…..CHAPTER 1…..
Denver, Colorado
January 13th, 2023
Music pumped through the speakers, bombarding the whole club, feeling like a second heartbeat in his chest as Isaac wove his way through the gyrating Friday-night crowd. The frenetic beat was so fucking loud it almost interfered with his heart’s actual rhythm. Nothing needed to be this damn loud.
As he ping-ponged through the crowd like he was the drunken one because the real drunks kept lurching into him, Isaac caught a glimpse of his friends Adelyn and Derek grinding. Adelyn caught his eye and grinned, giving Derek another obscene grind. Isaac rolled his eyes and continued on to the bar.
Finally he made it there and scanned the long length. Spotting Wallace, he zigged through the crowd to join his best friend. “Hey!” he yelled. Wallace didn’t hear him, so much as feel his presence when Isaac sat next to him.
“Hey, did you find Derek?”
“He’s dancing with Adelyn.”
“Cool. Drink?”
“Duh!” Isaac ordered a Jack and coke and drank it perhaps too fast. One of the nice things about this bar was that they weren’t stingy about their alcohol. He ordered another, while Wallace scanned. He suddenly jumped up and Isaac looked up at him, saw him waving like he was on a deserted isle and flagging down his only hope of rescue.
He was clearly already drunk.
Glancing back, Isaac saw Adelyn come round a huge man, dragging Derek by the hand. The four of them gathered their drinks and made for a quiet—well, quieter—corner of the club.
“So what’s the news?” Adelyn asked as Derek nuzzled her ear.
Wallace bent closer. “I heard Nadia almost got caught.”
Adelyn grimaced. She and Nadia didn’t get along. At all. In Isaac’s opinion, it was mostly on Adelyn, but she’d never admit it.
“She got away, though?” Isaac confirmed.
Wallace nodded. “The social worker didn’t see her face.”
“We can hope,” Adelyn said, so low that Isaac only knew for sure what she said by reading her lips. “What about you?” she asked, looking at Isaac.
Isaac leaned back and tossed back his drink. He gave a little hiss at the sting. “Nothing new.”
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Derek asked, looking around as if she might appear from thin air.
“I don’t have a girlfriend right now.”
“Phoebe? She’s not…”
“What? No! Oh my god, no. She’s just a friend. Besides, she’s got the hots for a friend of mine.” And friend—in relation to Oliver—was a very loose term.
“Is she doing okay? Didn’t you say she had to leave her family?”
“Yes. And she’s doing alright. A little depressed right now, but she’ll be alright.”
“Any other news about the Kiplings?”
“The rest are still under arrest, and now that Braden tried to flee and killed himself to keep from being brought back, the judge has refused bail.” Isaac’s rush of immense satisfaction at that fact never faded.
“What about those children?” Wallace asked, then belched. “Sorry.”
Isaac shrugged, a niggle of guilt and concern tugging at him. His family was almost entirely in jail, and only the very young weren’t. The children were all in state custody.
He’d considered seeking out his family and taking them in, but he could barely afford to take care of himself. The family money was frozen in accounts no one could touch, least of all a long-lost grandson. No, he didn’t have the means to take care of a bunch of children. Besides, he wasn’t that far from being a kid himself.
Those reasons didn’t dispel the sense of guilt for up-ending their world.
Isaac rubbed the back of his neck, feeling off.
They spent half-an-hour checking in on their separate members. Everyone had checked in with the four of them within the last two days except for Grace.
“Follow up with her, Adelyn,” Isaac said.
She gave a nod, toying with something she brought from her pocket, absently rocking it across her fingers as she spoke, thumb lightly stroking it.
She noticed the direction of his gaze and smiled broadly. “Hey, you like it? These are new and Grace gave it to me day before yesterday during my shift at the store.”
Grace worked for a Wiccan shop, so rocks and candles were sort of their bread-and-butter.
Isaac stared down at the crystal in her hand and shivered. He could feel it pulling on the energy around them, subtle, but there.
His mind raced. Adelyn was a level two Air witch, not strong, but she was quint-skilled and used her magic for some excellent perception. She’d notice if he acted differently. And while he considered her a friend, he honestly didn’t know her well enough to trust her with something truly dangerous.
This crystal was a tiny version of the energy grid crystals that the FBW&R, the federal government, and city grid witches went out of their way to keep secret.
