Witch in Time: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 6)

by Sami Valentine

  Red jogged down the path, following the unseen energy currents, third eye on the spectral bric-a-brac that bobbed like driftwood on whitewater. Her scenery was the opposite of the stuffy warehouse full of exotic imports, yet the chills cooling the sweat on her back were the same. It brought her back to that strange winter day.

  The energy pulsed, unyielding like the wild sea itself. Neon mist burst from the rockface to her left like a geyser. Was it coming from the secret cave?

  Using her witch-fu more than the map, she searched for the hidden trail, finding it behind a fern. She tiptoed off the crude trail onto a slim outcropping. There was barely room for her feet to walk side by side.

  This wasn’t one of her better ideas, but someone had to check this out before a luckless human discovered it. Or worse, a demon with an agenda. If the statue had ended up in Charm, there was no telling what could happen.

  She pressed her back against the rocks. Holding her breath, sucking her gut in, she inched over the narrowing ledge toward the source.

  The shoreline’s beauty took on a hard edge. A drop to the hard pebble beach below would break her neck and then some. She breathed out a thank you as she found wider ground. It was the terrace from the map.

  A half-collapsed brick rail partially covered the opening in the cliff. She slipped into a gap.

  Earthy decay perfumed the air like a fresh grave. It wasn’t the most comforting smell, but it was better than clinging to the rocks. Grass and hanging roots trailed over her hair as she ducked inside the cave.

  Like an old acquaintance, a Grecian statue studied her with a philosopher’s curiosity. Quinn Byrnes had said the name only once, yet Red had never forgotten it. Chronos.

  He wasn’t alone.

  The dead white man lay facedown at the base. Old blood stained his delivery uniform. An unfamiliar logo of a truck with wings decorated his sleeve. Either it was a small regional company or a fake. The stain dripped down his back as if he’d been upright after the attack. Had he been shot?

  She didn’t want to investigate closer.

  Power gushed from the marble with the urgency of high tide. It battered against her aura. When she’d seen the statue in LA, bound and contained by sigils, it had been overwhelming. Now, her knees trembled in its presence.

  She’d need backup. A lot of it.

  The chamber narrowed behind the disturbing display to a crude archway and shadowy tunnel. Was that another exit? She’d have to pass the statue to be sure.

  Lingering at the broken rail, she peeked out for fresh air under the foliage. She could go back the way she came or take the doorway in the back of the cave. It wasn’t digging her toes into the cliff and hoping she didn’t fall, but she’d have to walk into the unknown.

  Red didn’t know which way to go.

  Pulling out her phone, she called Stace, tapping her foot and waiting for an answer.

  The distant sea monolith shone in the sun like nature was making up for the horrors of the day. Unseen, a firecracker popped, drowning out the waves.

  A sharp, burning sensation shot diagonally up through her stomach. Fiery wet pain exploded in her back.

  Crying out, Red dropped her phone as Stace picked up.

  Feet slipping on the stone ledge, she scrambled for the rail as her knees buckled. She toppled over, trying to channel the air element through her mother’s ring for a cushion.

  She screamed and flailed, rushing headlong to the beach.

  No, this isn’t how it ends—

  Impact finished her thought. The sun burst in her vision like a supernova. Warm blood gushed over her eyes.

  Everything was red until it was black.

  And then it was nothing.

  4

  Sometime on the East Coast

  Emma Peters knelt on a grave and shook dirt off a wild garlic bulb. The family plot overlooked a rolling estate. Moonlight drenched the forest around the large manor and the farmland on the horizon.

  She still hadn’t gotten used to the name.

  Not the one on the tombstone; that was her great-uncle Bob. He still came around for Christmas, smoking a stinky cigar. That was fine. It was the new one, the one she had to use now in her thoughts. Mom said she’d have to answer to “Emma Peters” in real life soon.

  Gathering herbs under the full moon had felt like play when Dad was alive. Now, she understood it for the serious work it was. They’d do more than cook with their haul.

  Heart skipping, Emma’s thoughts blanked. Her palms grew clammy.

