Small Town Witch: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 5)

by Sami Valentine

  Stace rushed to explain, “The original seven bloodsuckers were banished from this world. At least that’s what the vampire version of Genesis says. The gods did it, but who knows which one sent them and their unholy children packing into the Blood Realm. Alaric wanted to bring vamps back to the old ways before the soul curse and the Blood Alliance.”

  “I know the lore, but that’s too out there.”

  Zach counted off on his fingers. “Aunt Gina thought it might have been a riftquake that ruptured the gas line. The cops found one and a quarter skeleton in the rubble and called it a day. Then years later, you appeared as if out of thin air, covered in scars and bite marks, looking like you fought for your life. Going through worlds can fuck you up, especially escaping a hellish one, maybe erase your memory if the portal is unstable. It all fits. The question is why. I think the Order did a hit on you for what you did to Alaric. The Blood Alliance hadn’t finished eradicating his minions until after you disappeared.”

  Red confessed the fear she couldn’t contain. “My mother died because of me.”

  “No, she didn’t!” Stace said, squeezing her hand. “If someone killed her, it’s their fault. Not yours! We don’t know any of this for sure. Whatever you’ve done since then, you did to survive.”

  “Survive, yeah.”

  Zach handed her Cocoa Puff, solemnly. “You did a great thing when you killed Alaric. Don’t tarnish that.”

  The soft hamster nuzzled her palm. She frowned despite the cuteness. “I’m not Emma anymore, you know, even if I get my memories back. Too much has happened.”

  Stace smiled sadly. “We all get older and life happens.”

  “I don’t want you to remember our school days if you could remember eight years in a hell dimension,” Zach said.

  The heavy thought paused her internal dialogue of questions and theories. Red yearned to know the truth, but she didn’t know if she could handle all the terrors in that pandora’s box. How much would she want to forget after she learned it? “We can make new memories.”

  “It’s late. Why don’t we nibble on something, take a breather?” Stace stood, hesitating. “You could stay here tonight, or would you rather go with your, um, friend?”

  “I was going to find a hotel. You guys have no obligation to invite me in after everything you’ve done. I popped in out of the blue on you.”

  “Not at all. It’s nice having you around until you go back to Vegas.”

  “You don’t mind, Zach?”

  He smiled. “I figured we’d end up in a Three’s Company set-up in college, so this is making up for it. We’ll give you the security system code later.”

  Red chuckled. “You made it sound like I practically had a room here in high school.”

  “The mattress is new, but it looks exactly the same.” Stace grinned. “Now, what do we have in the fridge…”

  ---

  Hours later, Red curled up under the blankets in a guest room. Her phone illuminated the Japanese fan above the bed—a souvenir from Aunt Gina’s time teaching at the Bards’ university in Tokyo. Red had sent the summary of her trip to Vic, texting back and forth, but her eyes were swimming. She rubbed them, stalling for those extra seconds before trying to sleep again.

  Sharing so much about herself and learning more about her teenage years had brought the two lives into sharp relief. She had been half-ashamed of Juniper. Learning the truth about Emma should have made her proud. And it did, but there was a lingering thread of imposter syndrome.

  She wrinkled her nose. That wasn’t the right term. It was inadequacy. Emma had been sweet, bookish, and should have been a Hero with a capital H. Red had been a glorified hit woman for the Bards, running credit card scams with Vic when the bounties went dry, then worked with demons after the Brotherhood rejected her.

  What would the girl she’d once been think of the woman she had become?

  8

  Red hadn’t been up for long when delicious smells drew her downstairs to the kitchen.

  An elderly Hispanic woman in a floral dress brought tamales out of the microwave releasing more of the yummy scent. They looked homemade, frozen to last after the Christmas tamale season. Stace sat at the table, chatting with Jackson. Zach flipped eggs on the stovetop. The group called out a cheery hello as the radio played Motown classics softly. It felt like all the cheerful mornings she wished she remembered.

  “Ya has vuelto!” The elder woman rushed forward, surprisingly quick, and pulled her in for a hug. “It’s me, Lourdes Sanchez.”

