Waylen's Witch

Chapter 1 (Morgan)

"Eeeek! This place is soooo cool" The girl's high-pitched shriek makes my teeth hurt but I plaster on my warmest smile.

"Welcome to The Broken Broomstick. Let me know if I can help you with anything."

I watch as the blonde jumps up and down grabbing at her friend's arm "O.M.G look, look, look!" she points at me. "Now, that's a witchy look. Not so black and depressing, more... Earthy".

Her friend looks annoyed as she tries in vain to free herself from the blond's grip "You mean like me?" The opposite of her friend, the second girl is dressed head to toe in black, right down to her fading lipstick. We actually don't get as many "goth" customers as you might expect from a novelty magic shop.

"Oh, you know what I mean" the blonde brushes her off. "Don't you just love this place? I knew you would love it. O.M.G! Jade look!" she points to Daphne passed out on a bookshelf. "There's even a black cat!".

I can't help but smirk "Careful. She's not too friendly" I warn before one of them tries to touch her.

I watch the girls do a lap of the store examining and fiddling with different odds and ends before they make their inevitable approach.

"So. Are you like, a real witch?" The blonde asks.

I doubt I'll ever get bored of this part.

I look around like it's some kind of secret, leaning in and lowering my voice for good measure "I may dabble in the mystic arts".

The blond's eyes go wide "I knew it!" she says excitedly. Now she's the one who looks around and leans in.

Here it comes.

"Do you sell love potions?"

And there it is.

Mortals are so predictable. They want Voodoo dolls, hexes, lucky charms, and fortune-telling but by far the hottest commodity is Love Potions.

As if there were such a thing.

Even if they did exist, there are rules for that type of thing. A being can be temporarily charmed, it's extremely easy to alter someone's mind, but it is far more complicated to change someone's heart. In the same way, you can change what someone thinks about you but not how they feel. It's the difference between the truth and a lie. You can make someone say I love you, but you can't make them mean it.

Not that it matters to some people. Like my mother always says "sincerity is overrated".

But I continue to play along "That depends, I'll need details to know what might work for your unique circumstance".

I watch her take a huge breath in and I instantly regret my decision.

"Well. there's this guy in my Art class who I went out with a couple of times last month. I thought we really hit it off but then he didn't say good morning to me last week and I didn't want to be the one to text him first because I don't want to seem desperate. Cuz, like, last year my friend Kyla..."

Oh. please no.

I feel myself zone out and start thinking about what I should convince this chick to buy when the windchimes over the front door ring.

Three customers in an hour.

Must be my lucky day.

I look over to greet the newcomer but do a doubletake when I see a massive man with dark eyes and dull brown hair taking up my doorway.

For a moment I just stare and the girls follow my line of sight. The blonde finally stops talking, trailing off as she looks him over. He is easily over six feet tall, and his sheer bulk is menacing enough but doubled by his hard-set jaw and furrowed brow he doesn't exactly give off a friendly and approachable vibe.

"I'm looking for a Miss. Foster?" he says with a thick Scottish accent, eyeing us down.

"Fine, aaaand foreign," the blonde says under her breath.

I eye him back. Something about him is not human, and the fact that he hasn't stepped into the store yet confirms my suspicion.

He's too big to be a sorcerer and it's daylight so that rules out a vampire, but he could be from the Demonarchy.

Damn it, Daphne. She is never available when I need her.

I am still racking my brain when I catch him ever so subtly sniff the air, grimacing when he spots Daphne.

Bingo. Werewolf.

I can't help but raise an eyebrow. A werewolf with a Scottish brogue. I can't say that we get many of those in Madison.

"I'm Morgan Foster, Do you have business with me?" I ask.

"Aye, my broomstick's broken" he repeats the code, letting me know he's been sent by someone I trust.

"I can help you with that," I say back.

He nods and leans forward slightly looking around. "May I come in?"

"Is that some kind of witch greeting?" the blonde asks her friend, drawing my attention back to them.

"Sorry ladies," I say as I usher them to the door "We are going to have to close up early".

"But, what about my love potion?" the blonde pouts.

I grab a small polished rose quartz and hand it to her as I shoo them along. "Here. This will make you lucky in love" I tell her.

She looks at the stone disappointedly but doesn't say anything as she walks out the door.

Reaching above my new customer's head, I untie the silver charm hanging from the windchimes. Slipping it into my pocket with triumph. I finally know for sure that my Werewolf Warding Charm works!

