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Chapter twenty-three

T he entire afternoon was gone by the time Bob was released from the infirmary. It was a quarter past four when he made his way to his office, looking disheveled.

“Boss, what took you so long?” Abby asked as he rushed into the office.

“Well, it seems mending bones and internal organs takes a very long time.” Bob sat cautiously in his chair. “What’s going on?”

“The witches are here!” Abby exclaimed.

“Is that code for something?” Bob searched his office for an explanation.

“Code for the delegation from the Order of Witches is heading our way?” Abby squealed.

“Now?” Bob jumped to his feet, making him wince.

“Our scouts are tracking four limos heading our way with the Order’s flags.” Abby was pacing the office.

“Why are you so nervous?”

“I really don’t like witches,” she blurted.

“Aren’t you a witch?”

“I’m a stunted witch,” Abby clarified. “While I was born with powers, they never developed. The Order has never allowed me to claim the title since I don’t have powers. Hence, we do not get along.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Bob told her.

“Not my rules,” she replied. “But they will be here shortly, and I don’t want to be here when they arrive. Do you mind if I leave early?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Bob told her. “Are you going to be okay?”

Abby stopped and smiled at Bob. “I’ll be fine, boss. I just don’t have good memories of them. It’s better if I head off, so I don’t cause you any trouble.”

“You will never be trouble, but I understand.”

“You also should change your shirt.” Abby pointed at the bloodstain in the front. “You still want to make a good impression.”

“Thanks.”

Abby rushed out of the office, and Bob made his way towards his closet. It had become a practice for every member of the team to keep multiple outfits in the office. With the amount of accidents they had, you never knew when clean clothes would be needed.

“At least my pants are clean,” Bob told himself as he adjusted his shirt in the closet mirror.

Click.

The intercom on his desk buzzed, and Bob moved closer to it.

“Boss, a very loud group of witches is looking for you,” announced the officer.

Bob smiled at the frankness of the young man. “I’ll be there in a minute. See if they would like any coffee while they wait.”

“Will do, boss.”

Shorty ran into the room, gun holster flapping as he went.

“Have you heard?” Shorty said, out of breath. “We have limos blocking traffic in front of the building.”

“What traffic?” As far as Bob could remember, the only people that ever drove in front of their building were cops.

“All the rubberneckers trying to see who is in Texarkana.”

“That would be that delegation of witches,” Bob said, adjusting his tie.

“Have they heard of discreetness?” Shorty marched around the room. “How are we supposed to explain that many limos to the humans?”

Bob wasn’t sure when the change had happened, but nobody at the Station considered themselves human, even without magic. A transition had taken place, settled at first, but it was permanent. The crew wasn’t supernatural like the witches or shifters, but they weren’t totally human anymore. They were Death’s crew, and that carried respect around Haven.

“Well, how about if we explain that to them?”

Shorty glanced back at his friends. “You know those people don’t handle rejection well.”

“They can get happy just as quickly as they get mad,” Bob informed his friend. “Let’s go.”

Bob took another vest from his office closet. This one was blood red, with tiny scythes embroidered on it. Shorty adjusted his holsters and took the safety off both of his tranquilizer guns.

“Are you planning to knock someone out?”

“If I have my way, the leader of the bunch is going down.”

Bob smiled and was sure Shorty was not kidding. They took their time making it down the stairs to the main foyer, with Shorty giving Bob an update of the treacherous neighbor. The family of trolls was treated prior to disaster taking over Texarkana. The neighbor was currently in custody until Monday, awaiting court.

“Did he put up a fight?” Bob asked as they reached the landing.

“He actually tried to curse us,” Shorty explained, making Bob stop in the foyer.

“And?”

“And he got bitch-slapped by Jesse across his front lawn,” Shorty added with a devious grin. “The man is running a black-potions shop out of his house and was trying to steal the trolls' land to expand.”

“That takes balls,” said Bob, frowning.

“We really should have let the trolls go postal on his ass and see how long his plan would have lasted.” Shorty stood next to Bob, examining the congregation of witches dressed in exotic capes. “Now he is complaining of police brutality and wants to sue.”

“Maybe we should hand him over to that group, and they can drag him back to Salem for judgment.”

“I like that,” admitted Shorty. “Do they still burn people at the stake there?”

“I really hope not, or we will get an exodus of witches that we cannot control.” Bob gave Shorty one last thoughtful glance before marching to the congregation. “Good afternoon.”

Three female witches and one male one marched towards Bob. Their steps echoed on the tiles and Bob wondered if they had added taps to their shoes. The four stopped just a few feet from the intern, all glaring at him. It would have been an intimidating sight if the witches were at least Bob’s height. They were barely taller than Shorty, and only because of their heels. Bob was at a whole foot taller and had to look down at them.

“Do you know how long we were waiting?” A witch with silver hair spoke, and Bob assumed she was the leader.

“And you are?” Bob spoke slower than usual, with an added southern accent to his speech. It confused people and made them underestimate him.

“I’m Clara, the head witch of this expedition,” Clara announced, raising her voice. “You were supposed to be expecting us.”

