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

by Sami Valentine

  Deep in the throng, an indignant voice called out. “They took out the ghouls and left the vampire slayer!”

  “Who said that?” Arno asked.

  “We’re all thinking it!” Yuki grouched, dismissing the throne with a jerk off gesture. “What good is that creepy boy prince’s protection? The ghouls don’t stake us if they find us feeding!”

  Arno and Kristoff exchanged twin frozen glances.

  The armed guards readied their hold on the automatic rifles.

  The female vampire in the leopard print dress yanked Yuki back, hissing into his ear. “Hold your tongue.” She pulled her earrings off and slapped them on the table. “For the insult. I apologize for my childe. His blood is still young and wild.”

  “We’ll discuss tithes and how to discipline childer later, Colleen.” Kristoff waved them off.

  An overweight man stepped forward, life and death spent working Charm’s small port by the look of him. In an oilskin coat and beanie as weather-beaten as his face, he wiped reddish perspiration off his forehead, clearly worried about being after a troublemaker. He fished a leather pouch from his slicker. Gaze pointed to the ground, he dropped it on the table. Silver coins glinted inside the soft hide.

  The younger Novak brother plucked one from the top and bit into it. He smiled.

  She poked at the pouch with magic. The illusion shimmered. “It’s glamoured.”

  “You’re trying to trick us, Stephen. This will disappoint the Prince.” Kristoff lifted his hand, seemingly bored. “You know what happens now.”

  Stephen bolted. Two armed guards blurred in chase, catching him half out the open window. They dragged him inside, kneeing his gut.

  Sweating from the mental effort, Red peeled back a layer of the illusion to the ears and noses, still not able to see its true form. She gasped when she heard it.

  14

  “It’s ticking.” Red tried to pierce deeper into the illusion surrounding the leather pouch of silver coins on the table.

  The words carried across the glittering country club ballroom, bouncing off the marble. Villagers snapped their attention to her. Two guards held Stephen at attention in front of the throne. The longshoreman sputtered out denials.

  Arno sniffed. “I smell it now.”

  “It’s C-4.” Kristoff sped to the table, snatching the pouch to fling it out the window.

  Red dove under the table. Using her mother’s ring to corral an air cushion around herself and the Novak brothers, she pushed as much magic, willpower, and hope into the barrier as she could. Her strength petered out after widening it only six feet. She stuck out her tongue in concentration, fortifying the invisible molecules to resist the laws of nature and not scatter at the shockwave.

  An explosion rocked the ballroom, shattering the windows, knocking paintings off the walls. Falling to the floor, the locals grunted as the shards slashed them. The chandeliers shuddered, crystals crashing together. After the seconds of chaos, a hush came over the ballroom as the vampires staggered to their feet, pulling glass out of their hair and skin.

  Guards surrounded Stephen. Two efficient shots to his knees stopped his rise.

  Eardrums buzzing, Red dropped the protective bubble and hoisted herself up, stabilizing her shaky rise with the table leg. She hugged herself, heart thumping, shaking the ringing from her ears. A burning tree flickered in the empty windowpanes from a distance. If she hadn’t noticed it, the bomb would have ripped her apart, shattering her ring in the flames. If she hadn’t been here, it could have killed Kristoff at such close range. Another round of cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck.

  Hackles raised under their designer suits, the Novaks stood shoulder to shoulder, unharmed without even a hair out of place. The villagers stared at the brothers, not the guards beating Stephen.

  “Stake him,” Arno ordered, hot anger curdling his usual even tone.

  “No. Ready the traitor for me.” Kristoff’s low command chilled the air. Eyes flashing amber, he turned away from the others, examining Red for injuries. The kingly mask slipped, worry behind the facade. He beckoned to Ana, leaning to whisper. “If you would escort my companion to the study.”

  Red wanted to run to him, ask if he was okay, then start interrogating Stephen and the others. Instead, she smiled wanly, heart still wobbly in her ribcage. There were plenty of times that she said, ‘fuck supernatural customs,’ but the balance of power teetered in the room against the Novak boys. Much like wolves, vamps respected strength. So she stayed quiet like a good little claimed human, ready to give him her thoughts later.

