West Coast Witch

by Justen Hunter

“Or else she may get moved soon.”

  “Yea, that’s my fear. I think Lucien won’t wait forever. He’ll leave with her, back to wherever his hidey-hole is, leaving us with nothing, or he'll just kill her.”

  “So, what do we do?” Amy asked.

  “I dunno.” I sighed, and stared up at my stucco ceiling. “You’re the guardian here. Could we potentially go to the police with this?”

  “Not likely. At best, they would dismiss you as a psychic and just sort your ‘visions’ along with a bunch of other nonsense they always get. At worst, they would start asking questions about how you think you knew all this.”

  “Oh,” I bit my lip. “That would probably not be good.”

  “Most likely not.” She said. “Humans, for the most part, are not ready for a witch without thinking of pitchforks, ‘suffer not a witch to live’, and Salem.”

  “Were there any witches, really, in Salem?”

  “No,” Amy shook her head. “Most witches, at least those of European descent, were still in Europe, and this was in their declining years, anyways.”

  “Oh.” I thought then of The Crucible, and of how Joseph McCarthy would have handled an actual witch hunt. “So, we just canvas all the piers and try to find her?”

  “If only. Canvassing would imply that we had actual people to do that with. We are only two.”

  “We’re two, and running quickly out of ideas.” I remarked.

  “Do not remind me.” She sighed. “I will put out a call or two to some people I know.”

  I tried sitting up to look her in the eye, but my body told me that was a bad idea. “You’re not going to try calling Finnegan, are you?”

  “He is my last resort in that matter.” She said. “But I have a favor or two from my past I can call in.”

  “No magical werefox finders?” I teased her.

  “Not exactly, but someone might have seen something.”

  “Good luck with that. If I need your help with another round of vomiting, I probably won't give you a lot of warning.”

  “I will clean up the kitchen,” she said. “By the way, next time we’re bringing a bucket when you try that spell. I have never seen anyone actually entering another’s mind, but apparently it is not too healthy for you.”

  “Would make sense, wouldn’t it?” I asked her. “After all, I’m shoving my brain into someone else’s just so I can access their files. It’s like trying to access a system that doesn’t recognize what OS you’re running under. Or some computer term that would make sense if an actual tech guy was speaking it, not some sick bartender. But, yea, minds are freaking complex.”

  She nodded. “It may just be you were unprepared. That was…rather serious, at least by my guess. You made a spell on your own, a good first step in any witch’s book.”

  “What, I’ll be a respectable witch someday?” I gave a queasy laugh. “Yea, right. I’ll yell-or vomit-if I need you. Bring the notebooks. I want to write this all down.”

  I spent another hour in the bathroom, overhearing some of Amy’s conversations on the phone. It seemed, for the most part, that no one had seen-or maybe no one had wanted to see-a kidnapping committed by a master vampire. While I was fighting my stomach, I wrote down my methodology for the spell. I tried to be as descriptive as possible, filling out one of the empty sheets in the back of the notebook with my own writing.

  After about ninety minutes of lying on the bathroom floor and writing, I dragged myself up into the kitchen, and then to the living room. I started to listen more closely to the conversations Amy was having. She liked to pace back and forth on longer calls, I noticed. A little quirk, and it was an interesting break to her usually ordered state.

  “Yes, she was a blond. About five-eight. A werefox, one of the local pack.” She paused a moment, listening to the other end. “Yes, her name was Sam. Samantha Coolidge. She was brought in by a group, I think, and one of them was wearing an eye patch.”

  She was silent again, this time in shock. “You saw her? You did? Where?” A smile broke on her features. “Yes, the piers. Okay, okay...All right.” She listed off my address. “When can you get here? Fantastic. Thank you.”

  When she ended the call, I asked. “I take it we got something?”

  “Indeed we did. His name is Jenkins, a dock worker here. He said he saw someone who matched our description, about a week ago.”

  “So why couldn’t he just give us the address?”

  “Because it is not listed. I did not follow, but he will take us there.”

  “All right.” I nodded. “How long until he gets here?”

