Muddy Waters (Otherwhere Book 1) Read online

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  Stephen Hawking Fears Rift-Related Doomsday, and He’s Not Alone

  Stephen Hawking bet Gordon Kane $100 that there is no such thing as paranormal phenomena. After losing that bet when the so-called “Rift” occurred late last year, Hawking lamented the event, saying it made physics less interesting. Now, in the preface to a new collection of essays and lectures called Humans and the Other, the famous theoretical physicist warns that the situation could one day be responsible for the destruction of the known universe.

  Hawking is not the only scientist who thinks so. The theory of a Rift doomsday, where quantum disturbances create what is essentially a black hole that pulls in space and wipes out the universe, has been around for a while. However, scientists don’t think it could happen anytime soon.

  –By Leslie Manning, science writer for the New York Times, 2008

  CHAPTER ONE

  omeone told me once that if you have to ask whether you are going crazy, then you likely are not, in fact, losing your mind. I spent five years hoping that was true.

  The thing is, I had finally gotten the litany of names right in my head, so it sounded beautiful. The names of all the women of my family.

  Just how much time had I spent doing so? A thousand hours? Two thousand? More? Sometimes the list was the one fragile thing anchoring me to this world.

  Time becomes a strange beast indeed when let loose from a clock.

  It was this line of thinking I pursued, when on a tail end of a quick tap, the door to my room unlocked, then clicked open.

  Nurse Tina, heavy of thigh and heavier of makeup, stood there with one of the boneheads. It was almost never the same bonehead. In five years, I rarely had the same one. I think the theory was the Reddick Witch is such a dangerous criminal, they’d best change up my handlers in case we have an “incident.”

  “Reddick? Somebody here to see you. Get on up,” Tina said. “Come on, now.”

  I was flat on my back on the cool floor with my legs up the wall. I tipped my head to look at her, upside down. Tina doesn’t take any shit from anybody, Human or otherwise.

  “A visitor? Another magazine reporter?” I made air quotes around the word “magazine,” still not deigning to move. Because why not?

  Tina shook her head, over-inflated bleach-blond hair totally motionless. She’s one of those southern women who think the higher their hair, the closer they are to Jesus. “Naw, we don’t have no magazine reporters. Come on now, get up.”

  I took a while to get off the floor.

  “How long has it been since you washed your hair?” Tina put a hand on her hip, a teasing smile showing her crooked teeth. She’s not scared of me or anybody else for that matter. Granted, no one can do magic in the building, so she has little to fear, but that’s beside the point.

  “For your information, I washed it yesterday. As you know, I am without such luxuries as proper grooming equipment. What do you think this is? A Beverly Hills spa?” We both laughed. Gallows humor does a body good. I raked a hand through the tangled mess on my head, which, unless I was missing my mark, currently looked like I went through a carwash then fell asleep in a wind tunnel. It had grown way out and now fell not simply down past my shoulder blades but out past the ends of my shoulders. And, of course, I would not be so lucky as to inherit my mother’s beautiful straight black hair. No, it had to be some other relative’s crazy red spirals.

  Derek the Bonehead brandished a pair of soft restraints, which I casually allowed to fasten on my wrists. Then he put on the restraint belt tethering us together. I allowed that too. Really, what was the point in struggling? Back when I fought every chance I got, I would buck and writhe and make it hard for them to get me to do whatever they wanted me to do.

  Maybe I got smarter.

  Maybe I just gave up.

  Besides, I wanted to see this mystery visitor, even if he ended up trying to kill me, like the last one did.

  Derek took a solid hold of my arm, and we marched forward. I’m fairly certain many of the hospital’s boneheads must have been Werehounds, but it was never confirmed to me.

  “Watch it, kid, you’ll bruise the merchandise.” I waggled my eyebrows. He scowled and let out a very low growl but held firm.

  Just outside the door loitered a small cadre of boneheads.

  “All this for lil ol’ me?” I batted my lashes. They surrounded us, me and Derek in the ring of armed guards wrapped in protective gear.

  As the herd shuffled down the hallway, I bombarded Tina with questions. “Who is it? What does he want? What does he look like? Is he tall, dark, and handsome?”

  Tina laughed in spite of herself. “Girl, you are too much. I don’t know. I ain’t seen him. They just called and said bring you down. But he’s got all kinds of papers on you, supposably.” Even though she’s one hundred percent Human, Nurse Tina can pin a water buffalo in point three seconds. Precise diction isn’t part of her general repertoire though.

  We arrived at the waiting room. Institutional-grade couches and coffee tables peppered the place, but the visitor sat at a low Formica table at the back wall. The sharp tang of disinfectant made my eyes water a little. When he stood, I was struck by how tall he was. A good bit over six feet. And attractive. Granted, my bar for “hot men” was set pretty low. After this long, I’d seen a couple of bare-naked asses, but trust me, at a place like Lakeland, those weren’t the ones you wanted to see. This guy though… He reminded me a little bit of the Goth wannabe Witches at my high school back in the day. But he was actually cool.