“Did we forget to put the red carpet on the door and the welcome banners?” Shorty asked, adding a touch of sarcasm to his voice as he adjusted his guns again.

“Do you know who we are?” another woman with spiky, red hair asked.

“Does it look like we care?” Bob added, dropping the accent.

The group gasped, and the witches near the entrance turned towards them.

“You can’t . . .” the woman in red started to say.

“Enough!” Bob ordered, adding his newly found powers to the command.

The witches found their mouths closing tight. Clara and the redhead backed away from the intern.

“We were told you did not have any power,” the man told Bob.

“Oh, so you came here thinking you’re big and tough, and thought Bob was just going to bow down to you,” Shorty ended his statement with a snort. “Welcome to Texas, witches.”

“Does he speak for you?” Clara questioned Bob.

“You really don’t want to know what I’m thinking,” he told her.

“We are here on official business,” Clara continued.

“About that,” Bob said, and started pacing around the group. “This is Haven. You have no business in my town. Last time I checked, you forbid the entrance of our Reapers to Salem without permission. What makes you think you get the free rein of our domain without prior approval?”

“You have an accord with the high priestess, Virginia Black,” Clara reminded him.

“Yes, we do.” Bob turned to Shorty. “Did you say her name was Virginia?”

“Not that I can remember,” answered Shorty. “When we got attacked, did you come to help us?”

Both Bob and Shorty rubbed their chins and moved around the crowd.

“Changes are happening in town,” Bob told them. “The Order of Witches no longer has free passes into our terrain. We will approve all actions sanctioned by the Order in advance. And if you would like to come and visit, I recommend updating your immigration policies for Salem. We are done here.”

“What?” three of the witches shouted.

“Did I stutter?” Bob asked them.

“We are here to celebrate the holiday,” the redhead moved closer to Bob. “You have the biggest ley line going across this side of the Mississippi that is not harnessed by anyone. We have permission to tap into it.”

“Tap into it?” Bob asked.

“What are they tapping?” Shorty moved next to Bob.

“That’s not what I told your committee,” Bob informed them. “You will not be setting magic circles around the Texarkana Post Office, because you want to summon who knows what.”

“The blessing could reach thousands,” Clara protested.

“The post office in downtown Texarkana? Where the FBI is located?” Shorty recapped the situation.

“That post office.” Bob nodded, adjusting his stance, feet shoulder width apart.

“Have you lost your minds?” Shorty shouted. “Why don’t you fly a banner over the town announcing to the humans that magic is real and the supernatural world is taking over?”

“We can do things like this in Salem,” the redhead pouted.

“Yes.” Bob leaned down to glare at the woman. “And Salem is a tourist town who expects all sorts of shenanigans to happen, and Harry Potter to be real. This is the Bible Belt, and we are not opening that can of worms.”

“Do you think you can stop us if we decided to take over this pitiful little town?” a male witch asked, letting magic escape his fingertips.

Shorty removed his guns from their holsters. The officer hit the panic button under the desk, then stood slowly from the desk, pulling out his own gun. Bob monitored everyone carefully, knowing he had thirty seconds before his entire squad descended on them to blast everyone to hell and back. Calmly, he stood straighter and walked over to the male witch.

“Listen here, boy.” Bob tapped into his core, to that place where he was recognizing his power to lie and filled his words with it. “We have battled demons, vampires, ogres, and plenty of your kind. If you came here looking for trouble, I’ll inform you, we will mail your bodies in urns back to Salem. The only reason the Order is tolerated here is out of respect for Virginia because she is Isis’s godmother.” Bob leaned down to the man. “But make no mistake. We will destroy you all to protect our home.”

The witches all moved in a protective circle. The ones near the door, closing in on the leading party. Shorty flanked Bob to his left with the officer on duty, taking his right. It was going to be a wild-wild west showdown. A soft whistle filled the air, and the witches glanced at the ceiling. Pete and all his kids had surrounded them. Over fifty pixies stood holding inch-long swords with gladiator shields ready for battle.

“Give the word, boss,” Pete announced. “And we will make shish kebabs out of this lot.”

“Your move, witches,” Bob said instead. “You got several options here. One, you conform to our rules. Two, get the hell out and never come back, or three, you die. The time for playing nice is over.”

“Welcome to Haven, fuckers!” Shorty added, pulling the hammer of his gun back.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

A hooded witch clapped as they climbed the stairs to the Station. The tension increased, and Bob gave a head signal to Pete to watch the new arrival. The aerial platoon broke off in two, ready to attack.

“Now see what you have done, Sylvester,” said the figure in a deep voice that was familiar to Bob. “You have gone off and woken up a sleeping giant, and their group of misfits is ready to show you why you shouldn’t mess with Texas.”

“And you are?” Bob asked, realizing who the greater threat was between the witches.

He reached slowly into his back pocket and pulled out the cylinder that held his scythe.

“Now I’m hurt,” said the newcomer. “And here I thought we were friends.”

Bob engaged the mechanism on the scythe, extending the weapon to its full size.

“My friends do not go around hiding their faces.” Bob spun the scythe with one hand, making even the most experienced color guard in a college marching band proud.

