Chapter One #2
“Ah,” he said wisely, because everything he said seemed wise back then, “that’s The Sense you’re feeling. It’ll make you a great Witch Hunter someday.”
“What is it?” Paige asked. Ryder was too distracted by the dark-haired woman walking past him, making the buzzing under his skin rise and fall like water in a bath.
“It’s a feeling you get when a Witch is nearby,” his grandfather said. “Witch Hunting’s in your blood, and when a Witch is close, your blood starts to burn.”
Ryder wanted to say that his blood wasn’t burning, not really. It felt tingly, effervescent, like there was warm cola flowing through his veins.
“But I didn’t feel it,” said Paige. “Does that mean I won’t be a Witch Hunter?”
“No, you’ll be a Witch Hunter if you want to,” Ryder’s grandfather assured her. “You’ll just have to work harder at it than he will.”
Ryder wasn’t listening, not entirely. He was too preoccupied with wondering where the dark-haired woman had gone, and how he could feel warm and shivery at the same time.
“Ryder? Hey, son, listen to me.” Ryder’s grandfather put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around, making sure he was paying attention. He held up his left hand, missing two fingers since long before Ryder and Paige were born.
“You remember what I told you about my fingers?”
“That they don’t hurt anymore,” Ryder said, “and that Witches took them from you.”
“That’s right. You stay away from that feeling, you understand?
I don’t want you anywhere near Witches, not ‘til you’re grown.
They don’t like that we can find them that easy, and they’ll come after you if they know you have The Sense.
They’ll try to hurt you. Next time you feel that feeling, you come find me.
Don’t go chasing after it or you’ll wind up with a hand like mine. Understand?”
Ryder swallowed and nodded sharply. He looked at Paige, her already wide eyes as round as silver dollars underneath her blonde bangs.
His grandfather took both their hands and led them down the street, away from the direction the dark-haired woman—the Witch—had disappeared to.
Ryder would spend the rest of the afternoon confused, because it wasn’t a bad feeling the Witch had given him.
But his grandfather said it was bad, and his grandfather knew everything.
Of course, no one calls them Witch Hunters anymore.
It sends the wrong message. Witch finders (or BSCO Field Agents, if you really wanna get politically correct) exist for oversight, to keep the unknowing public safe and to make sure Witches are complying with federal regulations.
We’re trained operatives here to serve and protect, and even though the details of the job have changed, I’m carrying on a legacy over a dozen generations in the making.
Maybe I was destined to be a Witchfinder because I had The Sense, or maybe it just made me feel drawn to the field.
But no matter where The Sense came from, what it feels like, or what I choose to do with it… it’s never wrong.
The feeling borders on overwhelming, like a stood-up-too-fast headrush, and it comes on so quick and heavy that for a second, I forget where I am and what I’m doing and instead just sit there with my eyes glazed over and my wallet lying open in my lap.
“Sir?”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Sorry,” I hear myself say over the flow of lava in my ears, and I take the drink out of the server’s hand.
The Sense is so intense now that I almost drop the glass.
It’s unsettling, dizzying, and I scan my surroundings for the source.
It couldn’t be the waitress—it’s getting stronger as she walks away.
The lounge chairs on either side of me are empty.
My heart is beginning to race, and goosebumps are spreading across my neck just as a pane of black lace crosses my field of vision.
Green eyes, stark against the black eyeliner, meet mine and burn into me like a branding iron.
I feel frozen to the spot, as though hit by a current of electricity.
It’s like he’s moving in slow motion as he passes in front of me and continues through the double glass doors into the hotel’s interior, disappearing from sight with my Sense fizzling out at last in his absence.
Cono. I was so damn distracted by the body and the aesthetic that I didn’t notice the details—the silver jewelry around his neck carried crystals and vials, the tattoos etched runes into his skin, and the book he had with him was some ancient tome. Of course he’s a fucking Witch.
He’s a Witch with a massive spellbook. He’s a Witch who’s been staring daggers at me all morning.
He’s a Witch who’s up to something, even if I don’t know what it is yet.
And if he thinks I’m not willing to spend my entire involuntary vacation figuring out what the hell that ‘something’ is, he’s in for a real fun surprise.
I’m ready to abandon my seat and my cocktail in order to follow the Witch into the hotel when my phone rings a second time. I answer it without checking the caller ID as I stand from my seat.
“Ryder,” I say in a clipped tone.
“Oh, sorry, are you busy?”
Paige. “Yeah, kinda,” I reply as I push through the double doors and into the lobby.
“Sorry!” Paige says again. “I just wanted to talk to you about the AEAD position, but I’ll call back later!”
The Witch is nowhere to be seen, of course. There are half a dozen different directions he could have gone in, and this hotel is huge—there’s no reasonable way to follow him. I clench my jaw and head back to my lounge chair. “No, no,” I say into the phone, “let’s talk about it.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. I love Paige like nobody else, don’t get me wrong, but I’m pretty consistently astounded by how someone as meek as she is could have made it through Special Agent training.
“Yeah,” I say, picking up my cocktail. “Did you get it?”
“Huh?”
“The promotion. That’s what you’re calling about, right?”
“What? Oh! No, that was the Supervisory Special Agent position. That went to Joshua.”
I wince. The BSCO loses agents constantly—most transfer to higher-paying and higher-status positions in the private sector or other government agencies, some are lost to hazards of the field, a few get promoted to supervisory positions within the department.
SSA is a common opening, and this is the fourth time in as many years that Paige has applied and been passed over.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Kid,” I tell her earnestly.
“No, it’s fine, actually! SSA got filled, but Ash just quit because she got accepted into the CIA training program, which means that her position is open now!”
“Great! Which one is it, again?”
“Associate Executive Assistant Director.”
“That’s… a mouthful, huh?”
“Kinda! It’s a desk job—which is totally fine! Mostly it’ll be a leg up the ladder. But I qualify through tenure, and since the position is basically the secretary for the Deputy Director, I was wondering…”
I smile and sip my margarita. “You want me to talk to Veronica.”
“I mean, could you? No worries if not!”
“Yeah, I’ll put in a good word, no problem.”
“Really?!”
Do I want to spend my two weeks off sorting out office hierarchy?
No, but the elation in Paige’s voice at the mere suggestion of a recommendation makes it worth my while.
And she’s really much more suited to a desk job than she is to field work, anyway.
“Yes, Paige, really. I’ll call her this week. ”
“Oh, I’m sure it can wait—”
“No, it can’t.”
“You know I hate asking you for stuff—”
“It’s no problem.”
“It’s just… I don’t really think she likes me very much?”
I almost laugh. “She likes you fine, Paige.”
“She’s always yelling at me—”
“That’s just how her voice sounds.”
“I know, I know…” Paige sighs. And she’s not wrong—Nix doesn’t hate her by any means, but she does seem to think of Paige less as a colleague or a friend and more as an annoying little cousin asking if she has any games on her phone.
But, people-pleasing tendencies notwithstanding, Paige is smart and tenacious and takes direction well.
I’m sure I can convince Nix to give her a chance.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” I say after a few seconds.
“Right! Yeah, okay, enjoy your vacation!”
“Will do. Good luck, Kid.”
I hang up the phone and relax back into my chaise, stretching out my legs and surveying the pool area again. My eyes catch on the now empty lounge chair that was occupied by a Witch only a few minutes ago. An extremely suspicious Witch, at that.
I sip my drink and slide my sunglasses back on. So much for a “vacation.”