Chapter Ten, In Which Several Bad Things Take Place

AN: Aaaannndd, ladies and gentlemen! It's time to find out what's up with Ms. Red Hair! Oh, and a special thanks to all of my lovely reviewers, because I don't think I can say this enough: reviews seriously make my day. They mean people read my stuff, and have things to say about it, which is amazing- hey, you all are probably writers as well as readers, so you know what I'm talking about! You probably know perfectly well that a writer whose day has just been made writes faster than one whose day… has been unmade… er… annnyyywaayy, that was my not-so-subtle attempt to get y'all to keep on reviewing! Now, enough of my yammering, on to Chapter Ten!

That bitch. That bitch! Literally! How dare she?! After I saved her furry ass, let her in on our secret and bandaged up her stupid little scratch?! Seething, I stalked over to lean against the cold fireplace, folding my arms across my chest and tucking my fingers beneath the opposite shoulders in order to keep them from reaching out and strangling her.

Look at her. Standing there swamped in my favorite sleeping shirt (which of course Caleb picked for her, the bastard), gingerly holding a hand to her shoulder where she'd been nicked by the bullet earlier, all that hair loose across her back. Oh-so-innocent, hmm? Psh. Caleb and the others were openly grinning at her, plainly admiring her little ear-murdering move. Damn, but that girl didn't have fingers or claws, she had freaking pincers!

Glowering at her wasn't having much effect. I felt a burning in my cheeks, and cursed my fair complexion: I was flushing with an obnoxious and horrifying mix of embarrassment, anger and lust. Damn it, I'm a teenage guy! Of course I got turned on by having a fairly attractive nude girl lying under me! But why oh why did it have to be this particular girl? Fate hates me, I swear.

And I had to admit, despite my newfound dislike for all things Kat Teague, she looked pretty adorable in my clothes.

At that very moment, the girl in question gave a huge, dog-like yawn, complete with tongue-curling and a faint, high-pitched sigh. Tyler smiled, as did Pogue. Caleb's eyes twinkled, and I felt like kicking them all. Now they all thought she was cute, didn't they? Aw, look at the sweet little vicious temptress of a werewolf, with her wide yawns and big, shiny eyes!

I was not amused.

"I doubt that that woman, whoever she is, will come after you again tonight, Kat," our Fearless Leader said warmly. "She waited a month last time, and chances are she won't attack again so soon. You should go home, get some sleep. Make sure to lock the doors and all, though I think we can all see you're capable of taking care of yourself."

"I'll drive you home," Tyler offered shyly, and Kat smiled at him. That's right, Baby Boy, be all caring and compassionate. Pussy. I wisely kept my inner commentary to myself.

"Thanks," Kat said. "You don't have to worry, by the way. I can control myself." I snorted, and she studiously ignored me.

"We'll get in touch with you tomorrow, okay? And if anything else happens, let one of us know," Pogue said, also warmly, but with a hint of the stony seriousness he could assume in an instant. I eyed him, knowing he was remembering what had happened to Kate. Damsels in distress. Get him every time. Ah, who am I kidding? They get me, too. Only the damsel I decided to rescue wasn't exactly brimming with gratitude, now was she?

"I'm gonna want those clothes back," I called as Kat and Tyler headed for the door. She didn't answer, but waved a hand dismissively at me. I huffed as Caleb and Pogue clapped me on the shoulders, snickering, and walked out. Just as I was about to go find myself some of my mother's liquor, Kat stuck her head back through the front doorway.

"Thank you," she yelled, sounding as if it hurt to say the words. Then, she was gone. I frowned, shrugged, and shook my head.

Women.

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When Kat got home, aching and exhausted, she said goodnight to Tyler and slipped into her darkened house. There was a note taped to the front banister of the stairwell that she almost didn't see. Pulling it off the old wood, Kat scanned her eyes across her father's blocky, all-caps writing. 'CALL NEXT TIME', it read. A brief rush of guilt flooded her chest, followed closely by affection for this man who was her father.

