Long Witch Night: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 2)

by Sami Valentine

  “I smell the dime store shampoo.” The arch feminine voice beckoned her through the door at the end of the short hall. “Don’t let the light in when you enter.”

  Creeping inside, Red shut the heavy door with both hands. She’d bet it was bulletproof. Turning around, she realized that she had never been inside Delilah’s private domain.

  Oriental screens lined the length of one side of the office over the windows, illumined by floor lights. They blocked the famous LA sunshine and were probably timed to roll back after twilight. A white desk dominated half of the spacious office with the usual office equipment and chairs. The other side looked more like a diva’s Rococo boudoir complete with fainting couch, chandelier, and a massive wardrobe that loomed like a general.

  Despite the dramatic décor, Delilah drew the eye in a scarlet dress, long blond hair in a low ponytail rested over one shoulder like a sneaking serpent. Glancing up from her laptop and papers, she leaned back in the white chair and crossed her legs. “Linda didn’t put déjà vu on my agenda.”

  “I’m hoping you’ll take a walk-in. Need some Hollywood dirt.” Red put her hands in her pockets as she ambled forward. She tried to keep her heart beat steady and breathing normal. “Figured you knew where all the bodies are buried and who put them there.”

  “From the Black Dahlia on.” Smirking, Delilah perched her smoky-lensed glasses on her slicked-back hair. “Flattery will get you far in this town, but I have an agency to run. Get to the point.”

  Red had a lot of questions tumbling in her head from who the Bell Witch might target next to what the hell one wore to a Hollywood dinner party. The vampire might not have tossed her out yet, but they weren’t braiding friendship bracelets anytime soon. “I’m dealing with a poltergeist down at the set of the reboot of A Christmas Carol. We have some leads, but I want to make sure there isn’t an Old Hollywood tragedy we’re overlooking.”

  “On Ari Goldstein’s set? I thought Quinn’s merry band of do-gooders were sent to care for Cora’s pet musicians?” Delilah pursed her lips before nodding to the chair in front of her desk.

  Red sat on the plush cushion, unsurprised that Delilah knew about her boss’s case. If it wasn’t her ex-husband Quinn telling her, it was Cora Moon telling her during yoga. She was happy for the assumption that this was Quinn Investigations business. “Looks like all the spirits are gearing up for the solstice.”

  “Start busting them, then. I have a few girls waiting on a music video contract with Mr. Hyde. Everyone wants in on this new record.”

  “That’s where your info comes in.” Red had been over the sketchy evidence, but didn’t understand why a ghost was targeting rappers and actresses. “I already found out they’re all new builds, from the set to the recording studios, but what about before?”

  “Cora invested in it so long ago, but I think the recording studio was a parking lot before.”

  “What about the movie set? Ari Goldstein was freaked. Do we have a frustrated starlet come back from the 1930s to raise hell? Helen Mirren was pummeled by a poltergeist.”

  “Not Helen.” Delilah put her fingers on her chest, mouth gaping before glacier composure froze the slip of compassion. “There was a fire at the studio back in the day, but no one died.”

  Red nodded, unsettled. The vampire cleared a lot of possibilities. Now everything pointed to the Bell Witch and her mysterious master using the objects from the auction house to find their victims.

  Delilah’s ice queen expression turned wistful. “It was a magnificent set before, such lavish productions back when there was still glamour and mystery in Hollywood. I had a ménage a trois with Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford there.”

  “Well, that’s…a special moment to share.” Red moved the topic away from red-carpet conquests. “Mr. Hyde has a lot of press that we’re still trawling TMZ for, but let’s talk about the director. It’s all coming up academy award nominations and accolades. You made it sound like you know Ari Goldstein. Got an idea of what could haunt his set or who would target it?”

  “Ari is a sweetheart despite the sailor’s mouth. He tries to give every down-on-their-luck dreamer a shot. More than a few mediocre actors sent their kids to college because of him giving them bit parts.” Delilah rolled her eyes to the side as if mystified by the generosity. “I haven’t even heard of him getting cross with anyone, and I have sent him some truly asinine models to work with.”

  “He was pretty steamed about Nevaeh Morgan.”

