Free Witch Eyes by Scott Tracey

reading glasses off and putting them into some sort of black case.
    I stayed near the door. “Someone tried to kill me,” I blurted out. “Right down there, on the street.” I pointed toward the windows, as if Lucien would be able to spot who did it.
    An eyebrow raised. “Well, aren’t you a precocious lad,” he said. “Your life nearly snuffed out on your first real day of independence. Bravo.”
    I couldn’t be hearing this. “Sorry?”
    “You didn’t think you were the only witch in Belle Dam, did you?” Lucien laughed. “My dear boy, you’re in between two of the most powerful magical dynasties to cross over into the New World.”
    “You mean … ”
    He waved a hand dismissively. “The vassals don’t even understand why they fear the Lansings and the Thorpes as much as they do. I suppose it’s become something of an inherited instinct.” He grew oddly wistful. “Wouldn’t that be something, if people were simply born to fear you.”
    “Well, one of them tried to kill me about twenty minutes ago.”
    “Oh, I’ve no doubt,” he said, with utter calm. “I suppose you’re wondering who?”
    I waited, somehow knowing that Lucien wanted to drag this out. It was like some sort of production to him. But this was what I’d come to Belle Dam to find out. Whoever tried to kill me was probably the same one from my vision.
    “A balance has existed for far too long. After certain regrettable events that took place years ago, Jason and Catherine called a cease-fire. Catherine has been looking for a secret weapon ever since.”
    “A secret weapon?” And then I understood. “Me?”
    Lucien nodded. “She’ll make sure everything between you and her is decimated; razed to the ground. While your life is still burning, she’ll stroll in, offer you her heartfelt comfort, and then make all your little dreams come true.”
    Trey had told me at the library that Lucien worked for Jason Thorpe. “And since you’re working for the other side, it’s in your best interests to stop that from happening, right? And probably recruit me for yourself?”
    He looked amused. “My role in these little games is a bit more complicated than that.”
    “And what do they—”
    “—want with a boy like you?” He shook his head. “Don’t be coy, Braden. Who is to say how powerful your gifts will make you? It could be that one day they’ll proclaim legends about you. ”
    “I’m not somebody’s weapon, Lucien. That’s crazy.”
    Something on his desk beeped, and then Candy-the-Strippertary echoed from the telephone, “He’s coming off the elevator.”
    Lucien pressed another button, cutting her off. His eyes grew vacant and he glanced behind him, toward the view over the city. “He does so enjoy unraveling my schedule.” A sigh, and then he spun back around, his arms extended like he was about to ask for a hug. “I’ve tried to tell him, countless times, that things must happen on a timetable.”
    “What are you talking about? Who’s coming?” I glanced back at the door I’d come through and stepped further into the room. Backing away from the door.
    “Feel free to tell him you’re no one’s weapon, Braden.” Lucien glided past me, reaching for the door handle. “Although I imagine you’ll have other things on your mind.” I watched him pause and mouth some sort of countdown to himself. Only after he reached “one” did he move.
    He pulled the door open, and a man in a solid black suit stepped through without the slightest hitch in his step. My heart caught in my throat, choking off any thought of breathing. I recognized the nearly black hair, the height, the purposeful stride.
    Pieces of the puzzle were slamming into place so fast I should have gotten whiplash. That was my uncle’s hair, his height, his stride. But where Uncle John was round in the face and prone to laugh, this man’s face was narrow, and he was all business. There were streaks of gray in his hair, and that suit … Uncle John