Male/Female AR/Tg, contains mental and physical age regression and diapers, Rated X/NSFW-----------Two witch hunters are led on a desperate chase across the country searching for a witch possessing powerful and exotic magick.
Chapter Description: The hunt begins.
They had cut the engine hours ago, fearing the exhaust would give them away, which had the side effect of killing the heat. Mark had to put on a brave face to his partner and not betray to her that the cold night could be getting to him. It had been a particularly long and brutal job, and their target had led them on a merry chase in circles across at least five states. They hadn't managed to even set eyes on her before tonight, instead tracking her by the one credit card she held under an alias they had been able to clip and follow. Always one day late.
Isabelle Adams was an elusive and deadly witch. She had fled her home in Delaware once she knew she was being watched, and the Agency set Mark and his partner Alicia on finding and retrieving her. This was intensely difficult, given that they only had one credit card to follow that she may have even known is being watched. To make matters worse, she was using an unidentified form of magick that allowed her to extract information from people and warp their minds, leaving them useless to even the most penetrating psychic interrogation. The Agency was certain there were dozens of other victims besides the ones they had found shattered in her wake, and they were desperate to reverse engineer her magick for a cure.
Alicia groaned in her sleep, shifting her weight under her blankets in the backseat of their nondescript sedan. She was pretty green to be on such an important job, however fantastically talented she may be. Mark even had to give her "the pretty one" lecture when they first looked over Isabelle's task file in the most crowded and conspicuous diner they could find.
"She's gorgeous!" Alicia had said when she saw the first picture among the very few they had been able to gather in the intel phase.
Isabelle had somehow inserted herself into some yuppie's fundraiser in New York and was wearing an expensive looking cocktail dress with a plunging neckline that pushed her already ample breasts together. She had dark hair that tumbled over her collarbones in a way that, though clearly highly orchestrated, was made to look careless; and even in a covert photograph from halfway across the ballroom her clear blue eyes and glowing smile were apparent.
"Yeah, but you can't trust it, even if it's real. Witches use beauty as a shield at best and a weapon at worse, it's a way to get you off balance. They call it 'glamor'. It'll piss you off after a while. Makes it hard to trust anyone, especially beautiful women."
Alicia frowned and flipped through a bit more of the file.
"I know, but it's still hard to square up in my head. Someone who looks like that, capable of doing...Well, we know what she's capable of doing."
"That's why we have to stop her. We can do this. The Agency gave me my pick of partner and I chose you because I know what you're capable of, and you're exactly what I need to bring this one in."
He had believed it. She had only been on two cases but her record was impeccable, smart, iron will, great reflexes, younger and in better shape than him. He needed someone quick and fit who wouldn't question orders when things inevitably got hairy. Someone optimistic to keep morale up and keep him from getting too miserable on what promised to be a difficult job. Most of all, against the judgement of his superiors, he chose her because he knew that things were going to get confusing and he didn't want another old hand on deck to start fighting his orders (thinking, of course, that they know better) at a critical moment.
Finally, after a grueling three week road trip and goose chase, they had tracked Isabelle down to a Hilton in Columbia, Maryland. She had left hours ago, possibly to pick up supplies; she was known for having expensive tastes in food and liquor. It struck Mark as odd that she was gone for so long, though he didn't note it beyond the time of departure in his notebook.
From here, the plan was to follow Isabelle inside as soon as it was determined that she was headed to her room and not immediately turning around, and to let themselves in using a duplicate keycard Alicia had made by slipping in a uniform. From there they would restrain her to prevent her from activating any runes or wands. He congratulated himself for choosing her with nearly as much praise as he gave to her and she blushed in response. Mark had to scold himself for even the brief fancy of workplace romance, fishing off the company pier being strictly against his personal code; this, in addition to the somewhat wide age gap of ten years.
He took a bite of a gas station protein bar and fumbled for his binoculars after catching a glimpse of movement in the Hilton parking lot from their perch across the highway. Jolted with excitement, he confirmed her black Lincoln Towncar. No matter how cunning she was, her vanity never let her drive anything less ostentatious. If anything, this was probably Isabelle's idea of subtle. She parked, closed the door, paused to lock it, and made her way inside.
He waited twenty minutes to make sure she wasn't leaving before he leaned over the backseat to rouse Alisha and did one last equipment check, screwing the silencer onto his pistol before concealing it in his equipment briefcase. Their cover was some corporate conference taking place over the weekend, so Mark didn't expect them to be stopped by staff in his and Alicia's elaborate disguise of business casual.
Alicia shot up and shook her head a bit and reached for a Red Bull in a nearby cupholder to wake her up and ready her for the action ahead. She did her own equipment check with a minimum of chatter between her and her mentor. Salt. Holy Water. Dragon's blood. These were in case she had to scatter a rune or protect herself from a curse. Some ordinary police stuff, like zip ties and handcuffs; and a long, wickedly serrated ritual knife. Although they wanted to recover her for interrogation, witches could recover from extreme injury, and if it came to it they needed to make sure she left with more than just a stab wound. They pulled across the highway to the parking lot, locked their car, and proceeded to their target.
As they rushed past her car Mark noticed the unusual presence of a carseat in the back. Did she have children? He didn't think so. He'd have to include that in his report when this was all over. They passed easily through the lobby and up the elevator, down the sort of hotel hallway that reminds Mark of a passage through another dimension, and steeled themselves for the confrontation.
Knife in hand, Alicia swiped the keycard over the electronic lock which gave the beep and whirr that would reveal their presence. Mark pushed the door in with his gun raised and she followed close behind him.
Isabelle froze in the center of the room and put her hands up as soon as she saw the gun. She had been halfway across the room dashing for her wand, which lay on an end table next to the bed. It was a large corporate suite with one bed, the kind one might expect a rich man to share with his mistress, or perhaps two or three. Curiously, she had covered the floor in a plastic drop cloth and both of her bags sat unopened on the bed.
"Took you long enough," she said with just a hint of a smile. Why was she smiling? She was absolutely screwed no matter how you looked at it.
"Don't move and don't say a word unless it's exactly what I want to hear. Got it?," Mark growled. He was pissed. This woman had the nerve to be so flippant when she had ended so many people's lives, some of them men and women that Mark knew personally. "Tell us what you did and how to fix it. Tell us how you use magick and who the rest of your coven is, and we'll consider letting you live the rest of your life in relative comfort at some Agency blacksite."