The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set (27 page)

"It looks so fragile," said Mary. "As if I could just put it under my foot and stamp on it."

"Try it and the impact will kill you," retorted Katarra. "Although … what exactly
are
you, again?"

"Right," interrupted Karl. "So, after we save Amy, and Elena's mum, we find a way to destroy that pen so we can save the Earth from being ripped apart by Elena – sorry, darling – and invaded by demons."

Katarra snorted. "Good luck with that." She went back to filing her nails.

The door bell rang, and everyone froze.

"Elena?" asked Karl.

"I'm on it," she replied, with her eyes closed. Then a second later, "It's the police."

"Great. Katarra, I need you upstairs – you don't look human."

"But I'll miss all the fun!" she whined.

"If you want my blood, you'll go upstairs and not utter a word," Elena warned.

"Fine," she huffed, then stomped up the stairs.

Elena stared after her in irritation. "It's like living with a two year old."

"Don't rush to have kids, then," mumbled Gwain, as Karl went to answer the door.

"With the world ending some time in the immediate future, it's not on my priority list. By the way, I think I might have found a way of getting Mum out of the Shanka dimension."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I just need to finalise a few details."

Karl walked back into the room. He looked white as a sheet and a silent apology shone in his eyes. Two policemen walked in behind him.

"What's wrong?" asked Mary.

"John's dead."

Elena gasped. "John Kinsky? Antique John?"

"But I just saw him a few hours ago," said Mary.

Karl gave her a look and little shake of his head, as one of the police officers approached Mary.

"Mary Anthony?" he asked.

"Yes."

He spun her around, slammed her up against the nearest wall and cuffed her hands behind her back.

She was too shocked to speak. Elena did it for her. "What are you doing?!"

"Mary Anthony, we are arresting you on suspicion of the murders of John Kinsky, Sophia Smith and Leonard McDonald. You have the right to remain silent…"

Mary's head reeled as he stated her rights to her.

"But I came straight here after speaking to John."

"You can tell it down the station, Ms. Anthony," said the policeman as he patted her down. "You have quite a history, by the way – in and out of detention centres, constantly between foster homes…"

Shock gave way to anger. "Things I did in my early teens, and I was one of those babies found on a doorstep – what does that even have to do with anything?"

"Just interesting, that's all. You should know that we acquired a search warrant for your flat and we've already been in. You know what else is interesting? That little collection you have in the bottom drawer of your wardrobe."

Mary groaned as her mind pictured her drawer: pinwheels, nipple clamps, razors, knives – a
range
of knives even, including hunting knives – she'd learnt that different blades created different types of pain.
Shit!
This did not look good. Not at all.

"You can't have any evidence of murder because I didn't murder anyone, so what exactly are you going to do with me?"

"We'll be taking a very thorough statement from you. In the meantime you'll be locked in a holding cell, and you'd better give your lawyer a call."

Lawyer? I don't have a fucking lawyer.

"I still don't understand why you're connecting these murders with me," she said as they carted her out the front door, with Elena at their heels, still trying to convince them of her innocence.

"You were seen talking to two of the victims today before they were found dead."

"Two?"

"Sophia Smith."

Who the hell is—

"Sophia!"
echoed the voice in her head. That's what the girl's mother had called her. Sophia was the girl at the train station who had given her the balloon. Oh, my God, she was murdered?

"And you were also on Maddison Road last week, the night of the explosion."

Now Elena stopped in her tracks. They were talking about the night she blew up her building in a fit of rage – not that they knew that was what had happened. "What has that got to do with the murders?" asked Elena.

"It turns out that Leonard McDonald didn't die in the explosion – he was already dead, but his body was so burnt, we didn't have confirmation of that until today."

"The man who lived in the basement flat? He was already dead?"

"And all three of them died in exactly the same way – with one thousand shallow cuts on their bodies."

"Death by a thousand cuts?" asked Mary, then realised she should have kept her mouth shut.

"Oh, heard of it have you? The Chinese method of torture?"

Well of course she had. She knew almost everything there was to know about slicing and dicing.

"What's this?" He pointed to the necklace she always wore around her neck – two Chinese symbols strung together.

She sighed. She seemed to be digging a grave for herself without even trying. "It means 'primeval chaos'."

"Interesting," he said again.

"Really, I don't think anyone's ever found me more interesting than you."

She got into the police car, and he pushed her head clear of the roof.

"Mary," said Elena, as he shut her door. "Don't worry, we'll sort this out somehow."

"I probably won't be at the shop tomorrow, sorry."

"Don't you worry about that."

Mary attempted a reassuring smile at Elena through her window – poor thing looked like she was about to burst into tears. Then she felt a strange tugging sensation to her right. She looked out the other window, and saw Gwain standing on the porch with his arms crossed, staring at her. His stare seemed to burn a hole in her side, and she felt it all the way to the station.

Chapter Eight

Amy didn't just wake up screaming; she woke up screaming, leaping out of bed and thirsting for vengeance, fuelled by the fear that Pueblo was dead.

Paul was sleeping, slumped on the armchair by their bed, and it was unfortunate for him that he was the first thing Amy saw.

She threw herself at him, just as he jolted awake.

"Where is he?"
she screamed, nothing but a ball of rage on his lap.
"What have you done?!"
 

"Elizabeth?" he squeaked.

"You
bastard!
"

Surprise, relief, joy, confusion, and finally, hurt, settled on his features.

"Lizzie—"

"Amy. My name is Amy –
Amy Langdon
– and you're going to tell me who the hell you are,
right now!
"

Tears filled his eyes – the eyes that had only ever looked at her in gentleness – and spilled over, down his cheeks.

Oh, shit, he's crying.

She reached for the tiny morsel of sense that still lived in her, and reined her anger in a bit. Why the fuck was he crying?

