Witch Gone Viral

by Sami Valentine

  “When I put up that bounty, I really only wanted the werewolf hunter. The fates brought me you like a cursed Monkey’s Paw.” Sancha furrowed her delicate brow. “The tribunal is over, but I do not forget anything you have done to me or mine.”

  “I’ve only obeyed orders.” Red forced her breathing to stay even. “Some of those yours.”

  “Conveniently.” Sancha stiffened, yellow flashing in her brown irises. “But you were there when my sire fell. Close enough to taste his ashes, hear his last words. Did you see death in his eyes?”

  “He looked calm. Maybe he thought of Penelope in the end.” A phantom Santa Ana wind rose up in her memory. Michel’s body had crumbled to dust and scattered in an instant from Cora’s sword. Hands chilling, she shifted on her feet. Red curled her hand over her purse, stilling her tensing muscles. She tried to be comforting. She failed.

  “Always Penelope.” Exhaling harshly, Sancha licked over her fangs, arms crossing. She composed herself with visible effort straining her immortal brow. Tossing her braid back, she refocused on Red. “We know I gave you a taste of power. The sabor that has no name but lingers on the tongue long after it’s gone.” Sancha shook her head. “The Blood Alliance might be watching me, the traitor’s childe, but that watchful eye will turn.”

  Red already felt the target on her back. “Why are you here, Sancha?”

  “A shopping spree on Rodeo Drive. I’m a merry widow after all.” Brushing by Red, pillow lips pulled back to reveal fangs, Sancha sneered at her. “Didn’t you notice the new dress?”

  Waiting in the hall until the sound of Sancha’s heels disappeared, Red released her held breath. She dialed Cora’s number and it went to voicemail.

  “I saw Sancha Constanza alone at the Pandora. She had a lot more to say than at the tribunal—mostly implied threats and insults. I’m getting a bad feeling about this.” She paced, voice hushed as she made up her mind in a snap. This situation was moving too fast for her to stay at the Pandora Hotel. “The Dague is using Michel as a martyr and his childe is in town just when they’re dialing up the heat. When you can, reach out to Souled Sal at the Skinner in OKC. He can give you details about her. I’m going to the desert and bringing back our friend. If we have a soul emergency, I want him nearby.” She hung up.

  Red had left Soul House because she couldn’t stand to hear the truth from Father Matthew. She couldn’t run from it any longer.

  Chapter Ten

  January 25th, Evening, Baker, The Mojave Desert, California

  After pulling into the gas station, Red shivered as she walked to the side door to the bathroom with her go-bag. A cold wind blew her short skirt and thin cardigan back. She hadn’t wasted time in going home to change once she decided that Matt needed to be safe inside the fortified Moon Enterprises building. The lights flickered above the cracked mirror and single stall. She checked the stall before locking the door.

  She had sped the desert highway in her rental car, trying to make up time lost behind an accident on the outskirts of Los Angeles, before the need for gas stopped her in Baker. This was the only village on the edges of the Mojave National Preserve. There was nothing else besides dunes in this corner of California. She still had at least another half an hour on the road to Soul House then it was a long drive back to the city.

  She changed from short cocktail dress to a black shirt, jeans and a leather jacket. After using the toilet, she washed and dried her hands slowly. Her heart felt heavy in her chest. Scrolling through her phone, too distracted by her own racing thoughts to focus on the screen, she shifted on her feet. She sighed before shoving the phone into her jacket pocket. Enough stalling.

  “Okay, I’m doing this… It’s time to put on my big girl pants and face whatever truth that the soulmancer can give me.” She pointed at her reflection, lifting her chin. She had worried and panicked for the last three hours with the same loop of fear and dread. It was time for a pep talk and her personal Yoda was in Arizona. She had to do it herself. Red wagged her finger sternly at the mirror. “I’m going to get Matt to safety in the city. I’m not freaking out about the whole reincarnation thing. Be logical like a Bard. I can’t get corrupted by magic if I don’t do any. I have Juniper’s soul, but I won’t relive her life.”

  “Focus on the job, Red. Its rock and roll time.” Red straightened her shoulders and struck a confident pose at her reflection. A frown tugged at her lips. She hadn’t wiped off her makeup after recon at the Pandora Hotel, but the smokey eyeshadow couldn’t hide the fear in her gaze.