  His skin was pale and his blue-black hair shaggy but not unkempt. He wore dark jeans, a black t-shirt, and a deep gray leather jacket, all of it fitting like it was tailor-made to grace his body. A Dark Elf. Been a while since I’d seen one, even before I began my unfortunate incarceration at the Lakeland Psychiatric Hospital. Full Others work there, but Humans, Halfs, Knackers, and the rare Other are the only ones allowed to be patients. I sometimes wondered if Others have their own version of Lakeland on their side.

  My mouth went dry and my palms clammy, as my mind began to wake up for the first time in five years.

  A guard posted himself at the door. Derek guided me into a chair and fastened me to the bolt on the table.

  The pale man looked at us.

  “Is this she?”

  “I’m Tessa Reddick, if that’s what you’re asking,” I barked, much harsher than I wanted to. Besides my daily chats with Tina, I hadn’t had a lot of practice in the social arts the last few years. He gave me a hard look.

  Tina cleared her throat behind me and squeezed my arm hard―a message to shape up. People like Tina make or break you in a place like this. She could have had me in a drug-induced haze three feet thick in no time flat if she wanted to. “You all have a little talk.” She pointed daggers at me with her brown eyes. “I’ll be out in the hall. But I don’t expect there to be any problems.” I nodded my assent. “Your fifteen minutes starts now.”

  I shifte
d in the hard plastic chair. He sat rigidly across from me and pulled out a very shiny badge. “Special Agent Qyll Toutant. FBI. Supernormal Investigations.” That voice. A little bit of a Welsh accent in a most pleasing timbre. The trademark silver eyes of his race.

  My warm bits got a little warmer.

  “Supernormal? Is that what they’re calling them these days?” I tried to sound cavalier.

  “It was deemed the least offensive term for the immigrants.”

  I snorted.

  He folded his long-fingered hands on the table. “Miss Reddick, I shall not mince words. I understand you are a Witch and a rather gifted one at that. Also, you have a working understanding of Otherwhere and are a superior practitioner of Air Magic. Is that accurate?”

  The answer hung in my throat. I’d worked hard trying to convince myself that Magic was bad, that it was the reason I was in this aesculapian prison and therefore not be mentioned. But it’s like telling a fish not to swim. And now, this man, here, bringing it up like an everyday thing.

  I leaned closer to him. “I want to know who you are and why you’re here.”

  “I’ve told you who I am.” His tone sharpened just a hair. “And I’m here because the FBI needs your help.”

  My jaw tightened. I kept my voice low, too, and stared him right in the eyes. “Yeah, I’m a Witch. I know all about the Rift. I know what goes bump in the night, and I can pull a rabbit out of a hat. I’ve been on death row, I’ve been declared mentally incompetent, and I’ve been subjected to all manner of bodily searches. I also cannot imagine what the FBI wants with me.”

  Which didn’t stop me from being curious and terrified at the same time. I’d been at Lakeland for so long and had only the odd visitor come to gawk at the crazy killer Witch, like the damn rubberneckers at a circus freak show. Tina sends them packing, except the one time, the first time… when a hex mage blew himself up trying to curse me inside a heavily fortified anti-magic area. “I don’t know any FBI agents. And I didn’t think I warranted a federal case.”

  He inclined his head. “Can you tell me your mother’s name?”

  “No,” I said automatically. He lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “Sorry. Old habits.” You don’t give names out easily if you know what’s good for you. Too easy for something to summon you if it knows your true name. But I guess it didn’t matter now. “Cerridwyn Reddick. She’s dead. She died…” Heat bubbled in my chest at the thought. I fought down a grimace as my voice caught in my throat. “She died a few years ago.”

  “Yes. In a house fire that killed thirty-seven people. All women. All Witches. All your blood kin.”

  “Bullshit.” I growled as anger kept rising unbidden in my eyes, and a hard lump swelled in my throat.

  “A house fire you deny setting.” His tone wasn’t condemning.

  “I didn’t summon it.” I slammed my fists on the table. “And I didn’t set that fire,” I said. Well, shouted, whatever. “We were getting ready for a High Sabbat… and, I still don’t know what happened. I don’t remember. It’s all in the court documents, which I’m sure you have read.”

  He kept looking at me with those silvery eyes, his voice curiously calm. “And what do you know of the Rift?”

  “Seriously? Screw you, jackass.” I stood up, chains clanking, awkward in the restraints. “Tina! Come back. I’m done.”

  He remained silent, staring up at me.

  We glared at each other for a long beat.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, sliding back into the chair. “Ok. I’ll play along.” Placing my hands primly in front of me, I gave him my best a cheesy documentary voice. “Hello, I’m Tessa Reddick. I’m a Witch. My family is centuries old, maybe more. Before the Rift, people like me told everybody we were just really good at being Wiccans. More than a decade ago, the veil between the worlds just dropped. How curious! Now, the event itself is called “the Rift.” The actual hole between the worlds is also commonly referred to as “the Rift.” For example, “Before the Rift, I could not schlep my ass through the Rift.”