“Now that’s impressive.” The man pulled the hood back, revealing dark hair professionally styled and deep-brown eyes to match. “That’s how you make a statement.”

“Eric!” Shorty screamed, as the entire Station shouted his name afterwards.

Bob lowered his scythe by his side to lean against it. “Please tell me you are not here to support this madness.”

“On the contrary, just making sure these fools don’t get blown apart.” Eric walked around the circle of witches and gave all his friends one of those manly half-hugs. Once done, Eric turned toward the witches. “Convinced now?”

“Convinced of what?” Shorty asked, stepping on his tiptoes to whisper in the tall witch’s ear.

“Haven is becoming a new destination for the supernatural community,” Clara explained, pushing her hands inside the sleeves of her hood. “We needed to make sure you could still defend the gates of hell against an attack.”

“This was a test?” Bob confirmed, and Clara nodded. “We are glad we passed. More importantly, be thankful Eric was here to save all your asses. Because we were ready to introduce you to the elevator with a one stop ticket.”

“You really don’t want that ride,” Shorty added. “Goodbye.”

“But we are not done,” Clara argued.

“We are,” Bob told them. “Be advised. You are all on probation in our town. We will discuss you access to our city when new arrangements are made regarding Salem. In the meantime, don’t leave your hotel without permission.”

“This is absurd,” Sylvester said.

“Maybe if you all would have been honest from the beginning about your intentions, we wouldn’t treat you like a threat.” Bob waved them goodbye.

The witches tried to move forward, but Pete with fifteen pixies blocked their way. “We don’t make it a habit of repeating ourselves around here.”

“Fine,” said Clara. “But we request an audience with you tomorrow.”

“Nope.” Bob shook his head. “You can see me on Friday like the rest of the public. Halloween is tomorrow and I don’t have time for you. But if I see you around the post office trying anything funny, you will be on the first flight to Salem.”

“This is ridiculous,” the redhead mumbled. “Eric, aren’t you coming?”

“No.” Eric waved at them. “Remember, I’m just a hired gun for Virginia. This is really my home. Enjoy the Hilton.”

Pete and his kids pushed the witches out of the building, allowing the rest to breathe easier.

“What in the hell was that all about?” Shorty asked Eric once he was sure the rest of the witches were gone.

Eric took off the hood and adjusted his suit. “These things are ridiculous. How is my hair?”

“Perfect, like usual,” Bob told him, marching over to check the security cameras in the building's front. “Now, seriously, what is going on?”

“Short version or long?” Eric asked, wiping off lint from his pants.

“In between,” said Bob. “Your short versions are too short at times.”

“You have just met the Inquisitors of the Order,” Eric announced.

“That sounds awful,” Bob mentioned.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Eric agreed. “According to them, they are testing the relationship of the Order. Except they are learning slowly that the only relationships we have are the ones made by Virginia. Something they are not happy about.”

“And their plan is to bully people to conform with them?” Shorty asked, glaring out the window.

“That’s what they thought would happen.” Eric smiled. “They just had no idea how strong Virginia’s allies are. I’m impressed by that show of force. Were you really going to attack them?”

“I’ll be damned if a bunch of strangers come to my town to give orders,” Bob replied.

“Death made a splendid choice making you intern.” Eric tossed the hood to the young officer. “Would you mind burning that for me, please?”

“Yes, sir?” The officer looked at Bob for guidance, who nodded.

“Are you staying for the holiday?” Shorty asked. “We are doing a float at the parade.”

“I can’t,” he replied. “Got a lead in New Orleans. Heading that way. Virginia asked me to watch those clowns. It gave me a reason to stop by. Could I get a ride to the airport? Need to get a rental.”

“I have a better plan,” said Bob. “Take one of ours from the garage, and you can return it on the way back.”

“Deal.” Eric and Bob shook hands.

“Let’s go, James Bond,” Shorty teased his friend.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like the suit?” Eric asked as he followed Shorty down the hall.

“You look like a male model . . .”

Bob couldn’t hear the rest of Shorty’s statement, but he was sure he was picking on their friend. Silence had returned to the foyer, and Bob took several deep breaths. The young officer leaned against his chair, staring at the monitor.

“You did great today,” Bob told him, approaching slowly.

“I was scared out of my mind, boss.” The young man’s hands were shaking, but he stood straight, shoulders back.

“We are in a dangerous business.” Bob squeezed the officer's shoulder. “Never forget it. It’s not about being brave or reckless. Sometimes, we just need to do things afraid.”

The officer nodded.

“Go take a break,” Bob told him.

“But the front.”

“I can watch it while you are gone.” Bob gave him a small smile. “Just bring me back a cookie. I was told the doctor baked some killer chocolate chip.”

That made the officer perk up. “On it, boss.”

He hurried down the hall, trying not to run. Bob made himself comfortable on the seat and disengaged the scythe. With the adrenaline gone, his chest hurt, but he embraced it. It was a solitary reminder that he was still alive. Raising his feet on the desk, he realized he meant every word. He would take on a group of witches to protect his domain.

Sergeant Bob is back.