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

by Sami Valentine

  Eventually, movie time drew closer. She glammed up more than usual. It was like a date but with herself. Smiling ruefully, she knew it was silly. Still, it was a treat yourself day. She had gone shopping earlier in the week and splurged on a midnight blue skater-style dress. She pulled it on and smoothed the A-line skirt flaring above her knee. The square neckline begged for a necklace.

  She lingered over the mysterious silver one from her inheritance in the jewelry box on her dresser. After the failed attempt at scrying, she had it scanned for magic. Nothing came up. She set the necklace aside. She didn’t need a reminder of how little progress she had made on identifying her family. Today was supposed to be fun! She put on a cardigan instead and whisked out of the dorms to catch the latest mindless Hollywood action flick.

  A double feature and a lot of popcorn later, Red walked out of the theater. She reached into her purse, idly wondering what Basil was up to. Feeling around between the wooden stake and the were-mace canister, she didn’t find her phone. Had she left it in the dorm or the theater bathroom? No, it was charging by the tea kettle. A shiver went up her spine, breaking her from her banal cascade of thoughts.

  She looked around. She couldn’t have mistaken Kristoff Novak for anyone else even in profile. Six-foot-four, blond, and in a dark suit that looked tailored by an artisan in Milan, he would stand out in any crowd. Her pulse jumped below his claim mark on her neck. A word escaped her like an involuntary sigh. “Oh…”

  She reminded herself that he was a murderer.

  “Tell Diego I can’t wait for our meeting anymore.” Kristoff turned. He met her eyes and hung up his phone. A soft smile of surprise spread across his face, deepening the cleft of his strong chin. His blue eyes twinkled. He mouthed the word “beautiful.”

  Filtering through the milling casino goers, she moved to him without thinking about it. “What are you doing here, Mr. Novak?”

  Hand in his pocket and a bemused expression on his face, Kristoff pointed at a nearby sign by a roped-off corridor. It listed the upcoming opening of a new Club Vltava location, along with other attractions.

  “You seem to open clubs where I live.” Red crossed her arms.

  “This is a deal a decade in the making.” He smirked. “You’re the one moving to be nearer to my clubs, obviously.”

  “I’m not moving here, exactly.” Red looked away, wishing she hadn’t pulled her hair up into such a high ponytail. She usually saw him when she had a hunter’s kit and some badass boots on. Not dolled up like on a date with her neck exposed over her tight black cardigan. She had set up boundaries of professionalism between them. Each meeting wore that down.

  “Let me guess—another one of your famous jobs. I should thank whatever beast you must be tracking. You are infinitely more interesting than a meeting with an alchemist.”

  Red leapt on talking about work. It was the safest topic with him. “I’m not officially, but if I was… I would be after a werewolf named Frank Lopes. Assassin. He has a hit on the last Proctor Witch. Know anything about him?”

  “Can’t recall either name.”

  “Really? I thought you knew everyone.” Red put her hand on her hip. “You haven’t been to some underworld pit and overheard something about the whispering werewolf?”

  “Underworld pits? Where do you think I hang out?” Kristoff’s tone chilled as he brushed a lock of hair back off her shoulder. His touch lingered on her skin, surprisingly warm, after he pulled away. “Did Frank Lopes cause these burns?”

  “No.” She tensed at a vision of Kristoff’s blood-flecked face. The montage shifted in that terrible vertigo-inducing way it had in her potion trance days before. Crossbow firing, a rough hand taking hers, a rainy rooftop kiss that never happened—it spun together until it congealed to the scene of Kristoff biting her in his office.

  She jerked herself from the enthymema flashback.

  His gaze grew concerned. “In case you’re wondering, I don’t need an assassin. Especially not a werewolf.”

  Cheeks chilling, Red stepped back. He made it so easy to forget what he was—an unsouled vampire. Even his touch confirmed that he had fed recently. Was it on a willing Bleeder or an unsuspecting victim? With Kristoff, she couldn’t be sure. “No, you can do that yourself. Goodbye, Mr. Novak.”

  “You’re still mad at me,” Kristoff commented. “Or is it something else?”

