She took her place in the center of the space and assumed a ready stance: feet a little wider than hip-width apart, hands held fisted in front of her hips.
It took her a moment to remember how to begin the first kata, but once she did, the movements flowed smoothly. She performed the same set of movements—a low block and a step forward with a punch—in four directions and finished with a series of motions front and back.
Once she was sure she remembered the movements, she began again with a closer eye to form. Unlike the larger guys in her karate classes, Kera didn’t have enough muscle or mass to hit hard unless she observed the correct form. She had originally been frustrated by this, wishing she could make her thwacks on the shields and punching bags as loud as theirs.
She had thought she would never be able to summon as much power as they did until one of her teachers took her aside after class, noticing her frustration. Mr. Sanchez had been a spry older man with a strong accent, and he was two inches shorter than Kera.
He had explained to her with a twinkle in his eye that her smaller size was more of an advantage than she believed. Not only would she have more ease with certain throws if she were to study a form like Judo, but she had another and far more potent tool at her disposal.
Kera had asked if he meant punching people in the balls.
Laughing, he had told her that was not what he meant. No, he explained, Kera was small and would never be able to hit hard…unless she made every strike exactly correctly.
“The others…they will struggle to learn correct form,” he told her. “But you will learn it very well, and you will always know if your form slips. In time, your strikes will hit harder than theirs.”
Kera had nodded and thanked him, but she was privately dubious of his claims.
To her surprise, Mr. Sanchez had been correct. By the time Kera stopped practicing, she could sometimes get in hits that stunned the stronger boys. It wasn’t consistent, but it showed her what was possible.
Now she needed to make it consistent, and she suspected that the discipline and precision of martial arts might help her with her magic.
She made her way through all of the katas she remembered, sometimes stopping to look up a particular move, then smiling as muscle memory kicked in. She was panting and sweaty by the time she finished. She always forgot how all-consuming the katas were to perform.
According to her teachers, each move required the entire body. The power or strength resulted from keeping the body in the correct stance and utilizing countermoves. A punch might be seen only as the impact of the hand, the teachers had lectured the students, but much of the force came from the swing and lock of the other arm, leveraging through the core.
Once she had done run-throughs of each kata, Kera took a moment to drink some water and think about how she wanted to put her plan into action.
Namely, adding a small dose of magic into her martial arts moves. If magic became more efficient the more you did it, and she wanted to rely on skills other than just magic, it made sense to meld those skills together.
She didn’t want to turn herself into Superman, lifting cars and leaping buildings in a single bound. She just wanted to give herself an edge, and she wanted it to be instinctive. No trying to cast a strength or speed spell on the fly in a fight.
A pattern or rotation of spells and techniques that would keep her ahead of the competition.
But which spells to attach to which moves?
She decided to try attaching strength spells to her kicks, speed spells to her blocks, and luck spells to her punches. A large version of those spells would last for several minutes, but Kera wanted to see if she could use the power steadily and slowly, casting consistently.
The first kata took far longer than she was used to, given that she kept needing to make hand motions and say spells. She realized now that she had always used her right hand for the gestures, and it took her some time to get used to doing them with her left as well.
Thankfully, which hand she used didn’t seem to matter. Nothing blew up or caught fire.
The trick lay in attaching the gesture to the off hand during each technique.
Kera had intended to do each kata, but by the end of a few repetitions of the first one, she was wiped. She stretched briefly and headed to the kitchen to make herself some dinner.
In order to keep eating a high number of calories without subsisting entirely on junk food, which was both nutrient-poor and fairly expensive, Kera had decided to get dried beans and rice. She set two pots to heat while she drank more water and checked to make sure she had turned her power “off.”
That part wasn’t instinctive yet. She had left it on after the fight, by now used to the slow drip of it.
It was a relief to have it turned off.
While the beans and rice cooked, she hard-boiled a few eggs and stir-fried sliced chicken with vegetables. When she was done, the meal smelled mouth-watering. There was only so far wrong one could go with garlic and onions, of course, but Kera was still proud of herself.
The food disappeared in record time, then she took a shower. With all her workouts, her water bill was going to be through the roof this month, but she couldn’t stop showering. She’d stink the place up in no time if she did.
Then she settled down to watch TV and relax. She had done about as much as she could do in one night and knew she would push her limits too much if she tried to do more magic or more physical activity.
On a whim, and before she could talk herself out of it, she sent a text to Christian.
Hey, how are you?
As soon as she sent it, she cringed. She tried to remind herself that he had called her for no reason the other day, but she couldn’t help feeling stupid.
She had never been good at dating. She masked it by telling her parents that she was too busy with schoolwork and cheerleading, but the truth was that she never knew what to say. It felt ridiculous to walk up to someone in a crowded room and just start talking.
Amused, she reflected that this was probably one of the things she liked about doing good deeds. When someone was in a burning building, there was no pressure to figure out the most dignified way to get them out. It was all about efficiency and problem-solving, things she was much better at.
