Chapter 2
The Long Island L.A.W. mansion looked like a British billionaire's country estate, if said billionaire had a thing for Victorian-Gothic mash-up and way too many wards disguised as trees. Rayna parked her sports car beside Daniel’s Jeep and took a moment to inhale the scent of evergreens and wild magic that clung to the place.
Rayna strode into the war room, now cluttered with monitors, maps, whiteboards, and a suspicious number of throw pillows. No one could say Joell didn’t like to be organized. Dumping her tote onto the central table, Rayna spun one of the leather chairs around before flopping into it.
“So,” she said. “That was fun.”
Michael leaned against the fireplace like a disappointed dad in a Hallmark movie and folded his arms. “Major Payne has not mellowed with age.”
Daniel walked in holding a bowl of something that looked like popcorn dipped in glitter. “Yeah, he was all ‘you have sixty seconds to tell me the truth,’ and I was like, sir, this is a Starbucks.”
Rayna rubbed her temples. “We danced around the truth like we were auditioning for So You Think You Can Lie.”
Michael shrugged. “It bought us time. He doesn’t know what we are. Just that we’re something.”
“And he’ll be back,” Rayna said. “He was suspicious before. Now he’s officially on the trail. He knew I recognized him, but I really don’t think he recognized me.”
“That’s because you were cloaked as you followed our outfit around the Middle East.”
“The burka helped when I had to interact.”
Michael laughed. “Yeah, I remember the first time you spoke to me from inside a full-body mitten with a Brooklyn accent.
“Hey, at least I offered you a decent job after separation from the Army.” Rayna smirked.
Daniel dropped onto the nearest couch, popcorn between his knees. “Also, not to up the anxiety level, but what was with the guy across the street?”
Rayna nodded grimly. “He wasn’t normal. Too still. Watching, not scrutinizing. Like he didn’t want us to see him but couldn’t move if we did.”
“Which makes him either very confident,” Michael said, “or very not-human.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. The mansion creaked faintly, as if alive and listening.
Rayna stood and crossed to the nearest wall panel. With a flick of her fingers and a whispered word, the enchanted screen blinked to life, showing a swirling web of magical activity across the tri-state area. Her gaze locked on a red dot pulsing just beyond Brooklyn.
“That’s new,” she muttered.
Daniel came up behind her. “We’ve got movement.”
Michael joined them. “And if the Major wasn’t reason enough to regroup, that is.”
Rayna nodded. “Time to call Joell.”
“Should I get snacks for everyone?” Daniel asked, already heading for the kitchen.
“Get tequila,” Rayna called after him. “And maybe a napping blanket. This is going to be a long night.”
Joell stood at the head of the table, focused on the wall monitor, earrings swinging like tiny golden nooses. “I don’t care if she’s in Cairo; she can spare fifteen minutes for an emergency debrief.”
Five witches circled the oblong table, while Rayna took a long sip of her iced chai and muttered, “Did you have to use the word ‘emergency’?”
“Yes,” Joell said, already typing furiously on a keyboard that projected holographic glyphs into the air.
“Because when a former commanding officer recognizes two members of our organization at a public event and then meets them for an interrogation-like chat in a Brooklyn coffee shop, that qualifies. More importantly, someone watched you leave. Creepy gray trench coat, sunglasses, zero vibe? That screams magical recon.”
Victoria’s image flickered slightly on the oversized monitor, her sleek black braid sharp against the warm lighting of her Montreal condo.
“Let me get this straight. Major Adam Payne, the same one who ran recon on Black site Alpha, was in a coffee shop, sipping lavender lattes and poking around for the truth?”
“He didn’t sip anything,” Rayna said, folding her arms. “He barely blinked. Just radiated ‘military suspicion’ like a defensive air freshener.”
Laughter rippled through the room. Magda, also on a remote monitor, raised an eyebrow, idly scratching the ears of a massive wallaby sprawled over her lap. “And you didn’t erase his memory, why?”
Joell, in her command position at the head of the table, leaned back in her chair and gestured at Rayna with her coffee. “Because she said, and I quote, ‘He’s too sharp.’”
Rayna threw up her hands. “Because he is! He sniffed out something weird in under thirty seconds. If we wiped him, he’d know. And he’d come back with a vengeance like some kind of military-grade dreamcatcher.”
Sahara, who had finally joined remotely from Egypt, tilted her head, eyes unreadable. “What exactly did he see?”
“At most, a flash,” Michael said from his post by the window. “Residual magic from the ward around Rayna’s table. It was dissipating by the end of the signing. But if he saw it, or felt it…”
“Then he’s got the itch,” Joell said grimly. “The kind that ends in classified files and dead-end investigations.”
Daniel nodded. “Or the kind that ends with someone deciding we’re a threat that needs containing.”
Across the table, Brianna, the newest addition to the team, cleared her throat. “Sorry, wait… Did you say Black Site Alpha? As in the facility that was ‘erased from public record’ and rumored to house banshee weaponization trials?”
Heads turned toward her.
“You read the dossier,” Joell said, impressed.
“I’m new, not stupid,” Brianna said. “And also deeply concerned.”
“You should be,” Magda said. “He’s no joke. If Payne’s poking around, we’re already on borrowed time.”
“Okay,” Rayna said, rubbing her temples. “So that’s two ticking clocks: Major X-Files and Mystery Creeper in a trench coat watching us from across the street.”
