Witch Gone Viral

by Sami Valentine

  Rattling down the dirt road, each bump made Red wince. The old VW barely reached the highway speed limit, but she still drove stiff-gripped and paranoid that a taillight would go out on the van. If she got pulled over by a cop…

  Red had driven with her snub-nosed Rhino 20DS revolver, courtesy of Vic. He had handed it over as if giving Excalibur, reciting its stats at length, when all she wanted to know was how to make it go boom. She had wondered if he knew the gun’s astrological sign and turn-ons. Did the revolver like long walks on the beach? Vic was the one with the gun collection, so as his roommate, she might as well have had one too. This was different. The Millennium Falcon was fully loaded, but not with an arsenal worthy of a cartel.

  An audiobook had streamed from her phone speaker, but she hadn’t absorbed any of the high fantasy adventure of The Hobbit, so she’d flipped it off. She had sweated over her hidden cargo for three hours on I-15. Clenched like a fist, she followed the handwritten directions to a lonely road deep in the Mojave. She was almost there.

  Rolling the windows down, she tried to look past the dust to see the ranch coming into view on the dark, flat horizon. It was the only intact structure for miles. She checked the directions again. She’d passed the ghost town, the lost cemetery, and turned right at the crossroads with the lightning-struck tree. It was supposed to be a straight shot along a wash filled with desert willows. If this was a horror movie, a creepy hermit would have popped out onto the road any second. Instead the VW van simply chugged over the rough dirt.

  Soon, the dirt became more level as it fed into a graveled private road. She turned into a driveaway outlined in white stone and Joshua trees. The headlamps revealed a long squat adobe compound, roofed in red tile with a wraparound porch. There were no windows, only a single door. Turning the van around, she backed up to the front step. She wasn’t going to make gun-running her new thing. No need to stick around to chit chat and network.

  In and out, she told herself. Red killed the engine before stepping out of the van. She walked up to the front and knocked on the door.

  It creaked open. Shadows obscured the interior.

  She gulped and stepped back. “Hey, I have a delivery from the supreme.”

  The soft notes of a music box drifted through the cracked door. It opened to reveal Lucas’s sire.

  Red knew she looked like a slack-jawed idiot at she stared at the eternal raven-haired beauty.

  Selene stood in the threshold, holding a music box with a Venus flytrap planted in it. In an airy dress draped in white and black swatches of silk, she stepped forward. “Are you a stray kitten come looking for milk?”

  Tongue struck dumb, Red tried to respond. Quinn had said she’d find something interesting here. He didn’t say that it would be her honey’s ex-girlfriend. Red now knew where Vic had gotten his ‘drop them in the deep end’ style of mentorship. She had only met Selene in her head. Literally, since it was in the Dreamland. Selene was prettier in person. She also had the dark gift to mesmerize.

  Red didn’t meet her gaze. “More like a messenger.”

  “I already told the others about our present.”

  Red looked over her shoulder to see the van open and two vampires unloading it at top speed. “Well, then I must be going…” Selene had a soul, but sanity still seemed to be an issue. “Cool plant though.”

  “Don’t leave, not when I finally see you. Apollo holds his hands to my true vision, but I knew that a modern miss would return. Its why I made you this.” Selene held out the music box. She nodded with the eagerness of a child.

  “For me?” Red took the gift. The Venus flytrap’s mouth lay closed as if sleeping.

  Selene’s wide eyes became lucid. “I remember you from a place you could never be. I’m in a lot of places, at once, even now, but that asylum… It wasn’t a place for ladies.”

  Red blinked. “You were really in the Dreamland?”

  “You came to us so long ago.” Selene’s chin trembled. Her voice cracked. “Saturn moves in the sky and the earthshaker comes behind. New orders, old ties, I see what I understand. Puzzle pieces in my roses.”

  “I don’t understand. Is this about the attack on Orval?”

  “I’m past that. Or maybe before?” Selene wrapped her arms around her waist. Her eyes darted before she became confused. “Girl with no name, when am I now? Is this where we should be?”

  “I sure hope so.” Red thought back to the arsenal she’d handed over.

  Edison bulbs sparked to life on the copper chandelier behind Selene, revealing Navajo blankets on the walls, mesquite chairs in the corner, and sheep skins on the dark wood floor in the front room. Two mounted cameras hid in the upper corners.

