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

by Sami Valentine

  A motel room door opened behind her, and a palm was on her mouth before she could scream. Metal slapped on her wrist. Her coffee fell into a hot puddle at her feet. Her captor wrenched her other arm back and finished restraining her.

  The snap of the cuffs vibrated through her body. One second, she felt her magic, warm and alive within her then the next… the cuffs repelled her magic like a plexiglass gate slamming into place. She tried to open her third eye. It might as well have been glued shut. The terrible separation from her magic made her heart race as if her air supply had been cut off. She struggled to get a glimpse of her attacker.

  Frank pushed her into the room, shutting the door with his heel. His hand couldn’t muffle her curse when Red saw who else was in the room.

  Trudy.

  Fear drowned out questions like how he’d found her and how the hell could she fight, bound and magic-less, against an alpha werewolf and a witch?

  Ezra paced by the bed. Trudy stood like a tweed-clad sentinel in front of him.

  “What is this, the Bates Motel?” Red quipped, pointing her knee toward a standing lamp and tensing to grab it.

  Gripping her arm, Frank backhanded Red in an efficient motion. “Muzzle her so I can do this.”

  A clump of shadow materialized inches from her face. Flattening like clay, it slapped against her mouth. She opened her lips to scream for Kristoff. Thick vapor gagged her.

  Frank transformed his other hand, human skin peeling away from the blunt fingers under the palm. The nails turned back and pointed. Vestigial dewclaws grew as fur slid over the hybrid paw. He reared back to strike.

  Red struggled in his grip, breath catching in her throat. She froze at the knock on the door.

  “Remember, I’ll kill ’em,” Frank whispered as he shoved her toward the Bard.

  Trudy wrenched Red’s restrained arms up, a joint-grinding motion.

  Red shrieked behind the gag, completely muffled.

  Hiding his transformed paw, Frank cracked the door open, body blocking the view to inside. “Yeah?”

  “Hi, Mr. Patrick, we got your request to the front desk for more towels.” An unseen folksy female said, bubbly and quick.

  Red sagged in Trudy’s hold. She already could tell this was just some poor innocent person. They wouldn’t have a chance against Frank and certainly couldn’t help her.

  “You can’t let him do this,” Ezra whispered into his mother’s ear.

  “Hush,” Trudy hissed.

  Time dilated, stretching the anxiety out as the unwitting clerk made small talk. “Gosh, it was a nice morning. Smells like rain now. Felt like a slice of summer for a bit there. Now it’s February again.” She chortled at her own joke. “Anywho, we also got a call from the credit card company. The one under your wife’s name. I just need to double check both of your ids again.”

  Frank leaned his head back, barking. “Wife.”

  Trudy warned Ezra to behave with an urgent mom glance. Walking to the door, she pulled a wallet out of her tweed pants. She stepped outside with Frank and closed the door.

  “I had no idea about any of this,” Ezra whispered.

  Red lifted her chained hands to flip him off since she couldn’t verbalize the sentiment. If this was some attempt at Stockholm Syndrome, she wasn’t falling for it.

  “I jumped out of the RV before it hit the portal because I saw her car. I was pissed she had come to stop the wolves. Some last heroism to go to Valhalla.” Ezra ruffled his hair. “I never… I don’t know why the Brotherhood pulled her out of retirement for this shit. This isn’t who my mom is.”

  Red rolled aching shoulders, trying to urge blood into her increasingly numb hands. She wasn’t impressed by the defense. His mother had been a Hero, but she had become something else along the way.

  “It’s not who I am. You don’t need to believe my words.” He pulled Red’s gun from his waistband and put it in her belted hunter’s kit, leaving the leather latch undone.

  Red quirked her eyebrows at him, glancing between him and her kit. A fervent hope tugged her heart. She had gone to sleep, imaging that everything had been a lie. Had he even existed? That laid-back guy who loved pinball and could make a mean gin and tonic? Maybe it wasn’t a show.

  The mystical muzzle grew over her nose. She pulled in a desperate lungful of air as the dark vapor closed over her nostrils. She couldn’t breathe. Her thoughts shut off as primal panic peeked.

  “Red!” Ezra grabbed her shoulders.

