How to be a Badass Witch

by Michael Anderle

  Cevin led her out the back door, and she noted that he’d replaced the camera and added a couple of new lights.

  “Did you change the security code or anything?” she inquired.

  “Yes.” He waved her through while he handled closing and locking the door. “When you work next, I’ll give you the new one. For now, your bike’s in the bed of my truck. I picked it up earlier on my way in.”

  She paused at the sight of the sleek black cycle lying on its side, with its two healthy replacement tires, which were exactly the right kind. “Man.” She sighed. “You don’t know how much I missed this damn thing.” She waved at the truck bed. “It’s okay, Zee, we’re going home.”

  Cevin chuckled as he climbed into the truck’s bed and opened the gate. Kera hopped up beside him, removed the tie-downs, and stood the bike up while her supervisor propped up a metal rack to allow them to wheel it down rather than trying to lift it out.

  Once Zee’s tires were back on the pavement where they belonged, Kera turned on the engine and gave it a couple of revs. The growls of her ride were the best sound she’d heard in days.

  “All good?” Cevin called over the engine.

  “Wonderful,” Kera called back. She shut the bike off and patted the handlebars, then leaned close to whisper, “I’ll be back soon, Zee.”

  Cevin put the rack back in the bed and closed up the truck. “Let’s go get your new outfit, and then I need to get back to work.”

  He punched in the code to let them back into the building and handed Kera the leathers, folded over his arm.

  “Shit,” she commented. “I didn’t bring enough storage space to take these back with me separately, but if I’m riding home anyway, well, excuse me for a minute.”

  Cevin chuckled. “Take all the time you need. Just go out the front, if you could, so I don’t have to deal with all the security stuff again.”

  Kera took the leathers into the bathroom. The lower half of the outfit, she determined, would fit over her pants, though it’d be tight. Her jacket, though, had to go. She took it off before slipping the top portion on, confident that that jacket by itself would fit in her pack.

  As she headed back out, she grabbed her helmet and went to the nearest mirror to give herself a look-over before she put it on.

  Damn, I’m not sure I recognize myself at this point. It goes beyond the hair color. Something’s truly different, but what? Did using magic age me? That’s a disturbing notion. I swear I look a few years older. In a good way, though, so far.

  It also occurred to her that if she couldn’t recognize her own image in the mirror, the son of a bitch who’d shot Zee wouldn’t either, and being able to avoid him was a definite bonus of her makeover.

  Nodding in satisfaction, she departed the restroom and strode past the bar. “Bye, Cevin. Am I in tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” He looked up and stared after her. “You, um, can have one more day off if you want, but I can use you tomorrow if you’re up for it.”

  She smiled. “I probably will be. I’ll let you know. So long.”

  As she glided across the floor, Cevin kept watching until she disappeared out the front entrance. Somehow, he hadn’t fully appreciated her body until he’d seen it sheathed in tight black leather. Sure, he’d noticed that she was both slim and buxom, curvy in the proverbial right places, but he’d been trying not to be a creep since it was unprofessional.

  In any case, he was much too old for her—old enough, in fact, that he would be able to enjoy the procession of guys tripping over one another to impress her instead of feeling left out.

  He shook his head and went back to his work. “One day, the sight of that girl is going to launch a thousand ships.”

  It should be amusing when it happened.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Originally, Kera had planned to simply drive Zee home and then experiment with more stuff from her new grimoire, but somehow, that didn’t happen. She needed to ride.

  She needed to think. She hadn’t realized until the past few days just how much her daily rides had been a part of her routine and how much she had processed her day while she was riding home. Something about being on the bike cleared her mind in a way nothing else did.

  She hadn’t gotten the chance to process the last few days that way, and a lot had happened that she desperately needed to process. Vague, half-formed thoughts and ideas that had occurred to her over the last three or four days were starting to come together in her head, informing her of what she truly wanted to do.

  Had to do, in fact.

  There was so much swirling in her head: the sense of helplessness that had accompanied the attack on her, Cevin, and Zee, the unshakeable conviction that she should have been able to do something about it, even though rationally, she knew that pulling a gun on someone who already had a firearm out and ready was virtual suicide…

  There was the nagging suspicion that her mother was right; that Kera should have been doing more with her life, though, of course, her mom had dumbed it down by simply telling her to find a better job.

  Then there was the way her family’s historical motto had come unbidden into her mind a couple of mornings ago: Glory is the reward of valor.

  It wasn’t just her own memories and experiences that were sticking in her head, either. There was the news report she’d watched before dyeing her hair black about the beginning of a crime wave terrorizing the city. Other people going through what she’d experienced, or possibly far worse.

  And of course, the fact that since she’d perused that fateful, silly-seeming book, she had discovered that magic was real, and that she, Kera MacDonagh, seemed to possess a natural talent for it.

  She wanted to use it to help. She wanted to do something.

  The sky was turning a deep reddish-orange as Kera buzzed down the streets of LA, the tall buildings of downtown giving way to the lower, humbler ones across the river. More of the ubiquitous palm trees hove into sight.