"You may come in," I tell him, stepping aside.

As the door closes behind him I can see the blonde still lingering out front, looking dejected.

Ugh.

"Hey" I call after her, stopping the door from closing. "Just text him first. He probably thought the same thing as you, about not wanting to appear too eager" I say and begin to close the door again before stopping to add "And if he's not interested, f**k him, he doesn't deserve you anyway". I catch her smile as I close and lock the door.

There. My good deed for the Month is done.

"Alright," I turn back to the Werewolf, gesturing for him to follow me into the back room. "Who's the unlucky bastard that I need to find?"

"His Name is Waylen Baird".

I nod, taking a seat at my desk and gesturing for him to sit across from me.

"Well, I'm going to need a lot more than that to go on".

He shrugs. "We do no have much on him. He disappeared nearly fifteen years ago, and we have been unable to track him down".

"That must be frustrating for you," I say with a smirk "aren't werewolves supposed to be good at tracking their prey?"

Unsurprisingly he doesn't find it nearly as funny as I do. "Aye, that's why we think he's been cheating".

"And hence why you're here".

He nods "The last time we got close to catching him, he was near Guadalajara in Jalisco, Mexico, and that was nearly three years ago. He could be anywhere now".

"You lost his scent?"

He shakes his head, leaning forward "Nah. More than that. It was like he was still around, just kept out of reach. Fer months we searched all over the state. By the time we figured out he could no be tracked that way..."

"He was long gone."

"Aye. The whole thing had gone titties o'wer the side," he slumps back in his chair exasperated.

"So that's why you think he had help." What kind of spell could do that? Or maybe it wasn't a spell at all. But what else could it have been? "Interesting. Well. Just the Scry alone will cost you five thousand. American. Upfront. And I'll also need a personal item, a photo and it would really help if I had some DNA".

"DNA?"

"Yeah. I'm not picky. Blood, hair, skin, spit. a toenail. But I do add a 25% surcharge if you use semen." I was going for humor, but he doesn't even c***k a smile. "I was joking about that last part. I don't accept semen."

"Right. Well, the personal item I have here." he fishes a faded purple ribbon out of his pocket and coils it on my desk. "And the photo, but I'm afraid it's an old one".

He hands the photo to me. It's only a tiny two-by-three inch piece of paper that is crinkled and aged. No s**t, it's an old one, and the boy in the picture couldn't be more than 16. "This is Waylen Baird?"

"Aye. When he was 17."

"He's been missing since he was 17?"

"Och, No"

I look up at him confused.

"He's been on the run since he was 18. No missing."

"So what did he do?"

He leans back in his chair "Yer a nosy wee lass."

"That's kinda my job" I shrug,

"Let's just say, he committed the worst offense a werewolf could do to his own pack."

I'm intrigued, and I desperately wish I knew more about werewolf culture. But I know better than to push for more. I am lucky to get as much as I did. Werewolves are notoriously private.

"What about the DNA?"

He shakes his head.

"Meh. It will work without, but it will only give me a general area, not an exact location."

"How general?"

"Give or take a 150-mile radius"

"That'll do."

"That'll BE $5000." I mimic his accent "Up-front. Cold-hard-plastic only."

I get everything set up while he is paying, laying out my maps, and warming up my grandmother's crystal. I pick up the picture again. Waylen was a good-looking kid. Dark hair and eyes, but a kind, calm smile. He looks happy. I wonder what could have happened to him. Or rather what did he do? It's uncommon for Werewolves to seek help outside of their kind. I always assumed it was a pride thing. However, if they are desperate enough to reach out to me, then finding him must be very important to them.

I examine the ribbon. How is this Waylen's personal item? I'm not one to judge, but it's just not something that I could see the boy in the picture wearing. That could mean he held it close because it belonged to someone special to him. If that's the case, excellent. If there is some kind of emotional attachment associated, it should make it much easier to find him.

I check that the payment was processed before I begin.

"This could take a while," I tell him as I start circling the blue Tanzanite pendulum. It is my most prized possession, past down to me by my grandmother. Plus it's beautiful, with a lovely deep-blue pointed crystal and ornate gold setting and chain. It also so happens to go excellent with my pale skin and accentuates my blue eyes, so I rarely take it off.

Moments pass and the werewolf watches me with interest, but I am not getting anything. I pick up the picture and ribbon, holding them in the same hand as the pendulum, and focus harder on my intent to find Waylen Baird. But still, I get nothing. Not so much as a slight tug or jerk in any direction. I try for several more minutes but get absolutely nothing.

