The Witch with No Name

Al lolled his head to the ceiling. “Lie . . . ,” he drawled, and Vivian bristled.

“It is not.”

Al’s head dropped, and he found her eyes. “You wish.”

“I agree,” Professor Anders said, the sureness in her voice garnered from decades of arguing with know-it-all peers. “The Arizona lines are dead. You can’t reinstate them. Once gone, they’re gone. It’s impossible to reverse a physical reaction like this; therefore, you can’t reinstate lines. I don’t care how big a collective, dewar, enclave, coven, or energy source you have.”

Al’s attention slowly slid to her, taking in her stark lines, her pigheaded confidence, and her utter refusal to be afraid of him. My eyes narrowed as he stuck a finger into her aura.

“It would be far safer to find a way to shove the undead souls back into the ever-after,” the woman finished, shooting a withering look at Al.

“The ever-after is a hell,” Ivy spoke up, her voice ragged almost.

“It wasn’t when we made it,” Al grumbled.

Professor Anders laced her hands before her as if there was nothing more to be said. “I’m sorry, Ms. Tamwood, but your kin is cursed. If it’s a choice between them or us living in hell, I pick them.”

Jenks’s wings clattered as Ivy’s eyes slowly blossomed into black. “What did my mother do to deserve to be cursed?” she said. “What did I do? How many generations need to suffer for one man frightened of death!”

Al shrugged, nonchalantly signaling Mark to make him another coffee. “You could always end the curse by letting them die. It’s what they want to do, apparently.”

Jenks’s wings drooped. “And the world goes with them.”

“So what do we do?” I said, keeping a tight watch on Ivy. “We can’t allow an end to the ever-after, even to prevent the undead souls from killing their, ah, own. I can’t live in a world with no magic.”

David tapped the table with a thick knuckle. His hands were looking rougher these days, and I wondered if he was embracing his wilder side more. “Yes, I don’t get that part. Why would Landon want an end to magic?”

Wincing, Trent rubbed his forehead. “Because elven magic isn’t entirely dependent upon ley lines. We have an open forum through prayer and might be the only major magic users left if the lines go.”

Might. He said might. As in demons might be able to use elf magic as well? Or might as in elves might not have magic either? The distinction was important.

“What about Weres?” David asked, understandably concerned.

“I think you’ll be fine,” Trent said, but David didn’t look convinced. “Weres and leprechauns also use the Goddess’s energy to shift and perform magic. I’d expect a slight reduction, but still functioning.”

Not pleased, David slumped back. “It’s hard enough to shift already.”

“What about pixies?” Jenks asked.

“I think you’ll be okay,” I said, but worry that he wouldn’t made the coffee sit ill in me. Landon wouldn’t care if the pixies died out in his bid for elven superiority. Hadn’t he learned anything from the history texts?

“There’s always the chance that if he can’t reinvoke the Arizona lines—”

“He can’t,” Professor Anders interrupted.

“. . . that the Goddess will also lose her access to reality.” Trent’s lips pressed together in thought. “She won’t be happy about that,” he said, and Professor Anders drummed her fingers, clearly not believing in the Goddess at all.

Vivian set her pen down with a sharp snap. “I was going to advise the coven to support Landon, but this changes things.”

“You believe in the Goddess?” Professor Anders scoffed, and Trent bristled.

Vivian simply smiled. “No. I was referring to the elves’ ability to draw on a separate band of energy not collected in a ley line to perform their magic, one that might still be available if the lines were dead. Calling it a deity is no skin off my nose, and I don’t want any religious entity holding the rest of Inderland hostage. Once the lines end, everyone will panic. They’ll give the dewar anything and everything to reinstate them.”

“Eat that, Ms. Professor,” Jenks said, darting to make the woman wave a hand at him.

Trent seemed mollified, but I knew it was only recently that he’d begun believing in the Goddess himself. “I know nothing for certain,” he said, “but Landon wouldn’t risk losing the lines if he wasn’t confident that he’d be able to continue to perform magic.”

“A truer word has not been spoken,” Al said, reaching over his shoulder to take the new cup Mark was handing him.

“Look,” I said, and Al choked on his coffee.

“Oh God. She’s got a list,” the demon gasped, still coughing, and Jenks grinned, cup raised in a salute.

“We can’t allow the undead masters to die!” I said, undeterred. “It was crazy last spring. Vivian, the news you got on the West Coast was sugarcoated. Cincinnati almost collapsed under mob rule. All services were cut. People went hungry because they were afraid to go outside, and for good reason. They’re still trying to repair the damage, and I’m not talking about just the buildings.”