  Hands clasped behind her back, Ana guided her to a door camouflaged as a wall panel.

  Red paused at a murmur from the crowd.

  “Your childe lives in Portland—11146 Bancroft by the South Waterfront to be exact. Our men are moving in now, Stephen.” Arno handed his brother a pair of pilers.

  “Consider this an object lesson, people. The Prince will not tolerate the seeds of betrayal.” Kristoff stalked slowly, every face on him, to the captive held up on bleeding legs by guards. He braced a palm on the old sailor’s forehead and ripped out a fang. “Or the roots.”

  She flinched at the pained yell, letting Ana nudge her out of the ballroom and down a hallway to a study overlooking the dark Pacific. The whiff of smoke invaded through an open window to hint at the chaos on the other side of the building.

  Floppy brush at his side and bent over a fingerprinting kit, an Indigenous male with two long braids toiled in a Vancouver Canucks jersey. The rolling cart of empty glasses stood next to him. He flashed fangs when they entered, dropping a square white backing sheet with the others spread across the wide architect-style desk, each with a transferred latent print, “Oh God, it’s just you, Ana. What the hell is happening out there?”

  “Your sire needs you, Gord.”

  He left at the order, eyeing them both curiously.

  “Do you need to return to your sire too?” Red asked.

  “Oh shit, I was supposed to be guarding the tithes. Arno will be pissed!” Ana rushed out.

  “Arno?” Red asked the empty room.

  She had always assumed Kristoff had done it. They had talked once about how his ability to heal, the rarest of the vampire Gifts, impacted his ability to create childer. He’d made it sound more difficult than the usual process—draining a human near death and force-feeding them vampire blood. Yet he had turned his brother. She wondered how often he found a human worth the effort.

  Leaving that head scratching thought alone, she closed the door and explored the desk. Kristoff’s minion had been busy. Gord had transferred what looked like all the fingerprints even though she could have sworn she counted at least one more in the ballroom. Vampire mutiny qualified as a dicey moment. She should bail, but instead she texted Vic that she’d ride it out to send pictures of the prints to Callaway. Kristoff would bundle her away if it were truly dangerous.

  After snapping the last 3x5 square sheet and texting it on, she felt eyes upon her and spun around.

  The vampire observed her thoughtfully from a shadowy corner by the open window. Had he scaled the building? Long hair escaped his ponytail, tangled white blond strands framing his gaunt face. She had met him at the reunion, but how could she have mistaken him for a young vampire in an existential crisis? His gray overcoat wasn’t a vintage thrift shop find; he must have brought it new decades ago. It draped over a pinstriped suit that was as historic as Main Street. No wonder he had kept his coat buttoned at Lili’s Diner. The yellowed-laced pocket square had seen better decades, yet he held himself like royalty.

  Resisting the urge to jump out of her skin, Red tried to play it cool. It was as if she was seeing more of him now. How had he hidden the age in his eyes before? Or the utter stillness that only master vampires could achieve? Her unease rocketed up at his lack of aura—he’d cloaked it. What was he hiding even now?

  She tapped her phone screen to call Kristoff. “You shouldn’t be here, Novak’s orders.”


  The man blurred to slap the device out of her hand, jerking her wrist back from the force, centuries of power behind the blow.

  Pain erupting in her left hand, she yelped.

  “I told you at the party.” He dropped the American inflections used at the party. I am where I should be.” Pronunciation precise, his English had a vague international accent as if his mother tongue had become one of many long ago. A polyglot chameleon.

  She summoned her magic, funneling it through her mother’s ring, throwing him back against a bookshelf with a wild gust. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

  Cracking the wood on impact, books tumbled on him. He straightened his posture, brushing the dust off his sleeves. White fangs glimmered over his colorless lips. He definitely hadn’t come around for the all-you-could-drink buffet last night. “A witch. You’ll be delicious.”

  Red tried to look confident. Even with the ring, setting up the barrier to block the bomb’s blast had taken a lot of her energy. She couldn’t keep pushing him around with throbbing wrist pain spoiling her concentration. Especially since he had tricks up his sleeve. Was it an amulet that modified his appearance or his own magical talent? She tried a different tack. “Back off. I’m claimed by Kristoff Novak—the one commanding those soldier vamps.”