  “Creatures not from Earth, from the place we call now Otherwhere, come through the holes. Some of them on vacation! Look at them now, watching the fat lazy Humans like cows on a farm! Sometimes Humans go the other way into that world. Look at them now, getting lost over there and getting turned into god-knows-what! Big bads and big goods can’t stay long on Earth because they’re too powerful. We’re all one big happy family now, except we’re not. Go this way or that, we’re all mad here.”

  By the time I got to the end of it, my voice was shaking and stone cold.

  “Is that enough?”

  Agent Toutant regarded me for a moment, then nodded. “It will suffice for now.” He flipped open a file in front of him. “First, I’d like to talk about why we need your assistance. The FBI created the Supernormal Investigations unit seven years ago. We are a regional office covering the Mid-Atlantic and Upper South area of the United States. You have probably not heard of us. We are, as some say, under the radar. Our purpose is to investigate crimes in Earth involving Others or those who have learned magic. As well as the mostly Humans. Earth-born, I believe most call them.”

  “Mostly Human as in, say, Witches.”

  He nodded. “Precisely.” He flipped through his papers. “To which end, your father? I’m sorry, I am not aware of his background.”

  “Neither am I. He was Human. That’s all I know.”

  Toutant made a note.

  “So by-the-book.” He raised his head. “Oh, don’t mind me. Document away. But just tell me first, where the hell were you and your little file when I was tried and locked up for something I didn’t do?” My voice sounded strained and uneven.

  He blinked. “There was an agent present at every legal proceeding. However, the evidence against you was great enough that at the time, we couldn’t have done much. Laws have changed, and our counterevidence is much more plentiful now.”

  “Took you long enough.”

  “Be that as it may, SI deals in Other affairs as well as those of Original Other beings like Mordieri Primus, and Wrach Du. All the magical hierarchies from Hedge to Hex. The Weres, as well as Fulls, Jezebels, Bachuses, Totemics, among others. Those with learned magic via talisman or curse are also among our purview. Tell me, have you heard of Others’ Little Helpers?”

  I nodded. “One of them tried to see me several months ago. Wanted to interview me.” The guy―Mark something―had nearly gotten through because Tina was off that day and the nurse in charge thought the kid really was my brother.

  Toutant pointed to the paper between us. It was a screenshot of an Internet site. “They fancy themselves a watchdog group for individuals in your situation.”

  “What, in the loony bin? Yes, the editor has made rather a nuisance of himself. He writes me a lot of fan mail.”

  “Mr. Mark Tabler, correct?”

  I went with a noncommittal nod. “He’s been emailing for a while.” What I mean by that is, he sends Tina emails, and sometimes she reads them to me, and we have a bit of a laugh. I’m not allowed access to the Internet, and I’m sure my old address is jammed with spam, so it’s the best I can hope for.

  “He’s been busy. They believe you were framed, Miss Reddick,” Qyll said quietly.

  I looked up at him, waiting for the punchline. That didn’t seem to be forthcoming. My heart rate quickened again. I wanted to shout, “I was! I was framed! I didn’t do it!” But I’d spent my first year screaming that to everybody in shouting range, and all I got for my efforts were bigger doses of Attivan and Klonopin.

  I swallowed hard instead.

  It should go without saying my many months at Lakeland had been the most despairing in my life. I had zero proof I did not start the fire, and to hear someone―anyone―set themselves on my side fostered a tiny cautious hope.

  “We believe them. Partly because you were tried by an exclusively Human court instead of a jury of your peers, and in the last five years, we at SI have been
unable to touch you or your case. Blocked, as it were. I don’t have time to go into details now, and many of them are above my pay grade. What we do know is that the evidence was circumstantial at best, and at worst, a carefully articulated frame-up.

  “The Arcana put a curious lack of emphasis on the situation as well, even after the attempt on your life. We don’t know why they turned a blind eye, but they did, and for the most part, they remain rather steadfast in the belief you are indeed guilty. While the details of your case remain bizarre and something the FBI plans to investigate further with your full cooperation, most importantly, we want you to join Supernormal Investigations. SI needs your expertise. And you need our protection. We have not been able to find an American Witch on this side who is of your caliber. Especially after those who may have been of help perished in the very house fire that you have been accused of starting.”

  He did not say any of this unkindly. And he smelled, I noticed, very nice―like the winter woods at midnight.

  “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.” My tone was grim.

  I let it all percolate through my head. Freedom and a chance to figure it all out. I’d be crazy not to jump at this, right? (Ha―see what I did there? Crazy?)

  “Ok, but what’s in this for me? I’m not really interested in being someone’s trained monkey. And I’m kind of out of the magic business.”

  “You mean besides clearing your name and learning the truth?”

  Toutant flipped through the file. He laid out four eight-by-ten glossy photos that were mostly just masses of red and purple with brown streaks. I took them for snapshots of some kind of modern painting until I realized what I was looking at.

  “What did that?” I gasped, looking at him in horror. His face remained placid.

  “That, Miss Reddick, is what we need you for.”

  “What happened to those… oh my god… were those horses?” My gorge rose at the sight. I fought not to vomit my cafeteria Salisbury steak all over the table. He put the photos away. A few deep breaths through the nose settled me down a little bit.