It hadn’t taken James long when they stopped for lunch to find word of an explosion in an abandoned mineshaft the night before. Some tourists had apparently seen it and posted the whole thing on social media, assuming that they were seeing stunts for a movie.
They weren’t. Emergency services were there now, and while they stressed that there had been no danger to anyone, they were very blunt about the fact that the explosion should never have happened. They seemed hopeful that this had just been someone playing around, but their expressions on the news said there was much more destruction than they’d expect for someone just playing around.
James and LeBlanc were of the same opinion. It wasn’t out of the question that someone would head off into the desert to practice magic. In fact, they approved of that in principle. But the explosion, particularly the scope of it, showed that this prospective thaumaturgist was done being subtle.
And now they were in Vegas.
James winced. “They’re going to try some Ocean’s 11 shit, aren’t they?”
“We should be so lucky,” Mother LeBlanc told him, the warning clear in her tone. “If they’re using explosions, I think we can reasonably assume they might use similar skills in Las Vegas.”
“I mean, the Ocean’s 11 crew used that EMP device.”
“James.”
“Right.” He sighed. “Well, we need to get there fast, and we need to find them. Do you want to try scrying ahead and making contact with them while I drive?”
LeBlanc considered, then shook her head. “I’ll try scrying when we get closer, but I don’t want to give them any indication we exist. I don’t have a good feeling about them.”
“’Them.’ You know, that’s a possibility.” He headed back to the car, catching sight of her curious expression. “That it’s multiple people. It would explain the size of the explosion. One person couldn’t pull that off and be doing magic again already.”
“A good point, though a disturbing one.” She came with him and folded into the passenger seat. “If the thaumaturgists we’ve awoken are already forming covens, this might get out of hand.”
“Not a word to the council,” James muttered. “I do not want to hear Mary Mitchell saying ‘I told you so’ for the next four centuries.”
Pauline hung up and resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room.
Vincent Mariani had been pleasant, almost jovial.
He also did not respect her in the least. It was clear that after Keith’s defeat, he was prepared to make the entire thing Johnny’s fault, and by extension, Pauline’s. Since Johnny had claimed the LA Witches were an old enemy, Mariani was going to play like it wasn’t his problem.
And it was. It was absolutely his fucking problem. It was everyone’s problem. Pauline wanted to scream with rage. They didn’t need some asshole playing LA Batman, and they certainly didn’t need one who seemed able to rip burning cars apart with his bare hands and beat up more than ten people at one time.
Also, the man who had been shot in the stomach was still swearing up, down, and sideways that Motorcycle Man could fly, which at this point, Pauline could believe.
If the gangs didn’t make sure this guy got taken out, they were all going to be vulnerable. Motorcycle Man would keep picking them off one by one, then the police would sweep in and clean up whoever was left.
That wasn’t the plan, dammit. She’d been ready to put the second stage into action next week. After the sudden surge of violence, she was going to go hard against the other gang leaders in Little Tokyo with a show of force, making the gang members stand down and join her team. She’d had it all planned, down to the abduction of certain key members of each gang.
It would have been good for Johnny, Sven, and Lia to see that, too. She had resources they didn’t know about, and she could make someone’s life hell if they didn’t play nicely.
Motorcycle Man was screwing everything up.
“Dumat,” she hissed at herself. Think!
How did you take down someone with superhuman speed and strength and the ability to stun people without touching them?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kera pushed open the door to the grocery store, causing the little bell to tinkle and announce her presence. She didn’t browse the shelves but trudged straight toward the counter, knowing that she probably looked ragged and dejected.
Mr. Kim looked up from the register and eyed her. “Hi, Kera. Are you okay?”
Kera cleared her throat and looked around the store to double-check that it was empty before she admitted the truth. “I…not really.”
“Ah.” Mr. Kim let the word hang in the air, a gentle invitation to say more. “Should we have more tea?”
Kera nodded. Tears were stinging her eyes. As she watched him close up, she said quietly, “I need to learn how to fight better. I need…I don’t know what I need, but I need to be better at all of it.”
“Hmmm.” He beckoned for her to come with him and headed up the back stairs. “I could help you, but that would be doing you a disservice.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “What do you mean? This isn’t a ‘Figure it out on your own, young grasshopper’ thing, is it? Because I am so not in the mood.”
“Oh, you think just because I am Asian, this is a prelude to you training with a martial arts master?” He gave her a scowl that was too exaggerated to be real. “Because as it happens, you would be right.”
Kera was startled into a laugh.
She waited on the landing when Mr. Kim gestured for her to do so. He called upstairs, a few sentences in Korean, then added in English, “Sam, open the store back up and watch the register. I may be gone for an hour or more.”
The boy appeared, frowning. He’d probably had plans to do something with his friends, or at least play video games, but he obeyed.
As he passed, Kera said, “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” he responded, and his mood perked up.
Kera had assumed that Mr. Kim was going to take her into his living area and perhaps show her a book or call a friend of his. To her surprise, he instead took her through a narrow passage beneath the staircase that opened into a small courtyard beyond the main structure and then toward a small outbuilding.
