Witch On The Run: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 4)

by Sami Valentine

  They side-stepped a huddle peeking into an open chamber. The plaque above the large doors read Ranking Court in golden letters. A little man in a Lakers jacket waved a flip notebook at passersby. “I’m calling it now. The good doctor has defended his rank, so get your future wagers in! The battle for a Synod seat is next. Place your bets on if you think Finch will finally make Blanco sing his swan song.”

  Red slowed to stare inside. The Ranking Court hummed from the whispers of spectators on either side of the long chamber, nearly double a football field, overlooking a laboratory set manned by a man in a white coat.

  Hannah groaned, speed walking away. “Ugh, I don’t even know if I want breakfast now. That was crazy.”

  “Crazy is easier on a full stomach.” Red trotted to catch up with her. “You said the Synod ran the school. It looked like they ran the town.”

  “It’s why Trudy brought me here. There is nowhere safer for a witch to be.”

  The crowd dispersed as the mouth of the hall opened.

  Hannah waved her hand apathetically as she checked her phone. “Welcome to Pyramid Hall.”

  Red gasped. “It’s amazing!”

  Aptly named, the wide chamber’s high ceilings stretched into a point obscured by mist. A giant banyan tree grew in a center park. Lavender and apricot-colored clouds churned above it like an eternal sunrise. The verdant dome rose over the gargantuan atrium, shading wide sections. Aerial roots dropped from thick, branches, between ferns and forget-me-nots. People reclined on a blanket of grass ringing the massive tree. On a mirrored pond in the corner of the greenspace, black swans floated through the reflection of the impressive canopy.

  The banyan was an oasis in the bustle of alchemists striding with purpose over the marble floors of Pyramid Hall. Some made a beeline to a platform of wall arches where guards in black bowler hats collected poker chip keys to points unknown. Others stopped at the many kiosks arranged in tidy rows hawking paranormal trinkets and ingredients. Alchemists loitered on the scattered benches and at café stands. A riot of smells from honey-baked ham to earthy roots tussled for supremacy. In a nearby corner, a line of chattering people served themselves at a buffet.

  Red was expecting a great medieval longhouse with grand fireplaces and owls, not a magical mall.

  “Let’s get you that coffee.” Hannah navigated to the buffet between tables filled with studying adepts bent over scrolls and books. One young man looked between a clay tablet and an electronic one.

  Red had joked about the place having a buffet. She hadn’t known she was right. The buffet was better than the average, but the food all looked normal. Even if the pancakes seemed unusually round. The only strange addition was a soda fountain that spewed out elixirs instead of Diet Coke.

  Hannah dropped a muffin on her plate, fluttering her fingers over the streusel on top.

  “Are you blessing that pastry?”

  “You don’t?” Hannah lifted an eyebrow.

  Red frowned. “No, but you’re making me think it’s a thing.”

  “Sorry. I figured you knew. It’s folk magic. Something my mom taught me. She even had a muffin song. Witches can mix the mystical into the mundane. Boil magic down and it’s all about attracting or repelling. I didn’t do grand magic, but it’s a signal to the universe.” Hannah smiled. “I’m open for goodness.”

  “Muffin-y goodness.”

  “Exactly,” Hannah said. “You teach me about hunter stuff, and I’ll show you my witchy ways. I have a thing that I do with my face creams.”

  “Deal.” Settled into square table with their trays, Red dug into her small meal. Her stomach knotted from nerves, but she forced herself to eat.

  Hannah poked at her food, hands agitated like disturbed pigeons as she set down her cutlery and fidgeted with her napkin.

  “I know why I’m nervous. It’s my first day here.” Red let the implied question settle in the air. She didn’t want to pry, but her heart went out to the kid. Hannah had gone from a big manor full of family to being an orphan living in the attic with the birds. Red was luckier that way. She didn’t know what she was missing—even if a part of her still missed it anyway.

  “Eh, it’s not bad here. I just used to be good at this stuff, you know. Compared to my cousins at least. I keep messing up.” Hannah sighed. She paled as she looked over her juice glass, then nodded to the right. “It’s Trudy. Oh, god, she was so steamed at me last night.”