I sigh in frustration and defeat, laying everything back down on the table.

"What's wrong?" he asks, confused as to why I've stopped.

"It's not working, I am not picking up anything," I admit.

"What does that mean?"

"It could be a number of things. Maybe the ribbon wasn't enough of a personal item. Maybe he's out of this realm. Maybe he has some kind of spell or charm that is hiding him, or maybe he is simply dead".

"He's no dead," he says with certainty. Pinching the bridge of his nose he sighs "Fer f**k sakes. What now?"

"Do you want this picture back?"

He looks at me confused and shrugs.

I turn the picture over and scribble a quick Ankh on the back "Well, let's at least make sure he is alive," I say while striking a match, and holding it to the corner of the photo. The flame goes out immediately. I light a second match for good measure and again, the picture remains untouched by fire.

"That means he's alive?"

"Yep, he's out there somewhere" I reassure him "It also means he can't be in any of the Hell Plains".

I walk over to my seeing glass gesturing for him to follow me.

"Now, that's a big magnifying glass."

"It's a looking glass" I correct "If I can see him in it, I will be able to confirm that he is in the Mortal Earth Realm somewhere".

I hold Wyalen's picture up under the glass with one hand and rub my other around the golden edge while the purple ribbon is laced through my twirling fingers. After a few moments, a blurry image starts to appear. It's hard to make out and all I can see is a dark blob with what could be eyes. I keep rubbing, hoping that I can get it to clear up a little better.

"Aye, that's Solus," he says as I can start to make out a nose and eyes.

"Solus?"

"Aye, Waylen's wolf."

Ah yes. The wolf inside a werewolf is its own being. It's a foreign concept to those who are not quadruped inclined. "Well, he is most defiantly alive and in this realm."

"Ok... Now what?" he looks at me expectantly.

"That's it."

"Ah dinnae follow".

"I mean, I have told you everything that I could find out from what was available."

"So exactly what I already ken when I walked in here?"

I shrug.

"How exactly does that help me?"

Again I shrug.

"Fer christ's sakes, leave it to a witch with your half-answers," He says. scrubbing a hand down his face. "I ken it was a waste of time to come here".

"Then why did you come here? I mean, Maine is an awful long way from Scotland. Don't you have a local coven who could have given you the same information?" I am not familiar with many other covens around the world. Hell, I'm not even "familiar" with my own at the moment. But I know that Scottland is rich in many fantastical beings, and is a hub for mystics in general. In fact, a lot of what we practice today comes from the ancient druids who came before us.

"Our pack has a... sordid history with the white women."

"And every other coven on your side of this world?"

A smirk creeps to the corner of his lips "Clever, Miss Foster."

"You're here for me specifically."

"Aye."

"Well, if you're here because you were expecting a miracle from Lady Lydia's daughter. I am sorry to disappoint, but that's not who I am anymore."

He looks confused "Ah dinnae ken who Lady Lydia is".

Now it's my turn to be confused. I get a lot of customers who come to me solely because I am technically the next in line to lead one of the most powerful covens in North America. Somehow they believe that sets me apart. Despite the fact that I have absolutely no intention of going through with my "destined" role. To my mother's great dismay I refuse to continue my high priestess training. In fact, I don't know what she hates more, the fact that I won't succeed her, or that I chose to leave and live among the mortal population. If I am being completely honest, the novelty magic shop was originally just an idea to spite her, but it has since turned into a fun and profitable cover.

"Then why am I the lucky recipient of your business?"

"We ken Waylen has a Mystic's help to hide from us, leaving us no other option than to seek one for ourselves. You may no be the only headhunter with powers that could be useful to us, but let's just say you fit the bill in more ways than one."

"More ways than one?" What is that supposed to mean? "And wait. You were auditioning me?" I don't know whether to be impressed or offended.

To his credit, he looks slightly sheepish "Aye, I suppose you could call it that."

"Well did I pass?"

"You're very talented. You use things I have never even heard of before. And you can adapt when the situation calls for it".

I narrow my eyes at him "But that's not why you want me". I know I am good at what I do, and it's true that I am constantly improving and creating new magical items, but I can tell he doesn't really care about that stuff.

The werewolf smirks "As I said, there is another reason you would be perfect for the job".

"What job?"

"We would like you to find Waylen Baird," he says "Personally".