How To Be A Badass Witch: Book Three

by Michael Anderle

  Pauline stared at her blankly. “What happened last night?”

  Lia was growing irritated. If she and Johnny had gone on a drug binge, half the organization’s upper echelon was effectively paralyzed. She explained how Pauline had hinted at a plan to flush out Motorcycle Man with Johnny’s aid, which seemed to involve going undercover to a nearby hangout spot or something.

  As she spoke, Pauline still seemed bored but was irritated by all the “new” information she had apparently forgotten.

  “What?” Ms. Testrevosky snapped. “When did I say that? Wait, I think I remember something. Not much. Johnny, nothing happened, did it?”

  “I dunno,” he answered her. “Yeah, nothing much. It was okay.”

  Then they lost track of the conversation and began discussing what to have for lunch.

  Lia’s hand trembled. She wanted to break the pen she was holding and fling the pieces at her boss. She’d never seen this level of irresponsibility in her friend before.

  “Goddammit, Pauline! What the hell is wrong with you?” she exploded. “This is an important crossroads for our outfit, as you yourself emphasized yesterday, and you’re acting like you’re out of your head! If there’s a problem, can you at least tell me what it is? Please, I want to help, but I have no idea what’s going on.” She took a deep breath, wondering if she’d made a severe error.

  Johnny fidgeted and looked at her with a “What’s her problem?" expression like a teenage boy preparing to make fun of an outspoken classmate. Then he settled back in his seat and appeared to lose interest in the proceedings.

  At the same time, Pauline’s face contorted as conflicting thoughts and emotions rippled through her. Traces of her old strident self began to show through.

  “Lia,” she began in a sharper voice, “who do you think you…” She paused. “Wait. Wait. I’m starting to remember. Fuck. I think my drink was spiked. Yes. We were at the Mermaid, and we had a drink. That’s all I can recall. Someone must have tampered with my fucking drink!”

  Well, Lia thought, at least she’s getting back to normal.

  Johnny chimed in but didn’t have much to add. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmured. “Everyone was, umm, hanging out. It was...there wasn’t much to talk about?” He shrugged.

  At the front of the room, Pauline had turned away from her employees. Her fists were shaking, and her bleached-blonde ponytail, which was abnormally disheveled, swayed behind her.

  “Why can’t I remember what happened?” she raged. “This is bullshit. I don’t want to be here. I need a goddamn shower and a comfortable change of clothes. Someone is going to pay for this. If I am unhappy, they deserve to be unhappy too. Period.”

  She spun on her heel and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her. Johnny and Lia sat in silence.

  Johnny laughed in the odd, lazy tone of a contemptuous teenager, then started puttering with his phone.

  Under her breath, Lia said to no one in particular, “I liked her better as a pseudo-stoner.”

  “This is so frickin’ bizarre,” Doug Lopez quipped as he flipped through his notebook. He was lounging in a glorified lawn chair at the spa, a towel around his waist and a non-alcoholic vitamin-fortified cocktail resting beside him. “We must have cared a ton about this, but now it’s like we don’t? Why was this important to us? I don’t know. I miss having that kind of motivation.”

  Mia Angel sat next to him in a similar chair, sipping a brown glass bottle of raspberry-flavored kombucha. “I seem to vaguely recall it. We must have burnt out worse than I thought. It’s been nice to relax, but yeah. That stuff was getting boring.”

  Doug nodded to indicate he had heard her, but he was engrossed in the pages in front of him.

  “Man, look at this stuff. As chilled out as things have been lately, this sounds exciting, doesn’t it? We were there when Motorcycle Man took down that terrorist, and right at the end of the brawl, we chased him through the streets behind those gangsters. Shit. Is it wrong to feel nostalgic for stuff that happened within the last two or three weeks?”

  An employee came by and offered them hot towels. Mia accepted one, thanked the man, and wiped her face with it. “Part of me wants to enjoy the rest of my vacation. We were working harder than was good for our health, but you have a point. We were so close to a breakthrough.”

