Small Town Witch
Book Five of the Red Witch Chronicles
Sami Valentine
The fifth book of The Red Witch Chronicles, an urban fantasy series containing magic, paranormal adventure, and vampire mayhem along with swearing, violence, and adult situations.
The Red Witch Chronicles Chronological Reading Order
Down & Out Witch (Prequel)
A Witch Called Red (Book 1)
Oracle in the City (Newsletter exclusive epilogue short story)
Long Witch Night (Book 2)
Witch Gone Viral (Book 3)
Witch on the Run (Book 4)
Small Town Witch (Book 5)
The Hired Witch (Book 6 - Summer 2021)
And more to come!
Have you read Oracle in the City, yet?
Red is searching for a clue to her origins. Two pixies of unusual size stand in her way. Oh, and she has to confess to being amnesia girl to Lucas.
Find the novelette epilogue to A Witch Called Red, other exclusive reads, updates on my new books, and the skinny on the latest hot Urban Fantasy/Paranormal titles by subscribing to my newsletter at SamiValentine.com/mailinglist/. Go there to sign up!
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Published by Pocketmaus Publishing
© 2020 Sami Valentine
Direct queries and comments to [email protected].
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
The story continues in The Hired Witch coming in 2021.
About the Author
1
It has been seven weeks, two days, and ten hours since I discovered the grave of Emma Peters—the dead girl with my face…
Red wrote in her hunter’s journal, hidden behind piles of aged books, at her usual table in the academy library. Light from the stained-glass windows tinted the pages blue. A grainy photo of a headstone rested by her elbow.
The resemblance in the memorial portrait rattled her more than nearly dying. After weeks of research, she still didn’t know who the girl was. Another doppelgänger? Were they twins? Or were they the same person, separated by an ocean of lost time and clinically diagnosed amnesia?
Two alchemists chatted by a shelf of scrolls, voices rising to the high-vaulted ceiling. She quelled her desire to shush them, knee jiggling under the table, as she jotted another note.
“Hey, you’re still here—surprise, surprise.” Vic Park Constantine strolled up to the table, tipping a green trucker hat up to peer at her journal. The hunter ignored the stares. From black mullet to attitude, he had made an impression on the academy after killing a werewolf in the parking lot.
“You’re back so soon?” She stretched her neck. One more tome to cross reference, then she could call it quits for the day. Before the Immortal Alchemist had left to inspect her academy in New Delhi, Perenelle decreed that Red had full access to the library. This clearance came in handy when it came to delving deeper into the mysterious little seaside village of Charm.
She had more than a face in common with Emma. As far as the Brotherhood of Bards and Heroes knew, Red was dead too. Killed by Frank Lopes and the rogue bard Trudy Fox in an unsanctioned burn notice on a dreary February day in Oregon. News had reached the enigmatic Mr. Gabriel, before his assassins died. Content to let the world—supernatural and human—think it was true, she’d laid low in the academy ever since, rarely venturing farther than the Circe Casino. It wasn’t a vacation. The dead rarely rested easy, even on the sparkling Las Vegas strip.
“I left this morning.” Vic tapped his Batman watch, crossing his arms over his denim jacket. “Since you’re not answering your phone, I had to find you. Basil is making shepherd’s pie.”
“Morning? Shepherd’s pie?” Red reached in her backpack for her cellphone to fact-check that it was dinner time. Missed notifications crowded the screen.
A message from Kristoff Novak caught her eye. Swiping the notification away, cheeks warming, she hoped her pale skin didn’t betray her. She had kissed the unsouled vampire—twice. The time in his nightclub could have been written off as a fluke until he stole a kiss goodbye outside the casino before leaving for Portland. They weren’t sexting back and forth—she had given him the “we should be professional” talk for the millionth time—but it still wasn’t a text she wanted to read around Vic.
He snapped his fingers. “Pack it up. Basil’s having a dinner party. He told me to say you’re lucky there isn’t a dress code.”
She checked out her yoga pants and brushed donut crumbs from her hoodie sleeve. “This isn’t a good—"
“You can’t weasel out of it to research. When I said to lay low until the dust cleared in Charm, I didn’t mean camp out in the library for weeks.”
“But I’m reading about a demonic duke killed a few years ago by the local Hero. Maybe there’s a connection.”
“Nope. You need a night away from this. You’ve already become a town historian. What else do you need to know?”
Red glowered at him. “Everything. I need to be ready.” She had been looking for her actual identity since he had found her, without memories and bleeding from a vampire bite. Emma Peters had seemed like a big break in the case yet had only raised more questions. How did she supposedly die? Why did she have such a sparse paper trail? What happened to her family? Those questions prodded her out of bed every morning.
“That’s a tall order. How about you start with dinner?”
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of the time. She was beat. Sighing, she let Vic nudge her into action, packing up her bag and leaving the stacks of books behind. By now, Lee the Librarian knew to not put them back.
