Wild Magic Read online

  WILD MAGIC

  Danielle Grenier

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Danielle Grenier 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover Art by 100Covers (100Covers.com)

  Editor: Karen Boston (https://kbostonedit.wixsite.com/kbostonedit) via Book Butchers (www.bookbutchers.com)

  Chapter 1

  A scream rang out in the night, stopping him cold, but not for long. He raced from his car towards the old farmhouse, long legs stretching, straining to move faster. The night sky was clear, but the moonlight was weak. In the dim light, he stumbled and fell, landing hard on his knees, but he pushed himself up and kept going. Another scream, then shouted words. As he came nearer, he heard soft, feminine sobs through the broken windows. He vaulted onto the porch, crossed the worn wooden planks, and reached for the door. His fingers brushed the knob, and suddenly the world fell away. Darkness surrounded him, but the screams and sobs remained. A male voice begged for the life of his family, and the cold, heartless laughter that followed sank into his bones, making them ache. Pain ripped through him, tearing at his flesh and laying him bare. He screamed, but no sound came from his throat. Bright green eyes appeared before him. Fear surrounded him. Panic overwhelmed him.

  He bolted upright in bed, a hoarse shout escaping his parched lips. His heart beat frantically inside his chest, and his breath came in short, shallow gasps. He fumbled blindly for the pull chain on the lamp next to the bed, illuminating the small room. He gripped the bedsheets tightly and counted backwards from twenty, trying to calm himself down. He reached zero, and the tightness in his chest began to fade, so he counted again. And again. When his breathing finally returned to normal, he threw off the blankets and climbed out of bed. He moved slowly, the ache in his hip always worse when he first got up. The doctors told him the pain was all in his head. They were probably right, but he wasn’t about to do anything to fix it. The pain served as a reminder, and as penance.

  He pulled on a shirt and headed down the hallway, checking his wards as he went. Everything was still in place; nothing had been disturbed. He made his way into the kitchen and grabbed the can of coffee from the cupboard. He moved mechanically, measuring out the grounds and setting up the coffee maker. Within minutes, the dark liquid began trickling into the carafe. He set out a mug, then returned to the bedroom, where he opened the closet and pulled out a large wooden chest. He opened the lock with a quick spell - his fingers easily weaving the spell from memory - then lifted the lid. Inside was a large, leather bound book, a wooden bowl covered in strange symbols, and large hunting knife. A worn photograph was tucked into the lining of the lid. He brushed the picture with his fingertips, then took the bowl and knife and headed for the basement.

  He pushed the door, which opened with a loud creak of the hinges. Light from upstairs spilled into the space below. He heard shuffling noises from below, but he wasn’t concerned; the whole home was protected with a variety of spells - no sounds could escape to the outside. He descended the staircase slowly, his heart and mind silently warring against each other. He knew what he had to do. He’d done it before, many times, but it never got easier.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs, and the cold from the concrete floor seeped into his bare feet. He stared across the open space and saw eyes watching him. Pleading with him. The middle-aged woman was chained to the water heater, duct tape covering her mouth. He stepped forward, and she pressed herself against the wall. Tears streamed down her face, and she strained to speak through the tape, begging him to let her go. He ignored her, setting down his tools and getting to work.

  Chapter 2

  The alarm blared to life at 5am, waking Angel from a pleasant dream. She’d dreamed of the forest again – the scent of fresh pines, the soft dirt beneath her paws, the wind blowing through the trees. It had been ages since she was actually able to let her wolf run free without the fear of being discovered. Unfortunately, Angel very rarely had the opportunity to give her that freedom. It was just too risky.

  Pushing back the covers, she stretched before sliding out of bed and heading to the bathroom. After emptying her bladder, she returned to the bedroom and started digging through the pile of clothes on her floor. She managed to find a reasonably clean pair of shorts, sports bra, and T-shirt. After pulling everything on and grabbing a pair of socks, she headed to the kitchen.

  Her bungalow wasn't large by any means – one bedroom, one bathroom, and a large common room that served as a living room, dining room, and office, with a small kitchen against the back wall. The inside wasn't why she'd bought the place anyway; no, that would be the large garden at the back that grew alfalfa, wintergreen, and everything in-between. While the garden was great, it was the land that came with the house Angel loved. A whole 10 acres – not much in the grand scheme of things, but more than enough to keep her sane.

  Angel set the timer on the coffeemaker, pulled on her running shoes, and headed outside. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, bathing everything in a soft orange glow. She stretched for a minute, then headed down her usual path at a light jog, increasing her pace as her muscles warmed up. She ran every morning, partly to keep in shape, and partly to mollify her other half. It worked, most of the time.

  While her wolf didn't entirely understand the reasons for keeping hidden, she understood the fear that forced Angel to minimize the possibility that someone would see her shift. But every now and then, the urge to get out would grow so strong, it was nearly impossible to prevent the shift. To make sure that didn't happen at the wrong time, or in front of the wrong people, Angel made sure to escape every few months. She headed north, as far north as she could get in a car. Northern Ontario, and sometimes Quebec, were sparsely populated at best and had no local werewolves. After parking and hiking for a day or so, Angel would stash her gear in a tree or under some rocks, then shift and run for a few days, giving in to her wolf completely.