Folding the note, Kat continued up the stairs to her own room. She tossed the piece of paper on her empty desk and flopped face-first onto her bed, asleep before she hit the covers.

Unconsciously, the girl curled under her sheets and wrapped her arms around herself, drawing the warmth of the Sex Pistols shirt closer and inhaling, with a smile, someone else's scent.

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"I have to admit, I wasn't expecting that. Foolish of me, really. I knew, of course, about his powers, but I didn't think he'd risk succumbing to their seduction for the sake of a girl he barely knows. I suppose I should reevaluate, yes? I took him for a thoughtless punk, but now I'm thinking he's more of a sort of elegant young tough. Rescuing damsels in distress. That attitude, though… that will have to be dealt with." The voice faded in and out, blurring like music notes on a wet page.

Slowly, woozily, Kat opened her eyes. The lids stuck together a bit, but when she blinked, she managed to squint them open. Her head felt heavy, and her mouth was dry.

She was lying down on something soft and plush, like a giant stuffed animal. Groggily, Kat pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked around.

Bars.

Cage.

What?

It was true. She was curled on a large cushion, surrounded by metal bars. Trapped in a girl-sized birdcage. Swallowing in order to get some of the dryness out of her throat, she tried to make a noise, but all that came out was a sort of dry, husking cough.

"Oh, you're awake. Finally. I was getting tired of talking to myself." A slow, delighted smile. "You've caused me a great deal of trouble, Miss Teague. Though now that I know your name, you were much easier to track. I would have done my business with you at your house, but I felt that wouldn't exactly be wise, so here you are." It was the redhead, dressed in a green silk kimono, standing elegantly near the cage. Kat swallowed again, and this time, managed to speak.

"Who are you?" Not the best question, perhaps, but better than wasting her breath with curses. The woman raised her hand to her breast.

"I am Mary Harcortte, High Priestess of the Order of Sappho," she said proudly. Kat blinked at her. Sappho? As in the poet? "We're a highly feminist occultist sect," Mary Harcortte clarified. "And I'm terribly sorry, because I'm sure you're a wonderful girl, but sacrifices must be made to pave the way to greatness." Kat had no idea what she was talking about, but the whole 'sacrifices' thing did not sound good.

"What," she croaked, before falling silent again. Harcortte smiled indulgently.

"Reid Garwin will ascend in two days. That is the flux of power, when he is both strongest and most vulnerable. In all the lines of Ipswich, no girls have ever been gifted. It was the tragedy of Salem, really: the women that burned were very rarely actual witches; usually, only males had the power. Now, though, the five lines running from Salem have been tainted until the gift is only bestowed on boys." Kat coughed, and felt her throat clear some.

"Why come after me," she managed. "I have nothing to do with-" Harcortte laughed.

"Oh, my dear, you just have extremely bad luck. Even in California, it wasn't you. The Sons of Ipswich have been my targets all along." Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Harcortte answered the unspoken question. "There is a ritual that will remove the power from one of the Ipswich lines at the moment of the eldest son's ascendance and allow it to be shaped and anchored elsewhere. I mean to harness Mr. Garwin's power and bestow it upon my coven so that it will be inherited by our daughters, instead of these five, power-corrupted families. The ritual is quite simple, really. Only one thing was hard to find: the lifeblood of someone non-magical, but more than human. That, of course, is where you come in. I was going to collect your blood in California and store it, but you evaded me then. Last night, Mr. Garwin, surprisingly, came to your rescue. I no longer had the time to plan another attack, so I just waited until you went home and spirited you away. Now, I'm going to give you a choice: would you like to stay in the cage until Wednesday morning, or would you prefer I just killed you now and saved you the despair?"

Kat stared at Mary Harcortte, mouth open, a Sex Pistols-adorned teenager in a gilt cage.

Oh, she thought blankly. Well, shit.

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"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Mr. Teague?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"It's, um, it's Caleb Danvers. I'm a school friend of Kat's."

"Oh, are you friends with Sarah?"

"Yes, she's my girlfriend."

"Oh, well, that's great. I met Sarah. Real nice girl."

"Yes, sir, she is. Ah, is Kat there?"

