How To Be A Badass Witch: Book Two

by Michael Anderle

  Kera laughed and sat back, and they settled into silence as Christian drove. Her stomach was growling pretty much constantly, and she felt cold and was shivering convulsively.

  After about ten minutes, Christian asked her if they were safe to get food, and she nodded. Neither of them had seen any signs of pursuit, and the police seemed well-occupied with the warehouse.

  Christian, at her very explicit request, chose the first restaurant he saw with a drive-thru. He leaned out the window toward the speaker on the menu board and scanned it quickly. “Okay, we want two Jumbo Jacks–”

  “No!” Kera interrupted. “Sorry. Change that. Eight.”

  The young man glanced at her in surprise but turned back to the speaker and said, “Sorry, scratch that. Eight Jumbo Jacks.”

  “Mkay,” the voice on the other end confirmed. “Would you like that to be a meal, sir? Or, uh, eight meals? Four?”

  Chris stammered dumbly for a second, so Kera leaned past him and shouted, “Yes, please! Well, wait—four large drinks for me. And Chris, um, how many do you need? One? Five large drinks. And four fries, we’ll say.”

  She fell back into her seat as the cashier rang up the order and informed them of the total. “I’ll pay you back later, Chris. Thanks a lot.”

  He relaxed. “Don’t mention it. I didn’t have a proper dinner anyway.”

  As they waited at the second window for their abnormally large order, something occurred to Kera, and she squirmed in discomfort.

  “Um, sorry about getting blood on your seats. This is a new car, isn’t it? It smells like one. I’ll wipe it off after we get our napkins.”

  Christian waved a hand. “If you’re in trouble, getting you out of trouble is more important than having clean seats.”

  She leaned back and managed a wan smile. “Well, thank you again.”

  They received their food, distributed across three bags, as well as a fully loaded drink carrier for Kera and another solo cup for Christian. The girl dug into one bag and began munching fries and unwrapping a burger before they’d cleared the drive-thru lane.

  “I’ll explain later,” she said, her mouth half-full. “As much as I can, anyway. For now, all I can do is eat. And then sleep. Shit, you don’t know how much I need to recharge.”

  “Yeah, let’s get you home,” Christian said. “Keep eating. I’ll drive.”

  “Right.” Kera nodded and took another giant bite of burger. She gave him her address, trying not to snarl in frustration that speaking took time away from eating. He might remember how to get them there from the Kims’ grocery store, but she wasn’t sure if he remembered the actual house number.

  Christian took them back onto the street and headed for the warehouse in central downtown.

  After four burgers and two orders of fries, Kera began to think she might have it in her to make conversation.

  “So, this is the new ride.”

  “Yeah. First new vehicle I’ve ever owned. Still kinda getting the hang of the stick, as you probably noticed, but it’s not that hard as long as I remember.”

  She bit into her fifth burger. “Right? It’s like that with driving anything. And you have to get a feel for how it handles on the road. You could probably drive a motorcycle with a little practice.”

  He squinted at the road ahead. “Eh. Maybe, but one thing at a time. After I’ve mastered the ways of Jeepdom, I’ll think about it.”

  “Good idea.” It occurred to Kera that perhaps she was tackling too many things at once herself. Did her life need to be this stressful?

  Then again, there were people who required saving.

  When they arrived on Kera’s street, Chris looked at her to announce the good news, only to see that she’d passed out shortly after finishing burger number six. His hand went to her neck, feeling for a pulse, and found one. Touching her skin was oddly pleasant, but now wasn’t the time for reflecting on that.

  “Kera. You okay?”

  She didn’t answer. She continued to breathe, but he couldn’t wake her up.

  Christian parked near the big front entrance, then found the girl’s pack and dug around in it for her keys. When he found them, he got out, unlocked the front door, and raised it manually, deciding he might as well drive straight in. There was room in the front bay area for the whole Jeep.

  Once parked, he closed the door, then looked her over again. She was a mess.

  “Damn. Don’t want bloodstains on her bed, either. I should clean her up.”

