*Gwen

Under normal circumstances, a witch would have to be out of her mind, or seriously high, to try and take on two warlocks bent on making an arrest. They pivoted to stalk her like hunters after a doe in the forest.

She flexed her fist.

A normal witch's primary defense at this point would be to run. Secondary defense would be mind control—minds were so easy to trick, at least ones without protection. Warlocks had protection, though.

Their first offense would be to get in a few good punches or they might even pull out a gun. The slime of the witching world thought highly of fighting dirty.

Fine. The most important lesson her coven had taught her—and their only lesson she still lived by—only good girls kept their hands clean.

Behind the advancing warlocks, her minion was crawling for the relative safety of his back rooms. His shirt hung in rags and he was already gleaming in sweat and blood. Poor human. Why were warlocks such moldy arsespigots?

"Witch," said the limp biscuit with dark hair, "I am Agent Lee, and this is Agent Olson" He nodded towards the balding warlock. "You are wanted in connection to the murder of the human named McFerguson. You will come with us now, one way or another."

They paused, watching her.

"Do you want me to say something else?" she asked. "I already said was here. You summoned me, so—"

As Lee came in with a raised fist, Olson moved to the side to block her exit. She shoved both hands forward and twisted them outwards. A spiral of shining silver flashed in the air. With it, an invisible force exploded into the room, shaking the foundations, and sending both warlocks flying up and backwards. Lee hit the wall over Corman's head before nearly falling on him. Olson hurtled sideways into the T.V., smashing the huge screen. Corman screamed. He scrambled on his ass away from the groaning warlock.

Gwen smiled. She might have even smirked, although she normally detested that facial expression. Too smug. But shit. The extra power knew how to make a girl happy. She wiped her hands together.

"All right human, get your things, we're—"

Lee smashed into her. As she tumbled, he caught her neck in a choking hold. Her face was pressed into the carpet. His body pinned her flat to the floor, cutting off oxygen.

"Get over here, I need the cuffs," he yelled.

Cuffs would block her magic, maybe even her souped-up powers. She reached behind her head, searching blindly for any part of his body. She found a knee.

"Satu feuer," she whispered. She had to hope that his whole body wouldn't burst into flames while he was still sitting on her.

A baton cracked onto her wrist bone and she clamped her jaw against the pain. He had a wand to block her spell. Fuck.

The point dug into her nape.

"I said, get over—"

Another voice screamed and the weight shifted on her back. Someone lighter was now laying on her. Corman.

He wrestled with the warlock, hand to hand, while she was squished alternately by them both. Her heart made an odd lurch. Helping her was a death sentence by warlock hands, and not a pretty one. He was a hero, whether he knew it or not.

She twisted, letting her fingers dance into stylized letters.

"Block that, assladle," she muttered.

The warlock brandished the wand just as her fireball engulfed him. As one great flame, he hurtled backwards to hit the wall with a loud splat, leaving a blackened smudge like a bug smear on a windshield. The blaze sputtered and arched, some bits of fire landing on the floor and nearby furniture. In only a few seconds, the whole living room was going up.

One warlock down, one to go. She rolled to her feet. Corman flopped on the ground, trying to put the flames out with the remnants of his tee-shirt and the sofa pillows.

But this wasn't a normal fire.

"Os einfrieze," Olson yelled.

Bone chilling cold swept through Gwen's body. She lurched forward. Her hands and knees hit the carpet. She had never heard of warlocks so willing to use spoken magic spells before. Her body crackled with cold, leaving her thin and brittle as the ice on a pond in early winter.

She pressed a palm to her heart which fluttered in her chest. This balding spalpeen really thought he was going to take her into their control center and make an example of her? That they decided what rules to follow and how to enforce them? Warlocks were traitors to all other witches. And she wouldn't give him jack-shit.

She stood, drawing on her wild, uncontrollable power. She cracked her knuckles as warmth flooded her muscles.

"Do you want to call it a draw or keep going?" she asked. "I'm having a really good day so far."

The warlock, only somewhat recovered from being smashed into the TV, blanched and his mouth opened and closed. There was an amulet of blue crystal dangling from his hand. That must have been the spell's source. Warlocks were getting better toys these days. The amulet would fetch a great price on the market....