  “You’re at the Soul House, Selene.” A serene voice commented from the whitewashed adobe archway. Lanky and broad shouldered with a bushy brown beard, the newcomer wore a mechanic’s uniform. “Matt” was stitched in red cursive on the name tag. Eerily pale under the electric lights, he was obviously a vampire. His sad, kind hazel eyes told Red he had a soul.

  “Soul House. Yes, of course.” Selene walked to him as she smiled at Red. “Have you met my friend?”

  “Nope. This is my first time.” Red stopped herself from adding ‘and last.’ Her hand tightened on the music box. She was going to have fun explaining this Venus flytrap to Vic. He’d probably want to burn the thing.

  Selene leaned in close to Matt, hand covering her mouth as she whispered into his ear, but her voice came out loud, if hushed, like a child telling a secret. “She doesn’t have a proper name but don’t laugh.”

  “She signed for your package, so I guess I’ll go.” Red jerked her thumb to the door. “Cora says hey, FYI.”

  “Did she send you or did Quinn?” Matt the mechanic asked.

  Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Red didn’t know how much in advance her boss had planned swapping jobs with her, but he had seemed pleased to send her off. Vic was the one obsessed with teachable moments. Had Quinn decided to get in on the mentor train? She didn’t know what lesson she was supposed to learn besides Selene’s address. “Technically, the supreme, but I’m beginning to think it was a setup.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s surprised. Usually I have good old Joe, and we get in some poker before he goes.”

  Frowning, Red connected the dots. She had heard that Quinn and Delilah had started the souled vampire scene in Los Angeles in the 1950s. Back in one of their ‘on’ periods. Joe Chang and Orval came to their poker games. Had Matt? Red put that clue in the ‘past enemy taking out Quinn’s poker buddies’ theory pile. She was so deep in vampire shenanigans she couldn’t see through the pitch black. The current swept her along, unseen. She had done a lot of jobs where the boss hadn’t given the crew the full story. Red had hated each one.

  Regaining her attention, Matt gestured to the hallway behind him. “Come on, get some water, take a pit stop. You’re safe here. We’re the good kind of vampires.”

  Red nodded, curiosity and her full bladder winning out.

  “I can show you my garden! You’ve never seen it here!” Selene clapped her hands.

  “What is this place?” Head whipping around, Red studied the southwestern décor for other lurking vampires. She only found the stray midcentury modern piece tucked among the kachina dolls, mesquite furniture, and leather-bound hand drums by an empty fireplace. The place looked like a ranch-style bed and breakfast.

  “Most folks would call this a sanctuary for souled vampires. A slice of respite for the newly repentant and those just needing a breather.” Matt led her down the hallway. It opened to a rectangular hacienda courtyard lined with brightly painted doors. Soul House was bigger than it seemed from the front, stretching back into the distance. Open sky lazed over the desert plants, a picnic table and a few fire pits. The compound had an aura of peace like a Joshua tree in the moonlight.

  Red watched Selene glide ahead. “She’s been here for a while then?”

  “She’s an institution here.
Keeps the place green.” Matt patted his chest and lifted his arm to show off his sleeve. “Made my uniform, you know.”

  “It’s spiffy.” Red watched Selene.

  The woman glided through the garden, stooping to greet a squat barrel cactus, then waved to a giant pillar of a succulent. Addressing Red proudly, Selene pointed at the five-armed saguaro. “I named him Phil.”

  Strangely endeared, Red wondered why Quinn thought seeing Selene was important? Had he detected jealousy from Red? Did he think she needed to meet the whole vamp family? Red frowned, giving the tall cactus a double take. “Those aren’t supposed to grow here.”

  “They do if Selene wants them too.” Matt smiled proudly. He pointed to a door painted turquoise. “Wash up. We might just have snacks in the kitchen. It’s the yellow door.”

  In the bathroom, Red cleaned off some of the road grime and the worry sweat under her knit dress. Feeling less conscious of her odor around the supernatural senses of smell, she walked out to the courtyard, then into the kitchen. Retro appliances in light teal popped in the white southwestern kitchen.

