Witch On The Run: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 4)

by Sami Valentine

  Up close, the old mural became clear. Faded flowers and trees decorated the space where a headboard would be. Small quarters by modern standards, there was still a feeling of home in the amateur strokes of the painting. She touched it. She knew it was a mistake immediately.

  Phantom piano notes rose from a whisper to a roar. The sunshine-filled present faded to a silhouetted room illuminated by midnight candlelight. Voluminous skirts glided around tables like fins in dark water. Her chill deepened. She could have sworn she felt the gray rain as the scene changed to a muddy corner of an unkind street. A horse-drawn cart tumbled past, the mares jolted to action by a man with a crop and a dirty top hat. She held out her hand, begging. The cart disappeared with a curse, and the scene changed to a train car.

  Locomotor whistle ringing in her ears, Red jerked her hand away. Her heart skipped at the transferred scenes from another life. She backed up, rubbing her goosebumps. “Ok, they said this place was haunted and I believe it. We need to get the S-A-G-E now.”

  “Ghosts can spell. They aren’t dogs.” Hannah lifted her hand. “We can sweeten up whatever is here. Not everything is a fight.” She pulled a stick of incense from her purse and sauntered to each cardinal direction to say, “We witches honor the dead. Accept this offering and allow us safe use of your home.”

  The watchful energy dissipated even if Red felt it like an itch between her shoulder blades. She had felt the energy ebb in the room, but she wanted away from that bed. One insight into the spirit’s life had been enough. “The email said there was another basement entrance. If it’s not totally filled with crap, we can set the wolf trap up in it.”

  Hannah found the trap door under the bed. After huffing out apologies to the ghost, they moved it enough to squeeze into the cramped cellar space which ran the length of the crib. Half the space was taken up by trash and rusted distillery equipment, but it was clear under the middle room.

  Crouching in the low cellar, Red fought off the fear of spiders and assembled the crystal circle anointed with wolfsbane oil. They had brought half of the academy’s supply of the stuff. The power would be enough to pass through the wood floor and trap them inside. The last step was setting up selenite crystals to amplify the signal in the corners of the above rooms and obscuring them with trash. She hadn’t used much magic yet, but she had never done so many complicated rituals in a row. They hadn’t even put up the grids to help her levitate the daggers at the wolves to hustle them to the bordello. The witches were dirty and thirsty by the time they finished.

  Hannah behind her, Red patted the dust off as she walked to motorhome. It was hidden from view of the street behind the false front of a saloon near the portal. She smiled at the seedling’s progress. It had grown to the size of a short mesquite and was finally looking banyan-like.

  Inside the vehicle, a now fully clothed Vic and Ezra dipped silver daggers in wolfsbane oil at the small table.

  Red leaned against the tiny corner in the galley kitchen. She drank water and wolfed down a banana to center her energies. “You guys are having a great time here in the shade.”

  “It’s a witch’s world, and us men folk just live in it.” Vic grinned.

  “Ready for the next part? We can do the arrows now,” Red said.

  “Vic, you can help me!” Hannah said, snatching a box off the table and trotting out of the motor coach.

  Vic shrugged, putting his hat on as he left. “You guys take the old mine office, and we’ll take the other saloon.”

  Ezra picked up a box filled with quartz. “Did you like the movie?”

  Red smiled as she stepped out first onto the rocky soil. “I expected our movie date to actually have you there, but I loved it. It’s one of my faves. Sorry as I am that Hannah shanghaied you, it’s nice to have you here now.”

  He tilted his head. “Even with werewolves coming?”

  “It’s weird, huh?” Red walked through tall dry grasses to the abandoned mine office. A low orange sun stretched shadows over the rotting wood planks of the foundations. The brick front still stood, a halfhearted monument to permanence in a forgotten boom town. “I live a life where dating and hunting can bleed into each other.”

  “Occupational hazard.” Ezra knelt, smiling up at her. “This looks like the clearest place.”

  Red judged the spot. She had to be nearby to stay in range of all four of the crystal grids. After they were all done, she’d have to memorize the sight of them before she hid in the butcher shop and waited to the wolves. He had a good eye. This would be perfect. She nodded.

