Witch on the Run
by Sami Valentine
Published by Pocketmaus Publishing
www.samivalentine.com
© 2020 Sami Valentine
The fourth book of The Red Witch Chronicles, an urban fantasy series containing magic, paranormal adventure, and vampire mayhem along with swearing, violence, and adult situations.
The Red Witch Chronicles Chronological Reading Order
Down & Out Witch (Prequel)
A Witch Called Red (Book 1)
Oracle in the City (Newsletter exclusive epilogue short story)
Long Witch Night (Book 2)
Witch Gone Viral (Book 3)
Witch on the Run (Book 4)
Small Town Witch (Book 5- Winter 2020)
Have you read Oracle in the City, yet?
Red is searching for a clue to her origins. Two pixies of unusual size stand in her way. Oh, and she has to confess to being amnesia girl to Lucas.
Find the novelette epilogue to A Witch Called Red, other exclusive reads, updates on my new books, and the skinny on the latest hot Urban Fantasy/Paranormal titles by subscribing to my newsletter at SamiValentine.com/mailinglist/. Go there to sign up!
Thank you, Beverly, Kath, and Samantha, for supporting a new novelist and being the first to read the series.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Chapter One
Red paused in the travel center’s lobby to admire a row of working slot machines. Only in Nevada… The dark horizon hid the bright lights of Vegas, but they were close. Holding a bag of snacks, she bounced out the door into the desert night. The smell of old exhaust in the parking lot could have been the finest cologne.
After hours transporting a soulmancer across state lines, she should have been aching and stressed. She had upended her life in Los Angeles at the last minute, after all. Even hauling dangerous cargo, being on the road felt simple after months of grappling with vampire intrigues. It felt almost like home.
The breeze whipped over the parking lot, carrying sand in from the encroaching wilderness. A tickle of magic made her spine itch. Red shivered in her faux leather jacket and fought the urge to do a bewildered turnabout like a person who forgot why they went into the kitchen.
Imagining flicking on a black light to reveal mystical energy, she called upon her spirit gaze. That visual was less surreal than the idea of a third eye opening in her forehead. Scanning the eighteen-wheelers rolling by, she focused on Vic Constantine fueling up at the pumps. Her mentor patted his black van like a trusty dog. He called it the Millennium Falcon. Neon protection sigils were lovingly traced on its dusty paint job.
Only the glimmer of elemental energy, the usual spectral bric-a-brac, floated over the lot, but Red still sensed… something. Pulling out her cellphone and adjusting her snack bag, she pretended to look at the screen to not look like a total freak while feeling out the strange magic. She walked down the building’s wraparound sidewalk toward the distant smoking area.
White light radiated from under a picnic table, streaming out around the benches. It shined bright enough to cast an ethereal glow on the truck stop’s plate glass windows and outshone the slot machines inside.
Red nearly dropped her phone. She looked over at an elderly couple walking into the truck stop. Neither seemed to notice anything amiss. Red tilted her head down to check out what the hell was glowing under there.
Dry weeds nearly hid seven perfect triangles formed by tiny white and pink quartz into sacred geometry.
Straightening, Red quirked an eyebrow. She wasn’t properly schooled in witchcraft and had spent too much time stubbornly resisting her power, but she still recognized the common spell. It was to draw good luck. Nothing evil about it.
“Hey Miss, are you heading to LA?” A young voice piped up behind her.
Red put her phone into her pocket, turning around.
“Sorry to bother you,” the teenager said, polite despite the repressed worry twitching at her brow. Dark circles lined brown eyes. A spring green aura lingered over her clean jean jacket. Her cherry red hood covered the mussed ginger wig on her head. It almost looked real in the dull outdoor lights.
Red tried to see the other woman’s chakras with her spirit gaze but strangely didn’t find a glimmer. If the girl could hide her chakras from view, she wasn’t a muggle. She certainly looked harmless and human otherwise. Red shut her third eye so she didn’t look spacey. “You’re traveling alone?”