  He gulped, then went into her bathroom to get a towel. A dark-colored one, specifically. He used it to mop the blood and sweat off her brow, midsection, arms, and legs. To get her down, he looped his arm under her own and pulled her to the floor, huffing with the effort.

  “Oof.” She didn’t weigh much, which only made it more clear that he needed to start working out.

  He propped her in the office chair and took off her jacket, her head heavy on his shoulder. She was wearing a t-shirt beneath the jacket, and he mopped off the congealed blood around her upper chest.

  “Sorry, Kera. Not trying to be rude. Can’t you wake up so I can at least ask permission or something?”

  She clearly needed to be in bed, but he wasn’t sure how much blood had gotten into her pants. The mental image of her ass encased in leather flashed in his mind, and his face flushed red.

  “Are you wearing shorts under the leather pants at least? Dammit.”

  Sighing, he opted to leave them on and rolled the chair awkwardly across the floor before heaving her onto her bed as gently as possible. He pulled back the topmost cover to protect it from any lingering mess on her clothes and left her there.

  He stood in the dark apartment, thinking and examining her. She had various cuts and bruises, but strangely enough, they looked days old rather than hours. He hadn’t seen any sign of the wounds last night at the bar.

  “So, do I stay or do I go?” he mused. “She’s probably fine, but what if she isn’t?”

  After another moment’s consideration, he made up his mind. He took off his shoes and curled up in his clothes on her small couch by the TV and coffee table. Not very comfortable, but far enough from her bed that it wouldn’t look suspicious when she woke up.

  He remembered vaguely that he still hadn’t eaten his meal, but he was too tired to care. He fell asleep a few moments later, curled up on the couch.

  Kera’s eyes opened, and a second or two later, her brain switched back on. Oddly enough, there was a slight lingering smell of gasoline exhaust.

  Groaning, she sat up in bed, wondering why the odor would be present when she seemed to be at home. She glanced around. A brown Jeep was parked in Zee’s spot, crowding the available space in a way the bike never did.

  Blinking, she continued her inspection of the warehouse. Someone was sleeping on her couch.

  Christian.

  “Oh, dammit,” she moaned. She laid back and put a hand on her forehead. She felt as though she was only now starting to recover from an illness, and her mind flashed with random pictures as the events of the previous night came back to her. The tagging expedition, the chases through the streets, the big fight in the factory, meeting Chris after she’d fled in exhaustion, and eating half a dozen or more burgers.

  Not the best way to impress upon him that she was a normal, stable individual. And what the hell was she going to tell him? Was there a normal, stable way to explain being covered in blood?

  She had no idea.

  Hi, I’m a witch. I’ve been using magic to help me pick fights with criminal pricks throughout the city. It’s okay; I’m the good kind of witch who only kicks the asses of people who have it coming.

  Kera sighed, imagining how that would sound if she attempted to say it out loud.

  I’m so damn screwed. Why couldn’t this have happened later in the relationship? Like, after we’d established a baseline of trust and good times to fall back on.

  Looking herself over, she saw that while she was still mostly dressed,
and though it looked like some of the blood and sweat and dirt had been wiped off, she was nonetheless icky and in need of personal hygiene. Chris had probably tried to deal with the worst of it, which was nice of him. Still, her sheets would need laundering ASAP.

  Kera got up, went into the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. Looking in the mirror, she spoke in a soft whisper.

  “Okay, I can do this. Practice. He’s a good guy, after all. The superheroes never tell anyone their secret when they’re still early in their career.” She stared at herself. “And now I know why.”

  Her hands fumbled for the faucet, turning on the cold water and splashing some of it into her face.

  “Chris, I have something to tell you. It might seem really odd... No.” She sighed and gave herself another dousing. “Chris, I need to talk to you about... No. Dammit, I need a hook.”

  She opened her medicine cabinet and grabbed two vials, dropping a pill from each into her hands, then stared at them.

  “Okay. Blue pill, and, uh, pink. Still calling it red. Close enough.”