  “He has been dragging around that scene chewer for a dog’s age. Even saints have a snapping point.” Delilah shrugged, leaning on the arm rest. “I was at one of his dinner parties, and a waiter dropped hot soup on him. He just kept saying namaste, no worries.”

  Red shifted in her seat. Investigation was her wheelhouse, Hollywood parties… not so much. And a dinner party? She couldn’t remember going to one. She had come here for the case, but if there was one thing that the vampire knew beyond starlet gossip was how to schmooze. “Speaking of dinner parties, I was invited to one tonight. What’s the small talk like? Do I need to know what fork to use?”

  “It’s California. Just keep them talking about themselves.” Her blue eyes scanned Red’s outfit like the Terminator assessing an enemy. “You’re not wearing that, right?”

  “I need to go shopping. I was told cocktail dress.” Red scratched her head, frowning. “There is a purple and yellow dress that I liked.”

  Delilah put a hand to her chest and closed her eyes, taking an unnecessary breath. “You obviously can’t be trusted with color. Crossbows, maybe.” She marched to her wardrobe like a commander to the battlefield. Casting the wardrobe open, she smiled, stroking the hanging fabrics. “This is my charitable act for the year, I’ll have you know. We are close to the same size.”

  The hunter shuffled behind her with the enthusiasm of a kid to the dentist chair.

  “Red hair, pale skin, rough on dresses… What do we have?” Delilah pulled out a flared lavender tube dress before wrinkling her nose, shaking her head, and putting it back. She retrieved a mint green shift dress and nodded. “This one.”

  Red took the hanger and smiled. A knot of tension relaxed in her stomach. “Oh, this is cute. What do I wear with it?”

  “Throw on some black sneakers, aviator sunglasses, and a leather jacket, then walk in like you’re dating Mick Jagger.” Delilah crossed her arms. “Tell Ari I said hello.”

  “That’s my cue?” Red hung the dress over her arm.

  Delilah strode to her desk. “Try not to wrinkle that dress on the way out.”

  “Thanks.” Red stepped toward the door before looking back, a panicked thought popped into her head.

  The vampire pulled her tinted glasses down and settled into her chair. “Winged eyeliner, red lipstick.”

  “Cool. Cool. I can do that.” Red bit her lip as she left. She’d have to watch a makeup tutorial. But how hard could it be to get ready for a Hollywood party?

  ---

  Hours and multiple winged eyeliner attempts later, Red did her best shot at strutting like a rockstar’s girlfriend into the courtyard of Ari Goldstein’s hillside mansion. Pillar candles lining the courtyard’s path rose to her waist as she walked by arranged cacti, palms, and oleander. Carefully cultivated shadows between the garden lights gave an air of mystery to the collection of crystals spread over the long table.

  At least she was alone to settle her nerves. She might have looked the part of one of the beautiful people in Delilah’s dress, but she didn’t feel like one.

  “Hocus Pocus, Ari went all out!”

  She looked over her shoulder at the middle-aged bleached blond who followed behind in a little black dress. “Not the usual dinner party, huh?”

  “No, but my god, I could use a séance with all the spooky nonsense happening at my house. That doesn’t even include my daughter’s weird goth boyfriend.” The woman held out her hand, smiling wide. Her even, botoxed forehead immobile. “Shelby McGee. Aren’t you Leo�
�s new girlfriend? No, wait, I think I saw you with Kristoff Novak at Vltava.”

  “Something like that. With, um, Leo.” Red coughed, rubbing her upper arm before she changed the subject. “Spooky like haunted? That’s why Ari invited me. I haven’t been able to sleep in weeks.”

  “Me too!” Shelby gasped and put her hand to her cheek. “I wish it were Casper, but I want to call an exorcist. I already have to deal with enough shit as a casting director.”

  “Did you work with Ari on A Christmas Carol?” Red lowered her voice to sound more like she was dishing gossip than fishing for intel. “John C. Reilly nearly died on set.”

  “I heard about poor John.” Shelby leaned in, taking the bait. “Yes, I’m surprised that Ari even invited me after the whole Martha Cratchit debacle. I nearly lost my job after that hiring call. Now, I wish I had since the ghosts of Christmas followed me home.”