  An idea had come to her, and she wasn’t sure if she dared to say it out loud. Doug would probably be amenable to it, but she worried that she might regret it anyway. There would be no turning back once the proverbial cat was out of the bag. If she spoke, their little holiday decompression session would be over and done with forever.

  Fuck it, she thought and inhaled.

  “Hey, Doug. We should go back to the Mermaid and check things out, just to see if anything interesting is going on. We might get our mojo back, right?”

  Her partner perked up, his eyebrows rising and his eyes darting around as thoughts and emotions sparked in his brain.

  “That is an excellent idea. When?”

  “Eh.” She sipped her drink. “Soon. No need to do it right away. Maybe tomorrow. Or tonight, if we can’t find anything else to do. I’m cool either way.”

  Secretly, though, she was hoping he would insist on leaving ASAP.

  Doug sat up straighter. “Let’s do it tonight. I mean, I’m feeling pretty relaxed, so no need to rush, but we might as well.”

  Mia smiled. “Sure, whatever.” She pulled out her phone and checked the time. “It’s only a quarter after two. We have plenty of time.”

  Doug drained his cocktail and began stretching as though he were ready to get up any moment now.

  “Hey,” he observed, “making things nice and simple, we’re on vacation! We won’t need to take hours out of our work schedule to do this or have to account for or justify our whereabouts. Frank can get stuffed. We’re doing this for fun.”

  Mia finished her kombucha and set the bottle on the table. “Good point. And if something weird happens, we can always say we enjoyed the place when we were there, and going back was a matter of nostalgia.”

  “Right.” Doug stood. “Granted, I suppose we have to consider the place’s growing reputation as a hotbed of petty crime and douchebaggery, but it doesn’t seem that bad. And we’re reporters. We have experience knowing what’s up and steering clear of danger.”

  Mia stood as well, turning the various possibilities over in her head. Something still felt weird and wrong, like her being able to remember so little of their previous visit and the oddly sudden nature of their compulsion to abandon the case and take a break when things in LA were tense in general.

  She shrugged. “Meh. What’s the worst that could happen? We drink too much beer and eat some underwhelming onion rings?”

  Doug was gathering his things with increased energy, though he still seemed listless compared to his usual self.

  “That’s the spirit. We’ve survived way worse than that. I bet nothing will happen.”

  “Ha-ha!” Kera laughed, hoisting the package in a triumphant motion. Cevin’s shirt had arrived on her day off, but she was willing to bring it in. “Cevin will have it available when Monica Bellucci’s doppelganger comes back.” She frowned and set the package on her kitchen table. “Unless she came back yesterday. Or is coming tonight. Shit.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, she and Zee were buzzing toward the Mermaid. Though it was a warm day, bringing Cevin his new shirt reminded her that she and the Kims had planned to assemble a magic-blocking outfit soon. Might as well be today. She had gathered the iron and silver and tossed them into her pack before slipping on her leather jacket.

  Kera barged through the front door, package in hand. The bar was open, but it was still early, and only two customers lounged about.

  Stephanie and Jenn noticed her at once and crowded around. They had instantly figured out why Kera was there.

  “Yup,” she confirmed. “That day has arrived. Hey, Cevin! Special delivery.”

  The manager wa
ndered out, perplexed but not displeased to see Kera. Then his eyes drifted down to the package, which the girls had started to open on his behalf.

  “Oh, no,” he moaned. “You didn’t actually order that thing, did you? The purple one?”

  Kera raised a finger. “Burgundy, not purple. Here, you should try it on. It’s probably going to be rumpled from shipping, but still.” She pulled it free and unfolded it, and all three women oohed and ahhed, speculating about how it would look.

  Cevin’s face blanched. “God, it’s so fancy. I refuse to wear that. I’m sorry. Like, I appreciate that you spent money on me, but you’d be better off donating it to a needy French aristocrat or something.”

