The Witch's Angel Read online

  The Witch’s Angel

  By

  Arissa L. Utemark

  For my family, who laugh at all my dumb jokes.

  I would be nothing without you.

  Chapter 1

  I can’t wait for Pat to get back so he can deal with this crap.

  Granted, I do know it’s a shitty thought to pop into my head, but sitting alone in the middle of the screening room, forced to look at the instructional cartoon making its way across the flickering film while I thought of all the work I still had to do burning a hole in my desk back in the office, I couldn’t bring myself to care about the nature of its shittyness.

  Ugh, I really hoped not literally burning a hole. Watching my desk burst into flames only happened the one time, but it was a memorable experience that I would prefer not to duplicate.

  Witches can get awfully creative when we have a mind to.

  I rolled up the sleeves of my button up shirt a little more and smoothed out my slacks, risking a deep sigh as I settled deeper back into the sleek velvet seat of the viewing room chair. Bracing myself, I winced up at the screen from the front row.

  It was supposed to be a little something for the outposts. An update from the Beacon, something to let the Wing Guard know how much the Royal Family appreciated their work and to update them on current affairs…you can maybe see why foisting this off on General Patrick of the Wing Guard was shitty of me.

  But cartoons? For real?

  Me sitting here couldn’t be blamed on anything other than bad luck. My assistant, Rodney, said the PR department had it ready and with Patrick out of town on his honeymoon, I volunteered for approval duty.

  “Just a little something we threw together, Princess Danielle.” Rodney had assured me quickly, businesslike as always, plucking the stylus from his tablet and cueing up the video file. “Do you have time for quick look?”

  “Yeah, fire it up.” I had answered, blissful in my naïveté.

  “I’ll put it on the big screen.” He smirked, retreating to the back of the theater.

  Smartass knew exactly what this thing was.

  “The war rages on!” Announcer Man’s voice boomed out through the speakers surrounding me, the words themselves blazoning themselves on the screen. “The battle for mankind has been a hard struggle and it’s more dangerous than ever! We must remain vigilant!”

  We must remain dramatic as fuck, too, apparently.

  I watched in horrified fascination as a cartoon knightmare - a little black cloud with tiny white fangs poking out from its frown - chased a screaming human cartoon across the screen, which was running as fast as it could on its stubby little legs.

  Poor little cartoon.

  Things were looking grim for the little human on the screen; but no fear, noble viewer, for a little cartoon Witch, complete with pointed hat and black robes, dropped out of the goddamn sky. She promptly saved the day with a few stars blasted out of her hands. The cartoon knightmare fell with a cry and then laid motionless, little exes over its eyes.

  Because of course it’s just that simple.

  Announcer Man refused to be upstaged by this entire exchange, describing the whole situation by helpfully shouting his observations at me.

  “The human race, under attack from vicious knightmares from the Void, are protected under heavenly decree by the Witches with the help of our Angel partners!”

  A little Angel appeared then, (Thank my stars! I was really getting worried) and pushed the knightmare through a blip in the screen, never to be heard from again. The Witch and the Angel hugged each other as the Human celebrated, waving its arms in the air.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake…” I felt the words groan quietly from under my breath.

  “I heard that!” Rodney piped up from the back.

  “You were meant to.” I shouted back flatly, not taking my eyes off the screen. I realized what was coming and began chanting quietly to myself: “Not the picture. Not the picture. Not the picture.”

  Ah. There’s the fucking picture.

  My mother sat on her throne, her back straight, staring into the camera with a steely gaze, the Queen’s Crown on her head around her graceful nest of brown curls. She had reached over and was holding hands with my father. Dad was sitting next to her, his wings folded neatly behind him, the Angel’s Sword strapped around his waist, his suit immaculate, his eyes crinkling into a smile. My two brothers were standing on either side of me behind the thrones.

