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

by Sami Valentine

  Maudette pulled a drink away from a grizzled older man wearing beige coveralls and a sneer. Buggy eyes and a white five o’clock shadow decorated his weaselly face. The music and conversations were too loud to hear what was happening between the two. Zach looked up from the grill. If it were enough to draw the attention of an empath across the party, it couldn’t have been good.

  The man grabbed Maudette, shaking her.

  Dropping the red plastic cup, she cried out, trying to pull back her arm. “Herman, stop!”

  Red rushed to aid the waitress.

  Vic beat her to the man. Eyes narrowed to slits, words a low rumble in his chest, he ordered, “Let her go.”

  Herman released the waitress. “Who are you, punk? This is my spot.”

  Maudette pointed to the road. “I saw you get into the reunion punch. You’re cut off, so go.”

  “Be sweet, Maudette. We’ll kiss and make up.” he smacked her on the butt.

  “That’s it.” Vic grabbed him by the coveralls. “You’re 86’d.”

  Herman tossed his head, failing to shake the tight grip as the younger man forced him away from the bar stand and the party. “You don’t work here!”

  “Never stopped me before,” Vic quipped.

  Red handed the waitress a towel from the bar for the beer spilled on her legs. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, thank you. That old coot was probably dipping into abandoned drinks too.” Maudette grumbled as she mopped herself up. Then she straightened abruptly, eyes wide. “Oh, shit! He’s a shifter. Your friend doesn’t know.”

  Red bolted after the hunter who had no idea what he had caught.

  12

  Red chased after Vic and Herman. Smoke from the grill tickled her nose as she lost sight of the men for a moment.

  Speakers blasted rock music from the eaves of Lili’s Diner, over the transformed front gravel parking lot. Cars lined the street to the crossroads with more arriving. She passed tables of twenty-somethings with BBQ sauce on their fingers, reminiscing about high school. She dodged the three Ashleys taking selfies. The crowd ended at the edge of the gravel fading into dewy grass. She followed tire tracks around the building to the small area where the employees parked.

  “He’s a shifter, Vic!” She warned, catching sight of her mentor half-blocked by an open dumpster. It was already too late.

  The largest opossum she had ever seen reared up, clawed paws slashing the air, scaly prehensile tail swishing. Gray ears flattening over a white furred snout, he snarled through pointy yellow teeth.

  “Buddy, go home,” Vic shooed, flapping his hand. “Get on, get!”

  Red searched through her purse, pushing aside a salt cannister, wishing she had were-mace on hand. “I’m not sure you can chase it off with a broom.”

  “I got something for him.” He reached under his jacket.

  “Don’t kill him!” Jackson jogged passed her to stop beside Vic. “Herman, watch yourself, this is The Dentist.”

  The big possum whimpered, nose twitching, beady eyes darting between the hunter and the werewolf.

  “I didn’t choose the name.” Vic revealed a stick of beef jerky from his coat and peeled off the plastic, chucking the wrapper in the trash. He threw the dried meat at the possum shifter who caught it with fidgeting fingers. “Obviously, I was going to toss this, so he’d run after it. The guy has the munchies. Kept talking about the barbeque he left behind.”

  Jackson scratched his forehead, wrinkle developing between his eyes. “Oh, I thought…”

  “That I’m a racist serial killer. I know. I’m not saying there ain’t truth to it, but I have a code. The possum isn’t feral.”

  “We don’t need hunters to regulate our own kind.”

  One hand in his pocket, Vic gestured grandly to Herman. “Regulate then. Have him shift back somewhere else so we don’t have to see his wrinkly old nuts.”

  “Yeah, if you could,” Red agreed, lips curling in disgust. Shifters might be comfortable in the nude, but she could do without seeing the pot-bellied Boomer au natural.

  Sheepishly for a big werewolf, Jackson grabbed Herman’s clothes and hopped into his vehicle. The other shifter cringed in submission, scampering on all fours. The werewolf reversed on the dirt lot, giant possum in the truck bed like an ugly farm dog. He cut through a couple yards of grass, avoiding driving by the party in the front, to reach the road.

