The Witching Hour Ch. 03

When he was satisfied that no one was waiting for him in the well lit living room, Jack walked quickly to the kitchen and pulled a knife out of the block that sat on the counter. It wasn't much, but he felt better having something besides his bare hands.

Knife in hand, Jack quickly swept the apartment, leaving no corner or closet unchecked, but he couldn't find anything out of place. No attackers crouched behind the divider in his small shower, or under the bed, ready to spring out and grab him. By the time he had finished, Jack was starting to feel decidedly foolish.

He had known friends of his from the military who had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when they had come back from deployments to Iraq or Afghanistan. The adrenaline pumping fear and paranoia that was necessary to keep them alive in combat suddenly refused to turn off, even when they had returned to normal life. They began to see things that weren't there, and even the most innocent of things could possibly set them off. Jack himself had never had to deal with it, always finding himself able to separate the different parts of his life. He could shut down that part of him when it wasn't needed. Though, he had always been afraid it would catch up to him eventually. Suddenly he started to wonder if he should be a little worried.

As he walked back into the kitchen however, he still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right here. Everything appeared just as he left it, and nothing was out of place that he could see. He slid the knife back into the block on the counter, turned back to face the living-room, and that's when he saw it. There, just under the lip of the small kitchen island where he hadn't noticed it the last time he came through, was the package that had come yesterday for Jennifer McCoy next door. He could see, even without bending down, that it had been torn open and it now lay empty on the floor.

Shit.

Jack stepped over and picked up the tattered paper; he could still make out the odd, faded script on the top of it. It looked singed. The box itself hadn't just been opened; it had been ripped in half. Setting it down on the counter, Jack considered his options.

He had completely forgotten about the package in the process of setting up his apartment last night. It was an innocent mistake, but he didn't relish the thought of trying to explain that to her. Given their last two meetings, she would probably just assume that he had stolen whatever it was that had been in the package.

He could always just not tell anyone and pretend that he had never gotten any package for her. She would just assume it had been lost in the mail, or maybe stolen from the landing. She might suspect him, but she would have no proof. As it was, his real story didn't sound that good. Someone had broken into his apartment, and stole her mail without touching any of his stuff. No, not someone; the man in the black suit. Jack didn't believe in coincidences, and his run in with that man put him top on the list of suspects.

Jack sighed heavily and walked back to his bedroom. He wasn't going to do that, for two reasons. The first one was that he just wasn't that type of guy. He sure as hell wasn't perfect, but he always tried to be honest and do the right thing, even when it would be easier to lie. It had gotten him in trouble before, but hey, you had to draw the line somewhere.

The second reason was that, while he was busy contemplating what to do, the logical, detached portion of his brain had finally solved a small mystery for him; the smell that still hung faintly in the air. It was no wonder that it had set off something in his mind when he had smelled it. It was a smell you never forgot, no matter how hard you tried. It was the smell of burnt flesh.

Something bad had happened here, and he was not going to hide it. Not just to save his apartment anyway. He needed to get some answers. Picking up his cell phone off the dresser, Jack flipped it open and dialed.

*****

Jennifer McCoy felt a small, guilty sense of pleasure when she slammed the door to the front office hard enough to cause the pictures on the wall to shake and elicit a small eek of surprise from the terrified young girl who sat at the front desk. Well, Jennifer thought, not really a girl. In truth Ashley was a little older than she herself was, and they had been in many of the same classes together growing up. But as Jennifer's powers had grown, so had her station, while Ashley's had hit their plateau early on. Ranking among the witches of her order was not based on age, not entirely anyway.

"High Priestess Jennifer," Ashley said in a surprised voice, bobbing her head respectfully. "What can I do for you today?"

"Please tell High Priestess Pamela that I am here as she requested." Jennifer said.

"Of course, please," she said placating, "make yourself comfortable."

Nodding shortly, Jennifer moved to one of the plush chairs lining the wall that Ashley had indicated and sat down. The door to Pamela Munion's office was closed, so there was no telling how long she would have to wait.

Technically, as one of the five High Priestesses that made up the Governing Council of Witches here, she should have been on equal footing with Pamela. What should be and what was, however, didn't always mesh up; especially when it came to Pamela Munion. The High Priestesses each had charge of one of the five houses in the Coven, each one taking their power from one of the five Guardian Elements. So as the High Priestess of Spirit, Pamela was naturally considered to be first among equals.

Add to that the fact that Jennifer, the newly appointed High Priestess of Fire, was the youngest person to hold her office in over seven hundred years, and it didn't give her a lot of ground with the older woman. A fact which she thought Pamela had taken great advantage of in the months since Jennifer's Raising. That, along with the fact that she had yet to anoint a High Priest for her house, she knew had become fodder for the gossipers all around the Coven.

