Witches Protection Program (16 page)

“I’m really sorry about this, but I think it will be the only way,” Morgan told him, the wind ruffling her hair. Placing her hands under his knees, she lifted him up with a burst that took them to the top of the building.

Bernadette turned to a
white
-faced Alastair. “She can fly!” she said triumphantly.

Alastair closed his eyes with relief. “Wes?”

“Safe. They’ll be here in a minute. So will your team. They’ve surrounded the building.” They both looked at Scarlett’s crumbled form. “All I ever wanted was you,” she told him simply.

Alastair looked at her ravaged beauty, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t. You wanted to control me. When you couldn’t, you went after the rest of the male population.”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

The door to the helipad opened, disgorging a team of agents. They surrounded the prone body of the blond witch, placing tape over her mouth, tying her hands with chain, and finally covering her face with burlap.

Harris and another agent approached Bernadette.

Alastair smiled when he recognized him. “Harris.”

“Alastair.” He nodded. “Where’s Wes?”

“On the way up, I’ve been informed.”

Harris held out a burlap bag. Alastair faced the other way. He heard the tape rip. Bernadette held up her hand.

“Alastair?” He turned around to face her. “You’ll take care of her?”

“You have to ask?” Alastair responded softly.

Harris interrupted, “Hornik, book her.”

The agent placed the tape over her mouth, then covered her ruined face with a burlap bag.

The rooftop emptied, save for Alastair and Harris, who waited patiently.

They heard Wes’s voice. “Have they left?”

“Where are you?”

“Close your eyes,” Wes demanded.

Alastair let his lids drop for a second, then opened them, a bark of laughter escaping his lips.

His petite daughter gently hovered above them, her apparent boyfriend in her arms.

“You weren’t supposed to look until we landed,” Wes said hotly. His face flushed red when he saw his father as well.

“Nice flying.” Alastair held out his hand to her, his eyes warm. “Alastair Verne.”

“Nice to meet you.” She smiled, then looked at Harris.

“Harris Rockville.” He nodded curtly. “We sort of met earlier.”

“I’m the real Morgan.” She looked at her father, finishing the sentence. “Morgan Verne.”

Alastair took her arm, resting it in the crook of his own. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

She looked at him sideways, responding, “Indeed.”

Harris left them to wrap his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Nice work, son. Excellent fieldwork. I’m…impressed. How did you know that creature wasn’t the real Morgan?”

“From my gut, sir.”

Harris gave him a sideways hug, fished in his pocket, and slapped something cold into Wes’s hand. “I expect to see you back in my office on Monday.”

Wes looked down at the badge in his hand. It was his old one, barely used, but the one he coveted, or so he thought. He glanced up. The moon was three quarters waning, a week or two away from that new moon when he’d promised to return to his old job. He held out the shield to his father, shaking his head. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it. I think I’m going to stay where I am.”

“I thought it would make you happy.”

“I’ve learned that nothing can make you happy but yourself.” He looked at Alastair. “I think I have a lot to learn here, and that makes me happy.”

Harris grinned. “I’ll tell you a secret, son. If I could change and go back, I would too. Nothing more exciting than wrestling with witches.”

“Or flying.”

“I know. Mom’s a great flyer,” Harris said with a fond chuckle, then walked briskly away.

Wes’s eyes widened. “What. Dad. What did you say about Mom?” All he heard was the echoes of his father’s laughter.

* * *

The street level was a mess of police and official cars. Alastair was parked on the corner. Morgan was in the backseat. Wes ran up, jumping in. “How’d you know to wait for me?” he asked.

Alastair smiled when he looked at him. “You’re my partner,” he said simply as if that explained it all. “We have to swing by Red Hook to pick up Junie.”

“Junie, right. What happened with the ships? Did the coast guard reach them in time?”

“Do you remember the stew she cooked?”

“I have some still glowing in my kitchen.”

“Well, apparently Junie stocked the galley with ample supplies of it. Let me tell you what happened.”

* * *

It was two and a half miles off the coast of New York, late last night. Five cargo ships, their surfaces covered with stacked corrugated metal containers, bobbed gently in the Atlantic Ocean. Music blared, and someone had decorated four levels of containers with multicolored Christmas lights. Ten Coast Guard cutters surrounded the group of transports. A captain stood on the bow of the largest cutter, a bullhorn at his mouth.

“This is Luke Carter with the US Coast Guard. Who is in charge of these ships? We demand you turn around and follow us back to the Brooklyn Port.”

Laughter erupted from the ship nearest the Coast Guard cutter. “Yo, papi chulo!” a slurred voice called. “You wanna join the party? Why don’t you and all the boys come up and have some fun!” A conga line appeared from the cargo hold. A long line of inebriated sailors danced and waved to the cutters, each holding a plastic cup with a phosphorous green liquid sloshing around.

“What is that, sir?” an ensign asked Captain Carter.

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, it delayed these ships long enough for us to catch them before they entered international waters.”

“Should we bring ’em in?”

Carter shrugged. “Looks like we’re going to have to. Doesn’t look like there’s a sober sailor on any of them. Prepare to board,” he called out.

* * *

“I spread the wealth.” Junie chuckled
good
-naturedly from the backseat.

“Huh.” Wes made a sound.

“Look, part of my job was to ensure that all the cargo ships were full of food and water. I stock the galleys. You know, rations, to get them to their next port of call. So, I was nervous we weren’t going to be able to stop this thing in time, so I juiced up the water supply with my stew.”

“Ew,” Morgan said.

“Did the trick. They was so busy drinking and partying, nobody was driving the boat,” she finished with a wheezy laugh. “You killing me here, Alastair. Can’t I have a smoke in the car?”

Wes, Alastair, and Morgan all replied, “No!”

“Humor me,” she wheedled.

