Page 75 of Bewitching Her Monsters
“Update?” Maxum switches to soldier mode to snap Arran out of his emotional state.
“She won’t answer the door.” Arran’s half-shifted clawed hands are shaking. He can barely contain his beast. “Probably smart.”
“Have you heard her moving around?” Maxum asks.
With this question, Arran focuses on the demon. Then his eyes widen. “No. I don’t think I have.”
“I’m not picking up brainwaves… not active ones.” Maxum steps between Arran and Jade’s door. “It could mean anything.”
It likely means she’s dead, and her brain is sputtering to it’s final end.
Arran charges at Maxum, but it’s only because the demon is in his way to get to the witch.
“I’m not going to hurt her. Hold on, Arran.” Maxum pushes a bit of his mental influence at Arran.
It’s not necessarily cool that he is using his ability on Arran, since he’s not supposed to use his powers on us, but I’ll forgive him for this one. We don’t need the berserker version at the moment.
I glance around the neighborhood to see if anyone is witnessing our break-in.
Typically, regular mortal police don’t get involved with supesifthey know about us. But dispatchers will often call the Supernatural Enforcers if we cause a scene. If cops show up right now, we probably won’t be able to hold Arran back if he freaks.
“Arran, I’m going to need you to breathe,” Maxum says calmly. “I’m going in first since I’m the most resistant to magic. There might be some sort of trap or ward.”
He’s always risking himself like this. One of these days, someone is going to spring a spell that can take down a demon.
Arran grunts instead of speaking. I don’t think he’s capable of using his human voice anymore. I’m surprised he hasn’t sprouted furry ears and a jaw full of razor sharp teeth.
Maxum takes his grunt as a sign of agreement. He turns around and enchants a spell to unravel any wardings over her front door. The door clicks open.
With his shoe, he pushes it open. When the door swings wide, we see the witch on the floor, face down. It appears as if she was crawling away and passed out.
I clearly sense death now. As confirmation, I don’t see her rib cage moving with a breath. I glance at Arran, but he’s struck stock-still. Good thing, because Maxum must move forward first to see if the place has been rigged with any spells.
My senses don’t pick up any magic, but that doesn’t mean a damned thing. I don’t have the keen perceptions Maxum has. My ability centers on death and rebirth—and, once upon a time, sexual pleasure. I hate that part of myself has been stripped away by an evil act of a witch.
Despite my hatred for witches, I discover I weirdly care that this woman is hovering near death’s veil.
Maybe she put a spell on me…
Nah, it must be my concern for Arran’s sanity. I love the jerk. Or that she might be the last connection to my love, Osen.
Maxum slowly steps inside the living room. He scans the entire room for magic traces. When no booby trap attempts to hex him, he crouches to study the witch’s condition.
He holds his hand just above her shoulder, then proceeds to turn her over onto her back. “Still no brainwaves.” He waves me inside. “Can you check her?”
I won’t fucking touch her, but I don’t need to touch her to do what he’s asking.
Standing near her, I expand my scope of perception. I feel soul energy hovering around us. Hers… and another encasing it, probably Osen’s?
“She’s disconnecting from her body,” I confirm.
Arran is inside the house and on top of her within seconds. He roars, rattling my bones.
Gripping her to his chest, his vocal cords change back so he can call her name. “Jade?” And then he adds, “Osen? Come back.”
Energy swirls in my mind’s eye, pulling down toward her body.
She sucks in a breath, but it isn’t deep.