  She realized that subconsciously, she’d been heading for some of the more “middling” neighborhoods of the city. The ones that weren’t considered bad but were close enough to the bad ones that the people who lived or worked there had to be careful.

  The kinds of places where criminals came to prey on people. She felt a flutter of worry in her chest and suppressed it. Her encounter outside the Mermaid had opened her eyes to a part of the world she had always stayed away from. One she had known was there but had never had to see.

  If she wanted to help…

  She needed to see how things really were.

  Kera drove back west across the river again and around the periphery of downtown, then took a side street that formed the edge of a residential area. It abutted a semi-derelict zone of warehouses and weedy lots.

  The shadows were deepening beside the buildings as the sky faded. At first she saw nothing, but as the last of the daylight started to die, she drove past something that caught her eye.

  A rather nice Mercedes-Benz E-Class. White, fifth generation. Its owner had parked it on the side of the street, figuring that his choice of location was out in the open enough for it to be safe while also being clear of any parking violations that might have attracted cops who had nothing better to do.

  It had also attracted three young men Kera instantly pegged as gang members. She might be wrong, but she doubted it.

  She drove by, doing and saying nothing for now. The trio glanced sharply at her but then ignored her as she passed on. They were pretty obviously canvasing the vehicle, the area, and the overall situation.

  No one else seemed to be around, and Kera sensed that they would make a move soon.

  What I should do, she told herself, is keep driving. Maybe call the cops and let them do a drive-by. Yeah, that would be the smart thing.

  She didn’t want to do the smart thing. The “smart” thing was to let the world keep turning; it allowed things to stay the same. She was here because she didn’t want things to stay the same.

&n
bsp; “Fuck it,” she said aloud. She pulled Zee around the corner, parked next to a tree, and climbed off. She left her helmet on, though, as she strode briskly back toward the Mercedes-Benz.

  It came as no great surprise to see that the three gang members had encircled the car, with one leaning against the hood and the other lounging near the other side. They kept their eyes out while the third worked on the lock on the driver’s side door.

  The one at the front of the vehicle noticed her at once, though he didn’t react. He was waiting to see if she posed a real threat or was turning a blind eye to them.

  She intended to eliminate all doubt immediately. She stormed straight toward the trio, hands clenching into fists at her side.

  “Hey!” she yelled, deepening her voice to disguise it. “Is that your car? Because if it isn’t, you have no reason to be all over it like flies on a dumpster.”

  All three turned their heads to look at her. Two of them dropped their jaws in shock at her brazen stupidity.

  The one who’d been leaning on the hood stood up straight and took a single step toward her. He was short and thin, his eyes were dull but malevolent. “Get lost, maricon. Before you get hurt, yeah?”

  Kera’s blood seemed to thrill as it pumped through her. They all knew how this was supposed to go: she would back down because they would make it painful if she didn’t, which meant they would just get away with it.

  She was changing the rules.

  “No,” she retorted. “That’s not your car. It doesn’t belong to you. You want a ride, get one the old-fashioned way. The sooner you get the hell out of here, the sooner you can do that.”

  The guy who’d been trying to pick the lock, average height and tubby, came up beside his friend out front. “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” he suggested.

  The third of the group trailed behind the other two. Though the largest and most muscular-looking, with tattoos all over his bulging arms, he seemed the least interested in confronting the newcomer.

  “Hey,” he said to his partners, “she might call the cops. Let’s go.”

  The other two ignored him.

  “No,” the lockpicker insisted, pointing at Kera. She pegged him as the leader. “You are the one who leaves. Right now, or you get hurt.”

  Kera couldn’t tell if they were armed. She might stand a chance against them if they weren’t, but if a gun or knife came out, she’d have to reevaluate her strategy in a hurry. She hesitated.

  The leader noticed. He glanced at the other two and snapped his fingers. “Get ‘em.”

  They all sprang into action at once and charged her from three different directions.

  Kera swung up her hands, ran through the incantation for the “pinch” spell, and directed it straight at the skinny guy’s groin. It struck him when he was about four feet from her and he collapsed abruptly, squawking in pain and clutching his crotch.

  The lockpicker was on top of her before he could react to his friend’s sudden departure from the fight. Kera was already preparing another spell, the one that would augment her luck. She cursed herself for not casting that one before she’d even climbed off her bike, but there was no help for it now. She swung a fast snap-kick at the guy’s generous stomach. He dodged it with surprising speed, but it halted his advance.

  That gave her the time she needed to finish the incantation.

  A feeling of confidence and optimism surged through her, and she recalled her three years of martial arts training. While she hadn’t had time to become a master by any definition, she was far from helpless. With the aid of magic, she felt sure she could take these assholes on and win.

  One thing about bullies was that they didn’t expect anyone to challenge them. Often, there was nothing backing up their bluster.

  The third guy, the one with the tattooed muscles, might have been reluctant to get involved in the fight, but he was in it now, and she sensed he did have skill. He flanked her and hit her with a strong shoulder-shove, trying to knock her off-balance and drive her toward the curb, which she might trip over. She anticipated the maneuver, ran into it, and jumped the curb, spinning around in time to send another kick at the chubby gangster.

