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

by Sami Valentine

  “We’re getting close,” Kristoff said, peeking his head out. “The fog is coming in.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Red confessed.

  “Yes, you do. For the first time since you appeared out of thin air, you are finally going where you want to. How long have you wanted to find this place?”

  “I’m not talking about Charm. Trudy somehow found us before.”

  Kristoff grinned. “Not worried about her. You’ll win because you need to see where the road takes you next. You didn’t come back to leave so soon.”

  “You sound so sure. You’ve seen me get my ass kicked all day. I don’t have a Hail Mary in the playbook.” Red shook her head. “If she gets her magic in you again, it’s just me.”

  “And I wouldn’t want any other witch by my side.” Kristoff smirked at her. “I’ll wait patiently for you to save me.”

  “Vice versa. Except I wouldn’t be all that patient.”

  “I know. You’d take up cutlery in my defense.” Kristoff pointed to a fog covered exit sign. “That’s for us.”

  “Are you sure?” Red wrinkled her nose as she sensed a strange vibe in the energetic frequencies. The ether seemed thicker here in her spirit gaze. Sea salt flavored the breeze. Dark oaks lurked in the mist as she turned onto the road to Charm.

  “Trust me. I have to come here to keep the local vampires in line when it comes time for the Prince’s tithes,” Kristoff said. “The fog is the first thing that welcomes you to this little berg.”

  “This is the whole welcome wagon then.” Red slowed down as the van picked its way through the haze. “I don’t know, Kristoff. I’m not ready for this. Basil told me that Tabula Rasa was a gift.”

  Sly smile on his face, Kristoff said, “Take a right and go down a mile, then tell me how you feel.”

  Red quirked her eyebrow at him but followed his cryptic directions from behind the curtain to a dirt lot.

  The fog cleared to reveal the diner in a tree-lined clearing. A pelican strutted across the brown shingles on the sagging roof of the long lodge. Wide windows showcased smiling townspeople in the red table booths. Every detail inside fit her visions. A neon open sign curled over the front door. Laughing and holding hands, a couple walked inside under the sign reading Lili’s. The sun came out, shining on the entrance.

  Red nearly forgot to put the van in park as she tumbled toward the diner. She savored the sight as if the building would dissolve like another dream. It was real.

  Something told her once she walked inside everything would change. Her stomach dropped. Fear slammed into her. This was the place she had been searching for, but was it the right time? Was she ready? A thread of insecurity wound around her heart. She fled back to the van.

  “Don’t you want to go in?” Kristoff asked from under his blanket. Blue eyes bloodshot, his normally pale skin had a sunburn pink to it.

  “I’ll just get you to your castle or whatever you have here,” Red muttered before following his directions to his house, looping around a large cemetery behind Lili’s. She held her breath, driving past the graves to the sycamore-lined driveway of the two-story brick house. Vines threatened to devour the building, blending it into the patch of forest on the outskirts of the boneyard.

  Bemused, Red quirked her head at the cottage, it was so cozy looking. “You get points that it’s not a spooky manor but by the cemetery? Bit of a cliché.”

  “That’s prime real estate in this town,” Kristoff said while on his phone to manipulate a smart house app. The garage opened for the van to hide inside, the metal door closing and sealing all light out behind them. He was out of the van and turning on the lights in the same time it took Red to take out the keys and unbelt herself. “I already dispatched men to extract Lucas with orders to take out Frank and Trudy but we need to lay low for now anyway. I need to feed and rest in darkness after that much daywalking.”

  “You do look pink,” Red eyed him. She wanted to slather some aloe on that sunburn. Intellectually, she knew vampires could handle daytime out of direct sunlight, but she hadn’t liked watching him test the theory.

  “Sadly, it won’t turn into a tan.” Kristoff gestured her to follow him. “I already ordered the bagged blood for me along with food for you.”

  Uncluttered with only the basic requirements for house maintenance, the garage looked more like it belonged to a furnished short-term rental than a real home. They moved into the small kitchen, empty as if a display in a showroom. Gray marble counters were completely bare. Only the sitting room revealed any personality of the owner. Black and white photography hung on the wall, large prints of people in motion, almost candid in their composition, as if the photographer wanted to capture a moment in time.

