One down. A dozen to go.
It was better than a Vegas casino, but Red didn’t like her odds. She had worked hard at learning magic, boosting her will and control, but her energy was still finite. Crystals and charms helped, but she’d still tire. She wasn’t operating at her full potential anyway. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she levitated the other two vials to twist the caps off in unison. Each small motion took great focus. She sent them rocketing forward, air molecules diffusing the ghostflower oil on the ghouls.
Unlucky enough to have their mouths open, four of them dropped into a heap. Oil sizzled their swollen faces as the next wave stomped over the fallen. Normal ghouls would have fled.
Gulping and tracing a sigil in the air for extra strength, Red slammed stiffened air at the decaying figures. Tumbling back, they righted themselves too quickly. What the hell was in the water around here? Why was this colony so agile? Yanking the axe out of the van, she had moments before they reached her.
Callaway raised the sword, determination sharpening her features.
Red stepped in front of the cop, heart beating wildly. She hacked the head off the first ghoul, kicking its body back into another. “I really hoped you’d find a quieter little town.”
Callaway slashed at a ghoul coming up behind Red. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
A flash of fuchsia light beamed out of the forest, hitting them like a blast of UV rays, blinding radiance filling the rural highway. The energy wasn’t chaotic like the dimensional break. It was peaceful and calming. The rotting creatures stilled, staring mutely at the source.
Red blinked the spots out of her vision.
A pink blur zoomed up to the van, spin-kicking a ghoul away, the glint of a blade and a cloud of dark curls visible for only a moment, moving to the next ghoul. Stopping in a shower of sparkles, the blur was a petite Black woman, almost overwhelmingly pretty with a fading magic glow on her cheeks. She put her hands to her mouth, tears in her doe eyes.
Clad in black, a dark-haired archer charged out of the tree line, modern hunting bow in hand. He paused to take aim. An arrowhead burst from a ghoul’s forehead. The colony broke from their stupor to flee into the forest on the other side of the road. He slowed, bow lowering, wavering on his feet. The shock faded, and his eyes darted furiously over Red, jaw tightening under his five o’clock shadow.
There was something familiar to them. Her doppelgänger sense was tingling, that confused embarrassment Red associated with Juniper St. James. They recognized her, but she’d have to ask for their names. She dropped her dirty axe on the ground and stepped forward, smiling. “Thanks for the save.”
“Emma?”
4
Red had seen a lot of unbelievable things this evening—a dimensional rift, an extinct demon, and ghouls racing like they were on steroids. None compared to seeing her rescuers. She didn’t know their names, but she finally placed them. She had teleported into their booth at Lili’s Diner while on the run in Dreamland.
“It can’t be her.” Lines deepening in his forehead, the archer stepped closer, holding a hi-tech bow that would make Vic drool. His black hair lay smoothed back on top, sides buzzed in a deep fade etched with lines. He moved with the purpose of an experienced hunter that wasn’t yet sure if he should attack. A swirling green heart chakra lit up like a road flare over his dark sweater.
Feeling him sensing her magic too, she dropped her psychic barrier to reveal her aura as a sign of goodwill. She had plenty to hide, but a little transparency went a long way in their world. At least enough to prove that she was human. What was he?
“Emma?” The dark-skinned woman said the word like she couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t just the rescue, but something in her face that made Red trust her. Sparkles fading, the woman seemed even more petite now that she wasn’t karate kicking ghouls. Dressed in white go-go boots and a pink vinyl coat, she held a lowered katana. She wasn’t a witch, but she was powerful. How did she know Emma?
Slack jawed, Red was in overload. She could only stare, shrugging and gesturing to herself, hoping the words would come. “Um, er, well, my hair is dyed, you see—”
“Her name is Red.” Callaway interrupted the stare-off. “I need you all out of here before my deputies arrive for the homicide we found off the road. Will those ghouls be back?”
“Emma Peters, is that you?” The mysterious woman repeated herself slowly, watery eyes boring into Red’s. She had a slight English accent, smoothed as if after years in America.
