Maximum Witch

chapter Six


Harrison gave the five armed guards patrolling the perimeter of Bon Revere an irritated glance. Pufferfish shifters? It was an insult to the leviathan’s sensibilities how easy this would be. He was still smarting from the blow his ego had taken after getting the smack down from that f*cking shark. He’d been looking forward to the opportunity to use his full prowess and ingenuity.

Tugging on his waistcoat, he crept closer to the bank of rhododendrons concealing his covert hiding spot. He despised being on land and adopting this human form. Particularly since the damn butler’s uniform was a constant reminder of his previous employer and mentor. But much as he hated Seven, he owed the slave-driving bastard a small debt of gratitude. If the a*shole hadn’t died, this golden opportunity would never have fallen in Harrison’s lap.

Still, no amount of begrudging gratitude would stop him from reconfiguring his wardrobe selection as soon as the first opportunity presented itself. Which should be any minute now.

Focusing on the tall brawny guard on the right, Harrison tapped into the shifter’s mind, ferreting for the information needed. An image materialized and the leviathan’s cells began transforming with the gathered data, taking on the appearance of the guard’s next chain in command.

Harrison abandoned the shadows and approached the gathering of shifters. The tall one he’d mind f*cked leapt to attention and waved a salute. “General. We weren’t expecting you back from Florida until next week.”

The stammered admission managed to lift Harrison’s foul mood a fraction. For once, events were going his way. With the general out of town for several more days it made things infinitely easier, since he wouldn’t have to worry about the general unexpectedly showing up and blowing his cover. “I can see that. Do you think I personally hand picked you dipshits so you can stand around scratching your spiny asses?” Harrison puffed out his chest. The shifters gaped at him like they were possibly mentally retarded. He wouldn’t be surprised. “Well, do you?”

A chorus of “No sirs” tumbled from the guards.

“Good. Then make yourselves goddamn useful.”

He received another round of vacuous stares. It was beyond him why these things were allowed to procreate.

“W-what exactly do you want us to do, sir?” the chubbiest of the five blabbered.

How about growing some brain cells, for starters. Keeping that tidbit of advice to himself, Harrison glared the shifter down until the pufferfish looked ready to piss in its camo pants. With a loud gulp, the others scurried to their posts, knocking into each other in their effort to avoid his steely-eyed wrath. Harrison shoved past the trembling guard and made his way inside the mansion. More shifter guards were stationed in various public rooms. He ignored them and ventured to a door flanked on either side by two enormous walrus shifters. His gaze flicked over the ammo belts strapped over both guards’ barrel-like chests while they saluted.

This had to be the right location. “At ease, soldiers.”

The shifters dropped their arms, and Harrison nodded toward the doorway behind them. “I’m here to see the prisoner.”

“Be warned, sir. She’s in a regular snit tonight. Threw her dinner at Ferguson.”

Worthless piece of shit probably deserved it. Harrison twisted the knob and jogged down the steep flight of stairs. At the base of the landing, he came to another door, this one metal and padded with thick, soundproofing foam insulation. Two more guards were stationed outside it. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, and the shifters frowned. Their stubbornness annoyed him, but he somehow stifled the urge to conk their heads into the wall behind them. “Leave. I’ve been given strict orders to interrogate the prisoner on a private matter.”

Once the pair hustled up the stairs, Harrison wrenched the heavy metal bar from its housing and pushed open the door. The lush strains of some classical piece of music drifted to his ears while he observed the spacious suite he stood in. To call it opulent would be an understatement. A gleaming Steinway sat in one corner, the crystal candelabra competing with the shiny intensity of the multi-tiered chandelier overhead. In the opposite corner, a white silk fainting couch blocked a floor-to-ceiling folding screen inset with ornate jade panels.

Harrison journeyed farther into the room, his combat boots scrunching on the Persian rug. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, my pretty.”

The lovely violin music immediately stopped. He waited, his anticipation mounting. Finally footsteps sounded, and a stunningly beautiful female stepped from behind the other side of the screen. Onyx-dark eyes pinned him in place. “Who the hell are you?”

He spread his arms. “I’m General Lessway.”

“No, you’re not, leviathan.”

Interesting. He’d never encountered an individual capable of detecting his true form beneath the wardrobe of his illusions. “Very well. I see no reason for pretense between us, anyway. My true name is Harrison. I’m here to propose a business arrangement.”

She swept him with a cold, scornful glance. “In case you couldn’t tell, I’m a little tied up these days.”

He didn’t miss the sarcasm in her frosty tone. Damn bitch. Soon enough, she would change her tune about looking down on him. “I come bearing a possible solution to your predicament, and I promise you this much—you won’t be disappointed with what I have to offer.”

Her beautiful features adopted an expression of bored indifference. “Doubtful.”

Harrison closed the distance between them, his finger stroking the edge of the piano. Judging from the tightening of his hostess’s mouth, she didn’t like the notion of him soiling her furniture. Not so long ago, in his other incarnation, he would have been the one forced to clean away the smudges and shine the silver. Kiss the ass of those who held more power.

Not anymore.

“The girl. I know where she is.” Had held her in his clutches, as it were. But he couldn’t reveal he’d lost her to that damn shark. Not if he wanted to salvage his ego and earn the compliance of his haughty hostess.

Her eyes narrowed. “What girl?”

The anticipation crested within him again, almost making him giddy. “The one you thought dead.”

She remained aloof until her expression unexpectedly froze, his words registering. Triumph pumped liquid ambrosia through his bloodstream. “I will help you find her.”

His hostess attempted to school her features into cool detachment, but he knew better. The tip of her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. “For what price?”

“Partnership.”

“In what?”

The promise of victorious destiny glimmered within Harrison. “Destroying them all.”