  Cale stood on my left, his shoulders back, his green eyes and body language matching my mother’s commanding stature. He was wearing a smart gray suit, his golden blonde hair neatly slicked back.

  Theo’s posture was loose and comfortable from where he stood on my right, his light brown hair shaggy with a soft curl and his green eyes warm as he rested his hands on the back of Dad’s throne. His white shirt was open at the collar, his black suit well pressed.

  Both those assholes made it work somehow.

  I, of course, looked like an idiot.

  I wore a suit like the rest of my family, stiff across the shoulders. I had pushed out my chest as if trying to prove something, I suppose, as I stood shoulder to shoulder with my brothers. My blonde hair was short in the way I liked to keep it and styled. My green eyes looked somewhat blank, my face carefully expressionless. I vividly remember holding my breath, waiting for the photographer to take the damn picture so I could leave.

  Painfully out of place.

  “Okay, stop.” I got to my feet, waving my arms. “Stop, stop, stop, stop.”

  I squinted against the light of the projector assaulting my eyes and looked up toward the back of the viewing room where I knew that little bastard was sitting.

  “What?” Rodney squawked back.

  “Off. Turn it off.”

  “But that’s your favorite picture.”

  “Now.”

  Ah, there’s Announcer Man again.

  “The Royal Family of Witches is taking action against the knightmare threat!” Announcer Man informed me as the Official Portrait faded onto the screen, replaced by a few newsreels of humans trying to explain the horrors that lurked in the shadows.

  Indistinct grumbling reached my ears as the projector stopped, silencing Announcer Man as he described the barriers to the Void. The lights came up as Rodney ambled down to the front of the screening room, long limbs setting a quick, business-like pace. Sharp as a tack and incredibly capable, it would be impossible to run this place without him.

  It almost makes up for what a pain in the ass he is.

  “Some sort of bee in your bonnet, Your Highness?” he drawled, his perfectly formed eyebrow raising.

  Almost.

  “What is this supposed to be?” I asked, jabbing a thumb at the now delightfully blank screen.

  “Danny, you were the one that said-“ Rodney started.

  “Rodney, I understand neither one of us were there, but I’m pretty sure the Dawn Wars didn’t involve cartoons.” I told him, moving toward the door. The sharp rap of Rodney’s hard-soled oxfords followed me as we left the viewing room and stepped into the sunlit corridors of the Beacon, base of operations for the Royal Family of Witches as it secretly watched over the Human Race.

  The skyscraper was pretty nice digs, if I do say so myself. A tall building while still being unassuming, the Beacon afforded a wonderful view of the city as well as a pretty good aerial landing pad for our Angel brethren. The Throne Room and the Royal Family’s living quarters took up most of the top floors while offices were located below them.

  “PR didn’t want to make it seem to severe.” Rodney answered, balancing his tablet on one arm and taking notes about the film dutifully as we walked.

  “It’s a war for the fate of mankind. It c
an be as severe as it wants.” I told him.

  “I’ll let PR know you bellowed.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you want to mention the Ancient Scream?” Rodney asked in a low voice when our walkway was free of passerby.

  I paused to think, feeling a chill crawl its way down my back.

  The people deserved to know about the Scream, that there were whispers of it returning. The knightmares were restless, trapped in the Void, save for the few starved dregs that slip past the outposts and attack before the Wing Guard can put them down. The Ancient Scream here, in the world, would be cataclysmic. Mentioning it would create hysteria.

  For good reason.

  “The panic isn’t worth it. They’re just rumors.” I finally answered.

  “Got it.” Rodney nodded, making a note on his tablet.

  “And do better with the animation. We’re not prancing to the movie lobby to get snacks. Pat would have laughed his ass off.”

  “Oh, General Patrick is in your office.”

  “What? They’re back? Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, feeling my mood lift.

  “I literally just got the notification.” Rodney sighed, gesturing with his tablet. “So, unless you start paying me extra, I’m not going to start predicting the future, Princess.”