  Jenn pretended to be shocked and offended. “He’s refusing our gift! I never. What kind of ingratitude is that?”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie chimed in. “This was our early Bosses Appreciation Day present. If you don’t accept it, we ain’t getting you anything for Christmas. Only fair.”

  “Come on,” Kera coaxed, “try it on for one hour today, then if you absolutely hate it, you don’t have to wear it again.”

  He continued to resist, but eventually, their bullying wore him down. He threw up his hands. “Fine. Should have known better than to argue with three women at once. Here, hand it over. I accept my fate, but I’m trying it on in the office before I come out.”

  Cevin took the shirt. Stephanie had to stay behind to watch a table, but Kera and Jenn followed him back to his office, where he pulled it on over the nondescript tan t-shirt he was wearing. He examined himself in the mirror with a mixture of confusion and disapproval, folding down the collar and fiddling with the sleeves as the girls moved in to help him adjust everything.

  Kera crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Honestly, it looks great on you. That’s not even a white lie.”

  “Ditto,” said Jenn. “That model will love it. Why haven’t you worn this color before, man?”

  He grimaced. “It’s better if I don’t answer that question. Anyway, I’m not wearing this out on the floor.”

  “Oh, but you promised to wear it for one hour,” Kera reminded him. “You never stay in your office for that long.”

  Unable to argue with her, he decided to get it over with and slogged out front. Stephanie noticed at once and remarked, “Ooh, that looks good. We should have bought it for you a month sooner.”

  “It looks ridiculous,” he stated in a monotone. “So yes, if you wanted to embarrass me a month ago, that makes sense.”

  A gay guy sitting at the bar, one of the two customers present, jumped in. “Actually, it does look nice. Goes well with your hair and eyes.”

  “Seriously?” Cevin still couldn’t believe it. “Thanks, I guess.” He turned and looked himself over in the bar’s mirror. “I mean, it’s not terrible...”

  Kera wandered in back to check her locker, then headed to the bathroom before she left, more to give herself a moment to unwind than anything else.

  Then it struck.

  We know who you are and what you are doing.

  A pair of voices speaking in unison, but not audibly. She heard mental voices speaking straight into her brain from somewhere outside. She froze in place, more terrified than she had been when that crazed Anastidis guy had nearly killed her.

  But have no fear; We are not your enemy. We want to help you. We understand what you are going through.

  “Who?” Kera gasped in a tiny voice. She had no idea if the owners of the psychic voices were nearby. They might be watching her. The double voice was gentle, yet it rang with a degree of power that she was somehow certain dwarfed her own.

  You seek to help people. Let us guide you and assist you. With our aid, you can do far more good deeds than you could alone. If you want to seek us out, cast Firefly into the sky, and we will find you. This is your opportunity. We look forward to meeting you.

  Then it was gone.

  Kera swallowed. “Shit. Shit shit shit.” Someone had been here looking for her, or they were nearby right now. Someone with magic. Someone who knew what the Firefly spell was—one of the first enchantments mentioned in the book.

  It was them.

  “Not. Interested,” she spat. She didn’t know if they could hear her, but she wasn’t going to stick around to find out. She left, hurrying away before she could even see how Cevin was doing.

  Pauline had ordered the core team members to re-assemble at the office at 5:30 p.m., much later than was usual for them to meet. By that point, most of the other people in the building were packing up to head home, if not already gone.

  She had come to a decision, and she felt there was no reason to waste time before making them aware of it.

  Lia arrived at 5:25, followed by Sven and Johnny, who came in together at 5:27. Pauline nodded in satisfaction. She would not have taken it well if any of them had been late.

  She cleared her throat and took all three employees in with her expansive gaze.

  “Now that everyone has arrived, we might as well begin. First of all, I would like a brief rundown from each of you on the progress you have made today. Limit your remarks to two or three minutes. Once you have completed them, I have important news. Lia, we’ll start with you.”

  Pauline stood and listened, a layer of well-practiced patience atop her simmering core of emotionality and impulsivity. She half-heard the things her underlings told her and filed the important parts in her mind for further use, but mostly she was having them report to her as a preamble.