  A middle-aged brunette marched to their table like a general in a tweed skirt suit. Her satchel bounced on her hip. Adepts dodged out of her way. Her hair was pulled tightly back from her thin, tanned face, the ponytail seeming to hold the wild natural curls through sheer will. Behind wide tortoiseshell frames, her piercing deep-set eyes fixed on Hannah. This was not a woman who looked like a Trudy.

  Red took another fortifying sip of coffee.

  Posture perfect, the woman stopped at their table. She pulled a small flip notebook and pen from the front pocket of her satchel and jotted down a quick observation. Her gaze snapped first to Red and then Hannah. “Miss Proctor, you should have already finished the tour and breakfast by now.”

  Hannah gestured with a mocking sweep of her arm. “And this is my Bard, Trudy. Trudy, this is our new friend, Red.”

  “If you had been doing as I requested, she would already be aware of me. You have a strict agenda to catch up on your studies.” Trudy tucked her notebook back into her pocket.

  Red put her hands together in a time-out motion. “It’s my bad. I woke up later than expected. Hannah hustled me out as fast as she could.”

  “You’ve already rescued her once, Red. You don’t need to do it again.” Trudy pulled a printed sheet from the satchel and handed it to her. “Especially since she has put you behind schedule as well. This is your syllabus with a reading list. You will be expected to study these texts in the library before your first magic lesson next week.”

  Red took the sheet and looked over the list. The books had titled like Cunningham’s Cunning Charms, A Dissertation of Elementary Magic, and The Prophecies of Goody O’Grady: The Witch No One Listened Too. Unless these were blog entries, she was going to have to read around the clock. Maybe she didn’t have time to hunt werewolves after all.

  Humming as he appeared suddenly, Vic sat at the table, silverware shaking on his tray. Still in clothes from the day before, the bags under his eyes hinted at a long night. “Hey gang. How are you feeling, kid, after that wolf fight?” He belatedly looked up at Trudy. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “This is Hannah’s Bard, and she was just giving me a reading list.” Red said the words pointedly, telepathically telling him to not embarrass her. Unfortunately, telepathically wasn’t one of her talents.

  Vic raised an eyebrow at Red before studying Trudy through skeptical eyes. “Shouldn’t y’all be hunting down that werewolf pack? What’s the strategy on that? Read until they get bored?”

  “The strategy is to keep Hannah safe and inside the academy. The Gendarme has taken the matter of the werewolves firmly into their hands.” Trudy crossed her arms. “And who are you?”

  “Vic Park Constantine, Bard at large. It’s a pleasure, no doubt. And you’re Trudy Fox. I made some calls before I hit the tables last night.” Vic cocked his chin up. “I thought the Synod was setting something up for Red.”

  “They deferred to my expertise in mentoring magic-using Heroes, but I am open to suggestion,” Trudy said the words with a precise calm, but a challenge bubbled under the surface.

  “Let me check that out.” Vic took the sheet. He huffed, rolling his eyes before he got halfway down the page.

  Red grabbed the list out of his hand and put it in her purse. “Be nice, Vic.”

  Trudy tilted her head, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Be honest. I prefer it.”

  Vic lifted his hand, shaking the palm. “Eh. Not sure about Turner’s Compendium of Witchcraft. The newest edition is fifty years old.”

  “It’s a classic.” Trudy
tightened her fingers on her satchel strap, face locked in polite interest. “What other volume would you suggest, Mr. Constantine?”

  “I’d least put Jerome Chaka’s Encyclopedia of American Witchcraft on here. That’s what she’s going to see on the streets. She doesn’t need to know what Welsh wizards were doing back in the day.”

  “Chaka does have a modern take. I’m curious to see how you’ve taught it. I’m sure Red will be eager to demonstrate.” Trudy pivoted to face Red, hands tucked behind her back. “What region of North America imbues intention into knotted strings in their folk magic?”

  Red raised her hand. “I know this one. Appalachia.”

  “Good. You probably haven’t encountered it much out west,” Trudy said. “Chaka documented interesting American interpretations of astrology and its effect on spells. Right now, Uranus is transiting through Taurus. What modifications should you make to a protection circle to compensate?”