  She ran the outer perimeter of her property, a good 5km, then began an inward spiral. Running through the thick brush was challenging, forcing her to pay close attention to her footing and any branches that threatened to knock her upper body. She leapt over fallen logs, sidestepped rocks, and ducked thick branches in her path, moving at a pace that would have been impossible if she weren't part-werewolf. By the time she finished her route and made it back to the house, she was panting heavily, sweat coating her skin. The sun was only about halfway over the horizon, but it was already pretty warm. Everyone always seemed to picture Canada as this big winter wonderland, and while the winter months were pretty cold and snowy, the summer months were goddamn hot.

  Angel trudged inside, dumping her sneakers at the front door. The clock read 6:05am – still on schedule. Stripping off her running clothes as she went, Angel headed for the shower. In twenty minutes, she was clean and dressed in her usual work clothes – leather pants, tank top, steel-toed leather boots. She headed into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee and large bowl of cereal. Bringing her breakfast over to the table that doubled as a desk, Angel pushed a few spell books and incident reports aside and started to eat.

  Sunlight streamed through the windows at the front of the house, glinting off the ring on her pinky finger. The ring itself wasn't anything special; just a plain iron band with no decoration. It was what the ring
contained that was special: A spell that hid her scent from other werewolves, preventing them from realizing she was one of them. It wasn't that Angel didn't like other werewolves, and it wasn't that she was afraid of them either. No, the issue was that she was a hybrid - a full hybrid. Typically, when a wolf and witch reproduced, their child favored one parent or the other in terms of abilities. The child was, essentially, either a wolf or witch; it was very rare for it to be both. It was also very dangerous - full hybrids were usually very powerful, and in the past a lot of different groups had tried to harness that power. The last full hybrid - at least as far as the general public knew - had been pursued relentlessly by witches and wolves alike until he fell off the face of the Earth. Rumor was, he moved to some remote island in Alaska, where no one would ever bother him again. The one before that committed suicide because of the pressures placed on him by the public and his family.

  Angel had been something of an accident; at least that's what her mother had told her. She’d spent the first few years of her life knowing she was different but not fully understanding how or why. When she was six, and finally able to express her feelings properly, her mother had finally explained what she was, telling her how rare someone like her was and the potential dangers if anyone ever found out. Her mother was concerned she would be used by the witches or wolves for their own gain, with little regard for Angel’s well-being. Not exactly reassuring words for a six-year-old, but it got the point across. Angel listened to her mother, agreed to wear the spelled items that would hide her wolf scent, and pretended she really was just a witch.

  She polished off her cereal and coffee, then returned to the kitchen, depositing the dishes in the sink. Pulling a travel mug from the drying rack, she filled it with the rest of the coffee from the machine, screwed the top on, and left it on the counter. Heading back into the bedroom, Angel grabbed her duffel bag for work, and a jacket, just in case.

  Back to the kitchen, where she tossed several granola bars, an apple, a banana, and two bottles of water into the bag. Snatching up the coffee cup and her keys from the hook by the front door, Angel locked up, then headed to her car, dumping the bag in the passenger seat and setting the travel mug in the cup holder. Turning the key, she noted the time – just after 7am; still plenty of time. The only downside to her little slice of paradise – it was a good 30km from the outskirts of the city. It made for a longer commute, and sometimes she didn't make it home and ended up sleeping at her desk or crashing on her mother's couch in the south end, but it was totally worth it.

  Angel pulled out of the driveway and headed down the barely paved road that led to the highway. She sipped her coffee and pulled the banana from her bag. Something else she'd inherited from her father's DNA: A very healthy appetite. Wolves were stronger and faster than humans and witches, with enhanced senses and a revved up metabolism. Angel would easily go through the rest of the food in her bag before lunch. She reached the highway and turned south, heading for the city. Very quickly, trees and corn fields turned into small subdivisions filled with cookie-cutter homes. At this hour, most people were already up and about, getting kids ready for the school bus and preparing for the workday. Angel continued to drive, leaving suburbia behind and moving into an area filled with low-rise apartment buildings and shopping plazas.

  The city of Waterloo was pretty much divided according to species. In the north end of the city lived the humans, and in the south the witches. The wolves, not big fans of being hemmed in, lived to the northeast of the city, on about 200 acres deemed a nature preserve. The only place where all three species mingled frequently was in the downtown core. There, you could see the odd herb and spell shop nestled next to coffee shops and clothing boutiques. Everyone pretty much considered downtown to be neutral ground.