  “About ten minutes.” She said. “Get something to drink, and eat some toast. It will settle your stomach.”

  Ten minutes and two pieces of toast later, I was sitting on the couch. Someone knocked on my door. “Is that Jenkins?”

  Amy nodded. “Should be.” She walked to the door, and opened it.

  All hell broke loose, though it happened so fast I’d barely had any time to react.

  The moment Amy opened the door, someone kicked it in. The force of it sent Amy reeling back as two men entered. They were the weres from Francis’s office. Both of them held knives, looking wicked sharp. One of them went straight for Amy.

  Amy dodged nimbly away from the knife, and bought hers out in a quick flash of metal. The two started to swipe and dodge at the other, moving with a practiced ease that seemed natural.

  The other were came at me with his knife. I rolled off the couch, my stomach immediately protesting. I felt the adrenaline kick into action, forcing my body to ignore how shitty it felt. I reached to the coffee table and grabbed the pistol. I racked the slide, maybe a bit sloppily, and just started firing.

  But no shots were fired. It was then I saw the magazines on the table. “Shit!” I hissed. The were jumped on me, and socked me across the jaw. Pain blossomed in my mouth, and then on my face as his next jab slammed into the side of my face.

  It happened so fast, I didn’t even think about what I did next. I grabbed at my belt loops, finding the knife that I’d clipped there. I took it, flipped it out, and jabbed it into the were’s thigh.

  The were hissed as the silver blade dug into his muscle, and I felt his weight fall flat on me. I had to shove him up off me, which took three tries, and I rolled on top of him, grabbing his knife, which had fallen on the floor.

  I held it to his throat. “Don’t even move.” I growled, I wondered how much the silver could even slow him down.

  “Yield,” he growled, resigned.

  I looked back to Amy. “Hey, Am-“

  It took me a minute to realize that Amy wasn’t there. There was a broken table, and blood on the kitchen floor, but there wasn’t any sign of Amy, or the other were.

  “Where is she?” I looked back to the were on the floor, the knife still in his leg. “Where’s Amy?”

  “You don't have her anymore.”

  Chapter 23

  I grabbed my gun off the carpet and loaded it. Without Amy, it was just me. I was a witch, sure, but I didn’t really even know what that meant. Hell, all I knew from magic I had learned from the past few days. I wasn’t a cop. How was I supposed to find Amy, or even find Sam?

  I looked down at the were. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  The were shot me a glare. “I’m not giving you squat, kid.”

  “Really?” I knelt down next to him, and pulled the knife from his thigh, eliciting a gasp from him, relief filling him as the silvered blade retreated. Blood welled in the wound “I’m not a medical guy, but I know this isn’t the best place to get stabbed. Now you may be a were, but this is a silvered blade.”

  “A coward’s weapon.” He grunted.

  “Yea, guess what? You broke into my home and attacked me. Who’s the coward now?” He bared his teeth at me. “Yea, screw it, man. I’m not impressed. I could end you right now.”

  “Then do it.” He hissed.

  “Nope.” I knelt down next to him. “I’m going to
do first aid on your wound, but the silver should still keep you on the ground, right?” When he didn’t answer, I smirked as I went to the kitchen. “Fantastic.”

  “What the hell are you going to do?” the were asked.

  “Well, I’m going to wrap your wound.” I grabbed my first aid kit from the bathroom. I had to compose myself, tell my head not to get sick. Last thing I needed was to lose face by puking again. I needed to find Amy.

  I came back into the living room, finding the were there, trying to sit up. I planted my foot down on his chest, forcing him back down to the floor. “Don’t even think of it, buster.” I hissed.

  I took a pair of trauma shears from the first aid kit and cut off a section of his jeans , so I could get access to the wound, and methodically bandaged it. It wasn’t in the best place, but it was by no means fatal. The silver, hopefully, would just incapacitate him. After that was done, I rummaged through his pants. I found a throw-away cell phone, some keys, and his wallet. I opened up the wallet, and fished out his driver’s license.