Rather than question him about what they were doing, Kera said quietly, “Mr. Kim, thank you. I don’t think I want to trust anyone else with this. Because of...you know. ‘Reiki,’ we’ll say.”
The old man nodded. “Ah, yes. No one who doesn’t already know.” He stopped in the middle of the courtyard, lowered himself to his knees, and picked up a trio of small rocks to roll in his fingers as he spoke.
Kera watched in confusion.
“My wife is better than I am,” Mr. Kim explained. “And she is a teacher. I…how do you say it? ‘Hooked up’ with my teacher’s daughter.” He chuckled. “He nearly killed me for it, but I was young and heart-struck. Or is it heart-sick? Anyway, I kept allowing her to get me into holds just to have her touch me.”
“Is that so?” Kera crossed her arms over her chest. “Sneaky, but I guess it demonstrates some strategic or tactical principle, which is important in fighting too, right?”
“You might say that.” He stretched his limbs one by one and began juggling the rocks. Kera realized he was warming up. “Unfortunately, she caught on to my evil plan and figured out I was dragging things out too much for fun, so she cornered me to make me fight. I refused. She smiled in a demure way and said that she would date me if I won. Well, I could not refuse that offer.”
Kera found it both amusing and stupidly heartwarming to picture the scene. She wondered how long ago it had been. “So, you won?”
From behind them, a woman’s voice called, “He cheated!”
The girl turned and saw Mrs. Kim stepping toward them. Without making a sound, she’d slipped out the back door. She was looking better again. Kera’s last treatment must have done her a significant amount of good.
In an e
xasperated tone, Mrs. Kim added, “I did not know what happened until later. He used his power to beat me.”
Mr. Kim, grinning, inclined his head toward her in a slight bow. “For my flower, I would cheat death itself. Why not cheat at love, too?”
“Oh.” Kera’s jaw dropped. She looked at Mr. Kim. “So, when you said she was angry about you using your power…”
She realized that his magic had been the source of the entire relationship. No wonder Mrs. Kim had been pissed off.
Mrs. Kim, however, had clearly found a sense of humor about it over the years. Her mouth grimaced, but Kera noticed that her eyes didn’t match the expression. “I was pissed,” she said, and it was the first time Kera had ever heard her use foul language. “He beat me? Hah! I wanted to stay close to him, to find out how he did it so I could beat him back. That was all!”
“And so I won her heart,” Mr. Kim said in a stage whisper.
Mrs. Kim made a noise of faux disgust.
Her husband only smiled at her. “Shall we show Kera?” To the witch, he added, “This was what she had wanted to show you, you know. She thought you might want some extra help in case you didn’t want to rely solely on magic.”
“My kind of woman,” Kera murmured to herself, with a nod of thanks at Mrs. Kim.
He led the way to the outbuilding he’d been heading toward, the one Kera had assumed was for storage, then opened the door and ushered the women in first.
When she got inside, Kera realized she had been wrong. The structure had been converted into a small but tidy makeshift dojang. Mats were laid out on the floor, and there was a rack in the corner for hanging up clothes, belts, and protective gear.
Kera nodded in appreciation and pulled off her shoes. She went onto the mats when the Kims gestured for her to do so.
Mrs. Kim said something to her husband in Korean, apparently more comfortable teaching in her native language. While Kera did not understand the words, she found herself standing up straighter and paying close attention. Mrs. Kim had a great deal of quiet authority. Something in her manner made Kera want to impress her.
“First, we need to see what you know,” Mr. Kim said, “and if you can do it correctly. We practiced hapkido and judo. Judo is Japanese, yes, but very popular in Korea. Hapkido is Korean but is somewhat similar to karate and jujitsu. Many Koreans learned karate during the Japanese occupation, and it reinvigorated our own martial arts.”
Kera’s eyebrows went up. She had not known that part of the history of karate, though she wasn’t surprised the karate instructors had glossed over it.
“Show us what you can do so we can make adjustments,” Mr. Kim said. “That way, you will not keep bad old habits and add them to new moves.”
“Makes sense,” Kera acknowledged. She took a deep breath, stretched, and provided a quick demonstration of basic techniques as well as katas. In some cases, she reminded them that the moves she was executing were part of a philosophy that might have been specific to Shotokan and might not have translated into other disciplines.
To her surprise, she found that it was difficult to perform the moves without adding the tiny spells now. The habit, so essential in her fights, had become innate very quickly.
“Not bad,” Mrs. Kim said when Kera finished and bowed. She joined the girl on the mat. “Now we make adjustments.”
For the next forty minutes, the older woman aided the younger in making her kicks faster and more precise and adding or removing steps to some of her katas based on clinching maneuvers or takedowns. Mr. Kim offered advice as well.
Within about half an hour, Mrs. Kim’s fatigue was obvious. Though her condition had improved, she was still unwell, yet there was a radiance about her, a sense of aliveness that Kera hadn’t seen before. The joy of training and having a purpose must have given her a new source of strength.
“Okay,” Kera began, “I think that’s enough for today, but I learned a lot, and I’d be happy to come back for another lesson. I’m sure you both have things to do, so I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” She also didn’t want to make Mrs. Kim think she was giving her special treatment.