  This time her foot struck him in the ribs, though he was sturdy enough that it did little but stun him. His fist drove into her stomach, and though she moved backward in time to avoid the full force of the blow, it was still enough to knock most of the wind out of her.

  Guess my luck isn’t as great as I thought, she lamented, though it could have been worse.

  As the two still standing moved around to attack her from each side and the skinny guy climbed to his knees seething with rage, she decided to try something different.

  She flung out her hand, whispering a chant beneath her breath, and a shower of colored sparks engulfed the lock-picking leader. “Shit!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with fear. How he interpreted those sparks she wasn’t sure, though she saw him looking around for the telltale canister of a firework.

  No such luck, friend, she thought with a grin.

  The tattooed guy pounced on her the next moment and tried to punch her in the head, but his fist ricocheted off her helmet. He grunted in pain.

  Kera stumbled back; the blow had had enough force behind it to momentarily disorient her, but her helmet was designed to protect her from motorcycle accidents. A mere punch wasn’t going to do any damage.

  She scoffed, then cast the muscular-convulsion spell again, this time aiming it at Tattoo’s back thigh muscles.

  He hopped straight into the air, shaking with pain and surprise, then tripped over his own feet. The sharp pain was too great for him to stand, let alone fight.

  By now, Lockpick had recovered from the surprise of the colored-sparks enchantment, and he realized that he wasn’t burnt or otherwise hurt.

  And he looked pissed.

  She needed to deal with that before his anger turned to action. Kera charged him, launching off the edge of the curb and sweeping her helmet off her head in the same motion. It knocked aside the man’s fists and crashed into the side of his face. He toppled.

  Her mind suddenly registered one of the tattoos on the muscular dude’s arm: it was a symbol she’d seen spray-painted on buildings.

  “I know you assholes,” she hissed. “I know which gang you’re with. This isn’t your turf anymore. It belongs to the LA Witches, you hear that? If you think I’m bad, wait ‘til the other ones show up.”

  At this point, the skinny guy had regained his feet, but his wrath had withered into fear. Rather than attack Kera, he helped the other two up. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Grunting and swearing in both English and Spanish, they hobbled off, not sparing her a second glance as they disappeared into the vacant lot across the street.

  Kera stood staring after them, then looked at the car she’d saved. She had no idea who the owner was, of course, but it didn’t matter. No one’s ride should be stolen.

  The rush of adrenaline died, and all at once, the fatigue and pain hit her. She nearly collapsed on the curb five or six feet in front of the Mercedes and gasped for breath. She ate healthy and walked a fair amount, and her cheerleading career had previously kept her from getting too far out of shape, but she wasn’t used to strenuous activity anymore, especially when paired with the effort that came from doing magic.

  And though luck had saved her from any serious effects from the two hits she’d taken, her stomach felt bruised, and several joints were aching.

  “Crap,” she wheezed. She probably ought to scram before someone came to check out the racket.

  She just had to find the will to stand up.

  The healing spell might be helpful here. Though it took energy to cast it, Kera had always noticed that casting it on herself seemed to provide a positive result, at least briefly. Unlike when she’d healed Mr. Kim’s arthritis, she got the benefits as well as the energy drain. Still, she made sure to impose a clear limit on how much energy the spell could tak
e. If it didn’t work this time, she couldn’t afford to spend much on it.

  She closed her eyes and cupped her hands in front of her face and chest, preparing to speak the words. She told both herself and the spirits that she only needed enough to dull the pain and tiredness. She only needed to get to her bike.

  And then a 7-11 or something for a candy bar.

  As she completed the incantation, the mixture of subtle warmth and soothing coolness returned, and Kera felt reinvigorated. The spell had taken a portion of her mental fortitude, but the energy had been reasonable. Her stomach hurt a lot less.

  She rose to her feet, jogged around the corner, and swung her leg over the seat of her bike, then buzzed off to the west.

  It was full dark now, some street lights sputtering on, storefront signs glowing, taillights and headlights picking out the lines on the streets. She stopped at the first convenience store she found and chowed down on a candy bar, considering the her options.

  She should go home.

  But riding Zee had both calmed her down and instilled a need to do more. The night was young, dammit, and she felt better already. Now that she’d had a taste of running people off, she wasn’t going to stop at rescuing a single Mercedes-Benz. If she drove around enough, an opportunity would present itself.

  Since she had no desire to be anywhere near the scene of the fight if the LAPD showed up, Kera merged onto the I-10 as soon as she saw an entrance and rapidly left downtown behind, revving Zee into high gear as she picked up speed and coasted toward Santa Monica.

  Fun as it was, driving at higher speeds demanded more attention. Kera perked back up, her awareness rising, and took in the interplay of lights, the bends in the road, and the shifting positions of different vehicles.

  She decided to exit near Culver Junction, but at the entrance ramp beforehand, a car shot up onto the freeway and began to waver erratically as though the driver was drunk.