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

by Sami Valentine

  Red squeezed Trudy’s hand, urgency forcing her words out like bullet. “What is it?”

  Trudy wheezed, falling limp on the glass.

  Red bowed her head, shoulders shaking. The rancid smell of rot made her gag, tearing her from her complicated grief. She looked up at the ghouls rushing forward like vultures that found their courage now that the hyenas were gone. She scuttled back from Trudy, stumbling behind a gravestone.

  The two ghouls grabbed the bodies by the feet and dragged them away.

  Red huddled shaking on the grave as twilight deepened. Common sense descended over her—she was at the scene of a double homicide. Forcing herself up, she grabbed Trudy’s satchel and shoved the grimoire in there along with her discarded switchblade and the broken halves of Frank’s amulet wrapped in a handkerchief.

  She knelt to straighten up the grave she had nearly died on. It read Emma Peters 8/23/1993 – 8/22/2010. Red did the sad math quickly. Died at seventeen. Muttering a quick apology about the disintegrated bouquet, she gingerly set the bent stems on top of the stone. She lifted the picture, hoping the glass wasn’t broken as she flipped it over. Her trembling hands dropped it.

  It was her face staring out of the frame.

  The picture revealed a redhead teenager in a Charm High School t-shirt with a crooked smile and green eyes. She sat in a crimson diner booth that Red had only seen in dreams. Permanent marker in the corner scrawled out “We’ll never forget you, Em!”

  Red slumped back on her heels, heart bouncing against her ribcage. Her vision swam. She blinked, rubbing her eyes. That was really her in the picture. There was no magic signatures on it. Usually her thoughts raced. Now only one thundered in her mind: It was her. Red looked up at the engraved name, then down at the photo.

  It couldn’t be.

  She touched the death date. It was the same year as the beginning of the deepest dead zone in her memories where not even historical events or pop culture had penetrated. Vic had asked her once what were the most recent movies that she remembered to jog her memory. Her movie knowledge stopped that summer. Then it was a tunnel of darkness until Vic found her at Coyote Creek.

  The dates fell into place, releasing a warm trickle of tears down her cheek. She leaned her head against the tombstone. The magical dye had released its grip, her tangled hair faded from black to red.

  She had looked for missing persons. Never the dead.

  Red had survived, but no one she’d loved as Emma Peters must have known. The thought made her chest hurt. Trudy had nearly buried her in the right grave. Her stomach knotted as a somber lump rose in her throat. She mourned the part of herself lost at seventeen.

  She grieved for Emma Peters, whoever she had been, and hoped she would be proud of who Red had become. Overwhelm forced her into a numb stasis. She couldn’t move even though she knew that she had too. The scent of another storm drifted over her headstone like a promise.

  “Red, what are you doing?” Kristoff broke out of a sprint. “I smelled the blood at sunset. How did you—" Crouching, he pressed his hand to her shoulder. Wonder suffused his voice. “That picture. It’s you.”

  “Trudy and Frank are dead.” Red pressed her palm against the cold stone. “I found this.”

  “Darling,” Kristoff said urgently, cupping her chin and taking her hand. “I don’t know what you did with the bodies, but there is a dinner rush at Lili’s only a half mile away. We need to leave now before you are seen.”

  Red gulped, letting him lift her to her feet. Satchel over her shoulder, she stared back at the cemetery, leg shaking under her hunter’s kit. She had come to Charm to find her home. Instead, she’d found her grave.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Escaping through heavy fog, the Millennium Falcon looped around the cemetery, leaving Kristoff’s cottage behind. The promised rain pelted the windshield. Heart skipping, Red pressed her face against the window, Lili’s Diner disappeared quickly out of view.

  “Drink this.” Spiking a water bottle with his blood, multitasking with supernatural speed, Kristoff drove the van away from Charm. Only the twitch in his cheek betrayed his calm veneer. Turning on the highway to Portland, he began a dizzying amount of calls, arranging everything from a plane back to Vegas to verifying pickup for Lucas and the removal of the bodies—or what was left of them—from the pond.

  Red cringed at his brusque tone, ordering corpse disposal like he was calling in dry cleaning. The sickly feeling in her gut wasn’t because she was shocked at his actions, but because he was doing it for her. A prick of alarm made her straighten in the front seat. “Make sure Trudy is buried. And Ezra. Nicely.”