Red had tossed around the name with her friends, but she had never heard it spoken like that—as if there were years of knowledge behind it. A million questions raced through her mind so fast that she didn’t choose the one that fought its way out of her mouth. “Who are you?”
“That’s a good question since I keep seeing her at crime scenes.” Callaway put her borrowed sword on the van hood to cross her arms. “I thought you were just a waitress, Miss Bonner.”
“What a second. Stacey Bonner?” Red asked. She had read about her. The supernatural could be anywhere, but it was concentrated in what Bards called “window areas” where the lines between worlds were thinner which attracted more supes than just ghosts and vamps. Vic had promised to take her to one before they were detoured in LA. The Brotherhood stationed Heroes when possible on these mystical hotspots. Stacey Bonner had held her post for over a decade. Most lasted three years. “The Half-Fae Hero?”
“Yes, I’m Stace! You don’t know me?”
Red shook her head mutely, sympathizing with the other woman’s sorrow even if she didn’t know the origins. A picture had been left at Emma Peter’s grave with the inscription—We’ll never forget you. It was the truth, judging by her reception.
Stace’s caramel brown eyes widened, a tear streaking her cheek.
“Is a Hero like a hunter, Red?” The sheriff asked.
“Super rare hunters with destinies, chosen by the Brotherhood.”
The man slung his bow over his shoulder and stomped to the sheriff. “What the hell is this?”
“Back up, Sanchez.” Callaway lifted a stiff hand. “We just got jumped by ghouls. I don’t need you in my face too.”
“Zach!” Stace pulled him back.
“Tell me what she is!” He pointed at Red, unable to make eye contact.
The situation was about to spiral out of control. She could see it from their side—a long-dead woman appears on a dark and foggy night by a portal. That alone was reason to break out the sage and holy water. Even if they asked around, the rumor mill would say she died. “I’m just a garden variety human witch. I worked bounties with the Bard Vic Constantine.”
“The werewolf hunter?” Frowning, Stace exchanged a long glance with Zach.
Red nodded, unable to decipher the silent communication but hoping it was headway in convincing them she wasn’t from beyond the grave. “I’m not a zombie or a ghost.”
Callaway put a hand on her hip. “Why the hell would you be?”
“Because Emma Peters died ten years ago.” Zach Sanchez gritted his teeth, turning away.
“And I don’t know if I’m her or it’s another doppelgänger situation.” Red shrugged, playing it cool even as her heart slammed against her ribcage. “That’s what I came here to find out. I’ve been looking for home a long time.”
Stace stepped forward, lip trembling. “I think you made it.”
“Not yet.” Zach pushed past her, pulling a silver cross on a long chain out of his black sweater. He pressed it against Red’s forehead.
She held herself still, meeting his gaze. The tough guy demeanor didn’t fully hide the old grief churning in his brown eyes. She didn’t blame him for the suspicion. Vic would have done the same. “I have sage in the van if you want to use it.”
Mouth twisting and dark eyebrows lowering, Zach dropped the cross and hugged her fiercely. “You came back. I always knew you were out there, Emma. I never forgot.”
Red relaxed into the hug despite h
erself. This was what she’d wanted when she came to Charm—a homecoming. The problem was it could be tugged away. She knew from experience, having gone on a wild goose chase last year in Reno to research a missing girl with a striking resemblance. After bonding with the girl’s blind father, she broke both their hearts discovering the truth. None of them should get invested yet. She drew back, telling herself to stay calm, to contain the wild hope. “We still need to match prints to be certain.”
Callaway interjected, waving for attention. “I am moved and confused by whatever is happening here, but we still have the upper half of a supposedly extinct Filipino demon in the van and a human sacrifice in the woods.”
Zach spoke at the same time as Stace. “A manananggal?”
“Bingo,” Red said, guessing from their expression that an extinct demon sighting was odd even here. “It appeared from a crack, like escaping from a demon realm. It might be related to the body, maybe a delayed reaction.”