“I’m eighteen. I can do that. I just need a ride to LA to um, see my cousin.” The teen nodded firmly as if it could cover the tremble in her voice.
"I'm not heading west." Red didn’t like seeing the worry on the young woman’s face. Her soft heart battled with her brain. She was already on a job—getting Basil to a magical academy in Las Vegas. Her innocents to save docket was full. But she couldn’t help herself. “What’s your name?”
“Ellie Blue.”
“Well, Blue, I’m Red. Seriously.” She smiled, knowing a fake name when she heard one. She had one herself, but she had a feeling Ellie didn’t have amnesia as an excuse. “I don’t know if there’s a bus station near here, but I’ll chip in to get you a ticket.”
“There isn’t anything in this town besides a dry lake.” Ellie shrugged, rubbing her arms. “Thanks anyway, lady.”
“Hey, I can still give you some cash.” Red tried not to sound awkward but having money to spare still felt new. Considering how shady the supernatural bank that held her mysterious trust fund was, she felt better when she used the money to help people.
“I need a ride. Not cash.” Ellie shook her head, a solemn expression on her round cheeked face. “Thank you. I'll be fine.”
Red didn’t know what to think of that, but it wasn’t her mystery to solve. She smiled, trying to keep the mom-worry out of her tone. “Be safe.”
“I have luck on my side.” Ellie grinned, readjusting her red hood, then walked away.
Red looked at the picnic table, mumbling to herself, “I bet you do.”
The Millennium Falcon rumbled to the curb. Vic glared at her from the driver’s seat. “Wanted Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi streamed from the speakers. He turned it off, then ruffled his hand through his shaggy black mullet. “It’s almost the witching hour.”
Red hopped into the passenger side, placing the bag on the floor and belting herself in. As they drove away, she glanced in her side mirror to check on Ellie one last time.
The teen talked with a group in yellow track suits—another woman and two lanky guys with their backs turned. Maybe she had found some college kids on a road trip. Red hoped her luck held.
Basil shifted on a squeaky bean bag, poking his head between the two front seats. His bright green jacket collar matched the nauseous tint to his skin. His British accent came out wanly. “How long until we get there?”
“Hey lay down, buddy.” Red eyed the soulmancer. For a guy who vacationed in Tahoe and Bali, he didn’t travel well. She wasn’t the only one who had a job on this trip. He was the one who was supposed to convince the school to not just let him stay, but also accept Red as a student. “I got you ginger ale.”
Vic looked back at Basil. “Still car sick?”
“I’m rolling around this stoner van on a bean bag. What do you think?” Basil hiccupped before holding his mouth.
“God damn it.” Vic pulled the Falcon around the truck stop, out of view of the smoking area and busy front entrance. He park
ed and hit the console button to open the side door. “Hurl out there. We still got thirty minutes on the road.”
Basil dashed out to lean on a dumpster.
“You know he can’t be seen.” Red put her hands to her ears to block out Basil’s piteous retching.
Any vampire would put the soulmancer in the ground on principle. Countless vampires had been cursed with souls, forced to feel the full range of human emotion and empathy by magic-slinging vigilantes. All because of one soulmancer in 1900 who taught the supernatural world how to do it. That wasn’t something vampires forgot. The August Harvest might as well have been yesterday for them.
“I don’t care if Cora scrubbed him from the Blood Alliance record.”
“We’re out of sight! Besides the undead Feds aren’t our problem, and they’re the only ones who know what really happened the night we faced the Dague.” Vic gripped the steering wheel, knuckles paling. “Hilde Higbee’s followers were executed.”
“Dead men tell tales.” Red sounded flippant to her own ears, but goosebumps surfaced on her skin. Spectral smoke wafting off the jagged metal and a punishing pull on her magic were etched in her memory forever. A favor for the Supreme Master Vampire of Los Angeles to get Basil to safety was an easy excuse to leave the city. Red had lost enough there.
They had saved every souled vampire in California from reverting back to empathy-less monsters, but Quinn Byrnes had paid the ultimate price for their victory. He wasn’t the only victim. Basil had been drained of his magic and nearly his life. Red squared her shoulders, shoving the trauma back to save for therapy. “He was strapped to the Genesis Machine, casting forbidden soul magic in front of a legion of vampires just four days ago.”