“No,” Wes said flatly.

“Then distract me with a story,” Junie said coyly.

“What?” Wes asked.

“Tell me a story, you know, about what happened to you in Nevada.”

Wes turned sharply in his seat. “What do you know about that?”

“I read it in your file.”

“My file?”

“Yeah. Here, in Alastair’s truck.”

Alastair shrugged. “Don’t ask me. She’s a category five.”

Morgan sat in the back, her eyes shining. “Wes, you don’t have to, but I would like to know.”

Wes sat sullenly for a minute, his eyes meeting Morgan’s in the rearview mirror. She smiled.

“Well…” he began.

NEVADA DESERT, THREE MONTHS EARLIER

T
he desert landscape resembled the moon, colorless and just as lifeless. Dust settled in every nook and cranny of the bus. They were covered with it. For a minute, they looked like soldiers in Afghanistan, in full body armor, down to protective visors painting everything a darker gray. Two men sat in the first row, assault guns in their ready hands, the stock of a twelve gauge resting on the seat. Wes was placed toward the rear, next to Simon Samuels, an
ex
-marine who captained their expedition. It was a big deal to be placed with Samuels. He was a decorated legend and had taken on Wes as a favor to Harris. They were transporting a highly dangerous criminal. That was all the information Wes had.

In the rear, the prisoner sat her
blue
-veined hands neatly in her lap and hummed sweetly. Wes glanced at her legs. She wore support hose like he remembered his
great
-grandmother wore, tied in a rolled knot at the top of her calf. Her feet in their
open
-toed thick soled sandals tapped in rhythm to her song. Wes couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

“Something funny, Agent Rockville?” the captain asked. His dark skin was covered in sweat, but he seemed oblivious to the discomfort Wes felt.

“What’s her story?” Wes whispered.

Samuels sighed. “Didn’t they teach you anything at the academy, rookie? I know your daddy is the director and all, but you have to be on your A game here.”

“Just because my dad’s the director doesn’t mean I can’t be curious,” Wes said with a smile. The two guards turned around, looking like the young men they were. The bus seemed to lose its tenseness for a millisecond. Wes noticed the driver was looking at them in the rearview mirror as well. It seemed he wasn’t the only nosy one.

Samuels’s brown eyes darted around the room. “Didn’t you go over your brief?” he asked a shade harshly.

The humming got louder, as if she were trying to engage with them. Wes cocked his
head
—the song was so familiar. Where had he heard it?

“Yeah. I went over my brief. Three times.”

The lead guard smiled at their discussion.

“And what did your brief say, Agent Rockville?”

“Don’t look her in the eyes, sir.” This time, Wes and the three guards grinned at one another as they exchanged looks.

“And…” the captain continued brusquely.

“Don’t ask any questions?”

“So, don’t ask any questions.” The captain’s mouth closed, but Wes saw the beginning of a smile.

“It’s just that…” He paused, waiting to see if the captain would close him down.

“Yes?”

“It’s just that I find it weird we’re transporting this little old lady with such high security. I mean, she’s harmless.”

“Yeah, captain. Look at her.” The guard in the front twisted in his seat, joining the conversation. “She looks like she should be baking cookies, not rotting in the back of a hot bus. What’d she do?”

“It’s inhumane,” the bus driver added.

The frail voice got a little louder, the words to the song just barely audible under the burlap bag covering her head.

“Hello, ma baby! Hello, ma honey! Hello, ma ragtime gal!”

“I know this song,” the driver shouted, joining in the next chorus. “Send me a kiss by wire. Baby, my heart’s on fire!”

Wes noticed the captain’s foot tapping in time to the song, his mouth moving, silently singing the lyrics. He felt the song vibrate in his chest, then the words erupted from his lips.

“If you refuse me, honey, you’ll lose me; then you’ll be left alone.”

By now, they were all singing loudly, the bag covering Genevieve Fox’s face half off her white, frizzy hair. Her cheeks were powder soft, chubby, with sweet pink undertones. Her
cornflower
-blue eyes peeked out. She was singing with gusto, her
old
-lady voice joyous.

“Oh baby, telephone and tell me I’m your own. Hello, hello, hello there!”

They were all laughing. Wes turned around, his eyes meeting hers. She tilted her head and blew a kiss at him that impacted with terminal velocity. His eyes slipped shut and he rolled down the seat, fast asleep. The two guards in the front followed him to slumber a second later. Samuels grabbed his rifle, only to feel it slide through his fingers as he rocked forward. The driver slumped, the bus rolled into a bern, halting when Miss Fox snapped her fingers. Listing sideways, she made it down the aisle, the shackles on her feet melting away. Pausing, she caressed Wes’s face. “Nice boy,” she said sweetly.

Raising her manacled hands high over her head, Fox let out a sonic roar that blasted out every window, breaking the handcuffs in two. She chuckled, then rolled her hands together, creating a whirlwind of energy that blew a starburst through the roof. Taking a shotgun, Miss Fox seated herself sidesaddle and took a leisurely ride through her escape hole. Turning demurely, she called back, “So long, suckers!”

She soared out, crowing high into the ether.

Out of sight.

The End for some, but for others, it’s just the beginning…

Michael loves to hear from his readers. Please leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads.

More books by Michael Phillip Cash

Brood X: A Firsthand Account of the Great Cicada Invasion

Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island

The Hanging Tree: A Novella

The Flip

The After House

The Battle for Darracia Books I – II - III

Coming soon:

Pokergeist

Monsterland

About the Author

B
orn and raised on Long Island, Michael has always had a fascination with the paranormal and supernatural. Earning a degree in English and an MBA, he worked various jobs before settling into being a
full
-time author. He currently resides on the North Shore of Long Island with his wife and children.

[email protected]