How To Be A Badass Witch: Book Two

by Michael Anderle

  “A good point,” James said readily. “What worries me is…”

  He sighed. He didn’t want to poke holes in her idea.

  “The power expenditure will be immense,” LeBlanc agreed. “It isn’t ideal.”

  She didn’t say the rest of the sentence, but James knew what it was. “But it also isn’t ideal to hunt and peck around Los Angeles while we take the risk of our healer burning themselves out.”

  At least the thaumaturgist, whoever they were, was still active. After the massive power surge, both of them had been afraid that whoever it was had burnt themselves out, which, in the case of a thaumaturgist, was an unpleasantly literal thing.

  “I think we should do it,” James said after a moment of thinking. “Whoever this is, they’ve probably learned their lesson about big workings, but with power like that, they need training, and they need it as soon as possible.”

  LeBlanc nodded. She looked surprisingly pensive.

  “What’s wrong?” James asked her. He didn’t want to pry, especially after what she had told him about her past, but if there was a potential complication, he wanted to know about it.

  “Have you considered what might happen if we can’t persuade this person to join us?” she asked him directly.

  James spluttered for a moment. “I, ah, no, because…what, really?”

  “Yes, really.” She had her hands folded in her lap. Once or twice, as if by habit, she had removed her pipe and then put it back in her pocket so the smell would not cling to the interior of the car.

  James appreciated that.

  “It’s always a possibility,” she said. “It happened with the boy we saw last week. He wouldn’t learn, and he wouldn’t be cautious.”

  “But this is a healer,” James protested.

  “We think it’s a healer,” she corrected him. “It’s our best guess. Either way, they’ve managed an incredibly complex and power-rich working on their own. What if they don’t believe they need instruction? What if they don’t want to leave the place they’ve chosen for their workings?”

  James tapped on the steering wheel. Whenever he was deep in thought, especially about things that troubled him, he had difficulty being still.

  “We’ll take as much time as we need to convince them,” he said finally.

  “James, you know that not everyone can be convinced.”

  “This is too important for us to fail.” He looked at her. “If they have what they need to cast this strongly, they have to be made to see why they’re important to us. What the council represents.”

  “Sometimes I wonder what we do represent,” she murmured.

  He did a double-take.

  “We haven’t done major workings in a long time,” she said, still not looking at him.

  “We don’t have the numbers.”

  “Something we haven’t tried hard to fix.” She glanced at him now. “You were right that we needed to do things differently, but with the level of scrutiny we face now, with the changes in the world, maybe the council as it has been isn’t what is needed.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. “How long have you been thinking that?” he asked finally.

  “A long time. It’s strange…those of us who have seen more than one century think we’ve seen changes, but we also hold traditions dear.” She smiled. “It’s me musing, James, nothing more. I simply think there are more changes coming than we bargained for.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  She laughed. “Because that’s how change always happens. In any case, we’ll see what this healer has to say when we find them. And if we have a moment, I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs.”

  With no one visible on the road around them, James had no problem pulling off for them to step out into the sunshine. It was already hot this morning, with dust hanging above the highway behind them and the blue sky unbelievably wide above them.

  He stole a glance at Mother LeBlanc. She had shaded her eyes with her hand and was taking in the view, her usual half-smile playing on her lips.

  Was she right? Was the council as they knew it no longer what the world needed? Everything in him said that they were still necessary. With the surveillance possible in the modern world, thaumaturgists needed the protection the council provided.

  And they needed to be taught how to lie low.

  Sighing, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and waited for the connection to the webcam in the council chambers. The wind ruffled his hair while the picture resolved, and his eye went immediately to a bright flare nearby.

  He zoomed in and centered the flare on the page.

  “ML?” he called.

  She didn’t come immediately. “You know, there’s a plume of smoke over that way. Very faint, mostly dissipated, but—”

  “Nevada, right?”

  She caught the worry in his tone and headed over, picking up her skirts as she detoured around a small pile of rocks. When she saw what he was looking at, her face went tight with the same tension. Both of them looked at the horizon, where their magically enhanced senses could see the faint distortion of the smoke against the blue sky.

  “Well—” James said quietly.

  “Shit,” she finished.

  Johnny listened as Vincent Mariani briefed him on Keith’s condition. The redhead had been found about a half-mile from the rest of the gang, bleeding and unconscious in an abandoned structure his gang used to store goods.

  The strangest thing so far, it seemed, was that none of them remembered what had happened—and not all of them had concussions to back that up. Keith, for instance, could remember none of it. He didn’t know how he’d gotten to the warehouse or what had happened there. He didn’t even remember getting the job from Mariani.

  Mariani was trying to keep calm, but his voice, emanating with clipping and static from Johnny’s phone on speaker mode, held tightly-controlled anger.

  “It’s just like you said,” he told Johnny. “One of them. One of the girls, she says she thinks this person is a girl. She says she has a tiny bit of memory of it. You reckon?”

  Johnny considered. “Might be. I’ve faced down a girl on their team before.” He could remember the very start of that confrontation, more in the way of an impression he couldn’t quite grasp.