  Ruffling his hair back with an agitated hand, Vic spun to face her. “I came to make amends, but the guy thinks I keep heads in my freezer. Hunters usually buy me beers for what I’ve done.”

  “I guess we look different to supes.” The thought sat uncomfortably in her mind. She reached for an easy joke. “You’re an intimidating dude even with the mullet.”

  Vic tossed her a squinty sideways glance for the crack. “When I was hunting wolves, I never thought I would need a favor from one.”

  “Yeah, this job gets more complicated the longer you do it.” Red touched the scar on her neck. She had hated vampires when she came to LA after everything she’d seen on the road, everything they’d done to her. It was black and white then. Now she saw the gray.

  He pulled a joint out of his breast pocket. “Don’t give me that look, we’re in Oregon and I’m friends with the sheriff.”

  Chuckling, Red conceded to his logic. “Maudette likes you too.”

  “Hey, could I hit that?” Olivia Benston asked, tentative voice hushed even with the cover of the outdoors party.

  Vic coughed out a laugh. “That’s what she said.”

  Red turned toward the other witch, steeling her psychic barriers. “Where are the Ashleys?”

  “Gossiping where I left them.” Olivia grinned. It was meant to be winning, but the tension in her swan neck gave her nerves away. Uncertain and alone, her smile faded. Aura flickering to visibility, her chakras flashed for a second. The glamour slipped on the blemishes on her jaw. She tugged it up like a drooping mask. A waft of energy oozed around her like an enticing perfume, a cloying nudge to be her friend.

  Vic held the joint out, eyes twinkling.

  Red crossed her arms. “You can smoke with us if you stop whatever magic thing you’re doing right now. Its tickling my aura.”

  Frowning, she drew back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t bullshit another witch. I saw through your glamour. I’m impressed you’re able to hold two spells up at once,” Red said, keeping her voice calm and breezy. Olivia’s enchantment was morally dubious, but it wasn’t a rift breaker. “You’re trying to get us to like you or something. It’s cool, you’re cute and smoke weed, Vic already likes you. Level with me, and so will I.”

  Her face fell. “You can tell?”

  Vic nodded, giving her the joint. “I totally want your number.”

  Red shot him a warning look as she called the other woman out. “It’s a popularity spell. I’ve seen the effects before.”

  He asked, “Are you scared to give your speech or something? They put you on the flyer.”

  “I put me on the flyer.” Olivia took two smooth hits and passed the joint back to Vic. “It’s been years since I left. Of course I wanted to walk in like I owned the place. I did in high school. Then college happened…”

  “Life didn’t turn out how you thought?” Red nodded. “That’s going around. We’re in the same club.”

  “I bet you are, Emma.”

  “So, you did recognize me. I wondered.”

  “It took a while. You don’t look like a nerd anymore.”

  Red furrowed her brow, snarking, “Thanks for that.”

  “I’m not surprised you came back. You were tough even if you were mousy. I’m glad you ditched the corduroy and pigtails. You were absolutely the lamest dres—”

  Vic cut in. “I think we get it.”

  Seemingly unaware of his peeved tone, Olivia rubbed her arms, spacing out on the sky. “I felt it—the riftquake—the night you died across town. Our grandfather clock stopped
from the force. The engraving of Cronos completely cracked on it. My mom made us salt and sage the entire house.”

  “What did the energy feel like?” Red asked, the hair standing up on her arms.

  Olivia pointed to a flash in the trees. “Kinda like that!”

  Red held her breath. The light disappeared in seconds. “Okay that was a portal. We need these people gone in case something escaped it.”

  “Too late,” he said.

  At the crossroads opposite the diner, a stooped old woman in a black dress with a cane stepped into the streetlight. Gray hair in a severe bun, her wrinkled skin looked like cracked red earth slashed by a white grin. She looked normal, but a dark aura spread over her shoulders like a cape.

  “Get inside, Olivia. Find Stace,” Red ordered, sweat beading on her forehead. Instinct screamed at her to run. She didn’t want the old woman to see them.

  Starting at the top of the crone’s head, the skin peeled back like a banana peel, viscera glistening in the yellowed light. She dropped her cane, then the rest of her body. A glowing fireball the size of a baseball remained.