  “Fuck.” Bowing her head, she leaned her hands on the rust stained sink. Red took a deep breath. She hadn’t even wanted to make the pit stop and now she couldn’t get out of the bathroom. This was a job, but she was letting her feelings get in the way. If she wanted to be worthy of the Brotherhood, she’d have to fight through the fear. Red lifted her head.

  If there was another vampire whose staking would get social media clicks beyond Lucas and Quinn, it would be Matt. He would be a PR victory for the Dague if he fell into their hands. He might have lived like a simple mechanic now, but his mortal life as Father Matthew had made him an enemy of every unsouled vampire. More than a few souled ones, she bet. Hopefully, she could bundle him in the car and hear it on the way back to Los Angeles. Red hadn’t planned anything more than ‘be really persuasive and hope the undead soulmancer came willingly.’

  Leaving the bathroom, she went to the small sedan at the gas pumps, threw her duffle bag into the back, and started fueling up.

  Across the parking lot, the lonely diner blazed its neon sign—Welcome Café. A semi-truck lingered behind it. Florescent light shined on the motorcycles huddled in front.

  Red twisted the gas cap, trying to decide whether or not to go in. Something made her glance at the diner again. What was missing? Shaking her head, she got into the car, deciding it was a craving for donuts. She didn’t need a sugar fix. Driving past the diner to get back on the road, her tummy rumbled to argue that maybe she should get something. Soul House didn’t have much in the way of human food. She glanced into the Welcome Café.

  Framed in the wide windows, a trucker lay on the floor. Smoke drifted out of the kitchen door.

  Heart pounding, Red pulled into the diner’s lot. She knew what the place had been missing now—people moving around. She ran inside. Gagging at the smell of blood, she hunched over and covered her mouth. Red had seen the aftermath of a supernatural attack, but nothing like this. This was a massacre.

  The freckled teenage waitress slumped against the hostess stand, legs sticking straight out ahead. Blood covered her uniform. Her hands clutched her order pad, fingers bruised as if they had been crushed against the paper. Gore seeped from her ruined throat.

  Eyes tearing up and stomach churning, Red knelt to feel the waitress’s wrist pulse, even knowing it was impossible. Nothing. Her skin crawled at how warm the body still felt. She swallowed a dry heave.

  Stumbling back, she pinched herself. Get it together! This was an active scene. She looked around, pulling a stake from under her jacket, and crept to the next victim, bile rising.

  The muscle-bound biker knelt in a pool of his own blood. A switchblade awkwardly hung from his fingers. His neck was ripped out. He still clutched a chair as if to climb up to fight again. Teeth bared and fear imprinted on their dead eyes, four of his buddies lay around him, shredded from jaws that bit to the bone.

  She didn’t need to feel their pulses.

  The smoke grew heavier in the air.

  Coughing, Red ran into the kitchen, avoiding the blood splatters. Using her sleeve to not leave fingerprints, Red turned off the stove top. She grabbed oven mitts and tossed the flaming skillet of unrecognizable chow in the sink. The running faucet created a cloud of steam and smoke.

  She turned around, coughing and blinking as the air cleared.

  Propped between a freezer and the wall, a middle-aged Hispanic woman held an elderly man sun-weathered to pink over her lap. Blood stained their apro
ns, but their faces were wiped clean. The fang marks on their necks were crisp and clear. They stared up at her, dead expressions locked in terror.

  Red stepped back. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stop the escaping scream.

  They were arranged.

  She gagged again. They had all been arranged. A pillar of ice rose up her spinal column. Red had seen people ripped up. She had seen them sacrificed in ritual. She had even seen a werewolf suicide bomber. But she had never seen them set up like a sicko’s doll collection. The first human would have sated the vampire. The rest were just fun.

  She sped out of the kitchen, heart racing and eyes darting between the bodies. Without the billowing smoke, the cloying scent of spilled blood grew stronger. Crimson splatters marred the bakery case.

  Hollow, dead eyes watched her.

  Biting her lip, Red rushed outside. She scanned the perimeter, huffing the repulsive copper stench out of her lungs. Her brain synapses shrieked from the horror. The thump in her chest made her shake. She wiped her eyes before pulling out her phone.