Vic shot her an unimpressed glance. “So were you, and I let you out of the van.”
“No one wants to kill me for once.” Red knocked on the dashboard. “Pretend I’m knocking on wood.”
The last few weeks had been heartbreaking, from Quinn’s passing to her banishment from the Brotherhood. The only bright side was it had cleared out her enemy list—Sancha Constanza, Michel de Grammont, Hilde Higbee, and even Kristoff Novak. The first three were dead and she had leverage on the last.
Was Kristoff still her enemy? She couldn’t help but feel grateful to the unsouled vampire whenever she saw Vic’s miraculously healed legs. The lie about an experimental treatment hadn’t fooled Basil, judging by the skepticism on his face, but he had let it go. Fingers crossed, everyone else did the same. She bit her lip, touching the fang scar on her neck. Was she going to use Kristoff’s dark gift against him? No, but it was a card up her sleeve if she needed it. Revealing the rare healing power of his blood would make him a target.
Red pushed her thoughts away from the all-too-complicated Mr. Novak to the simple job at hand. “Basil is the priority.”
“So are biohazards.” Vic snapped his head to the side so fast his mullet fanned out like an agitated frilled lizard. “You’re not appreciating that I cleaned up and reorganized the supplies while you were sleeping off the last case.”
“I won’t be able to find anything for days.” Red chuckled, looking at the stacked utility boxes decorated with Tibetan prayer flags and LED lights along the wall behind the driver’s seat.
“I put in new sun curtains too. You didn’t even notice.” Vic huffed. “I finally got the van back to how it used to be. Not going to let a fake Englishman mess it up.”
“Fine. I don’t want to toss a bean bag because he ralphed in it either.” Red lifted her palms in surrender. She found it hard to argue with the desire for things to be back to normal. Or whatever normal was to monster hunters.
“I’m telling you just what I told that state trooper when I left Stan’s pot farm in Colorado: the beans lock in old smells.”
Red rested her elbow on the car door, letting him ramble on about his organization project. They didn’t get much of a chance to talk about the fallout on his side from the insanity of the last few weeks. He lost his oldest friend. They technically still freelanced for Quinn Investigations, but neither could face going back into the office so soon.
Her heart panged, thinking of her farewell to Lucas. He had broken up with her, but she couldn’t stop herself from worrying about him. Caring for a grieving Delilah would be easy for him. Processing his own loss? Not so much. She had sent him a text that she had left on a job but wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t replied in the few hours since she’d left the city. He had taken up his grandsire’s mantle and the responsibilities that came with it.
“Thank god for mouthwash,” Basil muttered as he returned to paw through his suitcase in the back of the van. He gargled and spat onto the asphalt. “The indignities never end. First, I nearly died in dirty sweatpants, and now I am cleaning myself up by the rubbish bin.”
A hint of magic stirred in the air. The distant honk of a semi-truck mingled with a close, high-pitched yelp of surprise. Red straightened in her seat.
On the edge of the empty back lot, squat creosote bushes trembled in the wind, giving little cover to anything but scorpions in the flat desert. The truck stop’s shape had an irregular, built-upon design as if it’d expanded from a humble gas station to include a restaurant and a gift shop as an afterthought. The unevenly spaced lights bred shadows. Red did not like it.
“Drive around the building. I think there’s trouble.”
Basil closed the side door of the van quietly and hunkered down. “There is enough trouble in here.”
“Vic, you saw the girl that I was talking to, right? I think she made a luck charm.”
A shriek broke out over the din of the busy rest station. “Get away from me!”
Vic killed the headlamps, driving forward. “Doesn’t sound like that charm worked.”
“Basil, get the door ready.” Red pressed against the windshield as the Falcon nosed around the side of the building.