  “Can you blame me after what I saw Donal do?” She sighed. She had trusted him with everything she had when she asked him to save Vic. All while Trey sat beaten and captive under the Club Vltava building in Los Angeles. Kristoff hadn’t killed Trey, but he had stopped Red from saving him. The human had betrayed both hunters and vampires. He wouldn’t have lasted long on the street. Still, she had wanted to give him a chance.

  “That was on the orders of Cora Moon—the social justice vampire. We were extracting world-saving information, remember?”

  “It was personal to your friend.” Red sighed, shifting on her feet, rubbing her arms at the air-conditioned chill and wishing she had worn pants. “I don’t want to fight, whether its vampires, werewolves, or ghouls. I’ve had enough of that lately.”

  “If there is a ghoul hunt, the local supreme should know. It’s the only things that the alchemists let the vampires do around here.” Kristoff smirked. “Even that, I hear they supervise.”

  “They let you open a nightclub.” Red observed, pondering how Kristoff managed to maneuver so smoothly across supernatural lines. A diplomat for the Supreme Master Vampire of Portland, she had seen his power flexes and behind the scenes schemes before. She’d thought it was only with other vampires.

  “I’m a businessman. The alchemists appreciate the extra gold and my employees’ well-trained silence. I’m not planning on moving here.” He tilted his head. “I’m still not convinced you aren’t.”

  Knee-jerk defiance stoked, Red lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “I came to study.”

  “Good.” Kristoff grinned. “You’re ready for it.”

  Red tried not to smile back, but her lips twitched up. “Thanks.”

  Kristoff’s jovial expression faded into annoyance. He nodded to the distance. “My sire is trying to hide behind a roulette wheel.”

  Sighing, Red glanced over and saw Lucas. “Great.”

  Kristoff scrutinized her as slow delight spread over his face. His blue eyes gleamed. “Do you want me to get rid of him?”

  “You’re both insufferable after the last couple of days I’ve had.” Red shook her head and walked away, trying not to feel either vampire’s stare upon her. Pulling down her hair, she fluffed it up to cover her neck and stomped away, lost in thought until she realized she was turned around in the casino. She had meant to go to the donut shop, then find the secret door to the dorms.

  A young woman in a red-hooded jacket dodged through the throng ahead.

  Red sighed when she saw the bag on the teen’s shoulder. She walked over and fell into step beside Hannah. “What’s the deal with the backpack?”

  “I’m not running,” Hannah said, panicked eyes darting around.

  “The thought crossed my mind, since you have a lot of supplies for just hanging out in the Circe.”

  “It’s not what you think.” Hannah gestured for Red to follow. “You can come with.”

  “The last time I followed you somewhere, I ended up tripping head over feet on a potion even Timothy Leary wouldn’t take. I’m still getting flashbacks.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Hannah said, smiling awkwardly, shoulders rising to her ears. “Did any memories pop up?”

  “No. Just like an art film montage, courtesy of my subconscious. More random than anything else.” Red said, listing off a few of the weirder ones like the slow-mo rabbits. There might have been something real among the surreal, but she still hadn’t figured it out. A few of the visions, like her kissing Kristoff, made her doubt the whole thing. That would never happen. She refocused a laser stare on Hannah. She wasn’t letting the girl off th
e hook. “We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about what you’re doing.”

  “Can I at least ask why you are dressed up?”

  “I spent how much of my life covered in demon goo? Today was supposed to be a treat yourself day. Of course, then I have to see-“ Red started to say, ready to unload about the stupidity of vampires.

  Hannah pulled Red back behind the sign by a under-construction corridor.

  Vic and Lashawn walked by, heads bowed in conversation. The girl had led them back to the theater near the steakhouse. It was so easy to go in circles in the Circe.

  “Oh, god, don’t let him see me! He was so pissed.”

  Red let the blushing girl drag her around the ropes and into the hallway. “Just at life. Not you.”

  “Still. Vic thinks I suck. That I’m some legacy witch riding on my name.”

  “He really doesn’t think of you that much.” Red shrugged. Noticing the stricken look on Hannah’s face, she realized that wasn’t the right thing to say. She decided to turn the subject to their location- it was the underground passage to the new hotel tower that they were building. Ceiling speakers pumped out the same soundtrack as the area behind them. Fresh paint scented the long hallway. None of the usual vibrant mystical artwork or knickknacks that defined the eclectic Circe décor had been set up. It was like a face primed with foundation awaiting mascara and blush.