  “It’s why I found you, obviously. I am not above ground for the gaudy nouveau riche surroundings, but to deliver a message. We can find anything he holds dear—” He suddenly appeared inches from her and dragged an icy knuckle across her cheek.

  Red bolted. She wasn’t going to be killed because of a vampire overwrought about taxes and feuds.

  The vampire called after her, “—and we remember the oaths he broke.”

  She ripped open the door, half into the hallway before she realized he wasn’t chasing her.

  The room was empty except for the moonlight reflecting on the wood floors. Holding her ring hand out like a gun, she crept to the window. The expansive lawns of the country club spread below along the bluffs. Breaking waves announced the heavy fog rolling in from the sea. She closed the window, shivering as she walked to the fallen books, knocked down in the fight. Who was he?

  Kristoff raced into the room, sleeves rolled up and missing a blazer. Blood stains darkened his crimson shirt. “I heard the—” His blue irises turned amber at the sight of her at the broken bookshelf. He cupped her face, smoothing her windblown hair.

  “You have an enemy, FYI. He must have sensed you coming and decided to run, but I got the vendetta message.” Relaying the usual cryptic villain warning, Red leaned into his touch, holding up her bruised hand. “My fingers aren’t broken, so that’s something.”

  He bristled. Arm around her shoulders, he led her to the couch. “Did you recognize him?”

  “He didn’t give me his name, but I met him before.” Before sitting, she plucked her phone from the cushion with her good hand. The impact had sent it through the leather to the stuffing underneath. Cracks etched her still-working screen.

  Letting Kristoff stroke her hair like she was an emotional support animal, Red finished describing the encounter and added, “He modified his appearance somehow at the reunion, but I saw him more clearly this time. Definitely had an aristocrat-down-on-his-luck vibe. He wasn’t at the blood toast, so no fingerprint, but he was there later, talking to Gavin.”

  “I didn’t see him. He must have been the one who called out against us.” Kristoff stood to pace, sniffing like an agitated hound dog seeking the scent of the stranger. At the window, he barked orders into his cellphone for guards to send men into the cemetery and other haunts. Broad back to her, he hunched over the windowsill, fingers digging into the wood as he whispered, “Where did he go?”

  Red rubbed her arms, coming up behind him. “I’m fine. That guy wanted to get under your skin. Don’t let him.”

  The words came out a growl. “He hurt you.”

  “Are you freaking out? Because this is weird. You saw me get staked in the hand once and acted pretty cool then.”

  “You were unconscious for most of that.” Kristoff smoothed his hair, sheepishly. “And that was a hunt. You knew the risk. This was an invitation, a thinly veiled excuse to see you and walk along the cliffs, to be my companion for the night. I could have collected the fingerprints without you.”

  “It’s a good thing you put me to work, then. Bad guys happen. It’s not like we were in the middle of a romantic dinner. I knew there was a risk tonight.”

  His jaw tightened. “I didn’t.”

  “I’m not the one in danger now.” Red touched his forearm. “You are. He mentioned oath breakers. The Etruscan god dedicated in the ritual sacrifice was particularly pissed about those. Even with his obvious magic use, it could be a coincidence.”

  “Not considering my history with Alaric.”

  “I read a Bard’s report on the uprising. You were working with the Heroes. Couldn’t have made you popular.”

  He chuckled wryly. “Alaric hated me after the August Harvest. I defected to Marek’s clan, taking Nedda with me, and started a trend when he needed soldiers the most. His uprising was the last squeeze of a dying snake. Or so I thought…” Falling silent, lost in history, he was inches away, yet an ocean of time separated them.

  “Bringing up old memories?”

  “Older than you’d think. Nothing useful yet.”

  “You know, I was here in Charm, fighting beside Stace against Alaric.”