The backs of the gas station and attached sandwich shop met in an unlit corner hidden from the passing travelers in the front. Three in yellow track suits loomed over a smaller figure in a red hood, raising their arms to keep her in the center of a tight square. A hyena-like chortle rose from the group as they teased their prey.
“We’re meters away, and I can feel the dark juju from here.” Basil sighed. “Do the hero thing.”
Red reached into the large hunter’s kit between the front seats for a heavy steel cylinder can of bear mace with powdered blessed silver, cold iron, and wolfsbane. Vic called it “were-mace,” but it gave most things a second thought about attacking. It didn’t kill, but it stung like a son of a bitch. She kept an eye on the fight. “Go, Vic.”
Vic shook his head, gesturing to the scene. “We need to know what we’re dealing with from these track suit mofos.”
Biting her cheek, Red studied the scene. In their twenties or thirties, the creeps had the same square jaw, intense dark eyebrows, and thin lips. The family resemblance was strong even without the matching outfits. She didn’t detect magic from them, but their earthen-colored auras had a savage edge.
Black bearded and bright eyed, the man on the left lunged in a feint. He had the lanky, long-limbed enthusiasm of a growing puppy. His Boston accent came out a chortle. “Thought you wanted a ride? We’re going to take you to a rippah in LA.”
Ellie whirled around, brandishing a shaking dagger at him. “Get back!”
“The little witch wants to fight.” The bald man grunted from the other side. A white scar split his dark upper lip under a patchy mustache. The words might have slurred together as if he had too many teeth in his mouth, but his dark tone echoed crystal clear.
“You’re wicked scary, kid.” The sole woman in the gang tossed her hair, bleached to a radioactive-looking white blond, over her shoulder. Her thick black brows matched her roots. She puffed her chest up, chin jutting out. “Put it away. We’re not pussy vampires like you’re used to.”
Jumping down from the one-story roof, an older black-haired male landed in a cro
uch. Shadows clung to his craggy face. The other three bowed their heads as he stepped forward. His nondescript olive skin tone could have allowed him to disappear into any crowd around the world. Only his dead-eyed stare and missing ear marked him as a man to watch. He gripped the zipper at the neck of his fitted black track suit and yanked it down to reveal his hairy scarred chest. Lips moving, he didn’t need to raise his voice to command attention.
Red couldn’t hear his words, but it didn’t matter. Her gut didn’t like anything about this situation. “Now.”
Vic gunned the engine, turning the Falcon on a dime and zooming toward the bunch. The van skidded to a stop. He flipped the headlamps on.
The track suits recoiled, shielding their faces, eyes reflecting silver in the bright light. Shifters.
Lungs lurching in her chest, Red jumped out and lifted the mace. She made sure the wind wasn’t against her. Her arms trembled, but her tone was firm. “Get in, Ellie.” Squeezing the nozzle, she released the arching six-foot stream at the closest—the cackling female.
Ellie bolted forward, dodging the stinging liquid.
Shrieking as her skin blistered, the female wiped at the mace with her zip up jacket. She ran to an abandoned mop bucket and plunging her face into the dirty water. Her bleached blond hair soaked up the grey moisture.
The bearded man howled, hairy fingers curled to slash as he sprang for Red. “That’s my sister!”
She pivoted, spraying him in the face. Her muscles ran on autopilot even as fear curdled in her veins.
He fell to his knees two yards away, sobbing as the were-mace ate at his skin. “Tap dancing baby Jesus, it burns!”
Ellie jumped into the van, slamming the door behind her.
The bald one turned to snarl at her. “Bad move, bitch.”
Palms sweating, Red pointed the were-mace at him. She agreed. Pissing off a family of supernaturals was never a good move. She hustled backwards to the Falcon.
“Two redheads?” The flat-eyed leader inched closer, arms behind his back. He lifted his nose, sniffing, filling his lungs with her scent. His irises turned silver as he examined Red. He revealed his hands, transformed into large black wolf paws tipped with tapered claws shining like onyx. A partial shift… That was Alpha level skill. His whisper came out gravelly, words like tombstones grinding together. “You’re a witch too.”
Witch On The Run: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 4) Page 1
