..…CHAPTER 13…..
“Goddammit,” Oliver muttered, watching him ride away.
“Someone you know?” Tracy murmured, and Oscar tracked the man too, before turning to look at him.
Oliver sighed. “He’s that Fire witch.”
Oscar started. “The same one from the raid?”
“Yep.”
“Fuck. He’s following you,” Oscar whispered, eyes narrowing.
Oliver shrugged. “I suspect he’s following me from the other night. I think him seeing me again was an accident. He sensed the upheaval of magic and came to investigate.”
They settled him into the backseat of the car and started for their house. He was going to stay with them for the next few weeks while he healed. Since the Bureau ‘hospital’ was tiny and only for emergencies, they’d released him earlier than they wanted to, and hadn’t been bashful about saying so. Faint nausea from the pain and the pain-meds tickled his awareness, but it was fading fast now that he wasn’t moving.
Oliver hoped fervently that he wouldn’t have another nightmare. He didn’t want to scare the kids if he lost control during the dreams. Thankfully he was pretty wiped out at the moment, and it would take time to recover his magical strength, too.
“How about we pick up pizza on the way home?” Tracy said, whipping out his phone as he turned in his seat to look at him.
“You know the kids are going to go nuts if they find out we had pizza without them,” Oliver said with a tired grin.
“You said the magic words,” Tracy chuckled.
“What are those?”
“If they find out,” Oscar said, grinning back at him in the rear-view mirror.
Oliver chuckled. “It’s on you guys, then. I’m game.”
Tracy said something, and Oscar responded, turning off of Colorado Boulevard. Oliver shifted his attention to the passing streets, the pedestrians, the store fronts, gas stations… Denver was looking like autumn with fully turned leaves now, pumpkins, bunches of cornstalks, and hay bales everywhere, some left over from Halloween, others in autumn finery for the coming Thanksgiving. Well, Indigenous Day, he supposed. He’d been too young to pay much attention when the change happened, and the federal school didn’t celebrate any holidays, so he hadn’t grown up observing anything but his birthday. For some reason, the fed was keen on noting that particular day for each witch. He supposed it was their limp way of saying ‘yay, you’re another year older, here’s a hurrah just for you.’ Personally, Oliver considered it just another year counted in which he was property. And maybe that was the point.
He shrugged uncomfortably at his sour cynicism. Speaking of which, his birthday was now less than two months away. Oscar was going to want to know what he wanted, as usual. At least from Oscar and Tracy and the kids, it was genuine.
Oliver thought about that Fire witch. His presence at the Donovan house had probably been exactly what Oliver told Oscar and Tracy. But at Headquarters? The man was stalking him, and Oliver knew why. He’d been stupid to talk to the little fucker. He’d let on he was a Parallel, something rare enough to be noticed. His only excuse was blood loss had made him loopy, and adrenaline had made him aggressively uncaring of the consequences. And Oscar already knew, so why hide it any more?
Dumbass reasoning, but hey, blood loss is a bitch.
Now he had to pay for his mistake. Oscar knew now, but Oscar wasn’t the problem. That Fire witch was. He was going to have to find that man and talk to him. Find out if he could keep him from blabbing. If not, well, he might as well tell the world before that witch could. It would be better if it came from him.
“Hey. Stop worrying,” Oscar said.
Oliver turned back to see his friend looking at him in the mirror before his eyes went back to the road. “Easy for you to say. I’m one whisper away from being outed as a Prime.” Tracy knew now, too. Oscar had no secrets from his husband. Soooo…four people knew his stupid secret.
“You know we won’t say anything,” Tracy’s rumbling voice murmured.
Oliver nodded and looked back out the window. “You guys aren’t the problem. And I don’t think Phoebe is either.”
Oscar’s shoulders tensed. “Oh.”
Yeah, Oscar didn’t have to say a word.
The Fire witch was going to be their new prey. He could almost count the seconds to their first meeting, to try to track him down.
Oliver already had ideas. The media wouldn’t be happy when he demanded copies of their recordings, but that was too bad. It wasn’t like he was usurping the whole thing, just a copy. He’d see if they caught the man on film, and then he’d start asking if anyone recognized him. He must be local, to be in now three locations. And while Oliver had fruitlessly checked the wanted list already, he was going to look for criminal records, period. Dammit. It would help if he had a name for the man.
At the Dale-Carson home, he was set up in front of the TV in the living room with more pillows than he could possibly need, given the remote, a drink, a plate with three slices of pizza, a saucer overflowing with cookies—seriously, two of them fell off—and firm orders to ask for anything he needed. Oscar put his pain medicine in his hand, watched sharply as Oliver sighed and took them, then his Handler left for the day. Since he wasn’t leaving the house, he could be alone without Oscar, and Tracy was his secondary Handler in Oscar’s absence. It was a necessary part of Handling. There had to be a backup in case the primary had reasons that took them away from their witch.
“Tracy?”
“Yeah, bud?” he asked from the kitchen.
“Did Oscar happen to bring my computer?”
“Maybe,” he said, voice amused.
“Trac! Please?”
