A Witch Called Red: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 1)

by Sami Valentine

  She opened her eyes to spy Quinn’s surprisingly upscale and unscented shampoo and conditioner. Breathing steady, she focused on the bottle until her thoughts slowed.

  His face wash had a Korean label and felt like a dream to rub on. This was a vampire that cared about his skincare regimen. Quinn might have a soul and live in a basement apartment, but his inner Libertine still appreciated some of the finer things.

  She took a deep breath. Red had gone from dodging vampires in the West to borrowing toiletries from one. It didn’t end at face wash. Her neck proved that.

  Red had been warned in Reno. Then again at the Pump House bar. The vampires in the City of Angels walked quietly in the world of man. Let them have their meetings, everyone agreed, there were other monsters to fight. Coming to Los Angeles right now was asking for trouble.

  Now, Red was claimed by one of them.

  Her first mistake was thinking that a vampire would obey his kind’s rules. Kristoff owned the club; he could manipulate the lighting and music to cover up any breach of the Dark Veil. He was from Portland; he could flee Cora’s jurisdiction. The cards were in his hands. She had met the spider in his web, and this spider had waited a long time for a fly like her.

  She hadn’t a clue when she walked into that nightclub. The pieces were coming together, but everyone, including Vic, seemed to know more about the players in this drama than she did. If someone had asked her what tormented her the most about amnesia, it wasn’t the loss of a life lived, it was the unending curiosity. Not knowing burned at her.

  She closed her eyes and hunched over, arms around herself, wrestling with her own demons until the hot water ran out.

  Red tried to imagine her troubles swirling down the drain as she turned off the shower and stepped out. Setting a bandage on her healing bite came first. Kristoff hadn’t done more than sip at her. It was the coldest of comforts knowing what he might have planned for her.

  She blow-dried her hair, then brushed her teeth with her plastic travel toothbrush, trying to pretend that it was what passed for a normal night for her. She stared into the mirror at a shared face. Shivering, she absently wiped down the counter with a tissue. Red had wanted to shower then crack open her laptop to research Kristoff. Her legs trembled. Exhaustion made her put her head in her hands.

  Sleep, it was.

  Red wrapped a plush black towel around herself before leaving the bathroom to find the living room empty. She went to the guest room, turning on the lights to reveal the dark blue, windowless walls.

  The king size bed took up most of the space with a shelf jammed in the corner and a small closet door beside it. Red re-dressed in her pajamas before she flopped on the bed and rolled over. The vague scent of sandalwood lingered in the air. The walls seemed to lean in on her. Closing her eyes didn’t help. She glanced around the room before a yawn broke from her lips.

  She looked over at the bookcase and got up to peruse the packed shelves. Bookshelves were always her kryptonite even when she was bone tired. With the loop of regrets, fears, and obligations playing through her head, Red wanted something else to think about.

  An eclectic mix of books, records, and old magazines mingled with random things shoved carelessly on the selves. A collection of Lord Byron’s poetry sat next to a battered copy of On the Road by Jack Kerouac and an old Doc Martens boot.

  Red focused on an old VHS tape of SLC Punk and tapped at the lime green case. Realization struck her. This wasn’t a guest room. It was Lucas’s room. Or at least he stashed his stuff here.

  Pulling out the copy of On the Road, she looked back at the freshly changed bed and shrugged. She had worn his jacket tonight. Using his blanket wouldn’t be much different. Exhaustion pushed the weirdness aside, leaving only the fact that after this freaky day, any bed looked good.

  She switched off the bedroom lights and turned on the small bedside lamp, then curled up in the blankets. The strange apartment felt too quiet and her mind too loud. She put a hand on her heart and breathed in deep. She opened the book and tried to distract herself with the adventures of Sal and Dean being beatniks across America.

  The sandalwood scent surrounded her as she yawned and told herself that they would hit the road tomorrow, leaving Lucas, Kristoff, and especially Juniper behind.

  October 26th, 2018, Noon, Smith and Reaper Bank, Downtown, Los Angeles California, USA

  Sitting in the private cubicle at the Smith and Reaper bank, sweating under the high lace collar of her vintage blue dress, Red clutched the purse in her lap.

  She might have chased after bounties doled out by the Brotherhood of Bards and Heroes, but that money only went so far. Small scams kept the Millennium Falcon running and their mission on the road. Usually, they passed through small town banks with fake socials and managed to hustle loans or credit cards before leaving a defeated monster behind in trade on their way out of town.

  This was the biggest place they’d ever tried to con. The bank didn’t just look like the definition of corporate class, it even smelled like money. When she had found the notepad with the Smith and Reaper Bank logo in that dingy motel off the freeway, she hadn’t imagined their office would look like this. She usually did more research on their marks. Desperate times led to stupid measures.

  Her mind raced with doubts once the banker left to go find a supervisor after she had given her information to open an account and get a credit card.

  “That social was bogus,” Red whispered to Vic. She glanced at the thumb print scanner on the desk.

