Hail to the Queen (Witch For Hire 2)

“The panic we’d cause alerting everyone to the truth would create the perfect storm for them to escape.”

“I know. The greater good theory is a real bitch.”

He grips my neck, lending silent support.

“Are you guys doing that silent mind-meld thing?” Sacha touches her face in three places like Spock, and I burst out laughing.

“That’s not how it works,” I say between breaths.

“Well, I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” She shrugs and smiles bashfully.

“The others are positioned at all the exits. We’ll have them in custody tonight. I swear it to you.”

Cristobal wraps an arm around my waist, and we blend into the crowd.

***

I don’t like violence. I avoid it when at all possible. Still, I must admit to a sick sense of satisfaction watching Wallace and Ernest’s heads snap back under the extraction techniques. Marcellus and Luz are masterful, causing pain without overwhelming their body with damage. The cocky bastards never saw us coming. They’d walked to their car cracking jokes. One minute they’d been congratulating each other on a job well done, and the next, there was only darkness as I knocked them unconscious. We loaded them into the car and brought them down to the root cellar.

The evening is progressing every bit as slow as their intricate knife cuts.

“Are you ready to share what you know about your master?” Cristobal asks as he studies his fingernails.

Wallace spits out blood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” Cristobal gives a mocking laugh. “He’s got you doing all his dirty work in exchange for what?”

“None of your business,” Ernest growls.

Cristobal moves faster than the eye can track. “You made it mine a while back. You haven’t cleaned behind yourself very well, gentleman.”

“It won’t matter when you see what’s coming.” Wallace scowls.

“Shut your gob,” Ernest barks.

“No, please enlighten us.” I walk over and place the toe of my boot onto the wooden chair he’s lashed to with rope. “Spill words before I let them start spilling your guts.” They remain stoic. I nod at Renee and Ruby. They rush forward; fangs extended, eyes on fire.

“You’re bluffing, bitch. You need us,” Ernest crows.

“Are you willing to bet on that?” I shove the edge of the chair hard and watch as he hits the ground. “You seem to think we won’t kill you if you don’t talk. I think the better question is, how will we kill you?” The blood drains from Ernest’s swollen face. I smile. “I’m hoping you don’t talk. ’Cause the last thing you deserve is an easy death.”

Wallace begins to hyperventilate.

“Careful, my love, you’re scaring the guests,” Cristobal says.

I’m angry, but I don’t feel rage. Outside of my emotions, I’m free to act however I see just. It’s unnatural feeling so disconnected with one’s self. Focused on the need to avenge the deaths of those I couldn’t save, I walk over to the prone man and place his throat under the heel of my boot. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t let them end your life.”

“Lou.” Sacha’s shaky voice draws my attention. The fear in her eyes wounds me. ‘You okay?’ she mouths.

I nod my head. It’s a lie. She just kept me from committing a grave mistake. I forgot myself, lost in the bloodlust.

“What the hell was that?” I ask Cristobal.

“A glimpse of what it’s like in our heads.”

I store the inf

ormation to examine later. Right now I’m back in control.