Stolen

Inside of the house, he ensured that they slept (hearing nothing). Outside, he cast a charming visage upon himself, so that the dogs would love and trust him instantly. He worked quickly. Two mama dogs with small, troubled litters; bite marks; no heat or cooling; no food or water; bare floor or rags passing as blankets. "Come then," he said, placing one group in a large kennel on wheels to move them gently out to the car. "Rest." Soft and safe, they fell to sleep instantly (no need to be on watch). He went back in for the second group, giving a tiny spark of life to a puppy who was trying to stay but couldn't quite find a way to manage it. "I've got you," he whispered. In the car, his partner watched over the dogs (now officially rescued), adjusting the soft music and the temperature to keep them calm. Making one last trip to the garage, he cursed the owning of a car (rather than the car itself); spell complete, the paint on the Tesla glowed with the word "ABUSER" - shining from the depths of the metal and fiberglass as if it had always been there. Worse than being keyed, the curse would land on every car they every owned, the word catching the light no matter how often they buffed it out or tried to buy anything else. He wrecked the cameras and removed his footprints and his energy. "I know," he would say to the rest of the coven, taking their cautions and counsel. "I accept any and all strikes against my own karma. I stole them to save them, but I did steal them." He did not have to tell the others that life is complicated and, sometimes, the magic had to be murky also; they already knew.