  “Why are we here?”

  “We both know I wouldn’t have gotten through the ghouls without you. That’s why I have all this stuff with me. I need to practice,” Hannah said. “The library is full and so are the labs because of all the adepts studying for rankings.”

  “You can’t just do magic in a casino.”

  “We can in this casino. Besides, this hallway is closed off, and all the workmen are gone.” Hannah patted her bag, grinning. “I have chocolate too.”

  “Fine. Let’s start moving before a guard sees us,” Red said. Or Lucas and Kristoff. She kept that last part to herself. That story would have taken hours, and she still held out hope to finish her treat day on a high note.

  “You’re being really cool about all this.” Hannah took the lead, a victorious bounce in her step. “What with Trudy and the ranking…”

  “I came here to know more about myself. To learn. I know we’re supposed to be rivals, but I’m not here for that. Let the alchemists be petty. I’m fine with being second witch.” Red shrugged. It was the truth. After all the struggles in her life, she had learned to not sweat over things like this. She’d rather have a friend in Hannah.

  “Technically. I think everyone agreed with Vic.” Hannah looked down, chewing on her lip.

  “You’re an eighteen-year-old without any field training who managed to hold off a ghoul and whatever crazy shadow spell that was that Trudy threw at us. You’re being hard on yourself.”

  “I’m supposed to be a Hero.” Hannah insisted, her head falling back, feet slowing.

  “No, you’re supposed to be dead!” a rough voice called out from the end of the hallway. He laughed at his own wit, slapping the knee of his black track suit. Scabs covered the side of his face where Red had burned him with were-mace. Lanky, bearded, and a werewolf—it was one of the Lopes.

  Nuno or Paul, Red didn’t know. She only knew that her treat day was officially over.

  A cackling giggle replied from behind them. Gloria Lopes waved. She blocked the way back to the distant casino gaming floor. Her tawny aura pulsed with the power of the full moon. In a black windbreaker and yoga pants, the florescent lights made her bleached hair seem white teased up over her dark roots. Scars rippled on her tan cheek. She had healed better than her brother.

  “HELP!” Hannah yelled, “We’re in trouble!”

  “They can’t hear you over the music in the casino, dumbass!” The bearded wolf chortled. “You’ve left the nest, baby bird.”

  Red grabbed Hannah’s hand, looking for another way out as the two werewolves jogged closer. A sickly feeling dropped into her gut when her spirit gaze beheld the walls, bare of sigils beyond one against fire. The corridor wasn’t just missing artwork—the usual protection wards were absent.

  Bolting down the hall, she ran through a set of swinging double doors. She grabbed a leaning broom and shoved it through the looped door handles. Red had felt so safe with the alchemists that she had fallen out of the habit of wearing her belted hunter’s kit. She only had a stake and were-mace in her purse, along with the wrappers from her smuggled theater snacks.

  She hadn’t brought the big can of bear mace with its fire extinguisher spray. This was the lady’s purse version. The guy at the occult shop had thrown it in and tried to convince her to let him paint it pink. It would sting these wolves, but they had to be desperate to venture this far into the alchemists’ den.

  Walking deeper into the nightclub, Hannah dug into her backpack, more sensibly supplied. “What do we do?”

  “This door won’t hold long. They’re hopped up on the full moon. We need to hold out until back up comes. I don’t have my phone, but maybe they have one…”

  A far section of lights behind the empty circular bar were left on like the last workman had forgot on his way out. The illumination diffused over the expansive dance floor and stage. Everything was finished in the chamber, from the platformed glass DJ booth to a fantastical wall-spanning peacock mural, but there weren’t even chairs or curtains. Certainly not a phone.

  Sigils against theft and fire shined in the ether on the ceiling, reminding her of their biggest problem.

  Red whispered, “The alchemists haven’t installed the full security system yet.”

  “Ughhhhh, shit. No sanctuary spell?” Hannah groaned before catching herself. She steeled her baby face.