  The human world as a whole was pretty good with the idea that wolves and witches existed – each species policed themselves, often much more harshly than humans did. That was mostly because wolves and witches were capable of so much more damage. A human might need a gun or bomb to kill dozens of people, but a witch could do it with a single spell, and a wolf could just tear through people like it was nothing. Unless they were acting in self-defense or there were extenuating circumstances, wolves and witches who killed humans were executed. There were trials, of course, but they weren't the long, drawn out legal proceedings humans practiced. Locally, wolves answered to their Alpha – the leader of their pack – and witches answered to their coven leader.

  Nationally, and internationally, each respective species had its own law enforcement agency. On each continent, the wolves had a Master Alpha and his Enforcers, who stepped in when wolves committed crimes outside their territories or Alphas broke the rules. The vampires had their Clan Leaders, with Guards trained to handle any problems that arose. The witches had the WEA – Witch Enforcement Agency; like the FBI, but on a global scale. The WEA had offices in most major cities, with a Director at each office. There was also an international headquarters, located in London, England, where the Witch's Council – a group of elite witches from all around the world - managed the whole agency.

  Angel worked as an agent for the WEA – true, it probably wasn't the best place of employment for an undercover full hybrid, but she liked helping people. She'd aced all her spell casting classes at the academy and was pretty good with potions as well, especially when it came to defensive stuff. As for the physical aspect of the job, Angel had a bit of an unfair advantage there – her wolf half made basic physical activity easy, allowing her to run literal circles around her co-workers. That, and her almost innate ability to throw spells on the fly, meant she moved quickly through the lower levels of the agency. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest senior agent ever; unfortunately, that kind of ladder climbing didn't make her a lot of friends and left her without a partner more often than not. Most of her co-workers were convinced she was sleeping with, or blackmailing, someone important. But they couldn't argue with her results – Angel handled more cases than anyone else and was a lot more discreet about it, even without a partner.

  Pulling into the underground parking structure of the Waterloo office, Angel pulled her badge out for the young male witch at the security booth. It was Michael today – one of her least favorite security guards. He always had a sour look on his face and seemed to give her a hard time at the worst possible moments. Thankfully, Angel wasn't late or running to a meeting, so today he just squinted at her badge for a moment, peeked into the back seat of the car, and waved her through.

  It was still relatively early, just after 8am, so the parking garage was pretty empty. Angel chose her usual spot a few rows away from the elevator, turned off the car, and scooped up her bag and travel mug. Entering the elevator, she swiped her badge and pressed the button for the 6th floor. The WEA occupied the whole building, all seven floors, but certain floors were restricted depending on your position. The first five floors were mostly administrative offices and included HR, payroll, recruiting – all the departments necessary to keep any business running smoothly. Floors six and seven were for the field agents. The sixth floor had offices for the senior agents and a wide open floor in the center, where each junior agent had a small cubicle. The seventh floor housed training facilities – a gym where agents could work out and practice throwing spells, and labs where agents could mix potions.

  Stepping onto the sixth floor, Angel saw that while she wasn't the first person in the office, she was pretty close. Two junior agents were hunched over their desks with large cups of coffee, pouring over files. One other senior agent was in his office, talking rather loudly on the phone. His name was Morris, or something like that. Angel was pretty sure he didn't actually come in early to do extra work – he just wanted it to look that way.

  Ignoring the others, she moved across the room to her office, unlocked the door, dumped her duffel bag in the corner, and swung the door shut. She then flicked on the lights and pulled up the shades to try and get some nice sunlight before the day got
too warm. Angel sank down in her comfy office chair – the kind that adjusts like 18 different ways, and jiggled her computer's mouse. Her computer came to life with a soft whirring, the monitor lighting up, prompting her to enter her login credentials. After she logged in, she pulled up her email and scanned for anything that needed her immediate attention. When nothing caught her eye, she pulled up the files for her most recent case and got to work completing the final reports.

  Angel had finished up her reports, refilled her coffee mug, and was reviewing the weekly WEA report for the province when a knock came at her door around 10am. A moment later, her boss entered. Director Walter Bates was a middle-aged witch with a salt and pepper buzz cut. He was tall for a witch, at 6' 2'' – even with her werewolf half, Angel barely topped 5' 5'' - but he had the typical gangly frame associated with most witches. Unlike werewolves, though, physical attributes rarely determined how powerful a witch was. Angel was more powerful than most – a result of her mixed heritage – and she'd met lots of witches who were physically intimidating, but magically? Not so much. Bates was moderately powerful; he'd been a fairly decent agent back in the day, and he'd been slowly making his way up the ladder for the last ten years. He'd been promoted to Director of the Waterloo office just over two years ago. So far, Angel liked him a fair bit better than his predecessor – a harpy of a woman who hadn't liked Angel one bit, for reasons still unknown.

  “What's up?” Angel asked, standing as Bates entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

  “Two things,” Bates began. “I've got a new case for you, something small, shouldn't take too long to wrap up. I've had a couple reports of someone selling love potions out of a shop in the east end. We're not entirely sure what's in these potions, but several humans have been hospitalized with bad reactions. I need you to find the witch responsible and make sure this nonsense stops. I've emailed you the information.”