  Matt sat at a round table with a water bottle and an apple in front of him. He gestured to the fruit. “Eat. We had some cheese, but I couldn’t tell if it was French or it had gone off.”

  “Matt, you seem like a nice guy.” Red sat down across from the mechanic. She brushed her hand through her hair. The nervous energy from hauling a cache of guns and meeting Lucas’s ex faded. She didn’t know the grand scheme of why the supreme wanted arms sent to Soul House, but Red could guess that Orval’s death wasn’t a simple gambling debt collection turned fatal. Not if the supreme was arming his friends. “I don’t know what you’ve got going on with Cora, but be careful. It seems like souled vampires have a target on their backs nowadays.”

  “We always have. I’ve seen the rumors on the dark web. It’s a new spin on an old tale.” Matt put his hands on the table, shrugging. Sadness tinged the Zen acceptance in his gaze. “It’s why I built Soul House.”

  “Why is Selene here?” Red glanced through the door to see the vampiress whispering to a cactus.

  “She can’t live anywhere else. Most just pass through. They get the boost they need to move on.”

  “Is this like a yoga retreat for vampires?”

  “Cora calls me a guru, but I’m not one. Calling me a good mechanic is stretching it too.” Matt chuckled, shooting a self-deprecating glance down at his uniform. “We’re not really a structured activity kind of place.”

  Cocking her head, Red studied him. Matt appeared humble, but he had the confidence of age behind him. Was this a cult or a halfway house? He certainly didn’t seem like a Blood Alliance vamp. “What do you do for them?”

  “It’s a strange thing to heal from being both a victim and a perpetrator. I provide a safe place for their souls. Help them discover a positive purpose.” Matt smiled, leaning forward in his chair and jerking his thumb at himself. “It’s my gift. I got to keep more of me when I was turned than most. I’m handy with a wrench but I’m better with a soul.”

  “Soulmancer?” Red had only known one before. Her chest panged. She hoped Basil had found his white beach somewhere.

  “Bingo.” Matt nodded. “Just like Selene, I kept some of my magic after death. Once I processed my own pain, I helped others. It’s how I met Cora and Joe.”

  “You counselled Orval too?”

  “No, just played poker. Man didn’t want me preaching. He liked me better when I was pouring him tequila.” Grief washing over his bearded face, Matt frowned, crossing himself. “He’s met the true death and he’s not the only one.”

  “Who are you, really?” Her mind put the pieces together as she spoke. It sounded too crazy in her head. There had to be other soulmancers named Matthew out there.

  Forehead furrowing, Matt dropped his arms. “Are you asking because you’re suspicious of me or because you recognize me, and you don’t know why?”

  “The first, but now I’m curious about the second.” Red crossed her arms. She wouldn’t have picked Matt out of a police lineup. He looked like half the grease monkeys leaning over a car hood on this side of the Mississippi. But she had been sent here for a reason. She had thought it was because of Selene, but Quinn seemed to have more than one poker buddy with cards up his sleeve.

  “I go by Matt, but some people might better know me as Father Matthew.”

  “Seriously?” Red shook herself, trying to process the unbelievable sentence. “The Jesuit Father Matthew? The one who invented the soul curse and started the August Harvest? That guy?”

  What the Black Plague was to the human world, the August Harvest was to vampires. It had culled the pack.

  Father Matthew had changed history in 1900 at the Stonetree Monastery when he tracked down and cursed the Byrneses with souls during a massacre of monks. His short pamphlet on how he did it went viral on printing presses around the world. That August, every supernatural learned exactly how to craft a vampire’s darkest fear—a guilty conscience.

  You live long enough, you’ll make enemies. Vampires around the world soon saw themselves looking down the barrel of empathy ready to be locked, loaded, and slammed back into them. Karma coming to call after countless nights of ‘fuck, feed, kill.’ Other mages tried to modify the curse to suit their own powers. Some worked, some left their victims charging madly into the sun. A soul curse needed to be done near a vampire. Countless mages from classic soulmancers to alchemists died trying to get close enough.

  The canny and the lucky vampires escaped the ad hoc curses to face chaos close to home. Old bloodlines, dynasties drawn straight to the original eight vampires, crumbled. Traditions, honed over five thousand years, were torched. Masters fell and minions rebelled. In the fires of the world wars, the supernatural map had to be redrawn as the vampiric struggle overflowed onto alchemist academies, shifter packs, ghoul nests, and even the Brotherhood itself. Only the formation of the Blood Alliance brought order to the undead world.