  “Talk to me, chica.”

  “Cora, I’m in Baker and I‘m looking at a seven-person massacre at the Welcome Cafe. Vamp attack.” Red sucked in a harsh breath, closing her eyes, hot tears splashing over her cheeks. “They were dead when I walked in.”

  Cora cursed in Creole.

  Red rubbed the back of her neck, pacing. “It’s grisly. Whoever did it—they took out a biker gang.”

  “I’ll warn Matt, then get Delilah on the spin. The Dark Veil breech will be covered up, but I will make sure the victims’ families get support.” Cora sighed, the sorrow genuine in her voice. “Get out.”

  “Already gone.” Swiping at her eyes, Red nodded.

  “Good. Take care of yourself. I mean it.”

  Headlights flooded the parking lot.

  Red lifted her hand to cover her eyes as she hung up.

  The lights died. Kristoff stepped out of the black Mercedes-Benz. “I smelled the blood from the highway. Why am I not surprised to see my favorite hunter? What does Cora have you investigating?” He grinned, leaning on the hood, hands in the pockets of his tailored wool coat. He tilted his head to take her in as if composing the scene for a photoshoot. His grin faded. “You’re crying?”

  Her breath hitched as he dashed forward.

  Kristoff appeared in front of her. His thumb brushed the tear from her cheek, and the touch radiated through her system before she could blink. His features hardened. “Are you hurt?”

  “I found… I didn’t expect… those innocent people.” Shaking her head, chin quivering, Red pointed to the diner. She squinted against her tears. Other hunters could look on a scene like that with a stiff upper lip. She wasn’t that hunter. It had taken weeks as Vic’s intern before she didn’t puke after seeing a body. The young teenage waitress had served her and Vic donuts only days before. Now her body lay in a pool of her own blood.

  Kristoff put his hand on her shoulder, pulled her into his arms. He stroked her hair. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to be the warrior right now.”

  Red sunk into his embrace, trembling chin brushing his chest. Her body relaxed into his like a puzzle piece in the right spot. Forcing back a broken sob, Red shook her head. They had to concentrate. She wiped her eyes, pulling back. “They were played with like dolls.”

  “We have to go.” Blue eyes narrowing, he guided her toward his car. “Let’s tell Cora on the way.”

  “Already reported in, but I can’t go back to LA. I came to the Mojave for a reason.” Red walked with him before stopping. The relief at not being alone faded as the coincidence jabbed at her. Red glanced at his outfit. The midnight blue coat had an Italian cut, the black jeans were designer, and he had exactly three undone buttons on his dark gray shirt revealing a white tank top. Not that she noticed. “You changed. Why are you here?”

  He scrutinized her face. “This is the last gas station for miles, and I have a long road ahead. I’m beginning to think that you lied, and I am your person of interest this evening. I see you at the Pandora Hotel and now at a massacre. Are you following me?”

  Jaw dropping, Red blinked at him, stumbling over her words. “Um, what? No. Out of the two of us, you’re the night stalker.”

  “I’d stalk you somewhere more enticing than a truck stop. This drive is hours of my unlife that I won’t get back, but at least I missed that pile up outside the city.” Kristoff scanned the parking lot. His voice grew distracted as if he was split between their conversation and his own supernatural senses. “I owed Nedda. She’s worried about her girlfriend. Hasn’t answered her phone.”

  Red glanced back at the Welcome Café. Her stomach sank. “Don’t tell me that her girlfriend is at Soul House.”

  “How do you know that place?” Kristoff flipped his head back.

  “I get around.” Hands chilling, arm hair standing up, Red texted Cora. Did you get ahold of Matt? I’m with Kristoff, and he says they aren’t picking up at the ranch.

  “What did the soulmancer tell you?” Kristoff asked, his voice urgent.

  “That their cheese had gone bad.” Red quipped, tone drier the Mojave, sounding distracted to her own ears. Her phone buzzed. “We have mass murder on our hands. Focus.”

  Cora texted back. No. You’re the only one who can check up on them.

  “That was the supreme. I gotta go.” Red strode away. Settling into work mode felt more comfortable than going back home and battling waking nightmares of the Welcome Café. Without Vic, the apartment would be too quiet. She didn’t do well with quiet.

