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ON A MERRY CHASE

Rain

When I find my best friend, I am going to murder her, even though that means I’ll be stuck paying all the bills on our apartment.

Like, seriously, what the fuck? Rina can be oblivious at times, sure. It’s not unlike her to disappear for a day or two, then text me a picturesque view, having completely forgotten to tell me her parents kidnapped her for a hiking vacation.

But it’s been days .

The last time I saw her was Wednesday morning. She also texted in the afternoon to see if I wanted to go to Night Hall with her. I reminded her that I was tutoring coven apprentices on Wednesday evenings, and that was that.

I left early Thursday, and she’s the kind of person who hops out of bed at the last second, so we don’t always see each other first thing. But she wasn’t there in the evening. I texted. A lot. Rina’s known to be terrible at answering, averse to any form of technology, so I didn’t let it bother me at first. After all, I’ve been busy; maybe I just forgot she was supposed to go somewhere, do something.

But day after day, my messages were met with nothing but silence. By Sunday, I even called, which would have given my mother a heart attack if she knew. I don’t do phone calls unless someone’s life hangs in the balance. Which it feels like it might be.

Something is wrong, I can tell.

We often go to Night Hall weekends, and she was headed there the last time I saw her, so on Sunday night, I put on sparkly shorts over boots, a red top, and my leather jacket before heading there, though I was in no mood to party.

And Night Hall was closed.

That’s unheard of. We’ve been going there for months; it’s open every night. They’re even open on Christmas and New Year’s Day. But without warning, without a single note on the barred metal door, the place is just shut down. Quiet stillness replaced the usual sensual music, making the elegant townhouse feel desolate.

That night, I resorted to magic. I’m not even sorry. My people believe that magic is a gift from the earth, and meant to better the lives of others. We only perform spells on people at their request. It’s never meant to be selfish. The one exception is when we’re acting in self-defense. Then, all bets are off.

Not all witches feel that way, but that’s very much the policy of my coven.

Trying to find my missing best friend isn’t entirely selfish, but it’s not what I would call the greater good either. And I don’t have her authorization.

Then again, there is a reason why I’m always in deep shit with the coven. I’m pretty certain that if our matriarch hadn’t pushed me out of her vagina herself, I would have been kicked out ages ago.

I grabbed one of Rina’s hair brushes from her little vanity, and frown. There are a few strands tangled in the plastic teeth, all right. But none look like my best friend’s hair.

They’re blue.

Like, what the fuck?

Dropping the brush, I make my way to her bathroom and take the cloth she uses to dry her face back to my room.

I’m not hopeful. Darina doesn’t react normally to magic. We don’t exactly know what she is, but if someone asked me to describe her in one word, I’d say resilient. She’s unaffected by magic, as though there’s always a protective shield around her. Not that I ever tried to harm her with my powers, but we grew up together.

When I was an awkward teenager, unable to control myself, bursts of magic weren’t uncommon. One day, when a little bitch insulted me, I made a sink explode, the taps spraying everyone around the bathrooms—and Rina remained blissfully dry, when even I was completely soaked. Another time, when our science teacher was belittling me for getting our lab wrong, the vial I had in my hand shattered, spraying me and Mr. Porter, but again, Rina, standing next to me—closer than the teacher, in fact—remained untouched.

I’ve never directly attempted to perform magic on her, but the little incidents that come to mind suggest she has some sort of resistance to it.

I still try. I’m not shocked I fail.

On Monday, I go to campus, and head straight to the classroom where she usually teaches Theory of Music. Well, her job is to assist, but her boss is lazy as fuck. For once, the old, portly man is the one standing in front of his bored audience, reading out of a textbook.

I don’t linger, though I want to ask if he’s seen her since Wednesday.

I consider popping by the Thorns’, but I know Rina would hate it if I worry her parents over this. Being protective of her is a default state for all of us, but Patricia and Oliver Thorn, especially. Rina is resilient, but she’s also frail, in pain, and all logic dictates that she could just keel over in a strong wind. They spent all of her childhood driving her to physical and mental specialist appointments, prepared to lose their daughter. I can’t do that to them for nothing.

