Cathrynne had expected him to break her fingers. Unfortunately for him, she was among the one percent who were ambidextrous.
She gritted her teeth. The wave of agony receded a little. “Gods yes,” she gasped. “Does this?”
Her right hand sprang open, revealing the ruby she’d palmed while he was busy laughing at her. The witch drew a sharp breath as she unleashed the projective fire inside the stone. Scarlet light shattered the darkness. His eyes bulged as the force hit him in the chest. One moment he was standing over her, the next he’d gone through the living room window in a spray of glass.
Cathrynne held her mangled fingers to her chest. They were throbbing like live coals, but the suffocating darkness was gone. She limped back to the living room. Mercy was kneeling on the unconscious female witch.
“Now that was a hot ride,” Mercy said with admiration. “He made it all the way to the lawn.”
She started stripping her prisoner of every gemstone and piece of metal. Rings, bracelets, hairpins, buttons—anything the witch could use to cast ley when she woke up.
“She got in a few good licks,” Mercy said. “But I clocked her and she went down. I don’t think she’s used to getting punched in the face.”
Cathrynne glanced through the broken window. The male witch had cleared the porch and lay on his back in the front yard, twitching weakly. She wondered why they had chosen this house. What they needed it for. And where the Nilssons were.
“Hey,” Mercy said, “you’re bleeding.”
Cathrynne touched her face. Felt sticky wetness.
Show me some of that infamous cypher blood. Is it really violet?
Yes, it was. The high ley content of angel blood gave it a blue tint. Witch blood—like humans—was red. Mingle them and you got violet. Now she had a nosebleed, a sign of the visions that she tried to hide whenever it happened.
“It’s nothing,” Cathrynne said, swiping a sleeve across her face. “Caught an elbow.”
She turned away before Mercy could ask any more questions and headed outside. All along the street, neighbors were emerging from their houses, drawn by the spectacle. Josua Micarran watched from his own porch. Cathrynne waved and he lifted his cigarette in salute.
The witch groaned as she came near. He had dozens of small cuts from the glass, but none appeared life-threatening. A group of boys stopped their bikes at the edge of the yard. One nudged his friend, looking down the block. “It’s the Jennies,” he whispered with a note of awe.
An automobile slid up to the curb, all gleaming copper and sleek lines. The model was a Jentzen Mirage, hence the nickname. Two witches got out, wearing long white coats and sour expressions. The White Foxes had arrived.
Cathrynne yanked the gem pouch from the downed witch’s belt before straightening to face them. There were orders of the White Foxes in every province, but George Claymond and Audrey Hayes headed the Arioch division. They hunted down rogue witches and viewed cyphers as disposable attack dogs.
George was burly and soft around the edges, with rings stacked on every finger. Audrey was famine-thin and favored dark maroon lipstick. Mercy called them Lump and Crump. It was funny, except that they were both very strong in lithomancy and utterly ruthless. Rumor had it that between them they’d killed a dozen rogues.
“Give me that, Rowan,” Crump said in a peremptory tone, extending her hand.
Cathrynne turned over the gem pouch. “There’s one more witch inside. They were using the Nilssons’ house as a forcing zone.”
Crump studied her, expressionless. “Do you know why?”
“We’re not sure yet?—”
Cathrynne cut off as a second car arrived, disgorging four more White Foxes. They fanned across the lawn and surrounded the male witch. Receptive gems ignited as they cast shields around him.
“Oh, that looks nasty.” Lump eyed Cathrynne’s hand with false sympathy. “Maybe you should sit this out.”
Crump shot him a vexed look. “It’s a little late for that, George.” She stepped closer. “Why didn’t you notify us? This sort of thing is well beyond your jurisdiction.”
Lump clucked his tongue. “You could have been killed. Pure dumb luck you weren’t.”
Cathrynne tried to leash her temper. “We were investigating a noise complaint. We had no idea there were witches involved until they . . .” She was about to say “forced straight into us” but that might provoke questions about how they’d avoided dying. “Came back,” she finished lamely.
Crump pursed her lips. “We’ll need a full report, Rowan. Every detail.”
“Sure,” Cathrynne said. “As soon as I’m done.”
“What?”