  “Poke around on the TV. I think I might have every channel,” Kristoff said, moving to leave. “I’ll be in the basement.”

  Red took his hand to stop him, feeling suddenly shy as she smiled at him. “Thank you. For everything. You helped me find…” She wiped her eyes, chuckling at herself. “Sorry, I’m getting sappy and you’re in pain. You just really came through today.”

  “Always.” Boyish grin spreading on his face, Kristoff lifted her knuckles to his lips. He released her hand with a little squeeze as he turned away. “Sunset is coming. Keep that in mind if you decide to cross the cemetery to explore that diner.”

  After he left the living room, Red checked out the photos, certain that it was his work. She recognized the subject in one—his friend Nedda. The vampiress laughed, leaning on a rooftop rail, her short-bobbed hair blown back, outlined by the city lights. The only picture containing Kristoff was the smallest and oldest. Shaded sepia in seersucker spats and fedoras, he stood with his brother in front of a speakeasy bar.

  Bypassing the leather sectional couch enclosing the entertainment center, Red wandered over to the bookshelf. Her finger ran over the aged spine of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. It looked like it had been re-read frequently over the decades. She pulled out the book before taking it into the kitchen. She found a takeout pack of sushi in the bridge, labeled to have been made an hour before. Chewing slowly in the quiet, her foot tapped and jangled as she tried to start the book.

  Restless, she couldn’t stand it anymore and headed to the van, adding the cold iron water, a selenite crystal, and a switchblade coated with wolfsbane oil to her belted hunter’s kit. She deliberated on taking the van out but decided it was too noticeable. She left the cottage to walk across the cemetery.

  New graves gave way to old stones as the far-off lights of the diner coaxed her forward like a will o’ the wisp.

  The place felt eerier when she thought about Selene, yet she had already fulfilled that prophecy. While Trudy and Frank were occupied with a shadow beast and probably Kristoff’s minions by now, she might as well scope out the lay of the land just in case. The inner pain over Ezra’s death grimly welcomed her next rumble with the two.

  The graves spread over gently rolling hills to the oak-dotted horizon. She trekked up a small vista to a mausoleum with the name McGregor nearly hidden by moss. Expansive, the cemetery contained winding walking paths, aged trees, and even a large pond in the center. Swiftly moving clouds pinked overhead. An old white church overlooked to the north. Ethereal energy wafted through the tombstones and mausoleums like fog in her spirit gaze. The diner was straight ahead, half hidden by a line of trees.

  Ten cascading and conflicting thoughts hit her with every step closer to the diner. This wasn’t just a goose chase clue like so many before. She didn’t know what she wanted when she walked in. Have everyone say her real name like it was that old show, Cheers? She had to tell herself not to hype it up. This could be just like the journal and the necklace from her inheritance. Another hurtful dead end.

  Half a mile from Kristoff’s cottage, a terrible rotten odor saturated the air. Red’s stomach dropped. Ghouls. She had wolfsbane in her kit, but no ghostflowers. She sprinted back toward the house, passing into the newer sec
tion of graves, ghouls lumbering after her.

  An aura peeked from behind a tomb.

  Faces frozen in silent howls, the ghouls shied away, racing back to the big pond.

  Slowing, Red pulled out the switchblade. It opened with a firm snap. Her third eye was quicker than her regular ones. She spun, knife out at the wild aura zooming into her vision.

  Four large paws launched off the ground, snarling snout aimed for her throat.

  Bending backward, Red flung the wolfbane-anointed blade up, slashing the wolf’s chest.

  Yelping, Frank arched over her, landing in an ungainly flop of fur on a gravestone. Hobbling to his paws, he snarled. He darted to the pond, sinking into the water to rinse off the burning wolfsbane oil. Stepping out, the wolf shook his shaggy bulk. Something bloody dropped from his slashed chest. Silver eyes rolled with fear. Convulsing, he shifted back to a human man.

  Red sent a surge of power toward the air, harnessing it to guide her aim as she flung her blade at Frank who was mid-shift.

  Half flayed looking, he rolled to the side, dodging it. His hands pressed a disc, bloody and the size of a sand dollar, to his chest muscles, letting the human skin roll over it.