And then, he wasn't just crying, he was sobbing. Great big man-sobs, with shuddering shoulders and everything.

Taken aback, she removed her hands from his shirt, and got off him.

"I've tried so hard…" he forced out between his wailing. "I love you so much … I thought it was getting better … but you're so far away, Lizzie … so far away…"

Oh, hell, she hadn't been expecting this – he didn't look like he was lying. In fact, he looked like she'd just broken him.

A slither of guilt entered her heart. With her magic, she reached out, just a fraction – more than a little glad to discover she could – and entered his energy field. Just a quick touch of his mind would determine—

There. He's not lying – God damn it, he's completely genuine.

She approached him once more, and knelt down at his feet. "Paul. I'm so sorry. I had such a bad dream…" Which was sort of the truth, even if it sounded like a really bad lie.

He didn't look up, still sobbing. "The doctors keep saying there's nothing else … that I just have to give you time … but I don't know how to make you remember – I don't know how to bring you back." He made a strangled sound then bit down on his fist, maybe in an attempt to gather some control.

She had no answers for him, because she did remember now, and clearly, she wasn't who he thought she was. But if he didn't know who she really was, then who the hell was
he
? How did he get mixed up in all of this? One thing she did know, was that Etienne had a lot to answer for, and once she got her hands on him… The anger threatened to fill her up again, but this time she bit it back – this wasn't what Paul needed from her. Although, she couldn't give him what he did need: his wife, Elizabeth May.

How could she tell him, in his current state, what was really going on?

She decided she couldn't. She stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder by way of comfort. He sagged into her, placed his head against the curve of her abdomen and held onto her for dear life.

Tears welled in her own eyes.
Poor man.
 

Her closeness seemed to calm him.
He just wants his wife back.
 

"Paul, I'm sorry," she said again, and stroked his hair.

Eventually, he calmed down and looked up at her, a careful hope lighting his eyes once more.

"I really am sorry," she said again, her voice quavering.

"I know; it's all right. You've been through so much, it's only natural you would be feeling angry."

Didn't she feel like a bitch.

He laid the back of his hand on her forehead, then brushed it gently down her cheek. "Your temperature seems to have gone back down. I was so worried after you collapsed."

"Oh." She had no idea what else to say.

"I'm going to bring you some food," he said, getting up and giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head. "You've been asleep for a while, you must be hungry."

"Thank you, that would be nice." And it would give her some time alone to try and figure out what to do next. This man was part of a past that wasn't her reality, but that didn't mean he didn't exist in his own reality. He was real. He was soft and gentle, and she was going to hurt him. If there was any way she didn't have to, she prayed for it to come to her.

"Everything's going to be fine," he said, his optimism resurfacing. He stared at her with so much love, that for a split second, she found herself wishing she was Elizabeth May. Her heart panged and her throat constricted, as she swallowed the fresh flood of tears that threatened to rise up inside her. She smiled at him and nodded.

"Be back soon." And he walked out of the room, down the stairs towards the kitchen.

Amy let out a shaky breath and ran through all the time spells she knew. There were only two she could think of: one that could take you to pivotal past points in someone's life, and one to help find lost things in the past. She wondered if Elena had tried that one to find her… And maybe her being here was the result of the first spell, but she wasn't familiar with it. She tried to recall the words that Etienne had spoken just before she'd disappeared from 2011. Her mind threw up a blank. There was no way she was getting herself out of here without help … maybe there was a way she could send Elena a message into the future…

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

Etienne – he's here!

She turned to where she felt his presence manifesting. Rage surfaced, and she fought the urge to shift – into what she had no idea; she'd never shifted before in her life. The one thing she did know, was that when he appeared in front of her, she was going to rip him a new one.

~*~

Blood matted his black fur. He took some satisfaction in seeing the amount of red that also coloured the leopard's white fur. They must have been going at this for ten minutes now, but Pueblo was starting to feel the strain. He sensed the thick coat of magic that surrounded the leopard, and it didn't smell like an animal, nor did it smell human. He guessed it was some conjured beast that Etienne had sent his way. Whatever it was, it was massive – not snow leopard size at all – and vicious. Even when Pueblo shifted into fire, the thing just kept coming at him, trying to tear him to pieces, completely impervious to the heat of the flames.

It was on him again before he could blink, sinking its teeth into his thigh this time. Another roar left Pueblo's lungs, as he felt fangs rip muscle from his leg. He was getting weaker by the second. He struggled to think how he could beat this thing when he had no magic to defend or fight with.

And then he was staring at his ceiling.

"Oh, holy Mary, mother of God," he cried out, a quiver of relief audible in his voice. He rubbed his eyes, never so glad to be awake in his life.

Amy.

I've got to get to Karl's house.

It was almost midnight by the time Pueblo reached the semi-detached house in Wimbledon. When he made his way up the lawn to the front door, he saw Elena kissing Gwain on the porch.

What?
Wait, that couldn't be right. He blinked a couple of times, then spotted Karl standing off to the right, staring at them with an expression of love on his face.

What the
hell
had he just walked in on?

He coughed.

Karl turned and gave him a wave before striding towards him.

"Hey, what's going on?" he asked, unsure whether he actually wanted to know.

"Energy transference."

Oh, that made more sense. Demons transferred energy and knowledge through blood; angels, so he had heard, transferred through breath. He wondered if the experience was as pleasurable for angels as it was for demons.

Now that he looked at them again, he could see that they weren't actually kissing. They had both started to glow, Elena green, Gwain white. There was clearly a small body of light leaving Elena's form and entering Gwain's. The angel was gripping the door frame to his left, his wings fully extended, and Elena was gripping Gwain. The whole thing, although a certain kind of beautiful, was a little uncomfortable to watch.