he pried me from its ruins.

Not if I had anything to do with it.

I took control of my spell and sailed down the side of the building.

I'd never used such a display of magic before, and it was on such a scale I couldn't hide it.

People staring from the towers opposite and down the streets would see.

It didn't matter.

I was still in my own disguise spell. And all that counted – all that damn well counted was that I would save these victims.

For now.

The question would be, who would save me?

The Kingpin was coming for me. And next time, he wouldn't let me win.

The end of Broken Witch Episode One. Continue the adventure today, with Broken Witch Episode Two.

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