  “I paid good bitcoin for that on the dark web. Its legit.”

  “This is big money we’re walking away from,” Red said, thinking of the bounty that Fat Crispin had put on the head of the vampire who murdered his daughter. She tried not to think of Julia Crispin and her bright smile. Julia had crossed an ocean to make it as a grad student by day and model by night in the City of Angels. She’d ended up dead in an alley. Julia’s face hadn’t left her mind since they decided to take Lucas’s advice and skip town.

  “This credit card will get the tire fixed, and we can ride on the rest before we ditch it,” Vic said. “There was already the stink of vampire conspiracy on this case and then you…”

  “You said we were the only hunters with the balls to come to LA with the Blood Summit happening. Did you mean it?” Red shifted in her chair. The hunter bar had been empty enough to prove him right. Who else would work the case?

  “Hey, do you want to become some Eurotrash’s pet?”

  Red glared at him.

  “Sorry. I’m jumpy. I know what you’re saying. I don’t like running from a case either, but this is next level strange.”

  “Strange doesn’t cover it. I didn’t even recognize myself when you found me, and now I can’t go anywhere in this town without some vampire gawking at me.” Red touched the large band-aid through her dress lightly.

  Being claimed by Kristoff Novak had been freaky enough even before she was clued in about being a lookalike of his old crush. Then there was Lucas with his soulful gaze. This was someone else’s life that she had been dropped into. Red might have Juniper’s face, but she didn’t want her baggage.

  “You’ve been looking for yourself, kid, but I don’t think you’re going to find anything here. LA doesn’t have anything for you,” Vic said.

  Red looked up at the smiling white-haired banker as he re-entered the cubicle.

  “Thank you for your patience. I’d like to introduce Sheila Jones from the Special Accounts Division. She will take care of you.” He gestured to a younger woman in a business skirt suit with a severe bob, highlights artfully streaked through the brown hair. She wore a Bluetooth earpiece and smartwatch.

  Sheila shook Red and Vic’s hands with firm precision before she sat behind the desk. “Mrs. Pfannenstiel, it's a pleasure. When we ran your application and prints, we found that you already had an account with us. A trust fund, to be specific.” Sheila’s lips curled up, the matte red lipstick smile not reaching her eyes.r />
  “Pardon? Where is this trust coming from?”

  Sheila folded her hands. “That is the part where the special comes into Special Accounts. This trust was set up overseas under what I’m certain is a fake name. It’s not as uncommon as you might think for families to preserve their assets discreetly.”

  “What kind of assets are we talking about, lady?” Vic asked.

  She typed into the desktop computer before she turned the flat screen around to show the client record.

  Red leaned forward. The slick interface with all its fields was nearly empty of personal information beyond a name—Hermione Granger—and bright red numbers listing a figure with enough zeros to make her blink. “Oh, my.”

  “Thank you, Grandma Pfannenstiel.” Vic whistled low.

  “Now, the instructions on the trust stipulate that the account belonged to whoever matched the fingerprints. There’s one more step before we can hand the account and your new card to you.”

  Red nodded. “Sure.”

  Sheila pulled out a small metallic box from her pocket and placed it on the desk. She opened the lid to reveal a small interface. “Put your thumb or index finger on the sensor.”

  Red put her thumb down. A sharp pain shot through her thumb. She lifted it to see the small drop of blood from the wound.

  Sheila closed the box, and her smartwatch beeped. “Fabulous. It’s a match.” She pulled out Red’s fake ID and a shiny black metal card. “These are yours. You’ll be able to set the pin in your new online account. The process to transition the account can take ten business days, but you’ll have access to fifty thousand liquid cash until then. The physical items will be shipped and should arrive in 4-6 weeks.”

  Sheila typed into the keyboard again before clicking the mouse. A printer began to whirl under the desk. Sheila pulled out a folder from the desk drawer with account info. “I’m printing out the account record for you. Let’s go over the terms and agreements.”

  Red looked at Vic before she pulled her chair closer.

  The two left the air-conditioned building onto the busy downtown street, blinking into the bright sun.

  Red leaned against the wall of the bank. “I’m a millionaire. Multi-millionaire.”

  “I stand corrected. There was something for you in LA.” Vic rubbed his hands on his cheeks, staring at her. “We found a clue to your origins, my mysterious intern. A money clue. Many many money clues. Were there really that many zeroes?”

  Red nodded. “I guess I do have a family. A very rich family.”

  “Who have offshore accounts and use blood for verification.”

  “Yeah, what kind of bank is this?” Red shook her head. “We should have asked more questions. I got so distracted the second I saw all those zeros.”

  Vic scratched his jaw. “As a newly rich person, I think you need an entourage, and I should be the first one in it.”

  Red laughed as she pushed off the wall and started walking toward the underground parking garage. “Well, I pulled out two thousand dollars. Let’s get the van fixed and do some research.”

  “Does this make me the intern now?”

  “No, don’t worry. Being your intern will just be my eccentric hobby.” Red grinned.