  Once Lia finished assuring her that their product was starting to flow again, and Sven and Johnny mentioned some promising leads with other gang alliances or potential front businesses, Pauline cut them off with a raised palm.

  “Good,” she declared. “You have not wasted your time. I would like to see more progress, but what you have described is adequate. All of that pales in comparison to what we must do next.”

  The shifting of the vibe in the room toward serious concern was palpable. Her three lieutenants leaned closer to hear.

  Pauline let her thoughts drift back to last night, and once again, she found she could remember almost nothing. Rage welled up, and now was the time to vent it.

  “Someone fucked with me,” she rasped. Lia, Sven, and Johnny flinched at the violent, guttural shift in her voice. “I cannot recall what happened at that bar last night, which means the zasranets who congregate there or work there or whatever thought they could get away with drugging me like I was a typical American dura who doesn’t even have her own company!”

  A ball appeared in Sven’s cheek from his tongue rolling there. He was the only one who understood Russian, but their boss’s sudden rant was perfectly clear to all three.

  Before they could ask questions, Pauline went on. “The Mermaid is going to become a crater. They denied our business partnership, they have harbored our enemies, and now they have insulted me. A big fucking crater. That is the message we need to send.”

  Lia frowned. Sven grimaced. Johnny appeared to be weighing the pros and cons rather than cheering, as they all should have been. It made Pauline angrier.

  “What do you say to that?” she demanded.

  Lia raised a hand. “Ah, Pauline, excuse me, but you might want to reconsider. There could be, if you’ll pardon the unintentional pun, a great deal of fallout.”

  Johnny turned his head to see what Sven had to say before responding.

  Sven coughed. “Yeah, I’m not sure. If we take out other gangs, the police won’t be overly aggressive in pursuing it. They’re usually happy if we kill each other. If we take out civilians, they’re going to be all over us. The fucking FBI will show up, and maybe DHS, ATF—the works. Especially if we make a literal crater. Tell me that was a metaphor?”

  The boss’s eyes blazed. “It was not a goddamn metaphor. I want that place wiped out of existence.”

  Johnny shrugged. He was still playing it safe in his newfound state of grace.

  Pauline pointed at Lia. “I want you to
coordinate the necessary messages to the other outfits. Johnny and Sven will then deliver the messages and make sure our plan is abundantly clear to them.”

  Torrez spoke for the first time since Pauline had revealed what they would do. “What’s the message?”

  “Stay away from the Mermaid,” Pauline answered. “Do not elaborate beyond that, but that way, when the place goes up in a vapor cloud, everyone will know we were responsible.”

  Lia inquired, “Do you mean you want to do this to increase our chances of a merger with another gang?”

  “Fuck, no,” Pauline snapped. “It’s so people will know what happens when they piss me off. They’ll be crawling to us on their knees, begging to join us or do business on terms favorable to our interests.”

  Each of her employees gave a slow, gentle nod. None spoke.

  Pauline fidgeted in place. They were not demonstrating the team player attitudes or the willingness to go the extra mile she expected of people who intended to rise in the world of corporate startups.

  They would obey all the same.

  “Go,” she told them. “I’ll contact you later with the details. Make any other preparations you think might be useful, but clear them with me first.”

  She sat down, opened a folder, and ignored them as they shuffled out. Somehow, she got the impression that they wanted to whisper among themselves, but they didn’t. They merely left the building in silence.

  Lamar stared at his phone, his breathing shallow.

  He hadn’t liked what was going on recently. The Startup and the LA Witches had been throwing people at each other like it was a fucking battlefield, and Motorcycle Man didn’t help matters. Lamar had even been approached by the Startup to take part in their campaign against whoever it was they were fighting.

  He hadn’t accepted. Something about that place set his teeth on edge. They showed up with deep reserves of money and started taking control of the drug market with insane efficiency, but no one knew who ran them or how many people they had?