The question was, was she perceptive enough to sense what this thing was? The way she talked about it, he didn’t think she knew.
He looked back up at Adelyn with a smile. “That’s gorgeous! Where’d she get it?”
“It was in a new shipment.”
“Can I see it?”
She handed it over, then giggled when Derek nipped at her ear, turning to him so they could make out. Isaac glanced at Wallace, who grimaced at the pair.
Isaac looked down at the crystal in his hand. He couldn’t help it when his eyes widened a fraction, but no other indication that he’d sensed it appeared on his face. He hoped.
Isaac frowned. It felt…weird. Off. Something was wrong with this crystal. You know—outside of the fact that it isn’t in the hands of the authorities. He knew damn well how the electrical grid worked. He was one of the few outside of official channels that did. Even the Fray was careful not to spill this secret, the few who did know. Not because they didn’t want to, but because they were aware that it wasn’t time yet. When the fight for witch freedom reached its peak, then they would tell the world about it.
Isaac stared down at it, puzzled and increasingly uncomfortable holding it. It’s power was warped somehow. He didn’t know how, but it was. Not evil—because inanimate objects were neither good not evil—but not right, either. It wasn’t like the one he’d learned about, when Dillon showed him, a crystal pure and clean, whole and simple.
This crystal didn’t belong in the hands of just anyone. How had it gotten into Adelyn’s? She was a witch, so she had to know it was off. Didn’t she?
Then again, she wasn’t very powerful.
“Hey, Adelyn? Can I have this?” he asked. He did not hold it up for everyone to see. Just in case.
Adelyn glanced over her shoulder at him, brows drawing together, distracted from Derek’s affection. “What?”
“Can I have this? Or I’ll buy it from you, if you want.”
“Oh.” Her voice was disappointed. “That’s the biggest and prettiest of the lot.”
“I can pay you for it.”
She hesitated, shot the crystal a sad look. Then she shrugged. “Fine. But I want twice what Grace is selling them for.”
“Deal.”
“Who’s it for?” And she gave a little squeal when Derek tickled her, pulling her attention back to him. Adelyn lost interest at that point.
Isaac finished his drink and called for an Uber. “I’m outta here, man,” he said to Wallace. “I gotta make a phone call.”
Wallace scowled. “You just did. What the fuck, Isaac? Dude, third wheel syndrome here.”
“We’d both be third wheels, Wallace, cause I ain’t dating your drunk ass. We’re straight.”
Wallace laughed. “Fine. You owe me.”
“Owe you what?”
“A date. Set me up with that cute little witch you mentioned.”
Isaac rolled his eyes. “She’s a federal agent, dumbass. She wouldn’t date you if she could. Besides, I get first shot at asking her out.”
Wallace grinned. “You with a federal agent. I can see the sparks—and the handcuffs—right now.”
Isaac laughed and left the bar, well-buzzed. Sitting in the Uber, he took out his phone, staring at it.
Should I? I haven’t talked to him since… Yeah, might as well. We gotta get back to practicing anyway.
Oliver answered his phone on the third ring. “This had better be an emergency, asshole.”
Isaac couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “It is. Or at least it’s urgent. Meet me tomorrow. There’s something you need to see.”
“Where?” he grumbled. He’d clearly been asleep and Isaac took his phone from his ear, saw in surprise that it was nearly one in the morning. Shit. No wonder Oliver was grumpy as hell.
Isaac hesitated to lead Oliver to his apartment, but with his resources, the man probably already knew.
“You know where I live?”
“Duh.”
Figured. Fuckin’ Tame. “Fine, call me when you arrive and I’ll take you up to the apartment. You know, when your Majesty decides to grace me with his presence.”
Oliver snorted and hung up.
Around eight in the morning, he got up, willing to bet actual money that Oliver would arrive soon, just because he wanted to annoy Isaac.
His phone rang when he was two steps away from his bed.
“Asshole,” he breathed, and answered. “Yeah.”
“I’m here.”
“Be there in a minute. Gotta put shoes on.”
Click. Wow, Oliver was on a roll. When had he become so goddamn grumpy?
Isaac jerked on his jeans from last night, shoved his bare feet into his shoes and trotted down the stairs to let Oliver and Oscar into the building. The Handler gave him a friendly smile, which Isaac shrugged off. He still didn’t know what to make of the man. Federal agent, husband, parent…Handler. Oscar was someone Isaac had always avoided before, had always looked down on, for forcing a witch into servitude.