The big man laughed. “You’re supposed to rest. Sleep, even.”
“These drugs will kick in soon enough. I want to check something.”
Tracy brought his computer bag from the entrance hall and handed it over. “Not for long,” he chided.
Oliver grinned up at him. “Trust me. I’m a complete wimp. I’ll be snoring in twenty.”
Tracy chuckled and returned to the kitchen.
Oliver settled in with his laptop, made notes, sent a message to Oscar to ask for those recordings of the night at Phoebe’s house. Oscar answered within ten minutes with an affirmative that he’d put in the request. And told him to get off the computer and go to sleep.
Oliver grinned and answered, ‘nope.’
A moment later, Tracy’s cell rang, and then Tracy loomed over him, smiling and shaking his head. “He’s still on his computer, love.” Tracy lowered his phone and pressed a button. “You’re on speaker.”
“Oliver, so help me, if you don’t go to sleep, I’ll have Tracy break your computer.”
Oliver snorted. “I believe that’s defacement of government property.”
“Okay, I’ll break your other leg, then.”
“Same charges, Director Dale,” he quipped. “And being Director doesn’t help you any.”
Oscar gave a weird little snort. “Trac?” he said plaintively.
Tracy laughed at them. “Alright, dear. I’ll handle it. Love you.” Oscar disconnected, grumbling. Tracy put his phone away, snatched Oliver’s computer from his lap, and pointed at the pillow beside him. “Lay down.” For all the humor in the conversation, Tracy’s words were flat with determination.
Oliver sighed and obeyed. He really didn’t have much choice. The drugs were kicking in and he’d be face first on the keyboard anyway. So he keeled over sideways—to Tracy’s huff of amusement—arranged the pillow under his head, and snorted at the big man as he lay a blanket over Oliver. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now sleep.”
Oliver woke groggily, his leg throbbing with pain, and his head pounding to the shrill squeals of the kids playing in the basement. He moaned when Cara let out a loud shriek. “Oh my god, Cara,” he groaned.
Somewhere nearby Oscar chuckled. “Yeah, my ears just started bleeding. They’re playing tag, so Micah must have caught her.”
Oliver scrubbed his eyes and twisted his head. His Handler was sitting in the chair perpendicular to the couch where his head lay, computer in his lap. God. Had he seriously slept all damn day?
Oscar grinned at him. “Feel better?”
“Not really. Leg hurts, head hurts, ears hurt.”
Oscar gave a sympathetic wince. “Trac? Can Oliver have some medicine?”
“And some earplugs?” Oliver muttered. Oscar snorted.
“Coming right up!” Tracy answered.
Oliver sat up, ran his hands through his hair, scratching his scalp. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to work,” he answered, handing him a flash key.
Oliver met his gaze as he accepted it. “Wh—oh, the video of the Donovan house?”
“Yup.”
Oliver looked around for his computer. Oscar pointed at the floor by his feet and when he leaned forward, it had been placed on its side, tilted against the couch, plugged in, waiting for him. Snatching it up, Oliver plugged in the drive and got started.
Within moments, he knew he was right. “It’s him, alright. Look.”
Oscar sat next to him while he played the video. The young man slipped easily through the crowd.
“Here ya go, bud,” Tracy said, pouring two pills into his hand. Oliver took the pills and drank water absently while they watched the young Fire witch approach the police line that Gwen and Jesse stood guard over with the police themselves.
The video feed switched to the reporter, so Oliver selected a different channel’s video. From a slightly different angle, they saw nothing new in this video. The next video was from a very different perspective, no doubt in the yard of the neighbor to the south. This one showed the arrival of the Fire witch. This video was also substantially longer, was probably the whole shoot rather than the edited version from the other two.
He came from the direction of the very bush Oliver had seen him behind. Again, he approached the police line. And then he spoke with Gwen, who looked wary. After a moment she said something to him, then looked guilty and flustered. Oliver wondered what she’d said to look guilty. Poor girl.
The witch slipped away when she wasn’t looking, heading back the way he’d come. It was weird seeing himself as he led a clearly shocked and injured Phoebe from the house. His limping was obvious, and he was a little alarmed to see his own bloody footprints, even knowing he was fine. He felt a little queasy when the reporter focused on his blood and the camera zoomed in. He winced in embarrassment as the woman carried on about a witch sacrificing to help the people. Ugh.
Then the camera zoomed out again, just in time to see a car pull to a stop sign at a side street down toward the house with the bush. The witch’s face flashed toward them, eyes intent, then he turned away from the mess, car accelerating without hurry. He knew how to keep a low profile.
Oliver stopped the feed. “Gotcha,” he whispered, zooming in on the license plate.
Oscar stood and went back to his chair and his own computer. “Number?”
It was blurry. Oliver rattled off what he thought it read, and his Handler input the plate onto the Bureau site. “Nope. Try again.”
Oliver squinted and sounded off the next possible plate number.
A moment later Oscar grinned. “Registered to Wallace York.” A moment later he sighed. “Shit,” he muttered. “It’s not the Fire witch’s car. Look.” He turned his laptop to face them, the driver’s license of Wallace York pulled up. The face of a young blonde man featured on the license, looking stoned. But then didn’t everyone look awful in their ID pic?