  “Estoy aqui,” Red said, returning the Spanish. “Some of me, least.”

  “I thought you didn’t remember anything, mija? Not even your Nana Sanchez, let alone anything that I taught you.”

  “I guess the Spanish stuck.” Fluency had snapped into place when Red was in LA, but she thought it was another amnesia quirk. Knowing the source made her heart smile. After putting on a friendly show of polite resistance, she happily surrendered to the insistent fussing from Nana who piled a tamale and egg on her plate.

  “Your mama Brooke"—Nana Sanchez crossed herself—“would be pleased that you kept up with your studies.”

  “I remember how she wanted you to learn so badly in middle school that she told us not to speak English to you when you stayed over during her work trips.” Zach laughed. “We mostly just watched telenovelas when Nana babysat.”

  “Martin Rivas was my favorite. They don’t make them like that anymore—classy.” She smiled, moving around the table to fuss over her grandson.

  “You thought the main guy was a hottie, Nana, fuss up.” Stace sat, giggling at Zach’s mock disgusted expression.

  Red chewed her homemade tamale, smiling at the light breezy conversation. She had gone to sleep thinking she had missed her chance at a family homecoming. In the cheerful kitchen, after searching for home for years, she had a taste of it.

  ---

  After the dishes had been washed and Nana left to watch soap operas, Zach gave Red a hug before heading off to Lili’s Diner. She retreated into the study to start again with Aunt Gina’s binder and take notes. It was the grimmest scrapbook she had ever seen. Lost in the details, time slipped by until she had to brace herself to turn the page to the coroner’s report.

  A crash disturbed the quiet. It came from outside.

  She jumped up, already on edge, and scurried into the quiet kitchen. Was that a raccoon getting into the trash can or something? Stace had left a note in bubbly script on the fridge about going to the store and leaving her man here. Did she hit something pulling in? Red ran outside as masculine curses broke the silence, echoing from the yard.

  In the driveway by the Millennium Falcon, Jackson stood with beefy shoulders hunched, ready to tackle. He shook his fist toward the street. “You get the fuck out of here!”

  Red followed his line of sight, readying herself to whip out her magic for a fight. “What the hell?”

  Vic Constantine held his hands up. Green hat backwards on his wind-tangled mullet and a coffee stain on his jean jacket, he had bags under his tired brown eyes. “Easy, Gonzales. We’re friendlies.”

  “You’re a werewolf hunter.” Jackson spat into the dirt.

  “Get back in the car, Vic. Mr. Gonzales doesn’t want to see us,” Lashawn cajoled in a weary tone. Clothes usually neatly pressed, his shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top. A fresh scar peeked from his dark chest. He leaned against the open driver’s side door of a Prius as if he were expecting to use it for cover. Spotting her, he waved tentatively. “Red, can you help?”

  “Hey, I know them, Jackson. No one is here to hunt you,” Red said to the burly wolf. She turned to Vic. “Right?”

  “Yes. Jeez, I wouldn’t have said hello if I was going to shank him taking out the trash.” Vic lifted his hat, wiping his brow. “This isn’t easy, but I’m here to ask the wolfmage for help—for my brother.”

  Red crossed her arms, studying Jackson Gonzales in his slouchy jeans and white tank top, casual on
a day off from being a restaurant manager. She hadn’t realized he had other skills on his resume. Legends claimed there were werewolves with magic, but the packs held those secrets tight from outsiders. Even the alchemists had little information on the mysterious loners who wandered between packs regarded somewhere between a shaman and a madman. He didn’t look like either. He did look ready to throttle her boss, however.

  “I told Jorge—no! Showing up at my girlfriend’s door isn’t making me any more sympathetic to your cause.” Vein jumping in his thick neck, Jackson turned away.

  “You gotta help!” Vic stomped after him. “Your brother said you could.”

  Jackson paused. “You’re lucky I’m not killing you where you stand, wolf slayer.”

  “I told you not to come, Vic,” Lashawn muttered, hand shaking as he beckoned his brother away from the bigger shifter.

  Turning around, Vic hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “We can make this work, I promise!”

  "This is a supe matter. I’ll manage with it.”