  Trudy strode in first. Frank slammed the door behind him. The werewolf pivoted, tossing the towels on the bed. His eyes flashed silver when he looked at Red. He glared at Trudy. “Trying to cut me out?”

  “Maybe,” Ezra said, lifting his chin up and chest out, arms stiff.

  Frank stalked to the other man. “I’ve killed better bartenders than you.”

  A shadow orb struck the ground between the men.

  The shadows disappeared from Red’s face. She inhaled a grateful gulp of air.

  “It appears we have a miscommunication, Mr. Lopes.” Trudy stepped forward. “Ezra, take her into the bathroom.”

  “No talking. Vamps could hear,” Frank said, paw lifted in warning.

  “Come on,” Ezra muttered, tapping Red’s shoulder to guide her into the bathroom. The fan turned on when the light did. He closed the door.

  “We need to help to get you out of here,” Ezra whispered, putting his finger to his mouth for silence. He reached for her pocket and fished out her phone, then swiped the screen, going to the contacts list and tapping Lucas’s name. He covered the dial tone coming from the speaker with his thumb as the vampire picked up.

  Lucas’s voice was barely audible on the other end. “Red, love, what…”

  Her heart leapt at his voice.

  Ezra tilted the phone toward the door as the conversation rose in the other room.

  “I saw that trick,” Frank said gruffly. “You and Gabriel aren’t welshing on our deal.”

  “Mr. Lopes, you have my condolences for your loss, but keep your senses.”

  “I’m not bitchin’ because I’m down some pups. I get paid if I kill her, not if you do,” Frank said. “And that goes for your boy.”

  “This isn’t a time to fight. We are eliminating a threat to the Brotherhood.”

  The gravelly words were cold enough grow icicles. “No, I’m earning a lot of cash. Your business is your own.”

  “Help me,” Red whispered, knowing that Lucas could hear her. “I’ll buy you time.”

  “She’s sweet talking him.” Footsteps followed the hoarse complaint.

  Ezra zipped her phone in her pocket just before the door burst open. The sound of a sudden downpour filled the seconds of silence.

  Trudy narrowed her eyes at the closeness between Red and Ezra. “You need to get away from her.”

  Hands chained together, Red pulled out her revolver and pointed it at Ezra. “Give us space, Trudy.”

  “Let her shoot him. She’ll drop it from the recoil,” Frank snarled.

  Fear cracking her composure, Trudy held her arm out, teeth bared at the wolf. “That’s my son.”

  The exterior door to the hotel room ripped open. Soaking wet, Lucas and Kristoff stood in the threshold. The older vampire bolted for Frank, meeting fang and claw in the center of the room.

  Trudy clenched her jaw, raising a fist before yanking it down.

  Kristoff dropped to the ground.

  Trudy beckoned with her other hand, and shadows pulled the gun from Red’s chained hands, dropping it to the floor behind her. “Ezra, stand aside.”

  “I can’t do that.” Ezra stepped in front of Red. “That’s not how you raised me.”

  “Book!” Trudy said, irises blackening. The grimoire flew into her hands, opening with a lit up snap. Crystals and bones flew to arrange around her. The shadow monster materialized above her head. Unfurling arms groped for Red.

  Red threw herself into the shower, away from the burning suckers.

 
; “This is insane!” Ezra rushed to his mother, slapping the grimoire from her hands. He kicked the bones away in his haste to stop her.

  “No!” Red and Trudy’s warnings bled into each other.

  Released, the shadow monster streaked for Ezra, gloomy contours enveloping him. Black lightening crackled within hungry clouds. Tentacles wrapped tight around its prey. A strange hum of satisfaction echoed on the tile.

  Heart thumping, Red hopped up, swinging the cold iron of her cuffs like she had a club in her hands to dispel the shadows. She begged the gods that she wasn’t too late. It had only been a second for her, but how long was it in the belly of the beast for him?

  The phantom skittered up onto the ceiling, releasing its victim. Ezra fell to the tiles. Brown hair stuck to a clammy pale face. Fear was etched deep into his features. Chest horribly still, his closed eyelids were screwed up like he hadn’t wanted to look.