“He didn’t follow us,” Michael added. “But he watched. Not casual. Not curious. More like studying and calculating.”
“Could be Payne’s contact,” Joell said. “Or someone watching him.”
“Or a familiar in glamor form,” Sahara offered. “I’ve seen one like that before. Stiff posture, inhuman stillness. Felt more like a cursed mannequin than a mummy.”
“Charming,” Rayna muttered.
Joell stood and walked to the center of the room. “Okay, listen up. We’re going proactive on this. If Payne’s nosing around, we tighten protocols. No flashy spell work in public. Travel in pairs. Keep glamors strong. No slip-ups.”
“Looking at you, Lioness,” Victoria said sweetly.
“It was one exploding eclair,” Lioness replied. “And it was delicious to watch.”
A few chuckles. Even the remote witches cracked small smiles.
“Here’s the play,” Joell said. “We split the team. Michael, Rayna, and Daniel, you keep tabs on Payne. Don’t let him sniff out too much, and try not to provoke him, Rayna.
I know you love dressing down authority figures.
Brianna, you’re with the archive crew. You need more context on Payne and the ops he was tied to. ”
Brianna nodded, trying not to look too eager.
“Magda,” Joell continued, “pull facial recon—or non-faces, from Rayna’s mystery man. Run it through international witch-hunter databases, cursed familiars, anything recent out of the Southern Hemisphere.”
“On it,” Magda said.
“Sahara, cross-reference any Middle Eastern chatter. If a figure like that’s been spotted near any supernatural sites, I want to know.”
Sahara gave a nod, her fingers already moving over a keyboard just out of view.
“And Victoria,” Joell said, turning to the screen. “Listen for noise from NATO’s magical oversight. If Payne starts filing unofficial reports, I want to intercept before it escalates.”
“Copy that,” Victoria said, sipping from a glass of red wine. “I’ll keep my ears and magical surveillance open.”
Joell paused, taking a breath. “Alright. This isn’t DEFCON 1 yet. But I want everyone to operate like we’re being watched. Because we probably are.”
Rayna leaned over to Brianna and whispered, “Hope you like paranoia.”
Brianna whispered back, “I thought I was joining a support group for powerful witches. I didn’t know it came with paranoia, surveillance, and secret agents.”
“Oh, honey,” Rayna grinned. “That is the support group.”
Fort Hamilton wasn’t built for subtlety.
Nestled at the southwestern edge of Brooklyn like a forgotten chess piece, it sat behind iron gates and reinforced checkpoints, a slab of government authority overlooking the Verrazzano Bridge.
Inside, it smelled like waxed linoleum, burnt coffee, and the eternal echo of barked orders.
Major Adam Payne moved down the basement corridor of the Covert Operations Wing, boots clicking in time with the dull throb of fluorescent lights overhead.
The hallway was a straight-line study in beige bureaucracy.
Walls were adorned with faded motivational posters and framed commendations no one had looked at in years.
Somewhere down the hall, a printer coughed out paper like it was dying slowly, and two soldiers chatted in low voices over instant ramen and paperwork.
He reached Room 017 and knocked once before entering.
The office was cold. The government-issue HVAC system ran too hard in March and sporadically in July. The air carried the sterile bite of industrial cleaner, like the whole room had been scrubbed of secrets recently.
Opposite the door sat a man in a charcoal suit that he must have purchased many years ago, paired with a tie that screamed, “My kid picked this out.” He held a black data pad and the kind of pen you couldn’t buy in stores, military-grade, standard issue for people who liked notes that could self-destruct.
“Major Payne,” the man said without looking up, tapping the screen. “Your report says you encountered anomalous magical behavior?”
“I said it felt anomalous,” Payne replied, stepping into the room. “There’s a difference. I don’t throw the ‘M’ word around unless someone levitates a Buick.”
The man glanced up. Brown eyes, bloodshot. Too many late nights in stuffy rooms. “You mentioned names. Faces. People of interest.”
Payne folded his arms. He stayed standing.
“I mentioned citizens who were unusually evasive and unusually equipped. The woman, Rayna, projected a calm I’ve only seen in people who know you’re in more danger than they are.
The others? One had the posture of a sniper on a lunch break, and the other guy kept his head on a swivel.
” Payne wasn’t about to reveal the identities of his former operatives just yet.
The man blinked slowly. The light buzzed above them like it was chewing on steel.
“And the flash?” the man asked, eyes narrowing.
“Could’ve been a trick of the light,” Payne said. “Could’ve been something else. But it registered. It was in a bookstore, so not a lot of incriminating tools around.
The man’s stylus paused mid-tap.
“I want to initiate a quiet probe,” Payne continued. “No teams. No satellites. I don’t want to spook them. I want to know if this is a pocket of freelancers, or if someone’s building a network again. You want me to interact?”
“Unofficial observation only,” the man said. “You file nothing. No chatter outside this room. If it’s real, we bring it upstairs through proper channels.”
Payne gave the barest nod. “Understood.” He turned to leave, but just as the door opened, the man added, almost casually, “And Major, if you do confirm magic, you know the drill. Contain, only if a threat.”
Payne paused. The hallway outside was full of idle chatter, footsteps, and the clatter of someone dragging a cart full of clipboards.
“Copy.” He didn’t look back. He walked out, leaving behind the buzzing light, the stale air, and the man with the data pad who, finally, stopped tapping.
“If it’s magic,” Payne whispered to himself, “I’ll do more than contain.”