“A riftquake.” Zach cursed. “I knew it had been too long without one.”
“That’s what you call them?” Red filed away the local lingo. If this was the first in a while, then the timing of the two ritual sacrifices could be coincidences. The deaths hadn’t happened when the portal opened. “It lasted for nearly a minute. Is that normal?”
“Vortexes open sporadically, but for seconds. Usually too quickly for anything to leap through.”
“Well, this demon chick was looking to party and happy to leave her legs behind,” Red said. “I’m hoping we can burn her with the ghouls. The jury is out on whether the ritual sacrifice is connected. It’s been a rowdy night, and I only just got here.”
“Was anyone going to tell me that this village opens into hell from time to time?” Callaway asked.
He chuckled darkly. “How do you think anyone can still afford a house here?”
Stace frowned, her voice tightening in town pride. “The doorways aren’t always to hell either. Sometimes ghosts come out—one time a genuinely nice demi-goddess too.”
Police sirens rose in the distance. Callaway scowled. “My deputies. You all need to go.”
“We need to torch the ghouls. They burn up quick,” Red said, grabbing the sword from the hood and jogging to the back doors of the van. She locked the weapon in a box away from the still unmoving demon and retrieved a squeeze-bottle of lighter fluid. It took seconds to squirt the five prone ghouls with the fuel and spark a match. She turned from the thick smoke billowing from the bodies to pick up her axe.
Stace commented brightly, “The smell should repel the colony.”
Callaway crossed her arms. “You’re going to tell me everything later. I’m the sheriff. I need to know what I’m protecting the people from.”
Stace smiled and bobbed her head. “Of course. We’ll tell you when we need the cops, I promise.”
“That’s not what I mean, I nee—”
“We need to split.” Wiping her axe head clean and tossing the dirty rag on the fire behind her, Red broke up the argument before it could begin. “The sirens are closer. I’ll take care of the manananggal.”
“Come back to the house, and we’ll torch it in the backyard,” Stace said. “We’re not far.”
“Someone’s riding with the demon in the back then.” Red got into the van, placing the axe into the wooden case between the seats. Hands trembling, she turned on the engine and put it into drive. She hit the gas once Stace sat on the passenger side and Zach crouched, leaning between the two font seats. She held her breath as police cruisers sped past them in the other lane.
The sirens faded, leaving only silence behind as the Millennium Falcon noisily made its way down the highway. The wind whistled through the hole in the windshield. Red wished she had left the radio on, shyly studying the strangely familiar hunters in the rearview mirror. “I read about you, Stace. Born in London, trained in Tokyo. You’re like a legend, the guardian of Charm.”
“On my good days.” She brushed glass off the seat with her sleeve. “Too bad about your van.”
“I’m borrowing it from Vic. We call it the Millennium Falcon.” Red smiled. “He’s somewhere between my Yoda and Han Solo. In this simile, I’m Luke Skywalker.”
“Have you been with him this whole time, Emma?” Stace asked.
“Nah, just a few years.” Red swallowed her urge to explain where she had been. “You folks seem like good people. I don’t want to get your hopes up that I’m her. I’ve dealt with mistaken identity before. It’s disappointing enough for me, can’t imagine what it would be like for you.”
“You don’t remember us at all?”
“Not camping on the ridge, yelling at me for smoking, high school classes, nothing?” Zach added.
“No.” Red looked away from his crushed expression in the rearview mirror.
Conversation hushed, the van rolled through a growing fog, the ocean scent growing stronger. Lili’s Diner, surrounded by a gravel parking lot and old firs, stood at a crossroad with a single streetlamp at the stop lights. It was far from alone. The dead walked the earth and rested below it. Trees hid an expansive cemetery where she had nearly died. Unseen on the other side, vines entwined over Kristoff Novak’s country home. If she took a left, she’d be there in minutes.
Stace pointed. “Take a right.”
