Some stories talk about evil witches, such as the Witches of Oz, the Queen of Hearts, and the witch who got cooked alive in her own oven because she had an insatiable hunger for children. They look human, and unlike many savages and unruly monsters that have integrated into modern society. Most witches have not. Witches in modern times are a secretive bunch; a covert political party and a lucrative business hidden behind dozens of small companies that prevent any kind of infiltration. When a Monster Assassin has the need to find a witch, or the select group of witches known as Dark Witches. They are often found running bakeries, in the sweet aisle at a grocery store, the host of a prime-time cooking show, or a contestant. Dark witches are well known as “creatures of habit.” And Monster Assassins should use this knowledge to their advantage.


    If you’re a dedicated thespian, you’ll kill your career if your opening night goes poorly because you were an idiot and said Macbeth on stage. It’s a superstition, but one that haunts those highly invested in the profession. For us Monster Assassins, everything that starts with “dark” is terrible news. Even dark chocolate, the jury is still out on that one for some.


    I followed Mom. My mind was blown! Dark Witch wasn’t just a word that you tossed around. It wasn’t something people never hurled around as an insult, because actual dark witches would be the ones to take offense to it. Once we were back in the car, I welcomed multiple shades of relief to rain down on me. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d been sweating, and the smoke had really done a number on my nose. Mom immediately started the car and dialed Dad, who had answered before the first ring.


    “I’m assuming you both are safe?” Dad pressed.


    “We are,” Mom said.


    After that, Dad assumed a nervous tone and a concerned expression. “Jenna, are you sure about what you saw? A dark witch of all the monsters to be running around. Why?”           “Positive,” Mom said, sounding a bit breathless. “Pop’s improvised IC3 filtered registered the use of a witch’s glamour, but the image seemed distorted, so I didn’t get a good look at them. Yet, in those few seconds. Sweetheart, I promise you that I saw the signs of a high concentration of the malicion.”


    The malicion. That was a word that had a heavy history and came with a huge price tag.


    Dad chewed on his lip. “Most witches are tainted to some degree with the malicion, especially if they talk with spirits and the undead.”


    “True, and there are plenty of mediums, phantomists, archivists, and librarians that you would find it on.” Mom said, “But even for just a few seconds, and under extreme conditions. The results don’t lie. Glamour is a common enough trick, but Pop’s system was off the charts. There was a dark witch in the crowd, I’m sure of it.”                “Couldn’t it have been a demon?” Tony asked.


    Mom dismissed the idea with a shake of her head, “Witches can use glamour on a demonic henchman, but demons don’t exhibit the malicion, they submit to it. Plus, a demon would have been jumping up and down, bouncing off the walls and there aren’t illusions to hide that level of enthusiasm.”


    “Some demons eat ash,” Pop added dryly.


    “Or they snort it like a drug addict,” Grandma said, “believe me, that’s not a pretty sight.”


    “All together,” Mom insisted, “we have a dark witch in the area and that is bad business. I’m not a mafia-level business.”


    “Dark witches don’t typically come out in public unless prodded, paid, or provoked,” Pop said, “and it''s got to be quite enticing.”


    “Your logic is sound,” Dad said, “and while it’s the first real lead. We don’t have much to go on because it seems unlikely that a dark witch would expend her resources to challenge a governing body like M.A.G.E.  That means someone had to have put her up to it. That means there’s another major player out there.”


    Dad''s tactical perspective really knew how to put a damper on a conversation, but the point was irrefutable, which put a rather somber mood in the car and Mom seemed eager to be anywhere else.


    There is so much about your past that you don’t talk about.


    Most kids know their parents’ love story. My parents, I barely knew the cliff notes. They often spoke about the days Tony and I were born. They talked about some fun trips they took around the United States, which had really been an undercover job, but everyone needs a pastime. Still, one might wonder if the Fosters were known as Monster Assassins. Where did in-laws fit into anything of this? I considered a question, feeling that we were on the verge of regrouping, but Pop quickly disregarded that idea.


    “So far, there hasn’t been a calling card,” he said. “at least from what I’ve gathered, the authorities are clueless and have noted this as a possible domestic terrorist attack or the work of some kind of gang.”


    “We don’t really have that kind of thing around here,” Dad added, “but when you lack a considerable number of facts, it only makes sense to use the most logical theories.”


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Dad held out the word and it turned into an abrupt pause.


    “James, spill!” Grandma ordered.


    Dad chuckled. “The thing that gets me is the level of the attack. I mean, in the past If considered “dark” was on the verge of starting a war against M.A.G.E, they would have had a hit squad watching their every move. M.A.G.E would have known where every dark witch was, who they were talking to and if that created suspicious movement. This came without warning and now M.A.G.E the almighty is scrambling. How?”


    “The clearest angle to the problem is what we’ve gathered,” Mom countered, “and for now the attack itself should be considered the calling card. Emma and I were both speculating about the potential perpetrators. With all the elements like traffic and the sheer number of people, what could be a better message to a governing body than, we can hit you anywhere and when you least expect it.”