When someone was stealing a car, that was another situation when she didn’t have to be elegant or dignified. She could just tell them to pound sand.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Chris.
Really tired of this project. Are you on break?
I’m off work tonight, she typed. Slow night.
It wasn’t long until he messaged again. I heard on the news that a lot of people are avoiding Little Tokyo and Chinatown this week because of all the muggings and stuff last week.
Kera hadn’t thought about that. She stared at her phone and chewed her lip.
If that kept happening, the Mermaid was going to be in trouble.
When her phone buzzed, she just about leapt out of her skin and ended up juggling the phone a few times until she managed to catch it.
I didn’t mean to worry you, Christian had said. I hope you haven’t had any trouble.
What was she supposed to say to that? She couldn’t admit she’d had her bike shot at, or he’d get worried.
Maybe sometime after the first date.
My boss is really careful with security cameras and stuff, she wrote back. And our customers don’t tend to get rowdy.
Glad to hear it. I’d like to say I’d come in as backup, but I don’t think I’d be very useful.
Kera laughed. “Luckily for you and me,” she murmured to herself, “I have a little bit of skill in that department.” Don’t sell yourself short, she typed back with a grin.
Nah, I’m realistic about myself. The good news is, we only have to run faster than Ted.
Kera laughed aloud. Now I know why you keep paying for his drinks.
You know too much now, he wrote back.
Don’t worry, I’l
l never tell. Bartender’s honor.
Given his day job, Chris needed to head to bed not long after, and Kera decided to watch a movie. It was the first time in a while she’d taken time off, not working on Zee or cleaning, practicing spells, and reading up on business books.
To her surprise, she found herself drifting to sleep before the movie was half done and well before she would have been finished with her shift at work. She snuggled under the covers and watched until her eyes fluttered closed.
Chapter Eleven
It was late Thursday night, or technically, early Friday morning. Kera had slept in luxuriously late even for her, and that was after falling asleep very early the night before. Between the extra sleep and figuring out how to turn off her power when she wasn’t using it, it seemed she had managed to make some progress on the scale.
Or at least, she hadn’t lost any more weight. She’d take that as a win for now.
And they were one day closer to Saturday’s dinner with the Kims. Christian had mentioned the day before by text that he was looking forward to meeting them and had asked if there was anything in particular he should know. There was still the issue of whether everyone would get along, of course, but Kera was relieved that he wasn’t going into it feeling put-upon.
After having yesterday’s shift off, it felt strange to be off work again, especially with the weekend right around the corner. On the other hand, her nightly jaunts around LA were proving strangely addictive. She hadn’t realized how eager she was to do something that made a real difference in the world. This didn’t feel like “time off” as much as it felt like her real job.
Once again, she had activated her phone’s relay system and linked it with a subtle magnification and psionics spell so intercepted phone calls across emergency lines would play out at a reasonable volume within her helmet.
Which way do I go? she wondered. The dispatches were quiet so far, and, after all, it was a big town. After a few moments of thought, she decided to head through Skid Row and then maybe east.
Unless something came up, of course.
She drove down Towne Avenue, listening intently to the static and interplay of phone calls, waiting for something to jump out at her.
In the gathering dark, with her eyes fixed on the road and the nearby cars, she didn’t notice when the obscuration spell on Zee flickered and faded.
Two men, hanging out on a street corner as people sometimes did, noticed the person on the bike as she passed. Another block down, someone else reached out to tap a friend’s shoulder and jerk his head in the direction of Zee as the motorcycle and its rider buzzed past. The people who’d noticed her pulled out their phones and sent text messages. Communications passed between them, and other figures moved toward the ends of adjacent streets.
Unseen by either them or Kera, a slender figure slipped from shadow to shadow, tailing the group of people.
Unaware of their movements, Kera sighed in disappointment. She told herself it was a good thing when LA wasn’t suffering from crime or tragedy or localized fiascos, but if it was going to happen, she wanted to help.
She gave up waiting for 911, opting instead to canvas the streets around her. She drove at an unhurried pace that would allow her to watch the shadows between the parked cars or peer into alleys and broken windows.
A block from Kera’s position, Vincent Mariani’s underling Keith turned to the two guys and two women at his side. The others were strategically positioned elsewhere.
“Okay,” he said, grinning, “single figure on a motorcycle. Driving slow, taking too much interest in things. Now we bait the fucker to see if it’s our witch—a nice, obvious crime that someone commits right in front of him. Anybody want to snatch a purse?”
“Me.” Sal, a young man with longish black hair, jerked a thumb at one of the women on the team. “Always wanted to rip Olivia off.”
“Oh, fuck that!” Olivia protested. “You couldn’t steal the panties out of my drawer if I was passed out drunk. I’d wake up just to kick your ass.”
Sal laughed. ”Never mind the purse, let’s try that one. You get drunk, sweetheart, then we’ll—”
“Shut up,” Keith snapped. “Olivia, pretend to let him snatch your purse. Don’t worry, I’ll make him give it back later. Sal, run toward the rest of us. Remember, it’s a trap.”