  “Um.” Red looked down, thinking back to the last time she’d tried one of those. She hadn’t even thought to look up what was transiting. “I don’t know.”

  Trudy didn’t miss a beat. “What’s another name for needle yew? It’s used in exorcisms and purifications.”

  She drew a blank, face heating. “Got me beat on that one too.”

  “It’s the folk name for any evergreen coniferous trees in the plant order Pinales. I would have accepted cedar or juniper.”

  Red took a deep breath at the name. She had gone almost a day without thinking about her past life doppelgänger. That was exactly the kind of thing she was hoping to leave back in LA.

  Giving Vic a cold look, Trudy retrieved her pen and notebook again. She flipped it open one handed. The plastic cover landed with a soft snick. “We’ll have much to cover.”

  Vic snorted. “My intern doesn’t need all that trivia. She has field experience. You’ll see that she learns quick.”

  “Intern? Is that what you’re calling her? I made inquiries myself, but I couldn’t find out why she failed the hunter’s challenge.” Trudy didn’t look up from her swift notations. “I assume it was due to the written. Probably didn’t have a chance.”

  “Hey!” Vic and Red said at the same time.

  Red forced herself to keep her chin up. A blush climbed up her neck, shame marking her cheeks. It wasn’t the truth. The truth was worse—the Brotherhood hadn’t even let her take the challenge.

  Hannah sunk in her chair. Embarrassment pinkened her cheeks. “Classes haven’t started, Trudy.”

  Regardless, Trudy continued. “Red has potential, according to the Immortal Alchemist. Let’s see what she could be with proper instruction.”

  Vic leaned back in his chair. His mouth twisted and he spat out the words like a bad taste. “I know where your instruction got your last Hero.”

  Red didn’t know what he meant by that, but judging by how Hannah gasped, and Trudy stiffened, Vic had drawn first blood in this intellectual duel of Bards.

  The din from alchemists at nearby tables studying for their exams seeped into the jagged lull in their conversation. A crow cawed, flying over the buffet to the overstuffed carts in the market on the other side of the pyramid-shaped atrium.

  Red wished she could fly away with it.

  Chapter Four

  Trudy stilled her pen, the sudden grimace melting off her face leaving a frozen glare of disdain. She turned, dropping her hand to her side, clenched fingers bending the notebook. Her order came out with artic warmth. “Hannah, you’ll show Red to the library later. Let us begin your first lesson.”

  “Sorry guys.” Hannah picked up her tray and chased after her Bard.

  Red pushed away her plate, grateful that she had eaten before the morning had stolen her appetite completely. This was her first day, and she already felt like she was in detention. She had made the worst possible impression on her teacher thanks to Vic.

  “That was awkward as hell. Was that some kind of Bard pissing contest?”

  “She took it up a notch with that dig about the hunter’s challenge.” Vic shoveled up a mouthful of pancakes.

  “So, you going to tell me more about who you pissed off? Because all I know is I’m taking her class and I’m probably going to fail it now.”

  “Trudy Fox.” He sneered, dropping his fork on his syrupy plate. “According to my guy, she’s the”—he raised his fingers in air quotes—“best of the Brotherhood. Or at least she was. Started off as a Hero before she became a Bard to train them. She retired after her last charge died.”

  “That makes your parting shot really shitty.”

  Vic dropped his eyes. “I know, but jeez, what was that pop quiz? She doesn’t have the accent, but she has that same imperial elite attitude they all had in London, acting like we’re trash because we don’t know what the fuck yew berries are.” He pushed his plate aside on the tray. “You’ve done more than her champion.”

  “Hannah’s young. Give her time. Plus, I’d rather not be marked by destiny. I have enough stress. She can be the chosen one.”

  “She’s chosen for somethin’. Those wolves weren’t just roughing her up for shits and giggles even if she didn’t know why. Basil says she’s been running since her parents died.”

  “That’s why they’re holed up here. Trudy's a witch. She could train Hannah anywhere. This was far from the first attack.” Red glanced around Pyramid Hall. The weight of mystical protection wards pressed on her like a thunder shirt on a nervous dachshund. The First Alchemist had declined her help; she doubted he would take Vic’s. “Either way, I’m rooming with Hannah, so I’ll end up babysitting her. We’ll get more details soon enough. Not that the alchemists will let us do anything with the hunt.”