    “That does pack a punch,” Pop affirmed, “but it doesn’t get us any closer to an ID.”


    “So where do we go from here?” I added softly.


    Mom took a hard look at the street. “Since the IC3 system couldn’t ID the witch, we must get into the scenes. The hired muscle had to have left some kind of evidence. We need to know what the cops know but want to keep under wraps.”


    “For now, that’s not going to be possible,” Dad said, “given what Pop said about the authorities, if the local cops are worried about domestic terrorists and gangs, we’re going to have the FBI and Homeland Security within the next few hours if they’re not already in route. You wouldn’t have time to search one location, let alone multiple. There would be too much scrutiny and decreases the enforcements capability.”


    “Then we need to try and figure out who that dark witch was,” I said, “do we have any avenues, or even a roundabout approach to make any kind of positive identification?”


    “The IC3 is out,” Pop said, “and with all the authorities on the ground. I doubt you’ll get a second chance to splice into any live video feeds.”


    “Are we talking an interrogation?” Tony asked. He sounded excited at the possibility.       “That would be a last resort,” Dad said. “Witches have a sense of anyone who dabbles with magic and the malicion.”


    I glanced at Mom, who was now pretty pale.


    “I know Mom’s a Phantomist,” Tony said, “but we’re good at being sneaky.”


    “It has nothing to do with stealth,” Mom snapped with the sharpness reserved for kids who take cookies before dinner. “As a registered Phantomist, I would be a stilling duck, and any dark witch, or even a C.O.V.E.N witch would have no trouble picking me out of a crowd, maybe even at a distance.”


    “Nothing shuts a witch up quicker than a competition,” Grandma said, sounding bitter as she spoke. “a witch would never tell the truth to anyone they could sense as a rival or working for a rival. It''s all about the secrets.”


    “So, if we’re going to get close,” I said, “We need to find someone who would know if there are any dark witches in town and if there is any chatter about what they’re up to.”


    “Are we talking about who, a conspiracy theorist or a blogger?” Tony asked.


    I waved a finger at the screen. “It''s an idea, but no, and we know C.O.V.E.N, the witch organization, does keep tabs on dark witches, but I’m not referring to them. No, we’ll need to find someone with their ear to the ground. Someone who has cut ties, and so they would be rooting for anyone when they’re happier staying out of the way.”


    “Are you talking about the reformed witches?” Dad asked.


    “There wouldn’t be anyone better,” Mom said with some shaky agreement, “Most have regular jobs working at museums, law firms, and banks. They know what it means to go dark, and they certainly are going to be aware of anyone who would tempt them into using necromancy.”


    “Hey, I’m a bit rusty, but what’s a reformed witch?” Tony asked.


    “They’re witches in recovery,” Mom said, “They reached a level of malicion that jeopardized their lives, and they want to recover something that looks like a normal life. They’re far from being heavy hitters in the dark category compared to those with wanted posters. Most of them just dabbled in dark magic with curses, hexes, love potions, and a stint of missing children. Their evil deeds were considered impulses, so they work to quash them so they can live normal lives.”


    “Tony, do you remember the witch that attacked the elves?” I asked.


    “I do.”


    “Muriel was a reformed case gone horribly wrong.” Mom said.


    “Ah, that makes sense,” Tony said with a wrinkled nose and shiver. I immediately felt a connection and copied the movement. Muriel certainly had a recipe for her swamp, and it was beyond terrible and putrid.


    “A reformed witch is the best option,” Dad said, “but It’s dangerous, so before we approach anyone, we need a plan. Jenna, do you have anyone in mind?”


    “With hardly any preparation, there is only one I’d consider trying to communicate with,” Mom said. “She’s a local, and about five years back, using one of my aliases, I helped her out of a jam. She’s not my friend by any means, and I haven’t spoken to her since. She is a dark witch, and she is still dangerous. If we find the right moment, there is a good chance she’d at least talk to us first.”


    “Before trying to kill us,” I finished.


    “There is a chance of that, yes,” Mom said.


    “If she’s local,” Tony interjected, “does that add an extra layer of trouble because if she’s seen your face, and if the two of you get away, isn’t that painting an unnecessary target on us if your encounter goes south?”


    “He’s got a point, honey,” Dad said, “you could try to catch her unaware. Most dark beings tend to keep one eye over their shoulder just in case a monster hunter comes to town. If you want to talk to her, that’s fine, but I’d keep your face covering and your alias out of it if possible.”


    “Then that’s what we’ll do,” I said. “Mom, where would we find this reformed witch right now?”


    “The grocery store, probably,” Mom said, “one of the nasty side effects of being reformed is a nasty sweet tooth. They must have some sugary treat three if not four times a day.”


    “That should work,” I said, “It’s a large place where we could hopefully blend in. Let’s go, and we’re going to do what I call a Joey Jo.”