  Helping her arrange the grid like a seasoned apprentice, he identified crystals in the box that she couldn’t. Bartending school hadn’t erased what he had learned from his witch mother. After the grid had been set up, Ezra asked, “Do you ever want a more normal life?”

  “Like, what kind of normal? The kind that doesn’t know anything about the supernatural?” Red had thought about it more than she would admit, especially to Vic. Each time she came to the same answer. She shook her head. “There’s too much out there for me to not want to know.”

  “So, not even a little bit?” He wiped his palms on his crouching knees.

  “You seem to have a good balance.” She helped him to his feet, holding his hand a little longer than necessary. “You know what’s up, but you still managed to finish school and stay in one place long enough to get a gym membership.”

  “I grew up around all of this stuff. It’s what my childhood centered around. I couldn’t forget what was out there if I tried.” He squinted, brow quirked as he considered. “Well, maybe if I had amnesia.”

  “No, you still would,” she said, idly breaking up dried caraway stalks from a packet and sprinkling the white buds on the grid. Straightening, she realized what she’d said. She might stay over on the first date, but she kept her memory baggage for the third at least. “Let’s get the other one done. We can hide the daggers later.”

  Dusty and hot, the crew piled into the motorhome for water after the last of the trap had been set. Red took a short cat nap to center her energies. She woke fresher than expected, even with dry mouth from the food dehydrator climate of the loft bed. Sunset brought them a canned chili dinner they ate outside the motorhome, watching the portal seedling grow. It still wasn’t ready yet.

  Double-checking her small hunter’s kit, she belted it to her waist and tightened the stabilizing strap on her thigh. She loaded it with her snubby revolver, golden poker chip key to the academy, and a selenite crystal. Pulling on her jacket, she reached into the zippered pocket. The little blue jar from Kristoff beckoned her with its smooth ridges. She had sneaked it from the fridge after dinner.

  Phone glowing on his face, Vic emerged out of the desert from his quest to find a signal. Anticipation gleamed in his shining eyes. “They’re here.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Leaving Hannah and Ezra in the motorhome with a warning (mostly to the teenager) to stay inside, Red walked with Vic to the main dirt street. The Millennium Falcon swerved a path between the disguised tire shredding trap. Its unpainted replacement door stuck out like an arm cast against the black paint job. Vic guided the van through, flagging safe passage like a crossing guard. Headlamps conjured strange shadows in the swirl of dust over the dead village.

  “It’s dropped now, but the illusion worked.” Lashawn pushed up his glasses and waved, wearing a denim jacket identical to Vic’s. He killed the engine. “Everyone thought I was you. The reaction was unsettling both personally and sociologically.”

  Vic gave him a fist bump through the window. “You look good in my style.”

  Jumping out the passenger door, Lucas blurred to her side. His leather jacket draped over his lean build like armor. Dark circles ringed the tempest brewing in his gray eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept all day. “They’re getting impatient. Got a look at a running wolf once or twice. They’ll be coming in faster now without witnesses.”

  Lashawn climbed down from the driver’s side.
“I’d say five to ten minutes.”

  “Find your places, boys.” Red wished that they had more time for the portal to finish growing. She patted the hunter’s kit on her waist for emotional support. A numb calm came over her. Ezra had asked her if she wanted a normal life. One of those might kill her. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy had helped, but she still didn’t know what to do with her racing thoughts in the quiet moments without a big bad. The battle loomed, but her mind had cleared like the center of a hurricane.

  “Leave the light on and the door open, will ya?” Vic asked Lashawn. “We want them to think we’re puttering around when they sneak in. They might not hear the recording.”

  “It’s loud.” Lashawn sighed, expelling the weary sound from his entire denim-encased body. He adjusted an ancient-looking boombox, set it on the driver’s seat, then scuttled away from the van. He pressed his hand to his ear.

  “Stop nagging!” The sounds of Vic yelling streamed out of the speakers. Her own voice followed. “You’re such an asshole, Vic! What were you thinking?”

  “I got a crossbow for you, Lashawn. I picked this one out myself. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not your average bow. Lemme run the stats by you,” Vic said as he patted Lashawn on the back and led him to the general store.