Jennifer was still fuming from her encounter with Jack Gardener at the circle only a few minutes before. She had no idea how a single man could be so utterly…well, so utterly infuriating. She had nearly died with embarrassment when he had started to yell at her in front of the other members of the Coven. The gods knew they were all probably talking about it by now. She had heard from Britt that everyone was already speculating on who this new mundane really was and why he was here. No one knew anything about him. The talk would be exploding now that he had publicly berated a member of the Council.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Jennifer tried to calm down. If she was honest with herself, she could admit that it really hadn't been his fault entirely. She probably could have handled the whole situation a little bit better than she had, as hard as it was for her to admit.

Jennifer had just been so shocked when she saw him standing there. But she knew there would have been no possible way for him to know – that is, if he was what he appeared to be – the weeks of hard work his single non-magical presence inside of the circle had probably ruined.

At any rate, Jennifer's day had not started off well at all. It had been late into the night, after Britt had left her apartments, before the pain of the Backlash had faded from her completely, allowing her to finally rest. Even then, she had slept fitfully for a long while. Until dreams of fire, pain, and dully glowing, red eyes were slowly replaced by even stranger dreams.

In them she lay, unable to move as a stranger's hands ran sensually over her body. She was never able to see the man's face in her dreams, but she knew him from the many nights he had visited her before. His touch always excited her beyond belief and leaving her longing for more. Just like every other time though, she awoke alone, left only with the memory of his touch and a throbbing wetness between her legs. Afterwards she had finally fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Upon awakening in the late morning sunlight that came through her bedroom window, she had immediately received the High Priestess of Spirit's request for a meeting.

Request, Jennifer snorted to herself, more like a summons.

The door to Pamela's office opened abruptly and the graying woman stuck her head out. Taking in the scene in front of her, she saw Jennifer sitting there, lost in thought and glowering at her hands as they rested in her lap, while Ashley sat cowering at her desk, dutifully trying to give the impression that she was hard at work while studiously pretending to ignore both women.

"Oh, do come in Jennifer and stop trying to scare the wits out of this poor girl," Pamela said, and immediately turned and reentered the office, leaving the door standing open behind her.

Jennifer rose off of the seat as gracefully as she could and followed after the woman. As she entered she saw Ashley look up at her and flash a sympathetic look, before turning and going back to her work.

Pamela Munion's office was a study in contradictions. On one hand she was extraordinarily neat, almost bordering on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; everything had its place and was neatly arranged within it. Not a scrap of trash or speck of dust could be found anywhere within the room. Jennifer was sure if she had been able to pull the massive filling cabinets back, she would find that Pamela had dusted there as well.

On the other hand, she was an avid collector of cats. Not the real kind, but small porcelain figurines. Without trying Jennifer could quickly make out at least thirty from where she stood, ranging in size from life-size kittens strategically placed on the floor and bookshelves, all the way down to thumbnail size figures that decorated her desk. Despite the cleanliness and neatness, the amount of figurines strewn about gave the entire office a cluttered feeling.

Pamela gestured to a chair on the other side of her desk and Jennifer moved to take a seat. She kept her face outwardly calm, but inside she was terrified. She had no idea why Pamela had called her here; the request she had sent had not mentioned a topic for this little meeting, but all Jennifer could think of was the spell that she had used on the marak two days prior.

That sort of magic was not allowed within her order. In fact, no order of Witches that Jennifer was aware of allowed the use of that kind of killing spell. Witches were by nature a passive people. One of their guiding tenants had been to do what you will, as long as you cause no harm. That had been the original philosophy anyway. It had changed over the years, as the world had changed, and evolved so the Witches could survive.

It would have been naïve and extremely foolish to stick to the letter of the law in today's world, so gradually the Covenant of Witchcraft, which acted on behalf of all the Covens, had decided to slowly bend, if not actually break this rule. Still, the Covenant forbid the use of death magic by Witches, more for the fact that very few Witches were strong enough to handle it without falling victim to the Backlash. The Rule of Three still applied, so a witch always had to be willing to except the consequences of his or her actions. That and the fact that if the mundane governments ever realized that Witches controlled so much power, the fragile stand-off that had existed since after the Burning Times would crumble. The balance had to be maintained.

Jennifer waited as Pamela dug through some paperwork, tipping her spectacles down to the tip of her nose and making notations in her computer. The older woman's platinum grey hair and wrinkled, motherly face crinkled as she frowned at her work. Not knowing whether she was actually working, or whether she just wanted her to sweat it out for a little bit, Jennifer kept her mouth shut.

She didn't want to interrupt Pamela if she was actually working. Though Jennifer wasn't overly fond of the woman's master-of-my-own-universe attitude, she in no way wanted to replace her. The High Priestess of Spirit was in charge of the day to day running of the entire Coven. With the help of an assistant – a required, rotating duty that was dreaded by all young witches – she ran all of the administration needs, as well as being the public face of the Coven. She dealt with everything from paying bills to running interference with the local mundane government. Jennifer had spent a short time in the assistant position. To this day, she still had nightmares about it.

"So, your brother stopped by today," Pamela said, conversationally, not looking up from her paperwork.