"No, she hasn't gotten back from school."

"School?"

"Yes. It's a common institution these days, I hear. Speaking of which, why aren't you in school, young man?"

"We didn't have school today, sir. Teacher work day."

"Ah. Well, then, I don't suppose you know where that girl is, then? She wasn't home when I went to bed last night, by the way. Was she with your crowd? Were you having a party or something?"

"Uh. No. No party. We went to a dance club, that's all. Did you see her this morning? Did she mention anything about going somewhere?"

"No, I didn't see her. Hmm, that's strange, isn't it? I suppose she was still asleep when I left for work."

"Well, when she gets home, could you ask her to call me? Or Sarah? She's got the number."

"Sure thing, Caleb. You have a nice day."

"You too, Mr. Teague." Caleb hung up the phone with a frown, rubbing his jaw.

"So? Where the hell is she? Why hasn't she called one of us, or come by?" Pogue looked worried, and Kate rubbed a hand down his arm. The dark-skinned girl had taken the news about Kat's true nature with the same grace that she'd had when Pogue had told her the truth, as had Sarah. It helped to have supernatural boyfriends before finding out about supernatural friends.

"I don't know, and neither does her father. He was already in bed when she got home last night, and he didn't see her this morning or, for that matter, at all today."

"Well," said Sarah, "maybe she just slept in late and then went out for something."

"Yeah. That's probably it. I mean, she did have a pretty busy night last night," Caleb agreed with a faint smile. In the corner of the room, Reid said nothing, but stared moodily at his gloved hands.

"If that's it, then why do I have this annoying feeling that my favorite shirt's in danger?"

"Your shirt or the girl that's wearing it?" The blond didn't answer for a moment, and then he rolled his eyes.

"I always sleep in that shirt. I'm having withdrawal symptoms, that's all," he said with a self-deprecating grin. "Come on, guys. Let's get out of here."

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Danny Teague, forty-five, married nineteen years, divorced six months, was experiencing, not for the first time, a severe disorder commonly known as 'teenage-child-itis'. He sat at his kitchen table, trying to focus on his new spy thriller, every once in a while glancing at the clock on the wall across from him. It was 7:53 PM, and he had not seen his daughter in twenty-four hours. Her friends, apparently, did not know where she was. She had no cell phone. She had not come downstairs to greet him that morning. She had gotten home late the night before… or had she? He felt the first stirrings of real concern on top of the annoyance and offense that came with being ignored by his child, and got up decisively.

Kat's father, having been home for three hours now, decided to go ahead and check Kat's room. Maybe she'd left a note, and he'd just been too stupid to look for it. Speaking of notes… He ran a hand down the front banister upon reaching the stairs. The slip of paper he'd taped there the night before was gone. For some reason, this did not reassure him. There was a strange, low-down foreboding filling him, edging along the corners of his being and urging him up the stairs.

Pushing open Kat's door, Danny glanced around the room. It was messy, though they'd only lived in the house for a week or so, but the desk was completely clear except for a folded piece of paper. Stepping over a pair of jeans, he reached out and took the paper, staring down at his own handwriting. She had gotten home, found the note, gone to her room. He looked at the bed. The sheets were straightened, the blue fleece blanket neatly folded down. Kat never makes her bed. As he watched, the corner of the fleece waved a little. He looked to the window, which, naturally, should have been closed to keep the chilly breeze out.

His throat felt tight and constricted, and he went slowly to the open shutters. There, on the white paint of the sill, right beneath the spot where a badly hammered nail jutted from the frame, was a small, inconspicuous smear of blood. He touched it, found it dry. Leaning out, he could see a patch of lawn, and the road. Looking down, he saw that the lawn beneath the window was a different shade than the lawn to the left, as if the blades of grass had been trod upon, bending them differently.

There was a sudden loud tolling sound, and he jumped. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and Kat was not home. Kat had not been home this afternoon. Kat had not been home this morning.

In that moment, one finger still on that solitary spot of red, staring at the place where someone had stood beneath the windowsill, Danny Teague discovered what horror was.