  “Well, Roy Fisher from Tulsa, Oklahoma, is that really you?” I asked. “Looks like you, but hey, you can never tell.”

  “Let’s just go with Roy.” He grunted. “It’ll save us some time.”

  “All right, then, Roy.” I sat down on the couch. “I really don’t give a shit about you. I mean, nothing personal, right? You’re just doing this for Lucien, am I right?”

  Roy was silent, and bared his teeth at me.

  I sighed. The Oklahoma license could mean something. Maybe Lucien was out of his usual territory, so he’d hired some temporary muscle from some freelancers. “Listen, Lucien, what he’s doing, it’s fucking wrong. He’s going to hurt that woman, and I want to stop it.”

  “I’m not questioning his morals, kid.” He said. “I’m just here to follow orders.”

  I nodded. “Yea, I hear you, man. And you don’t want to tell me anything, because if you do, hey, that’s a black mark on the resume, right?”

  He grunted again.

  “Listen, I don’t want you to get hurt any further.” My hand went to his knife, and I closed the blade. “However, I just can’t abandon my friend and Samantha Coolidge.”

  “I wish I could help you.” He grunted.

  “Seriously? She’s one of your own. Lucien’s a fucking nutso who thinks that she’s a Scion or whatever. Doesn’t a part of you wish you could help? She's a were, just like you.

  Roy paused a moment. He An animal-like rumble bubbled in his throat. “Yes.” He whispered.

  I knelt down on the floor next to him. “Come on, man, help me. Don’t just let them get hurt. If Lucien kills her, I mean…That’s one of your own man.”

  “Oh, screw you.” He grunted. “I’ll tell you, okay?”

  I grinned. “All right, I’ll dial the ambulance. Give me an address for where he’ll take Amy and where he’s keeping the girl.”

  “Same place.” He said. “It’s a warehouse on the piers. Kingston Fisheries.”

  “Fantastic.” I started to dial the emergency number for San Francisco. “I’ll see that the EMTs know you’re a were, and have a silver wound.”

  I detailed to the operator what exactly the issue was. I knew that, most likely, I’d end up in court for this, but I didn’t have time for that now. “By the way, Roy, what happened to Jenkins?”

  “Jenkins was bought out by Lucien.”

  Crap. We'd deal with that later. For now, I needed to get to the piers.

  I grabbed a jacket to hide the knife I clipped onto my belt, and shoved the pistol into one of the big pockets. I was a little hot in the jacket, but it was better than walking around with a gun in San Francisco. I took Amy’s keys for the Jeep, which she had left on the kitchen counter. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about walking around.

  The drive took me longer than it should have. Kingston Fisheries wasn’t exactly on the main streets. It took one or two drives up the piers for me to find it. It wasn’t anything pretty, a remnant of days when the piers had been a place of industry and business. Now, it was a wreck, with corrugated metal sheets missing off the roof. The metal had taken on a greenish tinge, and the place stank of fish.

  I parked the Jeep, and got out a block away. I started to head towards the warehouse, reaching into my jacket pocket. I kept a hand on the pistol as I started to walk around the building. There were two entrances, a main one and an employee entrance. There weren’t any external guards, but I could guess that there had to be guards on the inside. Lucien wouldn’t come this far just to blow it by not watching his own ass.

  I walked back to the car after my initial survey. I sat in the car, and I figured on what I had to do. I could call the cops, give them an anonymous tip. But they’d spend time surrounding the place, and by the time they were in position, Lucien might already be gone or be able to take them off guard.

  Alternatively, I had someone I could call. Someone who had a lot of power, and might be willing to help me out. I pulled my cell out of my pocket, and fingered it for a few minutes, thinking.

  I called, and she answered on the third ring. “Eric, hey there, what's up?”

  “I can give you Lucien, Teresa.” I said. “I know where he is. The only problem, I can’t do this on my own. He took Amy.”

  The other end of the line was silent for a long moment. She sighed. “This is a big favor to ask.”

  “I’m good for it. Name your price.”

  “You’ve known her a few days. You’re that eager to recover her?” She asked.