Jennifer froze. "Step-brother," she said, a hint of ice dropping into her voice and her face hardening at the mention of Jacob.

Sighing, Pamela leaned back in her chair, leaving her paperwork on the desk.

"Child," she said softly, "you both have the same amount of your mother's blood running through your veins. Despite what he has done, or what you may feel towards him, that will never change." She paused and then continued lightly. "And don't glare at me girl. High Priestess or not, I changed you swaddling clothes enough times to earn the right to call you whatever I want."

Jennifer felt the heat creep through her face and she dropped her eyes, not able to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching up a little.

"Anyway," she said, coming back to the original topic, "it would seem that Jacob has lost something of value to him: the Bracelet of Akasha. Though how he would have come by such a powerful amulet, or how in the world he could possibly hope to use it, I do not venture to guess."

Jennifer had to work to keep her face studiously uninterested, her smile suddenly seeming painted on.

"I wouldn't deign to repeat his exact words in polite company, but he seemed to be of the opinion that you were now in possession of it." Pamela said.

Jennifer concentrated on keeping her voice bland and uninterested as she replied. "What Jacob believes, doesn't really interest me. I can honestly say I've never seen this Bracelet he's talking about, and if someone stole it from him, he may want to check with the person he stole it from. They probably wanted it back."

Pamela gazed suspiciously at Jennifer for a moment, but when she continued, her voice was light and unconcerned. "Of course, I told him that you would never be so stupid as to play around with such a dangerous and powerful Spirit amulet like the Bracelet of Akasha. That's old magic, from a thousand years before the Covenant." She gave Jennifer one last piercing look and said, "Some things are better off remaining forgotten."

"Now," Pamela said with finality, leaning forward and looking at her computer, "that wasn't the main reason I asked you here today." Jennifer felt herself tense again. "Have you met our new resident yet?"

Jennifer was actually surprised to feel the blush that colored her face; luckily though, Pamela was too busy making new notations on her computer to catch it. She had to clear her throat softly before she could continue.

"Uh, only in passing," she said, taking deep breaths to try and cool the skin on her face.

"Yes, well, it looks like Mr. Gardener will be staying with us for the time being."

Jennifer sat up a little, her interest peeked despite herself, "But, how…" she asked.

"I honestly don't know," Pamela said, looking up from her paperwork. "Every once and a while a particularly stubborn or dense mundane will make it through the wards we have set up. Normally when that happens, I just run through a set of motions that they expect. Like calling for approval or something, and then tell them that we have no openings, or that they aren't approved, what have you," she paused for a moment, suddenly looking uncharacteristically surprised. "When I came into the office this time to pretend to call for approval, I had a message waiting for me from none other than the Chairman of the Council of the Elected himself, ordering me to let him stay. Ordering, not asking."

Jennifer was shocked, "Morgaine told you to let him stay?"

"Yes," said Pamela, continuing, "Which is why I asked you here."

Jennifer just looked at the older woman, confused.

"As you know, there was only one place available to put him."

Yeah, thought Jennifer, Jacob's old apartments. He definitely won't need them anymore.

"I don't know what that old vamp Morgaine is up to now Jennifer, so I need you to keep an eye on the mundane until we can figure this all out." The older woman looked at her sympathetically. "I hate to throw him into your lap like this, but since he's in your house for the time being, you'll have to make sure he stays out of trouble."

"I understand," Jennifer said, feeling a strange mixture of relief and trepidation.

Just then the phone that sat on the corner of Pamela's desk rang. Both women stared at it. Witches had more efficient means of communicating with each other, so they rarely ever used the telephone. Jennifer herself had never even owned one. If this one was in Pamela's office, it must have been for the times she had to communicate with the outside world.

When Pamela answered the phone, Jennifer found herself trying to listen in on the conversation, but she could hear none of what was being said on the other side, and after the older woman had answered it she simply listened as the caller spoke.

The conversation stretched out for a few minutes and then Jennifer heard Pamela say, "Very well…yes, of course, send them by… Do have your men stop by the office before they go down… Yes, thank you. Goodbye."

Pamela hung up the phone and stared at it for a few moments, looking thoughtful. Then she stood up and began to straighten out her desk.

Not looking at Jennifer she said, "That was the local Chief of Police; he called to give us a heads up. Apparently, our newest resident has phoned for assistance." She looked up, "It seems that someone has broken into his apartment."

"W-what?" Jennifer almost shouted.

"Hm, yes. Well it appears that our lives will most definitely not be boring with Mr. Gardner around." She smiled faintly and went back to her work. "I must remain here to let the police know what is expected of them. I trust you can handle things without my help."

Hearing the dismissal, Jennifer nodded; it wasn't a question. She rose and walked out forcing herself not to break into a run as she left the office and headed back across the field.

*****

I know, I know. I'm not expecting too much on the rating scale for the lack of sex, but it had to happen. Let me know what you think though. And don't forget to vote.