  “She took you down, too?” Mariani was brusque. “I’m trying to figure out if these contractors are lying sacks of shit.”

  “I’m surprised that with such a big group, it was only one.” Johnny shrugged, knowing the other man couldn’t see him. “But whoever this is, they have tricks to fight dirty, and they go hard.”

  The two of them signed off with promises to update each other on plans, and Johnny looked up.

  Pauline perched on the other side of the table. Her suit was pale gray today, and she had done her makeup to make herself look angelic and delicate. The expression on her face, however, was anything but.

  “You know,” she told him, “I was half-sure you did that shit to your car yourself.”

  Johnny raised an eyebrow.

  “I notice you didn’t tell him about your memory lapse.” She lifted her eyebrow right back.

  “They don’t need to know everything.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Besides, since none of them knew I had it…”

  “You wanted me to know it really happened?” she guessed. “Wise of you. I had wondered. Well, everything they’ve said supports what you told me. We’re dealing with someone very different from the normal run-of-the-mill upstarts.”

  She stood up and pulled out a chair for herself.

  After a moment of thought, she said, “The strangest thing to me is the memory. They leave notes, so it’s not as if they want complete anonymity, but they don’t let people remember their beat-downs. Who does that? Normally you want people to remember how badly you hurt them. I suppose the injuries speak for themselves, but…”

  Johnny winced. The injuries did in fact speak for themselves. He was still in more pain th
an he liked to admit. He rotated one shoulder absentmindedly.

  “And it doesn’t make sense,” he said finally. “What’re they pushing?”

  “Perhaps they’re like us,” Pauline mused.

  “We’re pushers,” Johnny told her bluntly. She could dress it up all fancy, but that was what they were.

  “We use certain substances as a part of a larger plan,” Pauline corrected, unruffled. “We provide things people want. We become their supplier so they will be more easily led. Conceivably, the effect could be replicated using another means of control.”

  “So, they’re trying to…” Johnny searched for the words. “Build a ‘more peaceful world,’ just not with drugs?”

  “I have no idea. I’m only saying it’s possible.” She tapped her fingers on the table.

  “No,” Johnny said, coming to a snap decision.

  “No?”

  “No. I haven’t seen any tags for them, I haven’t seen people on the lookout, and no one in the Union knows who these bitches are. They came outta nowhere, and they aren’t pushing anything. This whole thing stinks.”

  Pauline might use other language, but she understood his just fine. Her face went still. “You’re suggesting government interference?”

  “I’m saying it’s possible.” Johnny echoed her words with a supercilious smile. “This person…group…they don’t operate like anyone else around here. Why is that? That’s what we gotta know.”

  “How do you propose we find out?” Pauline asked without missing a beat.

  “We turn up the heat,” Johnny said. “And I think I know just the way.”

  “Oh?”

  “You said you wanted chaos, right? Let’s get something going that calls all the bigwigs in. FBI, SWAT, all of them. This bitch, whoever it is, they’re interfering in little things. What about the bigger ones where the cops’re shitting their pants?”

  Pauline nodded, but her face had gone distant. “You said black leather and a motorcycle helmet.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I presume you’ve seen the news about Motorcycle Man,” she mused. “Same gang?”

  “Then this guy’ll be perfect,” Johnny said. “All he needs is a little push.”

  “Why haven’t you brought him up before?”

  “You wanted chaos you could control,” Johnny said. “This guy’s gonna raise hell.”

  “Ted.”

  Ted looked up from his desk and his face lit up. “Hey! Am I late for lunch?”

  “Nah.” Christian suppressed a sigh. He didn’t want to open this can of worms, but it had to be done. “I need your help. I think you were right; I really need a car.”

  Ted leaned back in his chair and cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked far too innocently. “Why?”

  “You know why,” Christian said grumpily.

  “Yeah, but it’s more fun to hear you say it.” Ted locked his computer, came out from behind his desk, and clapped Christian on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get coffee. Still waiting for you to tell me why, you know.”

  That. That was the part Christian hadn’t been looking forward to. He sighed as he wandered down the hall at Ted’s side. “Because it was embarrassing to ride on my date’s bike,” he said finally.

  “How embarrassing?” Ted asked with wide-eyed faux sincerity.

  “Very.” Christian glared. “Can we skip this part?”

  “Oh, no, chère, I don’t think so. And I don’t mean to what extent it was embarrassing. I mean, in what way was it embarrassing?” His smirk was downright fiendish.

  “If I need to make an HR complaint, can I just talk to you, or…”

  Ted laughed. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Since I know you aren’t going to leave me alone until I say it, it is no fun to be zipping around on a bike, enjoying the view, while having to keep your thoughts on anything dull or disgusting you can think of.” He sighed. “It’s also no fun to have your date drop you off at home.”

  “That’s why you go back to their place, then sneak away before they wake up in the morning,” Ted explained as if to someone very stupid.

  “Ah, yes. I have to ask, do you actually enjoy doing that?”

  “Not…look, we were talking about you.” Ted cleared his throat and opened the door into the breakroom. “You and your car.”