“Who’s all coming?”
“The usual crew, Basil and Hannah.”
“Not your brother?” She studied him out of the corner of her eye.
He pushed open the giant library door a little too hard, hinges squeaking in protest. “He’s with those people.”
He meant the local Vegas pack. Domesticated enough to own a gym franchise, Jorge Gonzales and his wolves were cuddly by supernatural standards. It didn’t matter to Vic. They were all monsters to him. Frank Lopes had ended up ghoul chow, but he’d left a terrible mark to remember him by. The alchemists had tried every potion and ritual they knew to fight the contagion in Lashawn Constantine.
“How is he? I haven’t seen him since he went to the pack master’s ranch a few days ago.”
“He’s a werewolf,” Vic said bitterly. One of the school crows flew over his head, cawing sympathetically.
Judging his attitude, Red knew better than to keep pushing that topic. Werewolves had made him an orphan. Seeing his adopted brother become one, even if Lashawn couldn’t shift completely yet, was a mindfuck. Her third eye couldn’t miss the conflict swirling in his aura even amid the dazzling traces of magic in the air.
She wished he’d talk about it.
They walked down a marble concourse decorated with tapestries of old gods and tarnished suits of armor. At the end of the passage, the view of the mighty banyan tree in the center of the Pyramid Hall gave the illusion of serenity. It was broken by the amount of protection sigils glowing on the walls, recent additions as the cold war heated up between the First Alchemist and the Supreme Vampire of Vegas. Entering the faculty quarters, the smaller hallway was like a cave deep in the academy’s labyrinth, dim beyond the blown glass light fixtures.
Fancier than the student housing, the teachers had full-sized apartments. Red envied that it was on one level. She had to climb ten stories to her shared dorm with Hannah Proctor. Basil Bansko’s place was easy to spot with the crystal windchimes hanging by the door. Once hiding as a fake shaman, the soulmancer still seemed to appreciate the aesthetic. The savory smell of shepherd’s pie beckoned them. When Red stepped inside, the volume of Hannah’s excited hello made up for Vic’s silence on their walk.
Basil stood at a kitchen island counter in the open-concept living area, wearing a canary yellow apron. Faux British accent clipped, he shook a knife, tomato seeds streaking the blade. “You’re late. Sit. I’m almost done.”
“Dinner smells great.” She circled around the table set between the kitchen and TV areas. Festively colored dinnerware surrounded a basket of cut French bread, the shepherd’s pie, and an open bottle of red wine. Yanni played quietly in the background. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
“I helped—even if peeling potatoes isn’t exactly what I signed up for as his teacher’s assistant.” Hannah Proctor grinned, busying herself with salad bowls. The teen witch hadn’t looked so happy in weeks. Her Bard’s betrayal and Ezra Fox’s death had taken a toll on the orphan. “Did you find anything new about Emma?”
Red sank in a chair, staring down at the orange plate. Now that was a loaded question. She wished she had something positive to say. The short, painful answer was no. Besides the remarkable resemblance, she had nothing that tied her to Emma beyond magical coincidences. Nothing that brought her closer to finding her real family.
All she had found online was a small newspaper clipping about a community play. Emma was student in the Charm school system since middle school, according to an aged secretary, but all the Peterses’ files were missing. The death of the last sheriff had left the local cops in chaos, so record requests—even from Kristoff’s connections via the Blood Alliance—had languished in a backlog without word if any even existed. Each direct angle to the truth had a roadblock. It left her delving into the town’s history, trying to find something to explain what had happened that summer night in 2010 when Emma had supposedly died.
Suntanned features sharpening, Basil brandished the knife again. “I searched Vegas for that delightful Sangiovese airing out on the table, and we aren’t spoiling it with hunter talk.”
Red smiled, spared from confessing that her research had stalled. She didn’t mind his annoyed tone. It was good to see him flourishing and setting down roots after everything that had happened in California. “Oh, I finished watching Breaking Bad.”
Vic pumped his fist up. “Finally! We can talk about this pillar in the Golden Age of Television. The silver screen’s most epic saga of a good man broken by circumstance and forced to the dark side.”
“I don’t know, even in season one, you could see that he wanted—”
Hannah brought the side salads for the table. “No spoilers! I just started.”
He blew a raspberry. “We’re ditching her after dinner to dissect the finale, you know.”
“Hey!” She sat catty corner to him, spearing one of her croutons roughly as if for emphasis.
Smiling, Red poured the wine for the table, skipping over the teen. “Children, no fighting.”
Basil settled down at the table and raised his glass. “I propose a toast. After a long, hard road, full of treachery and despair—” He paused like a thespian. “—I got this apartment together. It feels like a home.”
Red kept her smile pasted on for the soulmancer’s benefit. She had grown fond of the academy, but it wasn’t home. Letting the familiar melancholy pass, she filled her plate as the banter continued.