  “Well, that clairvoy-ain’t gonna happen.” I pointed at him with the cheesiest smile I could muster.

  He blinked at me, clearly not impressed with the profoundly superb word play I just threw down.

  “No?” I asked after a moment of shamed silence. “What’s the point in being royalty if my people won’t even give me a pity laugh?”

  “You should have thought of that before you became Princess, Your Highness.” Rodney answered as we reached my office and he walked behind his desk. He glanced at the messages placed there. “The report you asked for is on your desk.”

  Ah, the report. There goes my good mood.

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and here’s the garbage piece of driftwood you use to do magic…” Rodney said, lifting my wand from where I’d left it on his desk. “…like a cavewoman.”

  “Okay.” I said indignantly, snatching the piece of gnarled wood from Rodney. I usually just grabbed up whatever piece of wood I could get a hold of to do magic, but this particular branch I found at the park a few weeks ago had lasted quite some time. It helped not to have to hunt for something to use and I picked up wands when I could.

  The rush of power I felt down my arm when I touched it was the same no matter what I used. It was my connection to the nature around us.

  “This…” I said, hefting my stick at him like a crazy person. “This is my connection to the earthbound elements.”

  “Are you gonna hit me with it?” Rodney asked, unaffected by my obvious power. “Like a cavewoman?”

  “You do magic with a rock.” I accused.

  “It’s a nice rock.” Rodney caressed the piece of cloudy purple quartz that he liked using for spells before sitting down. He sighed and I knew he felt the same rush that I did when the connection was made.

  “I should fire you.” I tossed over my shoulder, pushing my office door open.

  “I’m very frightened, Your Highness.” Rodney deadpanned as I heard his deft fingers begin a staccato plucking of his keyboard before my office door closed.

  Smartass.

  Chapter 2

  General Patrick stood with military precision, his back held with the kind of discipline that would make a steel pillar envious. He had his hands clasped neatly across in the small of his back just under the two evenly stitched slits in the fabric of his shirt to accommodate spreading his midnight black wings, which were folded flush to his body under his clothes, his slacks pressed to a razors edge of smoothness.

  I tried not to feel too self-conscious in my work-rumpled pink button up and pants that I had somehow fiddled into a waffle over one of the pockets.

  He looked away from the sunlight streaming into the window from the bright day outside. I smiled warmly at him.

  “General! You’re back!” I enthused.

  “Princess Danielle.” Patrick greeted in his rumbling tenor as he bowed respectfully. I thought about hugging him for a split second, like I did when he and Theo left for their honeymoon a few weeks ago, but I remembered how much it made him uncomfortable during office hours. I held my hand out for him to shake and he clasped it, nodding his dark-haired head again.

  Patrick’s never been one to take advantage of being the Angel to a Prince. He joined The Wing Guard young and worked his way up the ranks, his professionalism always immaculate and had been ever since I’d known him, ever since Patrick turned out to be Theo’s Angel. A fierce protector and an analytical mind to my brother’s heartfelt passion and boundless affection, Patrick and Theo were an excellent fit.

  I just wish he’d loosen up a bit.

  “How was the honeymoon?” I asked as we made our way over to my desk, strewn with papers, a new manila envelope on top of the pile.

  “Excellent, Your Highness. I’m sorry to interrupt.” He apologized, coming to stand in front of my workspace. His demeanor was firmly stuck at what could only be described as parade rest.

  “You can call me Danny, Pat. I promise the world won’t burst into flames.” I told him for about the 1,000th time, setting down the driftwood on my desk.

  Patrick nodded, both of us fully aware that he was blowing that particular suggestion off.

  “I’m here on business.” Patrick said, sidestepping the conversation altogether.

  “Fresh off your vacation? You guys can take a couple of days.” I replied, gesturing to the seat across from me. I took a seat in my favorite chair, my Cushy Chair, which I will go on record saying that if Theo steals it one more fucking time, he’s a dead man.