  “A soucouyant.” Vic whispered. Rare, the strange elderly bloodsuckers were normally found only in the Caribbean, population checked from hitting the mainland.

  Party speakers in the front boomed the guitar intro to Welcome to the Jungle by Guns & Roses. The fireball zoomed at them as Red lifted her mother’s ring, channeling air to blast the transformed creature aside. The flames merely flickered.

  Jetting forward, the soucouyant hit a fleeing Olivia in the back. It grew to surround her, cutting off her scream. The rock music rose to a fevered pitch, covering the sounds of struggle.

  Red tried to call on water through the ring, visualizing a strong stream putting out the flames. A droplet oozed uselessly from under the heirloom instead, as if she’d dripped lukewarm tea on herself. That’s helpful. Reaching for the easier-controlled air, she summoned another gust at the soucouyant, but the unholy fire held as if anchored.

  “Salt the skin!” Vic ran for Olivia, blessed silver cross in his hand.

  Red sprinted across the grass to the crossroads, yanking a small cannister from her purse. She dumped the salt, jumping back as the husk burst into black flames. Coughing, she whirled out of the smoke.

  Mercifully unsinged, Olivia fell into Vic’s arms. He gave Red a thumbs up after checking the other witch’s pulse. She jogged away from the burning skin, grateful for the cars lining the road, blocking the view. The partygoers in the front still seemed unaware of the drama brewing behind the diner.

  Stace and Callaway jogged toward them, the sheriff already on her phone calling for an ambulance.

  Vic settled the unconscious woman on the ground, pressing a bandana on the bleeding holes ringing her neck. Small circular wounds, like a straw punched into a juice box, dotted every inch of exposed skin. “You got any fairy powers for this?”

  “It doesn’t work like that.” Stace knelt by him with a first aid kit, wrapping bandages around similar punctures on Olivia’s arm.

  Vic cursed. “The wounds are everywhere. We might as well wrap her in a blanket.”

  “The medics will take too long,” Callaway said, putting her phone into her pocket. “The closest rural unit is dealing with a heart attack right now at the nursing home. I can get her to the hospital. I’ll bring my car around.”

  Stace nodded. “Thank you.”

  “She’s clean like the Ashleys.” Red did one last check on the prone witch whose glamours and popularity spell had faded, revealing a breakout on her jaw and an aura untainted by dark underworld magic. “I don’t think Olivia had anything to do with the sacrifices. Besides, if she were summoning a hellmouth, why would she show up in heels?”

  Stace shook her head, grumbling. “Olivia’s gang were the only mages who could have seen Alaric’s big finale. Maybe it was a freak portal popping up.”

  Vic pointed to the trees. “It opened over there. I doubt it was a gateway to Cuba. You had a manananggal and now a soucouyant—that’s two in a row from the Blood Realm. Three, if the ghouls are a part of it.”

  “I know what the records say, but one of Alaric’s people must have escaped with the apocalypse playbook while the Blood Alliance crushed the rest. It’s the simplest explanation,” Red said. “Who else would know the ritual and want to do it? The brotherhood had nothing on it. I had Hannah look it up too, and she hasn’t found anything in the alchemy library either. This isn’t floating around.”

  “We need to know if there is a new vampire in town,” Vic said. “I doubt anyone tells Jackson anything. You should talk to Kristoff.” He didn’t sound enthused about his own conclusion. “This won’t make him look good to his boss if it’s a shifty minion going buck wild with blood magic on his watch. Don’t let him brush this off if he gets squirrelly. Blood mages are tricky to kill, you gotta catch them on an empty stomach.”

  Stace asked. “He could be in on—I mean, why would he help?”

  “Kristoff is the epitome of the saying, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ To keep this territory, he’ll play ball with the white hats even if he didn’t have the hots for Red. He’s helped hunters before.” Vic shrugged, eyes rolling as he griped, “I’m the only one who hasn’t been on his private plane yet.”

  Cursing Vic mentally for bringing up Kristoff’s feelings, Red steered the conversation away. “Marek will have as much to lose. The old original vampires come back and so does the bloodline system. What happens to the Alliance leaders? Quick execution if they’re lucky.”