  A strange urge to jump up and hug her mother came over her. She looked so beautiful in a dusty old plaid shirt and jeans that it made Emma want to cry from loss. It didn’t make sense. She’d lost her dad, but her mom would always be around. The intrusive thought rattled in her mind, persistent like a fly in her ear. Hug her while you can.

  She handed the bulb over instead, the motion sluggish as she deliberated on what she wanted to do.

  “That’s the last on our list,” Mom said, breaking through the brain fog. She placed the garlic in a basket along with other plants. Red hair, escaping her low ponytail, framed her serious expression. It was what Emma thought of as her professor face.

  “Pop quiz.” She held up a fragrant sprig. “What’s this, Junebug?”

  “Rosemary.” Emma rolled her eyes. What was this, a quiz for babies? “It’s good for protection spells and baked chicken.”

  Chuckling, Mom pulled out a delicate white bloom. “And this?”

  “Ghostflower. Repels ghouls and curses.” Emma pointed at the garlic, shrugging. “Annoys low-level boogeymen but does nothing to common vampires. I know this stuff.”

  “I want this stuff to stick in your head.” Mom sighed, taking off her garden gloves.

  Emma whispered, “Like this dumb new name?”

  The little cemetery was empty, so only the dead could hear them. Still, she didn’t yell it. No one was to know yet. She might have been thirteen, but she wasn’t stupid. Mom hadn’t told her the full truth, not anymore, not like she used to.

  “I gave you a selection to choose from. I was hoping for Hildegard.”

  “Ugh.” Emma stuck her tongue out, imagining having to answer to that. “Emma is better than the others, but I don’t get it. Is this about Dad? That’s why we’re at scary grandma’s house, isn’t it?”

  “Too soon, you’ll know everything. The truth will set you free, but first it will…” Trailing off, smile crooked and eyes wet, Mom smoothed back Emma’s hair. “I want you to be ready.”

  Emma hated not knowing the most. The questions were boring a hole in her skull. “Then tell me what’s really going on! If you’re going to treat me like a kid, then who was that bat mitzvah for?”

  Mom chuckled, a sad, short sound. “Your grandma Goldberg in Newark.”

  “Well, the grandma here says I’m strong. Wants to send me to a private school for witches like us,” Emma said. She found the magic part less scary than the classmates part. She’d been taught on her parents’ research trips around the globe. Her mom called it unschooling. Emma knew how to say hello in twelve languages, but middle school was a mystery. “She says I could do great things.”

  “I don’t want you to have a destiny. I want you to have a long life.” Mom covered her mouth, eyes closing briefly, tears on her cheeks.

  Emma swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. Her mom didn’t cry.

  “When the time comes,” Mom said, grabbing her hands, staring deep into her eyes. “Please listen to me.”

  Emma tried to look brave, but a horrible worry gnawed at her. “Will you still call me Junebug?”

  It would be her last tie to their old life.

  Mom cradled her in a hug that almost chased the fear away. “Always, my love.”

  ---

  Red woke from the vivid dream, tangled in sweaty sheets. Panting, she rolled over to face the clock on the bedside stand. Reality came into focus. She was in her bedroom in Charm. Not a cemetery.

  What the
hell was that?

  It had felt so real, even the part about falling in her dream. Had she been shot?

  Then seeing her mom. She had wanted to hug Brooke Peters so badly, but it was like she was along for the ride, unable to change the scene. The dream didn’t dissolve like usual.

  Shaking off the weirdness, Red opened the blackout curtains. The wall calendar had the first three days of the month crossed off. Somehow that felt wrong to her foggy head as she yawned and pulled off her pajamas.

  Maybe that was part of the dream. Either way, she needed coffee to process it.

  Her exercise clothes were already laid out in a chair by the window, so she put them on. That tickle of failed remembrance felt like a feather on her neck. Didn’t she have something to do? She decided to quickly text Basil a good morning. Whatever else she had forgotten would come to her eventually.

  Pulling her hair into a ponytail, she bounced down the stairs. A foul odor hit her nose like a bad memory. She ran down to the living room, cold sweat breaking out on her chest.

  Déjà vu dogged her steps.