“I don’t see why he can’t steal Jose’s wallet or something,” Olivia muttered.
“Shut up,” Keith repeated. “Everyone do as I say. I got us in with the fuckin’ Union, and they trusted us with this. We’re gonna take this witch bitch out and get in good with Mariani.”
Kera, oblivious to the conversation Keith was having with his underlings, was absorbed in a sudden call she heard on the police boards.
“Situation developing at Wilshire and Valencia in Westlake,” the dispatcher’s voice said. “One officer on the scene, monitoring the situation. Will report back if—”
Then, right in front of her, Kera watched a repeat of what she’d seen last night.
There was a young woman, walking alone this time, and a man ran up behind her. Kera wanted to yell to her to watch out, but there wasn’t time. The thief shoved the girl and grabbed her purse, then ran half a block ahead before ducking into an alley.
Kera revved Zee, making his engine roar as she gunned it toward the thief’s position, while the victim hopped up and down in place and tossed off colorful curse words and sputtered. Kera ignored her and swerved the bike down the alley.
She killed the speed immediately, though by then, the walls on both sides had enclosed her.
The purse snatcher had only run as far as the three-way juncture at the end of the alley, then he’d stopped. The dark silhouettes of three other figures appeared to have joined him.
Kera brought her motorcycle to a full stop and glanced over her shoulder. Approaching from behind was another group of similar size. Two of them seemed to be female, including the woman who’d been “robbed” a moment before.
She didn’t have to know gang tactics to put two and two together. Kera cursed her blindness in having walked straight into the trap.
“Okay,” she muttered, reminding herself that these people didn’t understand what she was capable of. “LA Witch time, is it?”
Kera swung one leg up and over Zee’s seat, setting the kickstand in the same motion. She looked back and forth at the two groups preparing to flank her.
“Announcement.” Her voice echoed down the alley. “If anyone touches my bike, I will fry his nuts. Unless it's a girl, in which case I’ll fry her…tits. Hands off.”
Nasty, scornful laughter burbled toward her from both sides. Some of it had a slight edge of unease, though.
Kera left her helmet on. She glanced once more at each of the two clusters but decided she ought to focus on the one deeper in the alley, where the purse-snatcher had fled.
“All right,” she queried, “who’s the biggest, baddest motherfucker here? I want to know.”
At the center of the five at the alley’s inner junction stood a tall man, twenty-five or so, with reddish-brown hair peeking out from a backward-turned baseball cap and a pale complexion. A generic tribal tattoo ran down the lean muscles of his right arm.
He gave her a cocky grin. “Me. Name’s Keith, but you don’t get a shot at me right away. You ain’t proved your worth yet. First, you have to work your way up the ladder to get your chance. Those are the rules.”
Kera looked behind her. The other half-dozen of them were coming closer, penning her in.
“Challenge accepted,” she told the leader.
He cupped his left hand around his right fist and grinned. “Okay. Sal?”
The guy who’d pretended to snatch the purse was still holding it, and as he approached Kera, looking pleased with himself, he tossed the satchel over her head, allowing the phony victim to catch it.
“Jesus Christ,” the woman squawked, “I got delicate shit in here! Hand it to me next time!”
Sal
snorted derisively at her, then he attacked.
It was a clumsy bum’s rush. His whole plan was to tackle her into the wall and then probably beat her head against the bricks with his fist. Kera saw it coming a mile away. Though she didn’t think magic would be necessary, she was still going to work on the strike-and-spell combinations she had whipped up the night before.
She stepped back, pivoted, and planted one foot where Sal’s legs would get tangled around it, while in the same motion grabbing his jacket with her left hand and twisting him aside. Her right hand formed into a ball of bone and sinew and drove directly into his face while she added the smallest spell she could imagine for speed, focused solely on the attack.
“Augh!” the man cried. His nose bled and he stumbled to the side, then crashed into the opposite wall. Kera planted a quick, straight side-kick in his chest for good measure, the extra strength she’d given the movement knocking the wind out of him, and from the sound of it, cracking a rib or two.
He slumped, out of the fight.
The leader, Keith, made a sound of annoyance that she had taken Sal down so easily. He snapped his fingers and another of his minions charged, this one from the rear group. He was smaller than Sal but smarter. He wove as he approached, keeping his eyes fixed on her and trying to study her movements before he struck.
That gave her an idea. Kera hit him with a fast burst of suggestive magic. Nothing too strong, just a whisper in his mind: Look over there.
He’d been so focused on her physical movements that he hadn’t guarded against unexpected sounds or thoughts. His steps faltered as his head whipped around to look at a blank brick wall, dumbfounded, his momentum carrying him into the range of Kera’s fists.
Bingo. Kera punched him twice, solar plexus first and jaw second. He hit the ground like a sleeping bag soaked in river water.
Keith grunted, his annoyance clear. “All right, so you’re not a complete pussy. Upping the ante here. Juan, Niko, get ‘im.”
How To Be A Badass Witch: Book Two Page 9