Instead of answering, he charged.

Her hands spun, creating a silver knot. He hit it like a solid shield. Stunned, he stumbled back to stare at her stupidly.

The fire in the living room was spreading. The smoke was thick and noxious with cooked warlock, electronics and the carpet. She held a hand to face to block the growing heat.

Her human was nowhere to be seen. A distant siren wailed.

The warlock pulled a gun.

She froze in place, not daring to move—no witch in the world was faster than bullets.

"You are under arrest, witch," he said, coughing.

Corman appeared from the bedroom with a heavy backpack on, saw the gun, and screamed again. Olson spun to face him. Gwen flicked her fingers. He slammed into the wall, letting the gun fall to the floor.

Corman jumped over him, but screamed at the fire in the living room.

Gwen grabbed his arm to pull him out of the burning basement.

A hand wrapped around her ankle. She tumbled forward.

"Os einfrieze," the warlock snarled, climbing on top of her. He cupped her chin to shove the amulet in her mouth. She let him.

Instead of saying, you already tried that spell, since her mouth was full, she smacked him on the forehead. Then, drawing her fingers together, she traced a spiral in silver smoke. She let her fingers open as letting go of something.

He blinked in confusion at her. Slowly, he moved off her body, gazing at the burning room in dismay and total incomprehension.

She spit out the amulet. "Thanks for this. I'm not sure if the brain damage is permanent or not, but for what it's worth, you should know you are a complete squirrelnutter."

"A what?" he asked, horror replacing the confusion on his face.

"A squir—"

Corman yanked her arm. "We have to go! We have to get—" A fit of coughing interrupted him.

Sirens were closing in. He was right. If they didn't get out now, they would be trapped by human police.

They squeezed out the door at the same time and stumbled up the stairs. Smoke billowed out with them. A fire truck and several police cars were pulling up the curb. It was growing dark, and the untamed lawn had several bushes and trees in it, but none of that would hide them for long.

Gwen muttered, pissed. She splayed her hands outward. Nothing.

Gasping, she tried again. There was nothing. No power left in her veins. No electricity jumping through her nerves. Not even a few fumes powered by emergency panic to hide them from sight.

Corman gaped at the police cars. She grabbed the backpack straps and shoved him behind a prickly firethorn bush along the front of the house.

He started to scream again, and she clamped a hand over his mouth. "Go, go, go!"

She dragged him behind her, thorns scratching every exposed inch of skin all the way to the edge of the house. The smoke was really pouring out of doors and corners by then, and from the pops and creaking from inside, the fire must have spread to the ground floor at least. Policemen shouted.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Olson, whose mind she had erased, was walking out of the basement in a daze. Firemen and policemen rushed to him.

"All right, go," she cried, shoving Corman. They ran to the neighboring back yard, the neighbors were gathered out front, taking in the show. They ducked under tree branches and climbed over fences for three blocks until they made it to the parking lot at the bar.

Gwen took a deep breath. "Right. This is where we part ways. Sorry about setting your apartment on fire, but I'm sure you have insurance. Take care."

His mouth dropped open. "You can't—I don't—but we, we have to get out—"

"There's no we."

"You destroyed my apartment. My cousin's house. Those guys pretending to be officers took me hostage and threatened to lock me up for the rest of my life. You have to help me."

"I did help you. I just saved you. Look, one of the warlocks was a sooty smudge when we left and I really doubt the other one will ever remember anything of his former life again. You're gold." She clapped him on his sweaty, bare shoulder. Her bag was tucked in a dark corner between the trash bin and the wall. She pulled it free. "You should think about getting a shirt on, though. Go in the bar, have a drink. You'll have an alibi for the evening that way."

"I don't have any shirts or alibis. The detective was at my house questioning me only minutes before you showed up and set everything on fire. They will know I was there. You're some kind of magic-user. Can't you use magic to make this..." His voice drifted off, but he waved his fingers. "Poof?"

She strode to her bike, not bothering with a goodbye,, and ignoring that unfamiliar lurch her heart was doing again. "I saved you from the witching world. The human world is your problem."

She kicked the stand free, but couldn't throw one leg over the bike and leave.

*** Change of heart? Cramp in her calves? Why isn't Gwen taking off, when that's what she's best at? ***