  “Read him the product page after we get these guys,” Red called to Vic before turning to Lucas. “We’re over here.” She jogged over to the shell of a butcher shop. Earlier, she had cleared out a space to sit in front of a wall crack that peeped to the street.

  “I hear their engine,” Lucas whispered.

  “All I can hear is me bitching at Vic,” Red said, wondering if that was how she really sounded. She sat crossed-legged and tried to focus beyond the superficial thought.

  “Trust me,” Lucas said, leaning over her to rest his hand on the boarded-up window. His usual sandalwood scent had been replaced by some truck stop aftershave. “I also smell a wolf, loping on the wrong side of the wind. He’s shifting back to rejoin the others.”

  “The scout.” Red sniffed. “You know, they can probably smell you too.”

  “I doused on what Vic calls cologne. Something to make myself smell less dead to the hounds.”

  Red forced herself from a line of questioning about supernatural scent to focus. She breathed in deep and connected with the grids, already feeling Hannah’s magic. The young witch waited in the motorhome on orders to send energy to the spells as she felt them flare to life until the portal opened. Then she was hauling ass out with Ezra. Red sank deeper into the meditation, trying to separate her mind from the growing dread and anticipation in her body.

  They planned for Frank to sneak in like a sniper, taken in by the possibilities of the town, and fire on the van to reveal his location. She stiffened at the first echoing gun blast, readying her magic.

  The jeep raced onto the dirt main street. Dust billowed from the back wheels. Bleached hair blown back, Gloria drove with Nuno beside her in the uncovered vehicle.

  Nude except for a raised automatic rifle, Frank stood in the back. He fired on the Millennium Falcon, the rapid pops shattering the back windows. Each one aimed for where Red and Vic’s head would be if they were in there. The recorded argument died in the hail of bullets.

  Red wound out her magic, concentrating hard on her victory over the warlock to ignite her power. She ignored the hitch in her lungs at every blast. They’d been wrong about the wolves sneaking in like snipers. Hannah’s energy contribution sputtered out.

  The charging jeep hit the rows of nail studded boards. Wood crashed under metal as it spun out, hitting the foundations of the post office. Frank lurched, flying over the jeep’s cab to hit the crunched hood. The rifle slipped from his grip.

  “I’ll take care of that.” Lucas darted out of the old butcher shop before Red could stop him. They were supposed to soften the pack up first with booby traps before the hand to hand fighting led them to the bordello.

  Lucas seemed to teleport to the rifle laying in the dirt. Slamming his foot on the end, he yanked up the handle, bending the metal. Back turned, she could feel his smirk as he slung the destroyed weapon far into the desert. He called out to Frank. “Oi, fetch.”

  Propping himself up, Frank cracked his neck as he rose, naked without a scrap of shame. A red slash like a fresh pacemaker scar stood out on his hairy chest. The hair grew on his arms as his hands transformed into clawed paws.

  “Not the day, vamper!” Gloria shouted as she kicked the crinkled driver’s door open.

  Nuno crawled out of the twisted jeep. Growling, he turned his head, revealing a horror show. A weeping scab mangled half his face from the patch-covered eye to his now straggled beard. Pus oozed out of his cheek. He still hadn’t healed from being sprayed by the were-mace, unlike his sister who had doused herself immediately with water each time. Wolfsbane was a wrecking ball on a werewolf’s system once it was unleashed.

  Red planned to unleash a lot on them.

  Frank and Nuno charged for Lucas.

  The vampire smirked and spread his arms wide.

  Visualizing the levitation grids, she ignited the spell to life. Four silver daggers, anointed with wolfsbane, rocketed toward the pack.

  Gloria leapt on her father, sending them into the sand before a dagger pierced the spot where he once had been.

  Nuno dodged under a dagger to pop up and punch Lucas in the face. He shook his hand and glared as if he’d expected it to do more. Was he too weak to do a partial shift?

  Laughing, Lucas backed up the street toward the trap in the brothel. He wiped at his bleeding nose. “My grandmother can hit harder than that, and she’s buried in Essex.”

  Nuno howled, lunging at Lucas, sending them rolling in the dirt.