  Red didn’t have a chance to ask her what kind of mess Tiny Tim’s sister could have gotten into. A chill tickled the back of her legs before the breeze whipped through the oleanders. The pink flowers trembled. “Get down.”

  “Wh—?”

  A stronger gust blew through the courtyard. The windows shook like a rattlesnake tail. Glass blew out of the second-floor windows. Shards rocketed to the table below. The balcony door above the courtyard slammed open.

  Red pushed the other woman down into a crouch behind an oleander.

  Shelby pointed up. “Ari!”

  Yells echoing on the courtyard walls, Ari flailed, tumbling from the balcony, fingers clawing the air. His feet hit the table hard. The impact boomed like a machete to a coconut. He stumbled, falling backward. His head struck an amethyst with a terrible thudding squish. Dinner plates clattered and broke under his limp limbs.

  Shelby screamed, scooting back on her butt, hands waving, eyes fixated on the horror on the table.

  Red pulled away, cringing. She glanced up, using her spirit gaze.

  Basil lay on the balcony, his face half in view between the rail slats. A shadowy mass swirled above him.

  “Call an ambulance!” Red ran inside and up the stairs, following the mess of broken furniture and torn paintings to the second floor and down the hall to the right room. When her third eye focused, her shoulders sagged at the ghostly form hovered above Basil. “Why!?”

  Kate bent over him, teeth bared, swinging a rough quartz to strike. She looked up. Her mouth fell, eyelids lowering. She dropped the crystal paper weight beside his head and vanished.

  Running to Basil and dropping to her knees, Red pressed her hands against his bleeding head. In her panic, she couldn’t turn off her third eye. She could only watch as his aura dimmed. “Help!”

  More dinner guests arrived before the cops did. She wouldn’t leave Basil’s side until the EMTs came with the stretcher.

  Soon enough, Detective Aisha Callaway showed up. She had flown in the helicopter bringing back up to Moon Enterprises during Michel’s failed coup. It had brought her into Cora’s orbit and guaranteed that if the LAPD was called to a spooky crime scene, she would be there. The young Black detective gave out orders to the crime scene techs with the precision of General Patton despite the dark circles under her eyes.

  Red wasn’t the only one grappling with nightmares.

  “I’d ask how you are, but I can guess.” The detective put a hand on Red’s arm, burnt orange aura was as down-to-earth and efficient as her demeanor. Her voice lowered. “I have Cora Moon’s so-called people breathing down my neck. I’d like it not to be literally.”

  “She’ll already know the scoop.”

  “Of course, she does. It’s my actual boss I’m worried about. Tell me the real story so I know what to leave out of the report.” Callaway’s mouth pursed at end of the sentence, and she looked down.

  Red sighed, looking over at the crime scene technicians walking through the courtyard. “Poltergeist. You’re going to have to leave a lot out…”

  “I’m getting better at it.” The detective muttered.

  “A lot has changed, huh?” Red couldn’t judge. They both had to walk the line with the supernatural.

  “Too much.” Aisha Callaway watched, lips hardened into a line, as a white-covered stretcher passed. “Coming to terms with all this fairy tale nonsense was hard, but I was fighting these freaks. Now, I’m covering it up, telling myself it’s the lesser evil.”

  “There’re enough shades of gray to make you think you’re colorblind.” Red shivered under her jacket. “You can step away. Find a sleepy town in need of a sheriff.”

  “There is no quitting with these vampires.” Callaway pulled out a small notepad. “Let’s get this farce over with.”

  It should have been simpler with her there.

  The detective would be able to get Basil to a private hospital staffed by mage doctors and then let Red slip away from a night of police questioning. Red could be honest, say it was the Bell Witch. It wasn’t simpler because she didn’t want it to be true. Kate had stopped the onslaught when she called out. The witch had more slack in her chains than she let on. What else had she lied about? Maybe Vic was right, and Red was a sucker for a sob story.

  Red stared down at her bloody hands and the stains on her borrowed dress. Answering Detective Callaway’s questions in a monotone voice, she couldn’t stop the looping thought in her mind.