  Like kids on summer break, Vic, Zach, and Bigfoot loafed on the sofa. They watched the same Simpsons rerun as in Red’s dream, down to the exact scene. They were in the same spot, laughing at the same time.

  Stace’s suitcase rested by the front door.

  A tardy paperboy rode by the house on his bike, tossing a newspaper into their yard in a rush to catch up on his route.

  It was all the same.

  “What the hell?” Red asked. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.

  Zach winced, putting his bowl of cereal on the coffee table. “It wasn’t safe for Antonio at Vic’s place. We got in late—”

  Red finished his sentence, knowing she was right. “So, we didn’t wake you. He slept in the gazebo.”

  “How’d you guess?” Zach asked. “Did you see?”

  “I didn’t. What day is this?” When the guys glanced at each other, she demanded again. “Tell me.”

  “Aren’t you a little patriot?” Vic scoffed. “It’s America’s birthday. Fourth of July.”

  No, it couldn’t be. Could it? Her conception of linear time shattered.

  She had done this before.

  Time loop #1—July 4, Morning, Charm, Oregon

  Lightheaded, Red woke up on the floor, half in Zach’s arms. Vic hovered over them.

  The clock told her it had only been a minute…if it could be trusted.

  Her blood pressure must have dropped. She’d never fainted from anything besides injury, but she’d also never died before. Not for real. Was she still dreaming?

  The Sasquatch chirped, watching the action from the couch.

  “I’m elevating her head, Antonio,” Zach said, then looked down at her. “You fainted.”

  Vic chortled. “I’m guessing you don’t want a new pet.”

  She staggered to her feet, knees trembling, holding onto a wall for support. “We have a Groundhog Day situation here.”

  “How?” Vic asked, worry stealing his smile. “And throw in the what and why too.”

  “I don’t know exactly. This day ends badly, guys.” She shuddered. “I die. So does Antonio. I was at the cliffs near Ghost Beach, and my side started hurting like my appendix burst. I fell like three stories…landed on my head.”

  Zach demanded, “What about Antonio?”

  “Shot in the yard.” She frowned at the Bigfoot. Had she been shot too? It had all happened so fast. Could it have been the same person? The locations weren’t that far by ATV.

  “You texted me. It was the cryptozoologist, I think. Shackleford. I got that message close to the…” She gulped. Oh God, that statue was still out there.

  “Wait a second. This is crazy,” Zach said, crossing his arms. “You can’t have traveled through time. That’s impossible beyond the theoretical. You don’t have that kind of magic.”

  “Of course I don’t! I didn’t travel through time. I’m in a loop.” She turned to Vic. “Remember that freaky warehouse in LA? It burned down before anyone could find out anything about it.”

  Vic scratched his head. “Lots of things burned in that town. Bad drought problems.”

  Red groaned, wanting to shake him. “We were on that one-off job for Cora. She sent us there because Michel de Grammont had the place under surveillance before he died. Quinn and I did a time loop there.” Her stomach twisted.

  That was a day they’d never talked about again. It had spooked the centuries-old vampire, which only made Red more freaked—then and now.

  “I saw the same statue in Charm before I died.” She faltered on the last word.

  Zach asked, “How can we be sure this is a loop? Maybe it was just a nightmare, or you slipped into the Dreamland again.”

  “I wasn’t in another plane of existence, but I think the part with my mom could be a dream.” Red humored him because she wanted it to be true. That first brush with Chronos had been freaky enough, but what had happened at the warehouse was localized to the building. It hadn’t followed her home…until now. “I had one of Vic’s camp pies. Maybe the filling was off, but why was everything the same when I woke up? Unless this is still the dream…” She pinched herself.

  “That’s a weak one,” Vic said, pinching her above the elbow. Hard.

  “Ouch.” She rubbed her stinging skin. “I’m awake. I’m awake.”

  Zach kept the mantle of group skeptic. “You might have woken up, but you’ve mentioned creepy mystical dreams in LA. Maybe your trip stirred something up.”

  “I was sound asleep until like ten minutes before I came down here.” Red agreed, but the reasoning didn’t sit right on her.