Gravestones and mausoleums were visible between patches of old growth woodland as the Falcon zoomed past, briefly hugging the edges of the Charm cemetery. It was far larger than a village should have. Eventually, the road curved away, tombs shrinking from sight.
“I’d take you to the diner for something to eat, but I think if we came in without warning, Maudette would have a heart attack.” Stace frowned at Red as if the lack of recognition pained her. “She’s works there. She was always good to you.”
Patting his friend’s shoulder, Zach took up the directions. “The next left by the sport park. Sycamore Row.”
The street had the illusion of a rural lane, sandwiched between empty soccer fields and a quarter mile of open meadow. The homes were separated by large yards. She parked in the driveway of a stout Queen Anne style farmhouse. It looked like the place was built never expecting that the village would grow to meet it.
Stace led them to the back steps, flipping on the lights to reveal a kitchen. Zach set his bow and quiver on a butcher block countertop.
Painted a warm coral, the place had a cozy eclectic vibe with international curios on the windowsill and cutesy labeled mason jars on an open-faced shelf. The dusty round clock above the exit, face seemingly colored with pink hearts by a child, falsely claimed it was two. A hamster-shaped mug sat by the electric kettle. Unusual jackets with wild patterns and bright fake fur hung by the door over a low rack of sheathed blades soon joined by the half-fae’s katana.
“Make yourself at home. Don’t worry about roommates in this big old house. Zach’s my only one.”
Red sat at the kitchen table, trying to figure the two out. Stace wore retro go-go boots and her heart on her sleeve while Zach held his tongue even if hope showed in his eyes. The visual contrasts were stark, as if Blade decided to hunt with Buffy. There was an old companionship to their movements.
“So, you’re not together?”
He snorted. “I know her too well for that. I saw her fairy teeth come in.”
“He’s like my cousin.” Making a face, Stace filled up an electric kettle. “Tea?”
“Any kind is fine. Thanks.” Red took another stab at conversation, deciding against asking what fairy teeth looked like. “I can be the first to say how freaky this is.”
Zach sat across from her, examining her face. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Me neither. I have a lot of questions for you guys about Emma, but I want to get that demon out of the van sooner than later. Then we’ve got the ghouls still running around too.” Red jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Plus, I think it would be more sensible to get the facts straight before we jump to conclusions.”
“I wish Aunt Gina could be here to see you. You look just like Emma. Older, but the eyes… Even if your hair is dyed…” Stace shook her head. “Who else could you be?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out, with a lot of dead ends along the way.”
Zach stood. “Aunt Gina did research on the case. There might be an old file here. We can see if there’s something in there to verify you. In the meantime, Emma, I can help you burn that thing while Stace looks.”
“Red is fine for now.” She corrected quickly, moving on. Emma wasn’t her name yet. “What about the ghouls?”
“You’re home,” the Hero said. “They can wait. You need to know that your—”
Zach nudged Stace into the dark living room. His whisper was indistinct except the end. “Don’t dump everything on her at once. She’s freaked.”
“You could tell that, then?” Red called from the kitchen.
Zach stepped back into the kitchen. “Empath, here.”
Red lifted her eyebrows, surprised even after spying his bright chakras. Empaths held sway over emotions, reading and manipulating them like a soulmancer might souls. She had only met a few, and they weren’t the battle-happy type, more likely to be pensive and withdrawn even with weak abilities. “I wouldn’t have guessed that with the archery.”
“It’s easier to aim when you can feel your target.” Delivering the matter-of-fact statement bluntly, he moved to the back door. “We can burn the body in the fire pit.”
“Yeah, I’ll see what I can dig up.” Stace rubbed her arm, disappearing into a room off the kitchen.
Red mentally told herself to focus on the job, walking with Zach out into the driveway. It hurt how much she wanted this to be home, how lucky Emma Peters was to have had friends in Heroes. They worked quickly to carry the manananggal into the backyard to a large brick firepit by an old gazebo. Unfurled from the tarp and doused in fuel, it ignited like newsprint.
Small Town Witch: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 5) Page 4