  “Cover yourself.” Trudy stepped out from behind a mausoleum with a grimoire and a bag she handed to Frank. Dark bags lay under haunted, deep-set hazel eyes. Round burn marks covered her hands.

  “Yeah, this is a family show,” Red said, propping her hand on her hunter’s kit. “How’d you find me?”

  Trudy arched her eyebrow as Frank pulled a suit jacket out of the bag. It was Kristoff’s, left at the ghost town. Perfect to scry with.

  “That’ll do it,” Red conceded, heart racing as she backed up.

  The grimoire rose, pages flapping as light beamed out. The spirit energy over the graves wrapped around Trudy. Shadows drifted over her like a cape. Her hazel eyes darkened to black. She lifted her hand and pointed at Red. A dark orb fired out of the book.

  “Lost your pet?” Red dodged the first smooth sphere. But not the next. Weaker than Trudy’s phantom, it didn’t burn, but it hit her chest like a hammer, knocking her back into a gravestone. Hissing at the impact, she hobbled to her feet, gripping the granite for support. “I guess you two crazy kids worked out who would kill me then.”

  Trudy didn’t take the bait, staying silent. The book pumped orbs like an angry tennis ball machine.

  Sprinting up a grassy knoll, Red amplified her magic with the selenite in her hunter’s kit to send a gust of wind at Trudy.

  Shadows blocked the force.

  “Goodbye, Red.” Trudy turned a page in her grimoire. The new orbs flying out were different—jagged like a morningstar. “I sincerely hope your next life is more peaceful.”

  Red pulled the air around herself. The first orb hit her chest. Shattering, the shield took the impact. She staggered, trying to remake the psychic shield.

  A second orb barely grazed her shoulder.

  Just the brush seemed to steal her warmth like a sinister wind from an artic cave. Oxygen fled her lungs, breath coming out an icy vapor. She toppled down a hill. Rolling over the wet grass, her limbs slapped against the hard ground. A twig ripped her ponytail down. Her magic curled around her. She couldn’t hold up the energy. Her shoulders and head slammed against a gravestone, crushing a framed picture and dead bouquet of flowers.

  The thump ground her molars together. Pain made her nauseous. Her dyed black hair flopped over her spinning vision, and she curled on her side. She had the ridiculous thought that the color would last longer than she would. A winter’s frost spread through her veins. She couldn’t catch her breath—her lungs barely pumped. Her eyelids slipped down. Shock stilled her sprawled limbs; she couldn’t get up. The chill reached her skipping heart, stilling it.

  Irises faded from black to a haunted hazel, Trudy crouched beside Red, feeling her wrist pulse. She pulled off her glasses, letting them dangle on their chain, and hung her head. Letting go of Red, Trudy whispered, sorrow coating each word. “You fought well and used everything I taught you.”

  Last gasps of coherent thought surged in her foggy brain, Red disguised her chakras. Was it still playing possum when you felt nearly dead? Would everything become clear? All she felt was cold. She felt herself fade. Her vision sparkled as her brain screamed for oxygen. She concentrated on her power moment, igniting her scattered magic to fight the ice spreading through her system. The giant banyan of the academy appeared in her mind’s eye. A phoenix flew into the branches, trailing golden orange and vivid carmine feathers. Her lungs fluttered.

  Hitching out a small sigh, Trudy wiped her hands and stood.

  The chill left Red’s chest. Her heart pumped weakly. She forced herself not to move, watching her assassins through the wild hair spilling over her clammy face.

  Trudy fished a phone out of her pocket to take a picture. A brisk professionalism evened her shaky tone. “Now Mr. Gabriel knows.”

  “Leave her for the ghouls.” Frank turned away.

  Glowering at his back, Trudy pushed her glasses up her nose. “She deserves to be buried.”

  “Don’t get sentimental,” Frank snapped. “The job is done.”

  “And its cost us both so much.” Trudy rubbed her arms, hollowed gaze on the fading light at the horizon.

  Frank took a buzzing phone from his stolen suit pocket. He smiled at the screen, chilling Red more than Trudy’s spell. “Always pays on time, that Mr. Gabriel.”