  She knelt to take his pulse. Nothing. Sob rippling over her shoulders, she couldn’t say the words.

  Frozen, tears streaming down her cheeks, Trudy stared at her son, covering her mouth. Her eyes faded back to hazel. “Ezra. Oh goddess, no!”

  The shadow beast dropped curling arms behind the Bard.

  Red leaped up, pushing Trudy out of the way to swipe her chains at the wraith.

  Trudy fell beside Ezra. She smoothed his hair back, then pressed her palms to his chest, attempting CPR with a precision that belied the tears on her face.

  Trembling against the wall, Red watched the mother’s futile efforts grow more desperate. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t look away from Ezra’s face.

  Trudy gathered his head in her lap with shaking hands. Her glasses fell to reveal a tortured grimace, mouth open in a wail as silent as a ghoul. The sound trapped in her throat, leaving her haunted eyes to speak for her. The grief was too intimate to behold.

  “Red!” Lucas called.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry,” Red said to Trudy then dashed out of the bathroom to where the two vampires had backed the fully transformed werewolf into a corner by the bed.

  The shadowy leviathan billowed in like a monsoon, obscuring the space with impenetrable murk. Strange shapes coiled in the darkness. Anticipation pulsed from the unearthly presence. Shadow tails churned up the pitch black.

  “Bugger!” Lucas cursed.

  “I still smell you, wolf,” Kristoff warned.

  Whack! A surprised canine whimper sounded, followed by the sound of a large body thumping on the ground.

  Charging like a gorilla arms above her head, clearing the space around her chains, Red ran toward the vampires.

  Emerging from the shadows, Lucas dodged a fin to get to her side. “I can hold them off.”

  “We can’t leave you. I don’t care what assigned you that vision.” Red smacked her cuffs at a pulsing shadow. A tentacle slapped her leg. She hissed in pain. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

  “I ran the last time you needed me, Red.”

  “But—"

  “I’m not planning on dying, love. Not that much of a hero yet. Just giving you a head start.” Lucas smirked. “I told you I would get you where you needed to go.”

  The werewolf charged her, leaping on all fours out of the gloom.

  Lucas tackled him.

  Kristoff scooped Red into his arms and sprinted out the door. Heavy rain beat down. Shadows poured out of the motel room. Vaporous appendages jetted for them. He rushed her to the Millennium Falcon.

  “Keys. In my pocket! Left,” Red said.

  Kristoff unlocked the van, bundling her into the side door and leaping up into the driver’s seat. He switched on the van and flipped it into reverse. The wheels squealed on the way out of the parking lot to the road. The shadows grew behind them.

  “How long can he hold them?” Red asked, slipping into the front seat, banging her knee, chained arms making her clumsy.

  Kristoff stomped on the gas. “Until the clouds clear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Millennium Falcon galloped with Kristoff at the wheel. He eschewed the large interstate going through Eugene to Portland and instead took a smaller territorial route around a lake. Reddish sweat beaded his forehead. Despair was as palpable as the humidity on the new tinted windshield.

  “It’s getting brighter,” Red said, lifting the cuffs that bound her magic. “And I need to get out of these. There’s a jackknife in the hunter’s kit.”

  Pulling over onto the muddy shoulder of the forested highway, Kristoff parked.

  Red held out her cuffs. “Now, Vic is better at this, but I can guide you through—"

  Kristoff already had sprung the jackknife and was twisting a pick into the lock. It flopped open. He smirked, undoing the other one. “If I had my camera, I would have enjoyed capturing that slack-jawed look.”

  “You’re a man of many talents,” Red said, absently rubbing her wrists. She touched her magic, drawing upon it to remind herself it was there. She had never been in iron cuffs before even if she had used them on other witches. It felt like she had been hollow—cut down from three dimensions to two. The sensation of utter separation from her magic rocked her foundations. She wanted to be magic-free once. Not after that.

  “Are you alright?”

  “We don’t have the time for that answer.” She jerked her head to the back. “Make yourself a nest under the weighted blanket.”

  Kristoff nodded, climbing out of the front seat, shutting the sleep curtains behind him.

  She got into his place at the wheel and started the van, getting back onto the highway. Usually she hated driving in the rain, but the clearing skies filled her with dread. She did a double take at a hand at her elbow.