  On his back, the vampire kicked out to launch the werewolf over his head. “You’re getting pus on the jacket, mate.”

  “It’s a distraction.” Frank flared his nostrils, gaze sweeping over to Red’s hiding spot. He charged toward the butcher shop, Gloria on his heels. Arrows shot out from the roof of the general store, hitting the ground at his feet. Thick eyebrows furrowing, Frank fired a challenging stare to the hidden archer. His paws transformed back into hands. The wind caught his gravelly whisper like a ventriloquist’s trick. “I know who killed your real daddy, Constantine.”

  Red’s mouth puckered like she had been doused in ice cold water. She launched another dagger at Frank.

  Frank dodged it.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Vic’s yell echoed over the ghost town.

  “Heard about you, Victor Park Constantine. Henry took you in, but you weren’t his pup.” Frank’s quiet statement slashed deeper than a knife. “I met the son of bitch that killed your family. ‘Ate ’em,’ he said.”

  Spying Vic through a side window, Red bit her tongue to keep from cursing. He climbed down from the general store, leaving Lashawn flailing a crossbow like a distressed mime. Every word dropping from Frank’s lips was a curse, stronger than if he had hexed them. It didn’t matter if it was a lie. It would drive Vic crazy anyway. Frank had laid a baited trap for the hunters.

  Reconnecting with Hannah’s magic, Red summoned a volley of silver daggers. They rose from the quartz in her mind’s eye even if she couldn’t physically see them. Her will directed them toward the naked alpha.

  Running from the flying blades, Frank tugged his daughter in front of himself. A silver dagger sliced open her sleeve, nicking the skin. Another hit her in the fat of her calf, embedding to the handle. He held the screaming Gloria aloft, pivoting to avoid the next blade. Cold blooded, more snake than a wolf, Frank regarded Vic. “It wasn’t a feral. Give me the witch, and I’ll give you a name.”

  Fists clenching, Vic didn’t say anything.

  Her heart skipped as she stared at her mentor. The few seconds dragged out like years for Red.

  “Bugger off with that shite.” Never the one to stand a silence, Lucas jumped on Frank, Nuno clinging to his leg. He tussled with father
and son as the daughter clutched her wounded calf, whimpering as she pulled out the blade.

  Another arrow pinged out from the general store. Lashawn waved at Red from the rooftop to run.

  Red twisted open the blue jar and drank it in three desperate gulps. The blood hit her system like a thousand expressos. Threads of spectral ether in the air glimmered brighter to her third eye. The earache from the gunfire disappeared. Her posture straightened. Her inner flame of magic flared like gasoline had been thrown on it. A euphoric confidence spread through her body, easing the trembles and racing thoughts about Vic. Speeding out of the broken hole in the back of the butcher shop, she licked the rim and dropped the jar.

  “The witch is on the move,” Frank said, as the scuffle continued.

  “Damn it, Lashawn, shoot!” Lucas cried out, voice bouncing off the ruined buildings. “Bugger. Not me!”

  Ducking into the bordello, Red edged around the broken floor of the first section and into the middle room. She ran to the bed frame in the far back. The boys were supposed to force the wolves to take shelter in the brothel, then take places at either end outside to prevent escape. Supposed was the operative word. The desert quiet amplified the fighting outside.

  Red had to trust that Vic could fight his feelings and keep his head like a hunter. Like he taught her.

  Casting her magic into the werewolf trap in the basement below, Red pressed herself against the wall. Her energy swirled around the sacred circle, readying the wolfsbane oil-coated crystals. She needed the Lopeses inside it before she could trap them. Hannah’s magic connected to the wolf trap, reminding Red that at least someone was following the plan.

  Spirit energy awoke like a slumbering winter bear. A green feminine silhouette flickered like a skipping hologram over the bed. Magic was irresistible to spirits. Palms clasped, Red beseeched the ghost. “Be cool and I will burn whatever incense you want!”

  Lucas sprinted into the crib house, blurring from the speed, to stop at her side. Fangs out and irises blazing demonic yellow, he put himself in front of her and cracked his knuckles. A splash of blood dripped through a hole in his leather-covered back. “They’re coming.”