  The most famous soulmancer in history had been turned into a vampire. And no one knew. Red gawked at him.

  “I am that guy. What happened next wasn’t my intention, but a man owns his past.” Crow’s feet deepening, his weathered brow knotted. He had been turned near forty, back when your thirties could be rough. His had looked pretty rough. She could tell immortality hadn’t eased the burden on his shoulders but tempered his acceptance.

  “Why doesn’t everyone know this?” Was he going to offer her the red pill next? She half expected to find out Albert Einstein was an alchemist running a McDonalds in Toledo.

  “It was meant as a secret punishment. They thought my spell was a minor inconvenience at first. I ruined the siege of London just as the Alaric Order was winning. I did take out four of their best.” He said the last word ironically. Matt took a shaky, needless breath. “To be sired, left to murder innocents, and then given a soul before greeting the sun. No one expected that I would survive, and the August Harvest took care of anyone who would risk telling.”

  “The Blood Alliance has to know.”

  “They leave me alone, whatever they know.” Matt raised his eyebrows. “I’m the boogie man for unsouled vampires. Few at Soul House even know.”

  “No wonder you need to hide. And, you know, all the guns.” Red looked away as a terrible thought came to her. She bit her lip, but the words snuck out. “Selene… she killed your son.”

  “And Lucas Crawford killed my brothers.” Curt and taut lipped, Matt met her gaze. “I had my reasons for cursing them.”

  “I’m not blaming you. My mentor warned me to not mess with supernatural librarians.” Red rubbed her arms. Basil had shown her a secret memory swiped from Lucas’s mind during their magical murder mystery Christmas coma. Juniper had been there when Lucas had been cursed, nearly pep-talking him through the process. The official Brotherhood files had listed Juniper as dying the year before in Dresden. Whatever the true story was, it had been buried deep. Had she been worki
ng with Matt? This must have been why Quinn had sent her. No one else could have given her insight on both her own soul and Juniper’s. “You asked me if I recalled you, but it’s really you who remembered me. I know Juniper was at the Stonetree Monastery when you cursed the four. How’d you know her?”

  “She gave me a kick in the pants about my destiny.” Flicking his finger out over his palm as if launching a paper football, Matt clicked his tongue. “Prophecy that I couldn’t refuse.”

  “You were with her? What about when she was working with the Bards?” Even though the Brotherhood had dumped her, she still couldn’t help but feel protective over the venerable order. Juniper had double-crossed Vic’s great-great-great-grandpa Iron Jack Constantine in her revenge trip over Maxwell. Or so the warlock had her believe. Would Matt sing a different song? Red wanted it to not be true. She sat on the edge of her seat.

  “I was studying in Prague then.”

  Disappointment settled in Red as she leaned back. She should have been happy that her dark side doppelgänger had a good side. Juniper had set the August Harvest in motion. That gave her an indirect vampire kill count that would put any other hunter to shame. Nearly thirty percent of the vampire population had died over three decades. Then more were cursed with souls. How many people had Juniper ended up saving from being future vamp chow? The ripple effect was enormous. The numbers had to counterbalance double-crossing the Brotherhood or the lost bystanders caught in the crossfire with the warlock on the streets of Victorian England. Right?

  Her doppelgänger might have been a hero in her last act, but Red still didn’t want to share a traitor’s face or anything else. It had already cost her too much.

  “I didn’t even know if I would even make it to London on time, come that fateful day. I saw Juniper once before the end.” Matt lowered his head, pulling off his hat. His fingers, grease locked in the nail beds, twisted the battered cap.

  “The stories make you sound like a vengeful mage.”

  “I wanted the vengeance, but I never wanted to be a soulmancer.” Matt shook his head. “My father was a witch hunter and his father before him. I joined the church to reject the so-called corruption. Magic, status, money—roots from the same evil tree. I hadn’t yet learned that power reveals more than it corrupts.” Inching his chair forward, Matt put his hat back on. He smiled, leaning over the table. “My story is old news. You came expecting answers. I can give you some.”