  “Tough shit on that. I already did some footwork to find the wolves, but the guys at the local hunter’s bar haven’t seen anyone matching their description. So, they’re not locals, anyway. The closest pack is pretty domesticated. Runs a CrossFit gym in Henderson.” Vic slurped his coffee, shaking his head as if disappointed.

  “That explains why you didn’t go to bed. I get the feeling from the glitter stuck to your shirt that you found a strip club somewhere in the timeline.” Red shook her head, smiling ruefully. “Anything else?”

  “The alchemists keep the peace. I gotta give them that. Those hunters were bored and happy to hear there might be feral wolf trouble. I think the only excitement they’ve had in a while was a ghoul last month.” Vic swayed in his chair, eyelids slipping down.”

  “Okay, mister, you need to go to bed.”

  “We’re in Vegas.” Vic stood, pumping his arms in the air giving a weak cheer. He winced at the sound of his own voice.

  “I’ll help you get there if you show me a way out of here.” Putting her purse strap on her shoulder and picking up their trays, Red kicked at Vic’s foot. “Don’t fall asleep at the table in a carb coma.”

  “But Vegas?” He pouted like a puppy woken from a nap.

  “It’s the first day.” Red chuckled, leaving the trays at a busing station. She followed Vic’s sleepy mosey out of the buffet through the milling alchemists in the expansive atrium.

  They passed by a cart filled with handmade leather journals and old spell books. Her feet stopped involuntarily, and she had to touch the covers. Life on the road meant she had to read on her phone or listen to audiobooks, but there was something about the feel of a real page. She justified her future spree by telling herself she was almost done with her current journal. She ignored Vic’s shifting impatience to speak up. “Excuse me, do you take regular money? Or do I need to answer your riddles three?”

  “Cash or credit card works as good as ‘abracadabra’ around here. No checks.” The bookseller smiled, pointing to a wall of archways on a platform, each labeled with different alchemy symbols. “You’ll find an ATM in the casino that way.”

  Red picked out a green journal, after a quick back and forth with the merchant about vegan leather that had Vic rolling his eyes and tapping his feet. S
hoving the journal into her purse, she bounded after Vic who had wandered away.

  After waiting on the platform and having a dour official in a bowler hat check Vic’s silver poker chip key and her own golden one, they walked through the archway labeled with the alchemical symbol for gold. Spectral glitter showered over them as they stepped into a quiet corner of the hotel by a nursing mothers’ room. The chaotic cacophony of the casino filtered in. Behind them were double doors labeled employees only.

  “I hope you remember where to go.”

  Grunting, Vic pointed ahead and walked with the determined hunch of a man hunting for sleep. They wandered through the maze of the Circe Casino. He stopped in front of the Nostradamus Lounge. “Okay this looks familiar. I can take it from here.” He peeped into the bar. “Good, Diego and Basil are in there. One of them can take you back, if you can’t find those doors again.”

  “Get some sleep.” Red watched him leave, trying to dial back her worry. Seeing him walk still felt like a miracle. They had talked about how it happened, but they hadn’t talked about how it felt for him.

  Vic had been sidelined in a wheelchair, dealt with depression, and had only come out of it in the last few weeks with some perspective on his handicap. Now he was walking. That had to be a mindfuck. And he no longer had Quinn, the Batman to his Robin, to talk to. Then add the allure of a werewolf hunt? If there was one thing they talked about less than their disagreements over the newest Star Wars movies, it was what had happened to his biological family. He didn’t need to talk about it for Red to notice the emotional scars. She told herself to keep an eye on her friend.

  Red walked into the open threshold of the Nostradamus Lounge. Empty tables with rolled silverware waited by the closed curtains of the stage for prime time. Last night it had been dark, smoky, and shot with strobe lights over the clapping audience. In the morning, it felt incomplete like a drag queen without her fake eyelashes. The casino floor was already hustling, but they were only three in the lounge. She waved at them.