  I like this chair. It’s cushy.

  “I’m fine.” Patrick assured me, waving his hand.

  Five bucks says I know what this is going to be about.

  “I won’t take up too much of your time. I’m sorry for the abruptness. I’ve just come from checking the Beacon’s Barrier.” Patrick continued.

  “Keeping the darkness at bay?” I asked, bracing myself briefly before opening the report I had asked for.

  “It’s holding fine, yes.” Patrick informed. “I’m a poor substitute for…uh…for…”

  I felt my heart clench a little. Swallowing down the beginnings of a lump that still found its way into my throat even after a year. I smiled at him softly in comfort. I understood his stumbling.

  It’s difficult to talk about the death of my father.

  “You do fine, Pat.” I assured him softly.

  “It was never meant for me.” Patrick admitted in a small voice.

  “What can I do for you?” Forcing a little brightness in my voice. Patrick nodded again, and then took a deep breath.

  “I want to put more security around the Beacon.” He rushed out suddenly, as if afraid I’d stop him.

  I sighed. Damn it. You guys owe me five bucks. I didn’t want to talk about this. Especially with this report open in front of me.

  “Patrick…” I began.

  “There have been several sightings of knightmares, getting dangerously close to the city and dangerously close to this building.” He reasoned, finally loosening up enough to lean on the back of one of the chairs across from my desk.

  “Knightmares in the population. Call the Secret Service.” I sighed dryly.

  “I am the Secret Service.” Patrick informed me.

  “Ooo, easy there, you suave son of a bitch.” I said blankly, making a note on my paperwork.

  “Princess…” I could feel his frustration with me growing. Ha. Welcome the annoying world of little sisters, Sucka.

  “The Beacon doesn’t matter.” I sighed, trying not to get frustrated.

  “With all due respect, Your Highness, why not?” He huffed. It was kind of funny to see a guy that size huff.

  “Is ‘I don’t g
ive a rats ass’ not a good enough answer?”

  “Princess Danielle…”

  I sighed again.

  “Our people have been through this for generations, Patrick.” I told him, meeting his impassioned blue eyes sternly. “The knightmares that get through the barriers are half-starved-mongrels. They always nip at us, but never get any further than that. Not with what’s between them and us.”

  “You’re relying on the fact that they feed on human flesh and won’t come after you.” Patrick said, a small amount of accusation creeping into his voice.

  “…And I think you’re taking that fact for granted.” I countered, tossing the report I was reading down on my desk so that he could see it.

  The report was pretty straightforward, but quite grim. A knightmare’s bite doesn’t usually leave a lot behind after they’ve fed on a human. The pictures depicted the aftermath of their feeding, nothing left but what I could only describe as…chunks, barely enough to identify the person they used to be. It could have been chalked up as some sort of terrible injury that the victim limped away from if not for the sheer amount of blood staining the pavement under what was left of this poor soul.

  I stared at the images and looked up to watch Patrick take them in. I knew he’d seen the result of a knightmare feeding, probably seen them in action as well. He looked at the pictures coldly, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched his teeth in anger. I didn’t like doing this, but I had to make him understand.

  “This was from a local station this morning. Not near the Beacon, but in the city. Third this month.” I told him, meeting his eyes. “We’re safe here. They are not safe out there. Nobody is going to get us here and even if they do, my deepest sympathies go out to the poor, misguided soul that tries to hurt my family.”

  I felt power pulse under my skin and I knew Patrick felt it as well.

  “We have other things to focus on besides our own safety.” I said.

  Chapter 3

  Detective Luke Harper was not at all in the mood for this.

  One of the annoying things about mysterious murders is that they have a tendency to draw a crowd. The crime scene of a terrible slaughter, the third of its kind this month, was surrounded by emergency personnel as well as a large collection of gawkers, hoping to get a glance of the carnage that was leftover when people decided to kill each other.