  Kristoff nodded, eyebrow rising. A question hovered on his lips.

  “I’m going to lie down.” Head aching, Red unbelted herself and climbed into the backseat. She changed behind the curtain into clean clothes, then wrapped herself in the weighted blanket. It wasn’t the cold making her shake.

  Trudy, Ezra, Diego, and even Doctor Finch… She couldn’t fully comprehend the complicated web that had led to their downfalls, and she had been there. Ezra and Diego had been innocents in it all. They were easy to lament. Then there was her erstwhile teacher and attempted murderer. It felt like the most twisted heartbreak of all—redemption corrupted. Red tightened her grip on the covers as the Bard’s final moments flashed through her mind. Eyelashes damp from restrained tears, she sank into a meditation that Trudy had taught her. She didn’t emerge from the blanket burrito until they reached a small airport on the outskirts of Portland.

  Lucas waited for them inside the private plane. Flopping his tousled black hair back, he strode to her and pulled her into his arms. “Kitten, I’m sorry. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Red let him guide her to a small sofa. She curled under his arm, breathing in his sandalwood scent as she forced the grisly tale out over the short flight. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t reveal that the wolf’s amulet had given her a power boost. She skipped over it to detail Trudy’s final words about the mysterious Mr. Gabriel, then how she’d finally found out her real name. The plane took her body south, but her mind was still in Charm.

  Stepping into the dry night air at the small airport outside Las Vegas, Red walked down the plane stairs where a minion waited by a shiny black SUV. She had finished the job. The Lopes were history, but it didn’t feel like a victory. It simply felt like an ending. Lost in morose thoughts, the sparkle of the city couldn’t distract her on the ride back to the Circe Casino. At the front entrance, she hugged both Lucas and Kristoff goodbye impulsively. “I need to check up on someone.”

  Perenelle and Hannah waited for her in the lobby. The LED ceiling cast rainbow lights on their relieved faces. Effervescent in a white linen caftan, the alchemist addressed her with an appreciative nod. “Welcome back and congratulations. You fulfilled your end of the bargain better than the Gendarme.”

  “Gary O’Sullivan’s too slippery to pin—" Red huffed out an oof as the teen rushed in for a fierce hug. She returned the rib-crushing embrace. “Need to breathe,” She said, patting Hannah’s back. “I’m glad to see you too.”

  Hannah pulled away and wiped at her face with a clenched fist. “I had no idea, Red. I never would have imagined that Trudy would…” Her plea turned fervent. “I hate her for it. Even dead, I do.”

  “I feel sorry for her, and I don’t blame you for anything. You did good out there, just like a Hero. Don’t let this tarnish what we learned from her. She was tricked. We were all tricked.” Red squeezed Hannah’s hand. She didn’t know how to explain Trudy’s betrayal just then. Even when she found the words, it would still be a pale imitation of the reality. Right now, someone else needed her more than Hannah. She turned to Perenelle. “Where’s Vic?”

  “He is with his brother in the infirmary.” Perenelle stepped forward, putting an arm around Red, sympathy lingered in her purple eyes. The Immortal Alchemist nudged them away from Hannah to ask discretely, “How are you really?”

  �
��I’m still walking.” Red lifted her chin, wan smile flickering.

  “All three of you are welcome to stay as Lashawn undergoes treatment,” Perenelle assured her, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. “Even after if you chose.”

  “Thanks. It’s kind of you. We’ll move on after that, I think,” Red confessed. She had found a fragile peace in the academy, but the road wouldn’t stop calling her north. Not after what she had learned.

  “You’re always welcome. I still maintain that you would make a great alchemist. You have the curiosity. I know what compels you, but as my adept, that drive could be channeled into questions with less painful answers.”

  Red shrugged, knowing Perenelle was right. “Even if I stayed, I’d always wonder.”

  Perenelle sighed, a wistful smile on her face. “I sensed you still had quite a journey ahead of you. Maybe in your next life, I can convince you to linger in our halls.”

  “Maybe.” Red nodded, striding toward a portal door to the academy hidden in the gift shop dressing room.