  Prophecy had never been her gift. Why would she dream about a statue she hadn’t thought about in months? Maybe she was cracking up. Discovering a new knack for prediction was the better option. Her gut told her that she had the same powers as ever. How could she convince them that she was telling the truth?

  She snapped her fingers. “I dreamed that you and Stace had a fight when she arrived around 8 a.m.” His shocked expression vindicated her. She pointed to the suitcase by the door. “She stormed out to the diner, didn’t she? It was at the same time Vic made that joke about finding a dude hairier than her boyfriend.”

  Zach glared at the other man.

  Vic shrugged, clearly unrepentant. “Why would the powers that be send you a vision of how funny I am?”

  “They didn’t,” she said. “We talked about it when I came down the stairs the first time. Then I biked down to the diner, saw Stace with the girls, and headed off to my doom.”

  Zach frowned. “You didn’t go check out Dale’s cars?”

  “Um…” Red chewed her lip. “I got distracted by the living room yeti.”

  Antonio grunted as he lounged on the couch.

  “He’s not a yeti,” Zach said, agreeing with the creature.

  Vic started walking to the hallway. “We need to break the time loop. Is your laptop in the library, Red? I can hop on Bard Net and see what the Brotherhood has to say.”

  “Sure, go ahead. We need to close off that cave before anyone else gets drawn into it, like a jogger or a Boy Scout. I’m not the only one who died there.” She shared what she’d managed to observe of the slain delivery man.

  “Don’t forget Antonio,” Zach said, crossing his arms. “He’s a goner today too.”

  “You drive him where the cryptozoologist can’t find him,” Red said. “I’ll rally the research squad.”

  Zach wilted, sharing a long look with his furry friend. He inhaled deeply as if bracing himself for a hard goodbye. “I’ll send him off with some venison from the freezer. He’ll like it when it thaws.”

  “I’m sure he will,” she consoled him, then texted Stace on her way to Vic.

  The house blueprints called the chamber a dining room, but it was only used for its intended purpose on holidays. Crowded bookshelves and full weapons chests crowded a long table. Stace maintained her late aunt Gin
a’s entire research collection, bequeathed along with the house.

  Red hoped there was something in there that could help them now.

  They needed to neutralize the statue. Judging by its power, stuffing it into a prison box and dumping it out to sea seemed prudent. Destroying it would be best. If the statue let them. It was more than stone.

  The unsettling insight roiled in her belly.

  Red peeped over Vic’s shoulder at her computer. “Tell me you’ve done more than type in your Bard Net log-in.”

  “Their entry on time travel is the usual—can’t be done by mortal or demon. Their entry on time manipulation is spicier. Old rumors of druids channeling great power, relics, and the favor of the gods. References to unexplained anomalies.” He clicked on a link to one labeled The Dr. Frederick Goode Papers (1894). A pop-up on the screen said it was classified. “Whatever is happening, it’s not unprecedented. If the Bards have some of these anomalies locked…”

  “It’s not because they were super fun, I guess.”

  “Why you?” he asked. “Assuming this is personal and there aren’t a bunch of people reliving the Fourth of July right now.” He blew a raspberry. “What a crappy year for it.”

  “You’re telling me.” She hugged herself. “I think the statue wanted to be found. Even the first time.”

  Red walked to the bookshelf, running her fingers over what remained of Gina McGregor’s chronicles of her work as a bard.

  She hadn’t picked through them all, but she’d heard the highlights of their high school adventures from Stace and Zach. Time shenanigans hadn’t come up. Considering his incredulity at her theory, it hadn’t slipped his mind before. She went to the section on mythology and pulled out one on the ancient Greeks.

  “See what the bards have on Chronos.” She began to read across from Vic at the table.

  After her first meeting with the statue, she’d looked up the lore. It was more than idle curiosity that fueled her now.

  Often confused with the Titan father of Zeus, Chronos had been one of the first gods. He had broken away from the primordial stew to create his children—Chaos and Inevitability. Like all the Greek gods, he was prone to taking on strange forms but had passed into myth before the Olympians themselves. He was old when they were new. The bards didn’t have much more on the deity beyond a reference to being worshiped under other names across the European continent with similar figures in other pantheons.