It was not the Fire witch. A broad face, brown eyes, pointed chin. The Fire witch had black hair and blue eyes.
Oliver tapped thoughtfully at the side of his computer. “He must have borrowed it. Because of the snow he couldn’t use that scooter of his. He could’ve stolen it, but him being there so quickly… I think he borrowed it. We need to question York. No wait. Check to see if there’s a stolen car report.”
Oscar shook his head shortly. “Nope. Not for that car.”
“Hmmm…borrowed. From a relative? Or maybe a bestie.”
Tracy had arrived behind Oscar, hands on his shoulders and idly massaging them. He smiled broadly. “Again, as quickly as he got there… Maybe a roomie. What’s York’s address?”
Oliver pointed at him. “Yes! I’d bet money on it.”
Oscar snorted. “You’re not allowed to bet.” Then he rattled off the address.
“Semantics. I’m not allowed money, either,” Oliver said neutrally. “Okay then. Let’s question this York fellow.”
Oscar nodded. “Agreed. In two weeks.”
Oliver groaned. “Not this again. Come on. Let’s get all his info and stake him out at least. I can sit in a car.”
Oscar was shaking his head, eyes laughing at him.
Tracy bent to look over his husband’s shoulder at the computer screen. “Look at that sticker on the bumper. What does it say?”
Oliver frowned and zoomed in on it. Like the license plate, it was fuzzy, but he managed to make out the name Dillon.
“I think the second word is ‘tech,’” Tracy said.
Oscar’s fingers were flying. “Hmmm… It’s a business sticker. York must work there. Let me see… Bingo! There’s a place in DTC called Dillon’s Tech Service,” he said, and as a hacker, Oliver knew that piqued Tracy’s interest.
Yep, Tracy’s face was all sorts of intrigued. “Let’s call them. See what they do.”
Oscar grinned. “Go for it.”
Tracy snatched his cell from his pocket. “Should I ask about York, too?”
“No, let’s just get a feel for their business. If we’re right, it’s a cover.”
“True.”
“Hey, Trac, ask how late they’re open,” Oliver tacked on. “I want us to drive down there.”
Oscar shook his head. “No. Besides. You hate DTC, so you’re in no condition to deal with it.”
Oliver groaned. “Fucking roads. Whoever named those streets should be drawn and quartered.”
“Ouch. It’s not that bad.”
Oliver glared. “Yes. Yes it is. I don’t even drive, and I know it’s a nightmare. Who the hell names their streets the same thing but with drive, street, road, lane, court, place, and boulevard as the only difference? And don’t get me started on the maze-ness of the place. Yes, that’s it! They were clearly maze freaks. If you look in their house, you’ll find stacks of completed maze books, and notes on how to design DTC. Oh, and don’t forget their inspirational pictures on the wall that say, ‘fuck with their heads’ and ‘it’s not done right ‘til someone’s lost.’”
Rant ended, Oscar snorted with laughter. “Oh my god, Oliver. You have an unhealthy hatred of DTC.”
Oliver nodded. “I don’t deny it.”
“We’re still not going.”
“Fuck,” Oliver whispered sharply.
Tracy and Oscar laughed at his attempt to distract. But he really did hate DTC.
“I don’t suppose puppy-dog-eyes would work? It works for the kids.” Oliver turned big, pouty eyes and an extended lower lip at Oscar.
“Stay strong, dear,” Tracy said as he put a hand on Oscar’s shoulder, which shook with his laughter.
It wasn’t often he could get others to laugh, so Oliver smiled to himself. I’ll take it.
Tracy left, phone to his ear. A moment later he returned with a grin. “They’re open till six, and they do a pretty damn good assortment of services. I might use them if I ever run into something I can’t fix.”
“Which is never,” Oscar said, still searching on his computer.
Oliver set his aside to go to the bathroom. He returned to find Tracy on his computer and in his spot.
“We think we have an idea for how to track down this witch, little bro,” he said.
Oliver parked next to him, shoving blanket and pillow aside. “Oh?”
Tracy swung the laptop around to show a different picture. It took only a second for him to realize what he was looking at. It was the street in front of the Bureau building, from probably the second floor. And the picture was frozen in time with a scooter pulling away from the building.
The license plate was obscured by the angle.
But there was another Dillon’s Tech Service sticker on the side of the scooter.
“Hell yeah.”
“Not roommates or friends, it would seem. Coworkers,” Oscar said.
Oliver shrugged. “Or all of the above, for all we know. The important thing is now we know he works there. Or at least has worked there in the past. We can take it from here to get his name. And then I can register the fucker,” he said in satisfaction.
They both looked surprised at his statement. Oliver registered witches not because he wanted them controlled by the government but because no one had a suitable alternative to keeping witches from harming or being harmed, other than registry and training.
But he wanted to register this dude because he could. Because he knew it would completely hack this Wild witch off to no end.
Should I feel bad about that? he wondered. Remembering the elusive Fire witch, he grinned at his brothers.
Nah.