  Kera turned to face the door and attempted one more rehearsal.

  “Chris, I have here two pills. Take the red...ish or pink pill, and nothing happens to your memory, and you can’t unlearn it without unlearning a lot of other...stuff.” Not very eloquent, but better than nothing. She went on to the second part rather than revise the first.

  “Take the blue pill, you come and get me for our date tonight, and you, uh, won’t remember me eating six or seven hamburgers and passing out in your Jeep. Shit! Which means I’d need to clean your Jeep.”

  She spent a moment in deep contemplation.

  “Of all the fuckery...he’s seen me devour multiple pounds of ground beef products like I’m Ms. Pacman or something, not to mention looking like I was in a medieval battle. Okay, Chris, you might not have a choice on the pill color after all. Just saying.”

  She opened the door, stepped out, and stood over her couch, looking down at the handsome young man sleeping there.

  “Chris? You awake?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Red Rock National Conservation Area lay immediately to the west of Las Vegas, and much of the shining city was visible in the distance from various points throughout. The Rolls Royce had been parked in an elevated stony area from which its two inhabitants had a good view of the famous Strip and its neon enticements.

  James Lovecraft sat on a rust-colored boulder a good four feet in diameter. His chin rested in his hand, and he stared into the distance at nothing in particular. Late afternoon was fading to evening, and darkness gathered in the valley below.

  Mother LeBlanc stood six or seven paces in front of him and slightly off to the side. The desert breeze picked up and rustled the vibrant folds of her dress.

  She was the first to speak. “For all our wisdom, I truly didn’t see this coming. I must be honest. Frankly, I thought this whole book idea would fail.”

  James nodded, still looking toward the horizon. “So did I. Maybe that was why we both missed perceiving the downsides of success.” He sighed.

  Two unmarked black SUVs, obviously owned by the U.S. government, appeared down the road and approached them. The engine sounds grew louder, and clouds of reddish-brown dust kicked up.

  LeBlanc turned her face toward her friend’s. “The only thing I will agree to do is help witches deal with their problems or protect others from the bad ones,” she stated. “I will not become some sort of super-clandestine government spook.” She paused, frowning, then laughed. “Hah! Spook. Whoops.”

  James chuckled. “I understand. And in all honesty, I’m the one who caused this mess. You can go back home if you want. I’ll take care of these guys. You don’t have to make a deal with the Devil. Er, I mean, the government.”

  LeBlanc smirked. “And miss the excitement? Sure, like you said, there are downsides. But, please, child, this might be the most fun I’ve had in fifty years.”

  “What happened in 1972?”

  She didn’t answer, just shaded her eyes to watch the cars approach. “I wonder what they’ll be like? In every government agency I’ve ever seen, there’s always someone with a stick so far up their ass that they stand straighter than a steel flagpole.”

  “True,” James agreed.

  Smiling, LeBlanc asked, “Want to see who makes him...you know...first?”

  Her partner raised a finger. “Or her.”

  “Or her,” the witch-woman agreed, “though that’s highly doubtful.”

  “Probably.” James slid off the boulder and stood beside her in the dust.

  LeBlanc inquired, “If you concede that it’s doubtful, why bother saying anything?”

  “Eh.” He rolled his shoulders. “I guess I feel a responsibility toward, uh, supporting gender equality.”

  She peered at his face. “Do I want to know the background of your concern?”

  “I did go to college,” he pointed out. “Oh, look, they’re almost here. Showtime.”

  LeBlanc turned toward their visitors. “So they are. Let’s make the wager. I hereby bet that I can make him, her, someone, faint before you can.”

  James tentatively extended his hand as though uncertain of something. “When does the timing start on that wager?”

  “With the first government agent who says, ‘What a crock of shit,’” LeBlanc explained.

  Her partner smiled and put his hand out the rest of the way. “Deal.”

  They shook on it, then stood side by side, watching as the pair of black SUVs came to a stop next to the Rolls Royce and conveniently, coincidentally blocking it off from the road—as though that was going to stop two thaumaturgists if they really wanted to leave.