  Stepping out on the platform of archways, Red smiled to see the giant banyan with sunrise clouds draped over its bird-laden branches. It planted seeds of peace within her as she passed the swan pond, crossing the oasis in Pyramid Hall toward the medical center.

  After getting lost in the winding ways of the infirmary, Red found Lashawn’s private room. Dark skin ashen against the white covers, he lay with a cannula and glowing IV tubes attaching him to complicated copper-plated equipment. Vic sat a lonely vigil at the bedside. He stood at her entrance.

  Red hadn’t cried on the way back from Charm, but seeing the regret and fear on Vic’s face made her tear up. She hauled him into a hug. “Vic.”

  Vic wiped his eyes, patting her back as he pulled away. “You got fuckin’ Frank. That’s my intern.”

  “I wish that I could have done it sooner.” Red moved to rest her hand on Lashawn’s.

  “They’ll wake him up in a few days. The treatment is a shock to the system.” Vic’s voice broke. “He has the wolf gene, Red.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’ll turn. Not with this much silver in his veins.” Red put a comforting hand on his bicep. “He’ll be happy to wake up and see you.”

  “I stayed at the hospital. He’ll have to give me that. Until the full moon comes and he wishes he had caught that plane out of Vegas.” Vic rubbed his eyes, slumping into a chair. “I think I’m getting that ulcer you warned me about.”

  “Greetings from Impressionism hell, Red.” Basil swept into the room in a fluffy white bathrobe, face sunburnt above the terrycloth. Bandages covered the IV ducts on his wrists. He beckoned her into a hug.

  “Art doesn’t look like it agreed with you.”

  “Dehydration, sunstroke, food poisoning from painted apples… It was like my last cruise.” Basil stroked her hair as he pulled away. “Oh, honey, I read the gloom wafting off you. You did all that you could. It wasn’t your fault. I sensed Trudy’s conflict. I might have reached her, given a chance, but Finch was waiting for me. If that damn picture had let me be heard, I could have saved you all so much pain.”

  “We all dropped the ball,” Vic said gruffly detouring the pity parade, turning back to his brother.

  “It’s good to see you in three dimensions, Basil. Perenelle says we can stay. Are you going to take her up on it?” Red asked, toeing the ground, trying not to soul broadcast her hopes. “Or are you skipping off?”

  “Diego would have wanted me to stay, put down roots.” He sniffed, hugging himself. “Not just because he booked me for guest lectures in advance. The show must go on for Basil Bansko.”

  “Maybe the bed rest too,” Red suggested gently.

  Slipping oversized sunglasses out of his pocket and setting them on his nose, Basil hugged her again. He whispered in her ear. “You’re the real First Witch. Never forget it.”

  After the soulmancer left, Red pulled up a chair to join Vic in his bedside vigil.

  “It’s me.” Hannah knocked on the door, pushing it open with takeout bags hanging on her arm. Shyness tensed her shoulders. “I brought your favorites. I can just drop it off.”

  Vic waved her in. “It’s not like you’re going to wake him up.”

  The three didn’t talk much as they set up the pop-up dinner on a rolling tray. Then the words came out along with the noodles. Sorrow and fatigue wrapped around Red, but over lo mein and friends, a sun beam cracked through the clouds.

  ---

  Relaxing on a grassy patch under the great tree, Red wasn’t surprised when she got a text from Lucas the next day at sunset. Leaving Hannah by the swan pond, she met him outside the casino, leaning against his bike in a loading zone. The neon Vegas lights reflected off his dark hair and leather jacket. His gray eyes found her like there was no one else in Sin City.

  The weight of the inevitable pressed on her chest, making her feel breathless. “LA needs saving?”

  “Always does. Got about twelve hours to track down a minotaur with the relic of some evil goddess. Only half listened to Cora nattering on about it.” Shrugging, he flashed an impish grin. He stepped to her, hands in his pockets. “I know how important it is for you to be here, but you’re always welcome at the agency. I reckon when you next waltz through the doors, you’ll be a very accomplished witch.”

  Eyes hot, Red didn’t answer, she just hugged him. Her fingers clutched his back. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his sandalwood scent. Feeling strong enough to speak, she whispered. “I’ll be back. I just gotta find out some things.”