“Where was the treachery—at the furniture store?” Vic laughed and took a sip.
The other man flapped his hand. “You know how those salespeople are with their warranties.”
The thought of home and family always saddened her. Even if she now had a name and location, the concept still felt far away. It could be another dead end like her inheritance through Smith and Reaper. The money was a consolation since the empty leather-bound book and silver necklace were a bust. She refocused on her friends instead of her disappointments. Soon enough, her smile felt genuine.
The conversation lasted long after the leftovers were put away. There was always something going on in the hidden magical academy, even with the Circe Casino temporarily closed due to a public health order like the rest of the Strip. They were in their own bubble outside all the weirdness in the human world. After a long funny story about his new class, Basil hugged them at the door and sent the three off, refusing help to clean up.
In the Pyramid Hall, Hannah entwined her arm with Red’s as she chatted about a young alchemist whom she swore she didn’t have a crush on. The din of the night rush in the spacious atrium couldn’t drown out her enthusiasm as the trio navigated between shoppers at the bazaar or the alchemists leaving the buffet. They walked into the shadow of the giant banyan toward the park in the center.
Vic snorted. “Should we start braiding hair since we’re just going to talk boys?”
Red smiled behind her hand, betting he was put out that Hannah was losing her crush on him. Even unreciprocated, it was still flattering to his ego.
“I would love to braid your hair!” Hannah said, unhooking her arm to reach for him.
“It was a joke, not an offer.” Guarding his mullet, he moved around her to walk beside Red, huddling for protection.
“We’ll tackle him later, Hannah.”
“Consent, ladies.” He shook his head. “So, you said something about an attempted apocalypse in Charm. Was it the one by the Alaric Order? Quinn stopped those vamps in their tracks.” The usual tension in his brow softened as he spoke of his late mentor. Not for the first time, she wished he were here at least to give Vic someone to confide in.
“Before.” She shouldn’t have been surprised that her hometown might have been on a dimensional fault line where you count time by attempted apocalypse instead of season. “A demon duke was suspected of torching the town hall along with whatever documents they held there. I’m guessing it’s why I can’t find anything on Emma.”
Hannah frowned, considering. Then she brightened, an idea blooming in her big eyes. “There has to be a trace of her, stuck in some dusty old pile waiting to be scanned and put online at the police station. I bet you could find it.”
“Not sure if walking in there is the best idea after how I left town.” Red bit the inside of her cheek to stop from continuing. She tried not to talk to Hannah about how her last bard had died. Innocent of the death, she didn’t stick around to tell the cops that.
Trudy had tried to make amends by revealing the actual name of her mysterious boss. She died before saying it after her own curse ricocheted off the werewolf’s amulet. Red had raised his good luck charm as a last-ditch effort for life. She still couldn’t explain how it had protected her or sent a boost of magic back into her system when it broke. Magic that felt like her own. Her amnesia didn’t mean she had a lousy short-term memory; she still dreamed about the Bard’s last jagged breath trying to tell her who Mr. Gabriel was.
She changed the subject to the current Hero defending Charm to avoid the more unsettling topic of Trudy Fox and shared a bit more about the town.
“A half-fae named Stacey and she doesn’t have a Bard? How’d she pull that off?” Hannah leapt on the topic and starting c
hattering. The teen witch was a designated Hero in the Brotherhood, waiting on new Bard. Vic had been reinstated to the organization but passed over for the honor. The girl wasn’t itching for one after everything that’d happened.
Red caught the searching look in his eyes. He’d noticed the conversation redirection. They had hunted together too long for him not to. As much as she had poked at him about Lashawn, he had done the same about going to Charm. Maybe they were both stubborn. He definitely was.
“I just spotted Jeremy.” Hannah stopped in her tracks and started fluffing her long brown hair. “How do I look?”
“Like you,” Vic said dryly.
“Great!” Red said with more enthusiasm to cover for him as the girl bounded off, saying goodbye over her shoulder.
He crossed his arms, staring at Red.
“Do I have something on my face?”
“You’re being a coward.”
“Ouch.” She punched his arm lightly. “That’s mean.”
“You know it too. How much more can you learn online? Charm is run by demons. You think they really cared to digitize their records?”
“Even without the travel restrictions, I might have cops looking for me there.”
“If they even found the dead assassins, you know it would have looked like ghouls did ’em in. Not exactly the type of homicide that human cops like to follow up on.”
Red gritted her teeth, hating how right he sounded. She hauled out another sensible defense wrapped in their latest theory on how she had been left for dead with amnesia. “I still have to train more in witchcraft. I don’t know what’s waiting for me in Charm. Something stole more than half my magic before it threw me to a vampire who bit me and mesmerized away my memory. Yeah, I’m a good hunter, but as a mage… pretty meh. There’s a reason Hannah is First Witch around here.”
Small Town Witch: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 5) Page 1