  She didn’t trust the shadowy vampire authority, but she knew they’d rush to prevent this particular riftquake. If the good guys failed, they’d swarm Charm to destroy whatever came out of the Blood Realm. She didn’t think there’d be much left afterward.

  “I’m not sure I like sending you to meet a unsouled vampire—” Stace started to say more but was interrupted by a beige sedan pulling up in front of them. She lifted Olivia easily into the front seat, belting her. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  “I expect to hear what you find,” Callaway warned from the driver’s seat, then zoomed out of the parking lot.

  The Hero turned away, hugging herself, walking toward the front lot of the diner where patrons were still none the wiser.

  Red stopped her friend. “It doesn’t have to be me, but one of us needs to liaison with the vampires. Once they find out about archaic bloodsuckers in town, the Dark Veil Assurance will send a team on protocol, then they’ll connect it to the murders.”

  “Not the DVA…”

  Vic flapped an unconcerned hand. “Novak is going to lay on that Wolf of Wallstreet smarm, not hurt her. The action is on tonight. There’s another body in the hills. I know it.”

  “Lashawn and Jackson can sniff ’em out,” Stace said. “I’ll go with her.”

  Red didn’t want to argue. It made sense, but a part of her resisted bringing the Hero and the unsouled vampire together. Talk about two worlds colliding. Vic saved her the awkwardness of suggesting that he come instead.

  “I’ll tag along with the werewolves.”

  Brow furrowing, Stace seemed to be calculating who could get in more trouble. Red was flattered when the half-fae said, “I’ll need to supervise the boys. You’ve convinced me he can be useful, but Novak’s not exactly here making friends. Be careful. Go to him. Take my wheels, and get out if it gets dicey.”

  Red took the keys with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Stace was still suspicious, but the real danger wasn’t for her safety. It was his slow creep into her affections.

  Had the other woman already guessed?

  13

  Driving up to the vine-covered cottage half shrouded in fog, Red rehearsed what she was going to say to Kristoff to keep it concise and businesslike. Then his garage opened. Fumbling her mental notes, she parked and got out of the borrowed car.

  He left his Lamborghini and sauntered to her. A crimson shirt peeked from under the well-tailored dark blaz
er on his broad shoulders. Her traitorous mind didn’t need to conjure the memory of him shirtless, flat stomach and strong tattooed arms, to remind her. He looked a little too good like always. There was something ruthless about his handsomeness, from the dimpled left cheek to the smooth brow as if designed by Lucifer to tempt.

  “You look exquisite tonight.” He cocked his head, admiring the view with a devilish smile. “What is the occasion for this little black dress?”

  She shrugged away the pleasure at his compliment. “Party. Monsters landed on my dance card instead.”

  “Not the right one.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the smirking cockiness. He wasn’t wrong. “Are you busy, or do you have time to tell me about Alaric’s apocalypse?”

  “It was more like an uprising—Alaric’s last-ditch effort for relevancy. Now that’s a yarn that requires time which I don’t have. I’m off to collect tithes.”

  “Tithes. Sounds more pious than a vampire tax should be.” Red wasn’t surprised that the cliché about death and taxes held beyond the grave.

  “You’d be surprised how many former bishops are in the Blood Alliance. Traditional trappings on an organization barely older than my shoes.” He gestured to her outfit, appreciation in his stare. “You’re dressed for a night out in a far better town, but the Charm country club will have to do.”

  “I never said I’d go.”

  “I thought we were past old dance of ‘will she-won’t she’ when it came to working together.” Eyes twinkling, he brushed a wild lock of hair off her shoulder. “You know you want to come, see what the fuss is about. Every vampire in town will be there. You can sense if any are dabbling in blood magic.”

  The rehearsed conversation escalated out of her control. Stace wouldn’t want her to go, but his logic was sound. A vampire using dark magic would have been marked by the ritual as much a human mage would. Vic would tell her to get the job done without letting her feelings get in the way. She’d told Stace she merely had a professional working relationship with Kristoff. If that were the full truth, she’d have already invited herself along.