  “I can guess where you’ll go next.” Lucas tightened the arm around her waist as he stroked her hair. He murmured into her hair. “If you need me, I’ll come.”

  Red sighed, sinking into his arms. She wanted him to stay, but he had a city to save. The futile request battered against her lips. Holding him, she didn’t want to break the spell of the present with words.

  They stayed like that until a security guard ordered the motorcycle to be moved. Lucas zoomed away through the parking lot, leaving Red to watch the bike headlamp fade long after it was lost in the lights of the Strip.

  Finding her at the curb, Hannah put an arm around Red and turned her toward the Circe. “Hey, let’s do a spa night. I’ll get the ice cream this time.”

  ---

  The next week felt so slow as it unfolded but looking back it was a blur. The Synod hadn’t reassigned a teacher. Her curriculum was the least of their worries as the long running cold war with Gary O’Sullivan heated up. Days free, she tried to sleep in, but each dawn she ended up under the banyan in the Pyramid, listening to the swans. It wasn’t really meditation since she drank coffee and journaled, but she snatched serenity where she could.

  Red needed every bit of it at Ezra’s memorial service. A portrait framed by flowers stood in the place of his body, buried some far unknown place beside his mother. She hoped it was a peaceful spot. A stirring theatrical eulogy by an actor friend named Raul tore the tears from her and the rest of the packed Nostradamus Lounge. She held it together for the crying Hannah. Red felt the sorrow in her throat like she had swallowed an ice cube.

  Ezra had been a kind man in a hard world. His last act had been trying to save his mother from herself. Red hoped the two had reconnected somewhere gentler on sensitive souls. Hannah and Vic were still angry at Trudy’s memory, but Red saw it all as a Greek tragedy.

  Red had to half carry the teen, mourning the loss of another brother figure, back to their dorm.

  Days passed under the tranquil banyan canopy in the academy of alchemists. Red told herself she was dragging Hannah to the hotel gym, movie nights, and to visit the sleeping Lashawn in the infirmary for her own good. They even convinced Vic to do face masks with them. It was to keep the girl occupied, give her some stability in the wake of so much chaos. Red knew it helped herself just as much. It wasn’t much, but it felt like healing.

  ---

  Nearly two weeks after returning from Charm, Red reclined alo
ne on the couch in the dorm suite. She finished the last cold bite of pasta in a plastic bowl, remnants of her dinner with Basil, made in the kitchenette as he regaled her with descriptions of his new apartment. He’d left in a flurry of excitement to start settling in, plotting a late run to the mall before it closed. Her big Friday night plan was the last season of Breaking Bad.

  Hannah stormed into the dorm suite, hand on one hip with a shopping bag swinging from the other. “Why aren’t you getting ready?”

  “For what?”

  “The Club Vltava opening! Hello!” With the flair of a showgirl, Hannah retrieved a slinky pink dress out of the bag and held it against her chest. “Start glamming up. We’re going. I know you have an outfit.”

  Red snorted. “I don’t need to dress up for Kristoff.”

  “Um, modern women here. We’re dressing up to take selfies. Now get moving. Its Friday!” Hannah said, tapping her phone to stream a pop song through the speakers. “That calls for Taylor Swift so shake off those sweatpants already.”

  Grumbling, Red shut off the TV and did as commanded. She dabbed on eye makeup, layering more on at the teen’s orders until it was sufficiently smoky. Then Hannah fought the frizz in Red’s ginger waves with the determination of a lion tamer. Her first two outfit ideas were vetoed. They had a stalemate over a green dress with a halter top neckline that Hannah insisted that she wear. Red broke first just to see a smile. She hadn’t seen too many of those from the young witch lately.

  Letting herself fall into the teenybopper beat, Red finished getting ready and bounced out the door with Hannah. She hid her giggles as Hannah flirted with a pimply adept to get him to turn the brass staircase in the dorm tower into an escalator. The shortcuts ended after they left the academy and entered the finished new wing of the casino. The line to the Club Vltava opening stretched down the hallway.

  “We’re not waiting.” Pushy in pink, Hannah grabbed Red’s hand and dragged her to the bouncer. “Tell Kristoff Novak his girlfriend is here.”