  “Seriously, Red, you should get out of here. I can work the case. We’re not just talking about money here. We’re talking about Fuck You Money. Ready to burn. This is your escape hatch.”

  “Where is Mr. The Truth Is Out There? I can’t believe you even want to touch this money.”

  “I bet there are strings a-plenty on this trust, and yes, I smell conspiracy. But damn, those are liquid assets. You can drain that and run without a trace.” Vic shrugged. “Hide out in a castle in Spain if you want. You already know Spanish.”

  Red shook her head. “This is the first real lead on who I am. It’s not about having money. I’ve been searching for some sign of who I am for the last year. This trust could lead back to my family. Too much is happening here. It can’t be a coincidence. Doppelgänger, reincarnation, secret heiress, I don’t know what. But it’s happening here in LA.”

  “But Novak... He’s going to come for you again,” Vic pointed out as they walked past Mercedes and Ferraris to the Falcon.

  “We’ve killed older vampires. I’m not helpless. My magic might not work all the time, but I’ve done well as your intern. Besides, I have fifty grand liquid in the bank. We can gear up like Batman.”

  Vic hopped into the van and turned the ignition. He squealed like a teen girl. “I wanna get a flamethrower.”

  Chapter Eight

  October 26th, 2018, Evening, The Pandora Hotel, Los Angeles California, USA

  Sitting cross-legged on the long leather couch after writing a clipped and peeved report to Fat Crispin about their evening at Club Vltava, Red surfed through the files on Julia Crispin’s laptop.

  They’d grabbed it from the victim’s apartment when they visited the small two-bedroom apartment in Silverlake and spoke to her grieving girlfriend. Red had been surprised, since Fat Crispin’s report had only mentioned a close roommate. She’d asked if Julia was bisexual, but the girlfriend denied it and said that Julia’s family wasn’t supportive.

  Out of all the questions that Red had walked out of Julia Crispin’s with, one stood out: What was a lesbian from a Bard family, with a cute professional volleyball player for a girlfriend, doing with a bunch of male vampires at Club Vltava?

  Vic flopped on the couch, wearing his clubbing blazer from the night before with his hair slicked back. He put his boots up on the coffee table before putting them down again, nervous energy wafting from him. “When are we going down to the bar? What’s the point of being in a fancy place like this if we’re not enjoying it? You’re not even glammed up yet. I am!”

  “I found some interesting files on her laptop. I’m uploading them to a thumb drive now.” Red had done a computer-wide search for the words vampire and demon, and a surprising number of files and folders came up, each with boringly innocent names like School Receipts, Book Reports, and Period Tracker. She copied them all onto the thumb drive. She clicked on the period tracker. It opened with the red headline “Hell-A” and a table of contents listing sections like City Summary, Leadership, and Death Rates. “Hmmm, she was researching something. This reads like a dossier of the city’s dead. It’s a huge document. It’s taking forever to load.”

  A pop-up appeared on the screen, asking for a password before blocking the words on the document.

  Red frowned. “It’s password protected.”

  “I’ll crack the password tomorrow. You said the files have to transfer. You don’t need to watch them.” Vic hopped up. “Come on, we have money to burn, and we’re in the safest place in LA.” He gestured to the hotel suite on the second to the top floor of the Pandora Hotel.

  Decorated in a Southwestern Art Deco style, the suite boasted three balconies, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a sitting room with an attached kitchen. Then there was the magical security system. Unlike most hotels, which didn’t have that special essence of home, the rooms at Pandora Hotel could repel uninvited vampires. Every city boasted of one neutral ground with a sanctuary spell where the supernatural could mingle in peace. LA was big enough to have a few. The Pandora Hotel was the most luxurious and fortified.

  “Let’s party like we’re the beautiful people tonight!” Vic said.

  Red laughed and closed the document, adding it to the queue of transferring files before she put the laptop on the coffee table. “Okay, okay, you head down to the bar, and I’ll meet you after I get dressed.” She reached into her pocket and fished out her wallet. “Hey, I still owe you $200 from Reno. Here you go with some interest.”

  She handed him three hundred. He had taken her in without a cent—or even a name to, well, her name. It felt good to begin to pay him back.

  “This is the good karma coming back. Hell yeah.” Vic pumped his arm and took the cash. “See you down at the bar.” He left with a skip to his step.<
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  Looking down at the laptop, she turned and walked into the room with the king-sized bed and balcony overlooking the darkened Hollywood Hills. This hotel suite cost more per week than all the hotels they’d stayed in for the last few months combined. The opulence felt strange, like new leather boots, but it felt like she had released a breath that she hadn’t known she was holding.

  After months of rubbing pennies together to keep afloat on the road, it was nice to finally get what they needed, like new tires or wooden bullets. Worrying about monsters was easier when you weren’t also worrying about how to keep gas in the tank. Of course, all this newfound money could be from blood diamonds or used to track her for a nefarious end. It also could lead straight to the person she had been. Who knew?