  “I wondered, but I didn’t connect the name Emma Peters until I saw you with the Hero. You looked different in high school,” he deadpanned. “I remember how we met. It started out as an interrogation and ended in a job offer. In a different life, you might have ended up my intern instead of Vic’s.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You weren’t trying to scam on teenage me, right? Brooke specifically glamoured me for protection.”

  Kristoff snorted. “No, I could tell you were special, but it wasn’t a strain to be a gentleman. Marek needed a witch. Didn’t really think about it after I saw you in a fight.”

  “But really, why?” Red dropped her arms. What had he sensed about her? Why did the question feel so urgent?

  “I suppose I had a good feeling about you. Scrawny little thing, didn’t look like much, but you were powerful.”

  “At least I did something great with my magic before it was stolen. Those days are gone.” She leaned against the windowsill, arms wrapped around herself. “I tried to shield the whole room, but I barely protected us from the explosion.”

  A resigned sigh escaped her as she checked out her own bright chakras. They were stronger than ever after Academy training and a mysterious power boost from Frank Lopes’ stolen amulet, but she was still missing more than half her magic and all memory of her mother’s instruction. The lost potential made her furious, but sorrow seeped in for all the people she could have saved on hunts if she had been able to use advanced magic.

  “That should be my line.” Kristoff took her hand, meeting her eyes. “I am sorry for tonight.”

  “You shouldn’t be. It might have given us a lead.”

  “I need to call my assistant. I’m hunkering down in Charm until this is over.”

  “I’ll get you back to your penthouse in the sky,” Red promised, hand still in his. It wouldn’t be easy to do. She’d have to keep the peace between the hunters and the vampires to finish this quickly. She still hadn’t let go of his hand, and even if he felt more complicated than saving the town, she didn’t want to.

  Kristoff cupped her jaw. He leaned in close enough that she smelled his charcoal and wintry forest scent. She didn’t know if it was expensive, but the subtle aroma was imprinted on her mind, associated only with him.

  Telling herself to walk away, she released his fingers, but hers went rogue to stroke his firm bicep, his sleeves hiding geometric line tattoos. Her heart thumped against her ribs. She could have lost him tonight.

  Tipping her head up, she kissed him before she could tel
l herself not to. His lips were softer than a demon’s should be. He tasted like temptation. She couldn’t resist this time. Leaning her forehead against his, she caught her shaky breath, lost in his blue gaze. She claimed his mouth again.

  Strong hands trembling, he pulled her closer with an ardor honed over a century of longing. One palm rested on her hip while the other caressed over the lyre tattoo on her shoulder. The cool touch triggered tingles under her fevered skin, conjuring a wild energy that felt almost mystical. Her overactive mind clicked off like a light, all thought fading in the rush.

  He had said he felt bolder and braver in Charm. In his arms, so did she.

  Gripping the back of his neck, Red tilted her head back as he nibbled along her jaw. Her heart raced in his embrace. Magic surged, unbidden, to channel power through her ring. A breeze kicked up, and the curtains flapped as books shot from the shelves behind her. Blushing, she caught her breath. “I think that was me. Oh, God, are my eyes black?”

  He clasped his hands over her lower back, keeping her flush against him. His words rumbled in his chest. “I think it’s sexy.”

  Arno opened the door and leaned in. “We have Gavin and Stephen secured in the wine cellar. I’m ready to rip their entrails out if you are.”

  Drawing away from Kristoff, she shifted awkwardly, smoothing her dress. The word entrails might as well have been an ice bucket over her head, cutting through the passion. In his arms, she forgot they were hunter and vampire.

  Kristoff glared as if his brother said too much. “I’ll be there.”

  “I’m starting without you then.” A bemused smile on his face, Arno closed the door.

  Fidgeting, she whipped her hormones into control and retreated to what was easy—work talk. “You know what we need out of him. I don’t care if that blond vampire asked for a stick of gum, we need the brand.”

  Taking her hand, Kristoff rubbed his thumb over her palm, studying her face. “Ana can get you home.”

  “We’ll talk later,” she promised and forced herself away from him, each limb protesting. She had done a lot of magic tonight. Instinct told her he’d be better than cardio at physically centering her energies. She didn’t need her imagination filling in the blanks of what he could do for her. Or to her…