Luckily, the older couple did not seem upset.
Mr. Kim chuckled. “Oh, sure, you don’t want to be reminded of how much you still don’t know, is that it? Ha, ha. But yes, I should get back to the store. And you...” He turned to his wife.
Mrs. Kim took his hand and nodded. Though tired, she didn’t seem defeated by the exertion. Not in the slightest.
Whatever it takes, Kera vowed, I’m going to save her. I can, and I will. She deserves it, even if I have to bring about a veritable miracle.
As they stepped out into the morning air and Mrs. Kim headed back into the building, Kera stopped Mr. Kim with a touch on his arm.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I mean it. Thank you so much. When I came here today…”
He hesitated. “I saw the news this morning,” he said quietly. “That is what you have been doing, Kera? The man in the black motorcycle helmet is not a man, is he?”
Kera looked away sharply. Her cheeks were burning, and she felt tears in her eyes again. When she looked back, Mr. Kim was watching her closely.
“What about this hurts so much?” he asked quietly.
“You saw the news,” Kera told him furiously. She wasn’t angry at him; she was frustrated by what had been going on. “They set it up, I swear. They’ve been setting up traps for me. I think last night was supposed to be one. There are people in critical condition from those bombs. Some of them may even have died by now. They lured me into that building and…” She put her hands over her eyes.
Mr. Kim said nothing. Outside on the street, cars honked. It felt like the world was both far away and much too close.
Kera spoke without opening her eyes. “I’ve been getting into more fights lately. Since I started learning all this stuff, I feel like I should do more to help other people, but that causes friction, I’ve found. Like you said. It makes me wonder if I’m doing the right thing.”
Mr. Kim nodded. “You have…changed the balance.”
She shrugged. Thinking about Deke Anastidis, she added, “Sometimes, people who do the wrong thing were wronged themselves. It makes things a lot more complicated. He was a time-bomb waiting to go off, but I feel like I was part of the push. And it’s a lot of goddamn work on my part, frankly.”
As one final drop in the bucket of her accumulating guilt, it occurred to her that she was using Mr. Kim like a Father Confessor or a therapist.
He didn’t seem to mind, however. “Mm, yes,” he said. “I had a situation much like what you are going through. Not only the shame and self-doubt but also the threats from others. The danger. I made it through, which you can see since you are not talking to a corpse. But,” he frowned, “I always felt it could have been done better.”
Kera thought back to the ambush in the alley, where she’d had to fight her way through an entire gang unexpectedly. She’d won, but barely. Anastidis had landed a good kick on her after taking both a door and a helmet to the face, and he could have shot her if she’d been a fraction of a second slower.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Mustang Man had somehow been connected to the alley gang, and maybe, to Anastidis. Those people had been expecting her. They’d lured her in for the express purpose of kicking her ass or killing her.
“How can it be done better?” she asked Mr. Kim. “Did you ever figure it out? It’s not like I can wear an Ironman suit. I don’t have a Batcave and an Alfred. All I can do is beat assholes up when they attack.”
Mr. Kim grunted. “A trap.”
“Yeah,” she muttered. “That’s exactly what it was.”
“No.” The older man sighed, shook his head, and tossed one of the pebbles in his hand.
It struck Kera square in the forehead. It didn’t hit with anywhere near enough force to do serious damage, but she fell back a step in surprise.
“Ow!” She rubbed the skin betw
een her eyes, which felt red and irritated. “Son of a… What the hell was that for?”
“Demonstration,” he pointed out. “When I said ‘a trap,’ I meant you should set one for them. Make them come into your web like a spider. Last woman standing.”
As the pain in her forehead, minor but shocking, faded, Kera ruminated on it. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
“Go rest,” he told her. “Find peace in your heart. Remember your purpose. Plan the fight. The best thing you can do for everyone is to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Christian took a deep breath and pushed his way through the front doors into the Mermaid.
It was early evening, late by his standards for a weekday, but he still had plenty of time. And in his experience, while Kera sometimes started later or went home earlier, she was usually around during primetime.
And if she wasn’t—or if his nerve didn’t hold—there was nothing suspicious about him coming in for a drink after work. He was practically a regular here now. His confidence bolstered by the thought, Chris strode directly to the bar and sat down in his usual place.
“Hey,” Kera’s voice said from behind him. He thought there was a tinge of surprise in it.
Christian turned, probably a bit too fast. Something tingled warmly within his stomach. “Hi,” he managed.
“Hi,” she said. She looked almost awkward, and after a moment, she shook herself. “Uh, the usual?”
“Sure, drink-wise, anyway. Don’t need anything to eat.” As his eyes followed her, walking around the end of the bar, a growl from his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten dinner. A flip-flop of queasiness reminded him why.
Until he asked her out, he wasn’t going to risk having anything in his stomach.
A few seconds later, she set a frosty Killian’s Irish Red in front of him and snapped off the cap. “It’s good to see you,” she said. “Busy week?” She bit her lip as if cursing herself.
So she’d noticed that she hadn’t seen him. Was that good?
How To Be A Badass Witch: Book Two Page 18