  I sighed. “Yea, I’m that freaking serious. I want her safe, and I want to save Sam. Name the price.”

  I could practically hear Teresa’s smile. “Where are you?”

  “Kingston Fisheries, the piers. I’m sitting in a Jeep across the street.”

  “Hold on.” There was a pause on her end for a moment. “All right, the first thing you’re going to do is head to Pacifica. It’s a café two streets away.” She gave me the address. “It’s a safe place. We’re going to meet there. It’s late. Night will be coming soon. Lucien will be at his power, but so will I. We’re going to work together, to take him down. Are we understood?”

  “Yes. When I should expect you?”

  “Dusk. And I will be bringing company. Part of the arrangement.”

  “Okay.” I checked the time. Dusk was only an hour away. “I’ll stake out there and wait for you.”

  “Very good. I’ll see you then. Eric?”

  “Yea?”

  “Go straight there. Lucien’s strong, probably even in the day. The last thing I need is a dead hero of a witch.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be there at Pacifica.”

  “Good. See you at dusk,” she said, and ended the call.

  Chapter 24

  I was restless by the time Teresa arrived at Pacific. The little café had proved to be a small hippie joint. I’d devoured my dinner, a ham on rye and a salad quickly. I was starting to wonder what my grocery bill would start to look like with this new diet, and making calculations about where that money was going to come from, when she came in.

  Teresa, as it turned out, had indeed brought someone. Ishmael.

  The two entered into the café with silent footsteps, but I saw them enter. They moved quietly, gracefully. As they took their seats, I felt the little ripples of power that emanated from Ishmael. For some reason, I could tell my senses were becoming more acute. I could sense tingles of power from him, a hint of what he was capable of. The dreadlocked girl behind the counter shuddered, some part of her also recognizing this power.

  “Mister Carpenter. So good to see you once again.” Ishmael offered a polite, closed-lipped smile.

  I returned the smile. “A pleasure, sir. I guess Teresa has filled you in on what I need.”

  “Yes, quite the deed.” He laced his fingers together. “Lucien is someone I know of. He has long existed in our community, like us, but not one of us.”

  “How so?” I asked, my curio
sity piqued.

  “Lucien does not move in our circles, he does not attempt to be one of us. This creates problems. We’re supposed to be social creatures.”

  “And he doesn’t play the games you guys do.”

  Teresa shook her head. “He’s a killer, with no regard for society. We’d thought he’d gone quiet after we went public. Our superiors thought likewise, as well.”

  “But now he’s gone and kidnapped two women.” I said. “Sorta breaks that whole idea, right?”

  “Yes, a miscalculation.” Ishmael admitted. “But one we hope to rectify, and quickly.”

  “So, you guys just want him dead?” I asked.

  “However it happens, yes.” He nodded. “But this has to be done right. Eric, I can’t offer you help, if you’re just a civilian. At least, not officially.”

  “A civilian.” I repeated. “So, what, I would need to swear loyalty to you, if I wanted to expect any help?”

  “No, I have another idea.” He said. “Before we were public, we had a strict code of laws for interacting in the Arcane community.”

  “Okay, I follow. I mean, you had the weres, Fae, you guys, and the Red Angels, right?”

  “Yes, and the witches for some time. Early on in our relations, we saw the need for mediation, interaction, and a force that would be able to administer peace and justice between us.”

  “The Knights, we called them.” Teresa said. “They acted as diplomats, warriors, investigators. They were our way of keeping the pace. We haven't had one in the Bay for nearly ninety years. With us going public, we had thought that the human governments would be adequate to take care of it. This incident is more proof that that system can’t work. We need our Knight back in the Bay.”

  “So, wait.” I held up a finger. “You want me to take on some sort of cowboy-ambassador deal? Seriously? I’m not exactly Merlin here.”

  “No,” Ishmael smiled. “But you do have morals. And you need my help to take Lucien. And I want him gone. If you fail, well, I can write you off as a dead man and go about it as if nothing happened. If you succeed, however…” He smiled. “Then, we have something interesting.”