  “I’m making ground.” Vic jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Jackson who was walking away.

  “Um, Vic...” Red said, rubbing the back of her neck.

  “I got this, Red!”

  “You can’t ever listen.” Shaking his head, Lashawn got into the Prius and slammed the door. He called out the open window, “I’ll leave you to it so I can finally sleep!”

  Vic’s face fell as his brother reversed and sped out of sight. He looked exhausted. They both did. She didn’t imagine it was a fun spontaneous sixteen-hour drive. It explained why he’d had the time to text with her so much last night—he was on the road! The sneak didn’t even tell her.

  Shoulders slumping, Vic plodded after Jackson. His voice came out tiny. “Lashawn can’t shift. The moon calls and he can’t. His body tries. Muscles shifting, skin cracking, the works. All night, he’s stuck. He convulses and contorts until morning releases him. For three nights, I gotta watch him in fucking agony.”

  Jackson faced the hunter, brow furrowing. “I heard you take a tooth from each wolf you killed.”

  “Years ago.” Vic kept eye contact, his own gaze inscrutable. Was he thinking of shooting Gloria and Nuno Lopes in their magic cage at point-blank range after their father bit Lashawn? He hadn’t taken a tooth from them, but his hate for werewolves had been sharpened long before. “My little bro had nothing to do with it.”

  “Remember Brady Mather?”

  Vic froze at the name, expression growing grim. Whatever the reason that Red hadn’t heard it before in one of his stories, it hadn’t been good.

  “Skinny white guy with the pelt to match? Can’t imagine he put up much of a fight.” Jackson flashed gritted teeth. Voice low and gravelly, he demanded again. “Remember Brady?”

  Vic blinked in the staring match. “More than you think.”

  “This is your karma then.” Jackson sneered and marched into the kitchen.

  Red asked, “What is he talkin—”

  A car engine rumbled behind them.

  “Lashawn?” Vic spun around. He frowned at who came out of the car instead.

  Stace smiled, expression growing confused as she stepped closer, holding a tote bag of groceries. “Hey, who’s this?”

  “I told you about my mentor. You might want to talk to your man first before I bring Vic inside.”

  “Oh, shit, okay.” Stace hustled toward the kitchen then paused. “Do you mind staying out here? Zach’s uncle is a handyman, but he’s out of town, so if there’s a fight…”

  “Property damage. I get it.” Red nodded, keeping a sheepish smile up for Stace as the other woman went into the house. She dropped it, addressing Vic. “Again, I ask, what the hell? I don’t know what history you two got, but you really pissed off Jackson by sneaking up.”

  “Never met the guy before, I swear. I’m not here to fight!” He tossed his hands up. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

  “You know why. It’s not like you haven’t bragged about your reputation.” She walked away from the house to lean against the Millennium Falcon. “I could have helped if you’d told me. How’d you find us since you didn’t text me?”

  “A hot waitress at the diner told me where I could find him.”

  “So, what was the play here, boss?”

  Vic removed his hat and ruffled the indent out of his black mullet. He slapped the cap against his knee. “This was supposed to be the Hail Mary to fix it.”

  “Lashawn’s furry problems or your relationship with him?”

  “Both.” Vic glared crotchety like an old cat. “I was the one who told the alchemists to pump him full of silver, to get the contagion out. Now the guy can’t even shift right. If I had left him alone, he wouldn’t be on the werewolf short bus. He’s handicapped.” His bitter tone crashed into sorrow. “He came after the Lopeses to help me after I got on Frank’s shit list, and I keep fucking things up for him. He was better off wi—”

  Red bumped his shoulder, derailing that train of thought. “You two are the only family you have, and there’s a lot of love there. He knows that.”

  “I ruined his life. I need to make it up to him.”

  “You could have told me about this desperate road trip last night.”

  “You have your own thing going on and I didn’t think you could help. The Vegas Alpha didn’t tell me who his lone wolf brother was dating. I expected celibacy in a hut, not a dude who looks like he could be Mr. August in a fireman calendar with a fairy babe girlfriend.”