  Christian decided to let it go. For now. “Yes, we need to figure out what kind of car I should get because I seriously have no clue. The last time I got one, I chose it because it was the only one on the Venn diagram that was in the overlap between ‘Can Afford’ and ‘Won’t Kill Me.’”

  Ted laughed as he grabbed cups and went over to the coffee machine. “Sport?” he offered.

  Christian frowned. “No. I’m not trying to compete with her bike.”

  “Absolutely. This is about you.” Ted handed him a cup of coffee and caught his confused look. “Look, I think it’s great that you’re getting a car to make sure you don’t look stupid in front of her—”

  “When you say it like that, it sounds pathetic.”

  “Try not to pull that thread too hard,” Ted advised. He picked up his cup and jerked his head toward one of the tables by the window. “Anyway, my point is, if she drops you at some point, you’ll still have the car, so it might as well be something you like.”

  “Oh. True.” Christian had to admit he was banking on Kera dropping him at some point, though that thought made him glum. He tried to think about something else. “Uh, what about a Jeep?”

  Ted squinted. “What, for off-roading? No offense, but I never pictured you running around in the mud like one of those duck guys with the beards. Be realistic.”

  “It’s not about the mud,” Christian protested. “Although, I have to admit I like the idea of being able to drive off-road if there’s some kind of serious trouble and I can’t rely on our beloved California highway system.”

  “The zombie apocalypse,” Ted said solemnly. “Yes, I understand now.”

  “Exactly,” Chris confirmed, only to remember that California’s firearms laws were disturbingly restrictive. On the other hand, ammo might run out in a zombie apocalypse. It would be good to have a backup. A mace, maybe.

  No. That would require arm muscles.

  “New or used?”

  “Eh?” Christian was mentally debating the merits of flamethrowers versus semiautomatic weapons.

  “The car.”

  “Oh. Depends on the deal. I have a good credit score, but Jeeps aren’t exactly cheap.”

  Ted pointed at Christian’s phone. “Well, there’s this new thing called the Internet. Do a couple searches and see what turns up in the area.”

  Five minutes later, they turned up half a dozen results within SoCal for a new or lightly used Jeep Wrangler with the basic amenities, so they began to narrow it down.

  “I don’t know,” Christian said, scanning the specs on one of them. “Versatility is good, but I don’t plan on plowing my way through the Sierras.” He considered. “Maybe my zombie apocalypse plan should just be giving up.”

  “Manly,” Ted said. “Inspiring, even. You should suggest that to Kera on your next date.” He checked his watch. “I, meanwhile, need to get back to my desk. Figure out your top three, then we’ll decide when to go check them out.”

  Chris raised his paper cup. “Deal.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kera spent the next two days trying not to think about her date with Christian.

  She knew he felt hurt and rejected by her cutting the date short. He’d been having a great time. It was pretty easy to tell when your passenger on a motorcycle was tense. Their hands locked around you a different way, they didn’t lean with the turns, they sat too close, and their helmet bumped into yours.

  Christian had been a natural, and she’d liked having his arms around her. It had been a long time since she dated anyone, and she’d missed that part of it more than she had expected. The fluttery feelings and the stupid babbling, she wasn’t so keen on, but
the solid warmth of another person beside her, seeing beautiful things with her?

  That part, she liked.

  But then it had collided with the side of her she was trying to hide. The dispute Kera had witnessed hadn’t de-escalated when she got there. It had already turned violent, with the woman gasping as bruises came out on her neck. From her dazed expression, Kera thought the man had also hit her head on the wall.

  He hadn’t been pleased to have another entrant into the fight, and he was even less pleased after the first few hits. When he went for the kitchen, she had assumed he was trying to get the cooking knives.

  Instead, he’d grabbed a hot pan and begun swinging. Grease slopped out, setting a fire and turning the floor into a slippery mess.

  The luck spell Kera cast for the fight had been spectacularly overpowered. The hot grease missed her by a hairsbreadth and her opponent slipped, catching the back of his head hard on the counter. The pan, meanwhile, skittered away to land, neatly balanced, on its own lid, which had fallen from the stove as well. Thus balanced, it did not burn the floor or spill any more oil.

  Kera froze, an island of stillness in the middle of a room that looked like a tornado had hit it.

  On her way out, she hit both the woman and the man with forgetfulness spells and implanted a strong suggestion for the woman to call someone who would help and leave for now. She also helped the bruises on her neck and the concussion heal more quickly.

  When she got back to Chris, she had panicked.

  She had planned to hit him with the memory spell. That thought terrified her. She didn’t want to hurt him. She didn’t want to do something harmful or assume he would hurt her. Instead, she had tried to do the right thing.

  But this was too big a secret to share, and the only way she knew to keep it was to cut the date short.

  Three times today, she had picked up her phone to text him.

  She hadn’t, though. She’d sent a very polite text to him on Sunday, thanking him for the date and saying she was looking forward to seeing him again. He’d been equally polite, but there hadn’t been any of the banter they’d shared the night before.