  “Send Trudy a text,” Red gritted out. A muffled argument floated from the hallway. “They sound like they’re supposed to be waiting for someone. I doubt we’ll like them.”

  Hannah pawed through the small pocket of her backpack, pulling out her phone. She swiped her thumb on it to summon help. The screen died after flashing an ominous low battery symbol.

  “You didn’t charge your phone? What kind of teenager are you?”

  “Get off your phone, get on your phone. Adults need to make up their mind!” Hannah gnashed her teeth.

  The doors rattled as the werewolves rapped on it. A snide masculine voice barked out a laugh. “We don’t need to huff and puff to blow this house down.”

  “We need to build a protection circle, and you’re the better witch.” Red put an arm around the teen to hustle her across the bare dance floor. “They might not hear us, but the Gendarme might notice some magic.”

  Hannah nodded and climbed onto the stage. The two women raced to arrange the smoky quartz and onyx into a wide circle. Red set the last crystal in place as Hannah pulled a silver athame from her backpack. She guided the silver blade over the circle to seal the intention.

  “Tell me you have some wolfsbane with you.” Red found the answer, rummaging through the backpack and coming up empty. Just her luck. Protection spells should be tailored to specific dark beings or even a powerful mage could drain herself maintaining it against attacks. “This circle will be hard to keep up without it.”

  “I’ve done protection circles before.” Hannah crossed her legs, sinking to the ground. She rolled her shoulders and tossed her brown braid back. The spectral traces of the protection spell rose from the circle in a wild hedge. Translucent, the mystical barrier had a faint pearly sheen. “I can focus on blocking them without wolfsbane.”

  “You better because I can’t.”

  The broom splintered and broke. The swinging doors burst open, and the werewolf siblings rushed in.

  “I told you we needed to get a little closer,” the bearded male said, rubbing his hands. Scabs pocked his cheek and forehead.

  “You explain it to Dad just like that then,” Gloria Lopes sing-songed, as if saying “I told you so” was one of her favorite hobbies. She unzipped h
er track suit and slithered out of the jacket and pants. Nude, her eyes bulged for a moment as she hunched over. Her brother ripped off his track suit jacket and let loose a low growl. The Lopes siblings dropped to all fours.

  In the movies, werewolves just convulsed and grew fur. The strongest alphas might be able to shift parts of themselves, but the full transformation for most wolves… That wasn’t anything the movies had gotten right.

  Naked human flesh shone wetly in the light; it bubbled up like a pot was boiling inside. Wild rippled energy shined over them like dappled light in a forest. Twin grimaces crossed the siblings’ faces. Their skin split along the spine, falling open like a pulled invisible zipper. It peeled back over muscles dark like aged sausage.

  Red looked away. She had nearly puked the first time she saw a werewolf shift. The poor Colorado omega had taken fifteen painful minutes. Wolf wisdom held that the way back was always quicker. It still looked like a bitch to go through. The last part was what turned her stomach. Vic described the motion as a reversable jacket designed in hell. She gagged, hearing the skin flip to shaggy fur with a disgusting splitch.

  Limbs shortening, fingers curling, and faces stretching out to snouts—the horrifying metamorphosis had its own terrible soundtrack of creaks and snaps. The power of the moon sped them through the agony.

  Hannah gasped. The mystical barrier fell, energy slamming down to the crystals.

  “Keep it up.” Red gulped. The teen would have to. The were-mace in her purse wouldn’t hold the wolves for long. Judging by how quickly they could shift, they weren’t weaklings. They would fight through it for victory—or face their father after a retreat. Red knew for a fact that she was less scary than Frank Lopes.

  The hedge-like protection barrier grew again, thickening with broad jagged leaves and thorns.

  Larger than normal wolves in their animal form, the Lopes siblings darted forward on four legs.

  Red had a second to decide how to use the were-mace. “Close your eyes.”

  Spraying the were-mace over the crystals, she hoped there was enough wolfsbane in the formula to work. Bits of silver dust and plant particles glittered on the wet smoky quartz. She put her hand on Hannah’s shoulder, thinking of her power moment. If she could put Maxwell Baldacci in hell, where he belonged, she could send these mutts to the doghouse.