  As if conjured by Vic’s grumblings, Stace bounded down the back steps with Jackson glowering behind her. She elbowed him lightly. “We have something to say.”

  “I’ll do what I can for your brother. Get him here tomorrow at 9 a.m.” Jackson spun away, turning away from the house to stalk to the street and hop into an old truck.

  Lips thinning, Stace rubbed her arms, watching him go. “That’s about as good as I can do.”

  “Thank you. I mean it,” Vic said.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Red said, guilt pricking at her. Stace had been so sweet to take her in, and now she was arguing with her boyfriend. It didn’t seem like the best time for proper introductions. “I can get Vic to a motel. He’s had a long drive.”

  “I’ll show you. Its near Lili’s.”

  “How’s the Millennium Falcon?” Vic asked, opening the back doors and climbing up onto the bean bags under the Tibetan prayer flags.

  “Gotcha a new windshield. Didn’t touch your stuff.” Red got into the driver’s seat and belted herself in sync with Stace on the passenger side. Driving away from the house, silence reigned in the van.

  Stace turned in her seat to look at Vic. “Did you really collect werewolf teeth?”

  Red watched him in the rearview mirror. It had happened before she met him. He’d dropped out of college after his adopted father’s death and been a mess until he became an intern for Quinn Investigations. She had asked him once why he had done it. He’d changed the subject.

  Sprawled on an orange bean bag, hat brim hiding his eyes, he nodded slowly. “They were ferals—killers. It wasn’t for kicks.”

  Stace tilted her head, studying him. “Jackson says they called you the Dentist.”

  “I didn’t create the nickname.” Vic removed his hat as her stare lingered. There wasn’t any fae magic in it, but he shifted under its weight, sitting up. “You don’t know what they did, sister. Yeah, I made mistakes with Brady. The intel was bad, but the packs weren’t doing shit about some murders because they were scared of wolfmages. I didn’t think about the tooth thing. I was young and pissed off. I don’t know!”

  Stace looked away from him. “I just wondered because Jackson mentioned his friend. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

  Vic pursed his lips, jaw tensing as he sank back down on the bean bag.

  “So, do I take a right up ahead?” Red asked, deeply uncomfortable, grateful for the silence for the rest of the trip to the long one-stor
y motel surrounded by forest. She waited with Stace outside in the van as Vic checked in.

  “Two years hunting beside a guy like that. Wow.”

  “Hey, he has a good heart. You’re just seeing him on a bad day, running on no sleep.”

  Stace’s eyes widened, and she put a horrified hand on her chest. “No, I don’t mean it like that, I swear! It must have been rough, thrown into the deep end of the pool without memories. He doesn’t go for easy jobs.”

  “Say what you want, he’s not a quitter.” Red touched the other woman’s shoulder. “It was a kind thing that you did for Lashawn’s sake. He’s a genuinely good guy, as mild as soy milk.”

  “Jackson isn’t going to be happy for a bit, so ignore him if he’s growly. He’s a teddy bear, usually.” Stace sighed, glancing over to the forest around the hotel. “Speaking of, I need to find him. He’s probably sulking in the woods about having to play nice. I’ll find my own way home. I know you said you could get a hotel, but we’re cool with you staying with us. Just text if you won’t be around after dinner.”

  “Sure.” She smiled, waving goodbye as the half-fae walked away into the trees, sprinting at impossible speeds once hidden by the forest.

  Red found Vic sitting on a sagging mattress in a room that hadn’t been redecorated since the 1980s with the door cracked open. Staring into space, he looked like he had no idea what to do. It was unsettling to see her mentor like this. She took over the situation as she came inside. “You’re going to call for food, get something in you besides coffee. Lili’s does takeout. I bet you have clothes in the van. I’ll get them.”

  At his surprisingly meek acceptance, she jogged back to the van to riffle through it for his spare go-bag. Later, Red pulled out her buzzing phone, cranking her shoulder up to keep the old backpack steady as she locked up.

  Callaway had texted new details on the ritual sacrifice. With everything else, it had been pushed from her mind. She went back to Vic’s room, hoping to distract him with the news that the sheriff wanted their help.