The Witch with No Name

“Trent!” Ellasbeth screamed.

Giving her a sidelong glance, I sidled up to Trent. “You forgot to tell him no visitors.”

Trent’s breath hissed in between his teeth. “Oooh, I did, didn’t I.”

“Trenton Aloysius Kalamack!” Ellasbeth exclaimed as she pushed between us, her face red. “Where are my girls?”

He pointed inside when Lucy’s laughing giggle echoed into the patio. Hand to her mouth, Ellasbeth bolted inside. “You’re welcome to stay,” Trent said loudly, but she was already inside. Only now did a faint worry line wrinkle his forehead. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake.”

Smiling, I gave him a hug. “This isn’t a mistake,” I said, feeling his arms take me in and make me strong. “He’s the only one who might agree to play by our rules. The rest need to be shamed into it. Thank you.”

I dropped back to see a lingering worry in him. “I’m going to miss you today, too.”

He was tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, and I felt loved. “Maybe we can have dinner or something.”

But I knew that I’d be lucky to end today still standing. If Felix had committed suncide, Nina was going to be out of control and Cincinnati’s old vampires would be a conflicted terror of want, desire, and fear. What tore at me though was that Ivy’s hope of ever saving her soul was now tied to a maybe.

And as I gave Trent a kiss and felt his grasp slip from me, I vowed that Ivy was going to get her happy ending. Even if it killed me.

Chapter 19

My breath caught and I stomped on the brake when the car ahead of me squealed to a stop. Head swinging, I flicked my eyes to the rearview mirror, wincing until the car behind me stopped as well. I was trying to get to Fountain Square. Ivy and I were having lunch before digging through the mess at the church. Yes, I should be in some library looking for how to close the lines, but Ivy needed me, needed me to tell her that one blood orgy wasn’t the end. Besides, I had to do something normal for a few hours before I started saving the world again.

“What the Turn?” I said to myself, trying to see past the cars lined up before me. Traffic was at a standstill, and when I rolled the window down, I could hear a crowd and a bullhorn a few blocks up. I was nearly at the square. Something was wrong. Ivy was there.

Pulse fast, I jerked the wheel, driving in the wrong lane for a few car lengths to pull into a tiny—and illegal—parking spot for the meter police. I waved at the guy blowing his horn at me as I popped my FIB sign in the front window and grabbed my shoulder bag. Thanks to my weekend sleepovers at Trent’s I was in a clean pair of jeans and a casual sweater, but I felt anything but professional as I locked the car and strode off, boots clunking.

Nina? I wondered, shocked as her voice came through the bullhorn, her aggressive urgency mixing with the rising roar of unseen people. Crap on toast, Felix had committed suncide this morning. A handful of other masters had gone from soul-induced depression to out-of-control raging when their souls were ripped from them. That they were forced underground was a blessing and a breathing space. Cops were everywhere, both the FIB and the I.S., and I strode up to the nearest. “Excuse me. What’s going on?”

“That way, miss,” he directed, and I jerked back before he could touch me. His expression hardened, and he actually looked at me. “There’s an illegal demonstration at the square,” he said, clearly not recognizing me. “Please go home.”

They were almost lining the streets now, and everyone was being turned away. “Ah, I’m trying to reach someone,” I said, thinking if Nina was in there, so was Ivy. “I mean, I was called in to work,” I said, flashing my old I.S. badge with my spell-burned hair and dopey look. “Who do I talk to?”

“Hell if I know,” the cop muttered as he looked at my street clothes. “Go on.”

He didn’t have to say it twice, and I slipped behind the forming human wall and hustled to the square, waving my outdated ID at everyone with a badge who looked my way. My pulse pounded, and the brief respite of people vanished. It wasn’t a demonstration, it was a mob, and I stood in the middle of the blocked-off road trying to make sense of it.

Nina was on the stage with a bullhorn, trying to outshout the man with a mic. The crowd was split and ugly, yelling at the stage, hands in fists raised in protest. The huge TV was showing a national news station, but it was all bad, with excited newscasters standing, as I was, at the outskirts of similar protests in other cities. High above, people pressed against the windows of the surrounding buildings taking pictures. I.S. and FIB officers were everywhere, but apart from the ring of them keeping new people out, I couldn’t tell what they were doing.

“I’m with the I.S.,” I said, flashing my ID when a cop came close, and he went the other way. News crews were setting up on the corner, and I began to inch away before I was recognized. Ivy, where are you?