  James let himself relax, and a grin spread across his face. “Yeah. This is going to be fun.”

  “If you would just listen—” The woman’s voice was almost frantic.

  Vincent Mariani hung up the phone and looked across the room at the few top lieutenants he permitted in the office.

  “They want to keep leaning on us,” he said. He looked down at the phone, now buzzing again with the same number. “I don’t think we will oblige them.”

  “What are we going to do?” one of them inquired bluntly. “You saw the news reports. This bitch is trouble.”

  “Yes. She is.” Mariani sighed. “So, we’re going to do what Mr. Torrez and his employer should have done. We’re going to go dark.”

  The men gaped at him.

  “Vox and Dread will take our territory,” Mariani said. “It can’t be avoided. But they’ll be spread thin, and the LA Witches will take them down. Possibly Torrez as well. I can’t be sure.” He sighed. He had liked the young man.

  But this was good business.

  “When the smoke clears,” he said, “we’ll be back, and if they’re smart enough to hide, so will they.”

  “But you don’t think they will be,” one of the other men guessed.

  “No.” Mariani gave a bitter smile. “They’ll never be able to show their faces in this town again unless they fix the problem they started, and I’m pretty sure that problem’s going to kill them before they kill it. That witch sounds ice-cold.”

  Pauline sat alone in her office.

  Lia was waiting outside, and Sven was there as well. They were going to ask her to pardon Johnny, she knew.

  She wanted to tell them it didn’t matter. She didn’t care about Johnny any longer. She didn’t even care about Los Angeles or her plans. Her plan had been flawed; how else could she account for the failures on top of failures?

  She’d planned this one, and still it had failed.

  She swallowed and looked into the distance. The office was dark, the computer powered down. She knew she should be both hungry and exhausted, but she did not feel either. She had failed. The city had created its own defense against her.

  Instead of the world of order and peace she had seen in her head, it would continue to be a festering wound, destroying itself, fallin
g and falling and never reaching the bottom. Life would continue in a haphazard sprawl.

  She pulled open the drawer of her desk and stared at the gun. It wasn’t the best gun money could buy. It was an antique, to put things charitably. She had never used it. It had been her father’s, and, God knew, he hadn’t put it to good use.

  He was the person from whom she had learned to hate chaos.

  At the memory, her lips tightened, and she looked at the closed door.

  No. If she gave up now, she would prove that she wasn’t worthy of doing this. She would prove that everyone’s doubts had been correct. She would all but ensure that the world she envisioned never came to pass.

  She wasn’t going to give up without a fight. She stood up and smoothed her skirt, then pulled a lipstick out of her purse and put on a fresh coat. When she opened the door to her office, she looked as impeccable as always.

  The members of her inner circle stared at her warily.

  “Conference room,” Pauline said. “We have a great deal of work to do.”

  It was early afternoon when Kera returned to the warehouse. She propped Zee up outside the main door, opened it, and wheeled the bike in before parking it and shutting it off. Moving as if still exhausted, she trudged back to the big door and pulled it shut behind her.

  She pulled off her helmet and hit it with a light counter-spell to change it back to black. She had briefly camouflaged it as red. Back on its shelf it went, though the leathers stayed on for the time being. She stumbled over to the window and leaned against it, peering out at the city and the sky.

  A tear ran down her cheek. She didn’t think to wipe it away until it rolled over her lips and chin.

  The memory of Christian’s face haunted her, eyes unfocused, jaw slack… Before she had time to stop it, a sob tore its way out of her.

  “I’m so sorry, Christian.” Her jaw trembled uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry, so sorry…”

  It had been for the best, she told herself. Christian had shown his mettle the night before. He was someone who would always be there for her. He would prioritize her safety over his own. He would be her getaway driver when she had more people after her than she could fight. Hell, he would wait instead of coming to her aid if that was what she asked him to do, trampling over his pride instead of making his way into the fray and getting hurt.