  Crimson sunset reflecting on her glasses, Trudy nodded. “Let me see that slash. You might not have gotten all the wolfsbane out. Time is of the essence when the contamination is near your heart.”

  Grumbling, Frank revealed the ugly slash that looked like a bloody railroad track. A lump rose over his heart.

  Trudy reached into her satchel and pulled out some gauze and a tube of silver ointment. “Hold these.”

  Frank took them with either hand.

  Reaching into her purse, Trudy whipped out an old-fashioned silver razor blade. In a metallic flash, she scraped his chest, slicing off the growth.

  Frank howled and backhanded her.

  Face whipping to the side and feet planted like a boxer, Trudy tossed a bloody handful away to land in front of Red. It was a flattened bone disc. A flap of skin still clung to it. “You don’t need that amulet.” She raised the razor, slashing deep into Frank’s throat. Blood spurted over her glasses.

  He pressed his hand to the bleeding wound. The other swiped at Trudy.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Red reached into her hunter’s kit to grab a squirt gun. Trying not to attract notice by jostling the water, infused with cold iron flecks, she hid it under the picture frame under her ribs. She needed to neutralize that grimoire. Trudy might have lost her shadow beast, but she had imbued the book with other spells.

  Seemingly having the same idea, Frank grabbed at Trudy’s satchel, tearing it off her shoulder. The grimoire sagged out of the bag and flipped open. A glow poured out.

  Trudy barreled her shoulder into him like a linebacker, knocking him off balance. She stomped on his neck. “The wolfsbane on that razor is reaching your heart right now. Each struggle brings it closer. That burning in your veins is the poison liquefying your cells.”

  “Gabriel—" The name came out guttural and wet.

  “Deemed you a threat to the Brotherhood now that you fulfilled your purpose.” Trudy ground her foot down. A dark orb flew from the grimoire to hit his chest. “I will leave you for the ghouls.”

  Frank’s leg twitched, and then he stilled.

  Trudy’s shoulders slumped as she stepped away from him. She stared down at her hands, clenching them into fists. The grimoire floated to her, nudging her elbow like a sympathetic cat. She patted the book absently before flipping to a page. Magical energy slithered from the book. She sighed like it came from the bottom of her soul.

  Shadow shovels dug in the gap between graves. Ghouls prowled closer, pondwater dripping off their decaying bodies.r />
  Bones creaking, Red reached under the picture frame. She shook the squirt gun, then shot a stream of water infused with cold iron at the grimoire.

  Trudy gasped, eyes rolling in shock at seeing the supposed dead move. Surprise jerked the book out of her arms. It crashed into a clump of grasses. Dark orbs streaked out of it.

  Fingers slipping on the blood, Red grabbed Frank’s amulet and raised it like a shield, hoping it would protect her like it had the wolf. The magical barrage cracked the disc.

  The orbs boomeranged back, hitting Trudy in the stomach. She collapsed.

  An influx of magic overcame Red. It was her own. Yet it hadn’t come from within her. It came from the amulet. Energy jolted through her like a shot of adrenaline to the chest. She stood, emptying the squirt gun at the grimoire, fully neutralizing it.

  Coughing and gasping for breath, Trudy clutched her chest. Blood couldn’t hide the tortured grimace on her face.

  Brushing the grave dirt off her face, Red crouched out of arm’s reach. Her eyes stung. Trudy had taught her more about magic than anyone. Red had seen the Bard save lives. She knew what the woman was, deep down. Her loyalty had been perverted; this felt like such a waste. “You were used, Trudy. This wasn’t your destiny.”

  “No, my destiny was to kill the Devourer.” Trudy hissed in agony, paling. Her sharp exhales seemed painful. “I did that at twenty-two. Everything after that was duty. I never wanted to hurt you. Your assassination was Hannah’s assignment, given by Mr. Gabriel after the ranking. I wanted to spare her from it.”

  “That hit order didn’t come from the Brotherhood. They say you’ve gone rogue on a bogus burn notice.” Red shook her head, inching closer.

  “Hannah was supposed to be my redemption.” Tears streamed down her temples. Her eyes rolled closed. Her chest shuddered.

  “Mr. Gabriel tricked you. Who is he?”

  She reached for Red. “His name isn’t Gabriel. It’s—"