Page 22 of Werewolves and Witches AU

The man’s angry expression morphs into shock, and he seethes, “What?”

“What?” I’m so confused right now. And itchy.

When he loosens his grip to turn my wrist over, I shake him off and charge for the door. Pushing past him, I yank it wide open.

The stranger staggers, probably a mix of recovering his balance, spinning to follow me as I dart around him, and twisting to avoid getting hit with a door.

As I race out into the hallway, he makes to give chase, but he slips on all the spilled salt that covers the floor, flails, and then falls backward. His head collides with the hard wood. The wet cracking sound echoes through my skull.

Louder still is the pounding of my heart against my ribs.

Please don’t let him be dead.

I don’t stop praying as I run down the stairs.

Adrenaline pumping, I cross the street without looking.

Hands shaking, I call the number I swore I’d never dial—not even if the sky was falling.

“This is the Witches Council, please leave your name, rank, and coven number—along with a short message—after the tone.”

The Witches Council don’t operate like the human police do, with a live dispatcher, they have an answering service and screen all their calls before deciding if you’re urgent enough to connect to an agent.

Slowing from a run to more of a jog, I turn back to look over my shoulder.

Please don’t let him be dead.

“Hi, erm, this is Milo. Tobitt. I… I think I just killed a man. In Roanoke City. Erm, so, a little while ago, some Italian guy from the Office of Time broke into my room. In my home. He didn’t have an ID. I thought he was looking for something, you know, maybe to rob me. He, erm, accused me of some stuff. Magic stuff. And I apologised for that, but then he threatened me. Tried to grab me—did grab me—so then I pushed him, or I didn’t… I don’t remember. I was running away, and then he fell. He hit his head pretty hard. He’s still there, in my apartment. I think…”

Almost at the corner of the street, I risk another look back toward my building, but I still can’t see him.

Please don’t let him be dead.

“Oh, he also has the Lost Colony of Roanoke folded away in the fabric of time, so I don’t think he’s a good guy. He has a witch trapped there called Sarah. Sarah Blackwood.”

There’s a sudden clicking sound and some other distortion on the line, as if I’m being passed through a digital network to somewhere, and tears of relief build behind my lashes.

On the next street over now, still jogging, I look behind me again, but there’s no angry man in a purple cloak.

Please don’t let him be dead.

“Hello?” I ask when the line goes quiet. Wondering if maybe the call is still recording, I repeat my request. “So, yes, if you could—”

“Hello, Milo? This is the General’s Office. I’m going to give you an address, and I’ll need you to repeat it back to me.”

This is… not what I expected. And is that another Italian accent? Does the Witches Council even have a General? I thought we had a High Priest…

I stand still. “Erm… okay?”

“Eight-seven-three-nine-oh North East Kings Walk Drive. Do you have that?”

“Eight-seven-three-nine-oh North East Kings Walk Drive, yes. Where am I going?”

“To someone who can help. You’ll need a password. Tell whoever answers the door ‘neeps and tatties.’”

“What?”

“Neeps and tatties, Milo.”