Except she’s been missing for five days by now so it doesn’t feel like nothing.

I call Pat Tuesday.

“Rain, darling! It’s been too long,” she answers cheerfully, in a tone that immediately appeases me.

Rina and her parents have weekly lunches on Sunday; if their daughter hadn’t turned up, she wouldn’t be this casual.

“Hi, Pat!” I force some happiness into my voice. “How are you doing?”

“Good, good!” she replies. “How about you? You should come for dinner soon.”

I’m quick to agree. Then I clear my throat. “I had issues reaching Rin; do you know if her phone’s working well?”

“Hm…” Pat muses. “Oh. Rin…yes. Yes. I think…”

She sounds far away. Dazed.

“Isn’t she away for work?”

My stomach drops. Something isn’t right.

Pat is never this hesitant about anything; and she should know whether her daughter is away or not. Why is she voicing it like a question?

“Is the philharmonic traveling?” she asks again.

I bite my lip, hard. Reluctant to alert her, I agree she could indeed be away from work. Then, I make my way to her part-time job. No luck, but her conductor is just like her mother; uncertain and confused, like he thinks that she should be somewhere else, but isn’t quite sure where.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

That means one thing: magic.

I take a few personal days at work, and head straight to the office of the best paranormal PI in town, blowing a whole month of rent on a retainer. If she’d just disappeared without leaving a trace, it would be one thing, but the fact that no one really seems worried, believing that she’s supposed to be somewhere else, means that there’s a spell in play.

It’s not unheard of for young, pretty women to disappear, captured by dark sorcerers, or even rogue shifters, who pay off a witch to cast spells on their loved ones. Such spells easily confuse regs, but as a witch, I’m mostly immune to low-level general magic. Someone has to specifically target me in order to fuck with my perception, and they’d have to be pretty powerful to do so without my sensing there’s something wrong.

On Friday, I groan in frustration, and do the one thing I never, ever do. I grab my phone, scrolling through my contacts until my finger hovers over the details of someone I’ve blocked years ago.

Rachel Thorn.

The very name has me clenching my teeth. The prime, judgmental, hypocrite little bitch probably has my ass blocked, too. But I call her all the same.

* * *

The thing about Rachel is, she’s weird, for a completely regular human. Maybe it’s because she grew up with Rina, and has been fighting my friend’s magnetic charisma all her life, but she has an awareness of magic that’s astounding to me. Sometimes, even I react to Rina’s inerrant power of persuasion—when she lowers her singsong voice and her eyes darken, turning as deep as the sea, and we just want to please her.

Rachel never, ever falls for that shit. In fact, she’s even pulled me out of the lull before, if only by throwing veiled insults about how easily influenced I am.

That’s a word she uses often to refer to me. Easy.

Look, it’s not my fault her boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself. They were always on and off in high school; when he cornered me at the homecoming dance, I figured they were on an off period. Teen witches are horny. That’s an actual fact. Not as excitable as shifters—we’re not actual animals—but we’re attuned to nature, and whatever humans have decided, from a purely animalistic viewpoint, fucking is just normal. It’s what beasts and men alike are meant to do.

Anyway, he kissed me. I let him. They weren’t on an off period. No matter how many times I explained myself and apologized, Rachel and her high horse never got over it.

Still, I call her, because I know a general confusion spell thrown over all of Rina’s acquaintances would likely not affect her. Maybe she knows something. She’s likely also tried to find Rina.

I’m surprised the line connects. I was expecting a robotic voice telling me I can’t reach it.

She answers on the third ring.

“Where is she?” Ms. Prim snaps without preamble.

I guess we’re not doing the whole hello thing. Fine by me. “Do you really think I’d call you if I knew?” I snort. “When did you speak to her last?”

They spoke Sunday—four days before I saw her.

That’s not good at all.

Where the hell are you, Rin?