  How could the same soul who could teach magic with the patience of a mother be the same one who could fling a man off a balcony?

  7

  December 17th, 11:45PM, Quinn Investigations, Culver City, Los Angeles

  As the witching hour approached, Red poured a salt circle on the bare front desk. The lights were low in Quinn Investigations and the computer equipment, coffee supplies, and rolling filing cabinets were hidden in a storage closet. She concentrated on her intention to fuel the warding in the spell. Her focus felt scattered with the laser-like gazes on her.

  Vic perched in his chair like a professor ready to give a grade.

  Quinn leaned against the wall, arms folded. His typical emotionless expression was locked in place despite interested eyes darting around the ritual set up.

  Lucas paced.

  Midnight was minutes away. Red would have to confront Kate outside of a dream. She didn’t think she would see the folksy gentle side of the spirit.

  “Now, when the spell starts, you’ll be the focus,” Quinn reminded again. “The Bell Witch will manifest when she realizes we are cutting the cords that tie her to this plane.”

  She nodded. “If she really does have a master, they won’t like us taking their big weapon away. This will get hairy.”

  His reserved features tightened. “Let Lucas and me distract her.”

  On the other side of the desk, Vic bared his teeth in a clenched smile. “I’ve already told my intern the score. She’s been well trained.”

  “Toilet trained and everything.” Red arranged the iron ingots to protect the circle of salt and hematite crystals. She had modified the ritual circle to include elements to repel the Bell Witch. Sometimes she followed the recipe, other times she mixed it up. She hadn’t gotten far enough with her dark side dream tutor to know if magic was more like cooking or baking when it came to a recipe.

  Lucas crossed his arms, glaring at Quinn. “I don’t like this. This chit already has a fascination with our girl. Why couldn’t we have the shaman do it?”

  “Because Basil is in the hospital with his jaw wired shut.” Red already answered that question how many times? Each time, it pained her to say it. Basil had been laughing and eating taters tots only hours ago. Now he was going to have to drink his Christmas dinner through a straw. She hadn’t brought the Bell Witch into his life, but she had been dream buddies with Kate.

  “The bloke doesn’t need to speak. Psychic shaman and all.”

  “He needs to recuperate. That is why I had him moved to that private hospital run by Smith and Reaper. They can protect him there.” She didn’t point out that Basil was a soulma
ncer. That was his secret to share. “We can do it.”

  “You don’t need to shelter your girlfriend, Greg.” Vic huffed before shooting Quinn a withering side eye as if telling his boss ‘I told you so.’

  She looked away, neck heating up. Even if she and Lucas had Facebook profiles, they still wouldn’t have put it on ‘It’s Complicated,’ let alone boyfriend and girlfriend status.

  “Enough with the Greg business,” Lucas said. “I am just looking out for he.”

  “Let’s concentrate. It’s almost time.” Quinn put a hand on Vic’s shoulder, looming with his above six feet height. “You’ve done a good job.”

  “Yeah, I’m a proud single mother, alright.” Vic sounded sour, but he still looked up with a hint of hero worship.

  “Thanks, mom.” Red held out her hands to him over the rusty doorknob in the center of the salt circle. Projecting more confidence than she felt, she gathered up her unruly magical energy, imagining herding cats. She spoke to seal her own intentions. “When we start this ritual, we will sever all ties to the Bell Witch and the objects from the Bell Farmhouse. It will go in a wave. This doorknob should be the last one. We’ll all be targets, but hopefully she’ll go for you two first. Try to keep any flying objects from hitting us so we can finish the chant.”

  “We’ve tied everything up and damn near put sandbags down.” Vic squeezed her hands. “Let’s rock and roll.”

  They started the Latin together. Their pronunciation wasn’t going to win them any classics awards, but their intention was on point. If they had been dealing with multiple spirits like they’d first assumed, they would have had to deal with each object connected to each spirit. Seen with her third eye, the psychic cords on the doorknob led to a faint spectral web going back to a single source: The Bell Witch.

  Red imagined cutting all the ties from the cursed objects to their origin. The lights sputtered in the office. She tightened her grip on Vic’s hands. “Incoming.”