Knowing Oscar and Oliver’s relationship now…
He led the pair up to his and Wallace’s place and opened it up.
He hadn’t noticed when he left, but Wallace was not only home but awake, and out on the balcony in one of their folding chairs. The sliding door was open a few inches, so Wallace heard them and peered over his shoulder. His friend’s eyes widened and he jumped up, looking ready to leap off the balcony.
Isaac shook his head at him while Oliver gave a derisive snort. Wallace had a heart of gold, but a genius he was not.
Unfortunately, neither of them had cleaned for a week, so the place was dump. Dirty clothes were strewn about, the sinks in the kitchen were…not quite full, but the dishes in there were clearly caked with dried on food. And Isaac had no clue when they’d dusted or vacuumed last.
Oscar and Oliver ignored it all without comment. Oliver’s gaze fastened on the bong at the corner of the couch. He shot Isaac an expressionless glance before easing out onto the balcony with Wallace. Isaac followed. Oscar was last, and it was freakin’ crowded out here.
The skunky smell said it all. Wallace tried to hide the roach behind his back. Oliver held his hand out, forefinger and thumb ready to pinch. Wallace, surprised, handed it over. Oliver pressed it like he was about to take a hit, then let it drop and immediately ground it into the concrete.
“What the fuck, Oliver?” Isaac snapped.
Oliver shot him a glare. “Shut it, Isaac. You should both know better. We’re witches. We have no fucking business getting intoxicated. Regular people can avoid causing trouble by taking a cab or indulging at home. A witch can’t exactly get away from themselves. No witch should be wandering around—even in their own home—with altered perceptions! We’re too dangerous. That’s the one thing the lawmakers got right!”
Isaac opened his mouth, but Oliver got up in his face so fast Isaac gasped.
“I know intimately what an inebriated witch can do,” he breathed.
Oscar put a restraining hand on Oliver’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off.
Isaac’s rising anger faltered. “What?”
Oliver’s voice should have been monotone. But the underlying hurt made it anything but. “During the fourth of July celebrations of twenty-nineteen, while trying to self-medicate his worsening depression and anxiety, a witch literally tore three people limb-from-limb during a psychotic break brought on by an acid trip. And I was too late to stop it.”
The blood dropped from Isaac’s face and he gulped. Fuuuuuuck. That’s…that’s…
“And no, they didn’t survive. Neither did the witch. The only way to stop him, was to drop him.”
Isaac looked away, met Wallace’s shocked gaze. His friend hurriedly yanked a bag of weed from his pocket and shoved it at Oliver. He took it, pulling an evidence bag from his jacket pocket.
“You’re going to charge us?” Isaac demanded.
“No. But I’m not gonna carry this shit around like it’s mine, either. It goes in an evidence bag, so get the fuck over it. How often do you drink?”
Isaac winced. “Uh, whenever we get home from work.”
Oliver’s disapproving glare made him very uncomfortable.
Fuck. He didn’t need Oliver judging them like a fucking Puritan.
But Oliver was right. Isaac remembered Kipling’s power…Ariana and Marcus’ screams…the parking garage where he’d immolated himself; Isaac relived both instances almost every single night in his nightmares. Kipling couldn’t have been sane when he did either of those things How much worse would it have been if he’d been drunk or tripping? Isaac was no trained witch to gage it, but he guessed Kipling to be at least a level eight. Powerful enough even without drugs to boost him.
“Fine,” he breathed. “Wallace, why don’t you take the beer over to Janice and Walter’s place. They’ll take them.”
Wallace grimaced. “No shit, they will, the lushes. Alright. I’ll be right back.”
Isaac heard the faintly slurred quality of Wallace’s voice and gave Oliver a look, found him watching Wallace with a shake of his head. Oscar, standing in the corner by the door, had to step aside to let Wallace through. He seemed very amused for some reason, and the fond look he shot at Oliver was annoying.
Except there was hurt in the older man’s gaze, too.
Fucking Handler. Fucking Tame.
The moment Wallace was gone, arms loaded with a half-dozen cans of beer and two bottles, Isaac turned to Oliver, found him watching him. “Fine, we’re officially sober,” he growled. “Now are you ready to listen to me?”