  Under a black blanket, Kristoff peeked out from the curtain, holding out an orange camping cup. He must have found it in the cooler she had prepacked. “Drink so I can take a nap without worrying.”

  Red took the cup, fingers touching his. She shot the gulp of blood quickly. “Thanks. Now, close the curtain and hide before I have a panic attack about seeing you burst into flames.”

  “I’m touched.” Kristoff smirked from beneath his blanket hood.

  “You’ll know if something happens to him, right?” Red said, vision becoming blurry with moisture. She bit the inside of her cheek and told herself that he would be fine.

  “Lucas Crawford could spit in the devil’s face and float to the top. He’ll live.” His smile faded, a cool reserve dropping over his face as he closed the curtain.

  Red drove in silence, watching the side mirrors, as the old rural highway wound around rivers and lakes. Every moment, she expected the slash of a shadow or the dreadful confirmation that Lucas had fallen. She kept telling herself Trudy would have to fight her shadow creature to follow them as much as Lucas would. The sun played coy, peeking in and out of the clouds. Her phone buzzed on the dash, flashing Fat Crispin’s number. A cold sweat dripped down her back.

  She answered. “Hello?”

  “Red,” Jacob Crispin’s brisk British accent held the fuzz of fatigue like a man rallying himself to speak. “I am ever so glad to hear your voice. Mr. Constantine has left me an alarming voice message. Many, in fact.”

  “About the target on my head or the brother that was nearly killed by a werewolf?” Red snapped.

  “Both,” Crispin said neutrally. “Trudy Fox has gone rogue. There’s no official warrant for your execution from the Brotherhood.”

  “She isn’t working for anyone but you guys. Or at least, that’s what she believes,” Red sighed. “She’s dying of cancer. She’s thinking of bigger things than an assassination payout. Training Hannah Proctor was supposed to be her last job. Then someone put my murder on her bucket list.”

  “Fox was reinstated behind closed doors. I was in hospital when she was assigned to Proctor,” Crispin said. “Only elder statesmen were at the meeting with the Head Bard. I would have advocated against it.”

  Red huffed out the sarcasm. “She was a gr
eat Bard until she tried to kill me. Someone hired the Lopes pack and then got her to try and finish the job. Who’s Mr. Gabriel? I overheard that he helped her back into the Brotherhood after Melissa.”

  “Gabriel is a new name to me, but poor Melissa is not.” Crispin sighed heavily.

  “Yeah, Trudy got her killed or something,” Red said. “Felt so guilty that she retired or was pushed out. I can’t keep up anymore.”

  “On the contrary, Melissa fell honorably in battle, fulfilling her destiny as many Heroes before her. Every Bard assigned to a Hero dreads that day. Trudy should have understood. Melissa was her eighth charge,” Crispin said. “I voted to make sure she was the last. What Trudy Fox did that grey September morn was fueled by grief, yet it was an abomination, nevertheless. She tried to resurrect the girl. A terrible failure.” He added curtly as if clearing off a chill.

  “An affinity for spirit magic. That explains the shadow creature and the control over the vampires,” Red said, mulling over the other mage’s battle stats, feeling like a piss poor David against Goliath.

  “She was the best Hero of her age and on track to become Head Bard herself,” Crispin said. “Whoever recruited her chose their weapon wisely.”

  “This has to be about Juniper.” Red sighed. Her past life dogged her as much as werewolves did. “At least tell me you can reinstate Vic.”

  “I am doing what I can on my end,” Crispin promised.

  “Dad, whatever are you…” An exasperated voice appeared in the background of the phoneline. “No! Not business!”

  “Have faith in the Brotherhood. Have faith in yourself,” Fat Crispin said quickly, hanging up.

  His words were a cold comfort. Red sniffled as she drove. Rain covered the sound. Hours on the lulling road dulled her fear as she skirted north through Pacific City and Tillamook, passing Cannon Beach. She had done a job with Vic there once. The landmarks started to look familiar as she ventured further into a rural patch by the coast passing through small townships along the thickly forested highway. She didn’t know if it was her suppressed memories or that last trip. Or maybe just her hopeful imagination.