  “Are you really going to Soul House alone?” Kristoff crossed his arms, metaphorical heels already digging in.

  “We don’t need to fight about it. I don’t want to walk in without backup. This wasn’t just a crew of vamps coming off a long Vegas weekend.” Red glanced back at the Welcome Café. She was in deep, smushed between vampiric agendas, but these victims hadn’t done anything besides come to wrong diner. She didn’t know who these people were—she had no ties to sleepy Baker—but they were innocents. This was who she fought for, night after night, even without the Brotherhood’s approval. If she had to take one unsouled vampire’s help to take down another, so be it. Red shook her head, already tired of fighting even if she hadn’t thrown a single punch. “Meet me there.”

  “Now you want me to follow you?”

  “If you can keep up.” Red got into the driver’s side of the rental. Pulling out of the parking lot, she drove toward a lonely road to the Mojave. She hoped all she would find was Selene twirling in the Joshua trees while Matt fixed an old beater car out front.

  Gore from the diner flashed through her mind—the blood on the ground, the gone look in the waitress’s eyes, and the cooks arranged in a pieta. That couldn’t have been a coincidence. She bit her lip at the visuals. Seven people had lost their lives tonight. Senseless violence or planned? How much would the victims care?

  Red squeezed the steering wheel, knuckles paling. She looked up at the stars. The Brotherhood had rejected her, but she would still be that shield in the night. It didn’t matter if it was the Dague fueling up on blood and violence to charge up before a raid or a random undead drifter. Cora might have Shanghai’d her onto the team, but this became personal the moment innocent blood was spilled.

  Soul House rose up beyond the cloud of dust around her rental.

  Steeling herself, she parked and stepped out. Red hovered her hand over her hunter’s kit, readying herself to pull out the revolver with wooden bullets. The house had felt peaceful before. Now it felt dead.

  The Mercedes-Benz churned up the gravel as Kristoff parked and jumped out. He sniffed the air, clever gaze scanning the area.

  She jerked her thumb to the open door as she walked onto the porch. “What do you sense?”

  “I hear a radio playing, but I don’t hear anyone else.” Kristoff stepped into the darkened hacienda in front of her.

  Red followed behind him, happy to ha
ve a vampire shield in case anything started shooting. She turned on the lights in the quiet chamber. Toppled chairs and torn Navajo carpets covered the floor. “Fuck.” Scanning the front room in a snap, she jogged toward Selene’s garden. She paused on the threshold before glancing around the covered veranda and stepped out. Where was everyone?

  The colorful doors lining the courtyard seemed dull in the unfiltered star light. All five of Phil the saguaro’s arms seemed to sag in the gloom. Barrel cacti cowered amid crushed wildflowers in the center garden. A soft radio commercial drifting on the breeze promised bargain financing on used cars in Barstow—Ask for Uncle Mikey! He has craaazy low prices for you!

  Kristoff caught up to her, tossing her a curt side-eye. “You should stay close to me. Teamwork, remember?”

  “We need to find Matt.” Red texted an update to Cora as she followed the playing radio.

  Music drifted from an open door to a dining room. Light copper chandeliers hung from the curved ceiling over a long table. Spilled wooden cups lay on the tabletop next to the radio. Flies buzzed over the sludgy drying blood pooling near the rims. A guitar lay broken on the floor.

  “This is looking worse and worse.” Red backed out into the fresh air, wrinkling her nose to rid it of the smell of clotting blood, and stalked to an open yellow door in the courtyard. She gestured to Kristoff before walking through the damaged threshold of the southwestern styled kitchen. She stepped around a tossed chair on the tile floor. The fallen table and chairs lay in a corner over a white braided rag rug brunched under the furniture.

  Circling the kitchen, Kristoff sniffed the air, scanning the perimeter like an alpha lion on a hunt for intruders.

  “What do you smell boy? Timmy down a well?” Red muttered to herself, nerves pushing the quip from her. She tried to tamp down the horrifying anticipation of what they would find. Her terror memory bank was fully stocked. It made her imagination run wild with the ghost town ambiance of Soul House.

  “Not unless Timmy was a vampire.” He crouched by the rug and pushed it aside to reveal a steel trap door. Trying the latch, he shook his head. “I know where the security system is. We can see who managed to get into the panic room.”