How to be a Badass Witch

by Michael Anderle

  Hoo, boy, she noted, shifting her attention to the vehicle. Looks like the I-10 still needs me, after all.

  Rather than exit, she fell in behind the suspicious sedan at a safe distance. Should she try to cast a healing spell? A luck spell?

  She didn’t have time to try anything. Seconds later, the driver lost control and crashed into the sidewall. Flames erupted from under the crunched hood.

  “Fuck!” Kera exclaimed. She braked as quickly as it was safe to do so, wove around the wreck and the other vehicles taking evasive maneuvers, and came to a stop ten yards in front of it while other vehicles honked madly around her. Panting with effort, she wheeled her bike around to the car’s rear and put on the emergency flashers to ensure other motorists would either help or stay the hell clear.

  Please, she thought as she dismounted and ran toward the crashed car. Please, please, please don’t let anyone smash into Zee. It’s his first day back from the shop.

  But she had more important things to worry about right now. The people in the car were still alive but trapped and possibly wounded. The crash had knocked them away from the one door that still seemed operational while blocking the others against the ravaged concrete.

  Okay. This is going to require magic, including some spells I haven’t practiced much yet. Think, Kera. You can do this. Some of my extra luck should still be in effect from the tussle with those gangsters, right?

  She was mildly relieved to see that all three of the car’s inhabitants were adults; no children had been endangered. She had no intention of letting anything bad happen to these people regardless, but it took the edge of panic away.

  First, she tried the “pinch” spell on one of the doors, but nothing happened. Then she pretended that the car was a living being and that its metal structure was bone and tendons and muscle tissue and tried again.

  This time, the latch popped. The door was still bent in a way that meant it would take a lot of force to open it wide enough for a person to squeeze through, however.

  Kera dashed forward. One of the men in the car was trying to push the popped door with his foot, but he wasn’t having much luck. The other two were dazed or wounded and of no help.

  Strength, Kera recalled. Can’t believe I forgot that one during the brawl. A spell to give one person the strength of five large men. Okay, the incantation was...

  It came to her out of nowhere, and she wondered if the luck spell influenced her ability to perform other magic. She hoped so.

  After casting the enchantment, Kera seized the warped metal and heaved against the door, shouting and grunting, and ripped it up and away. It screeched in protest and bent backward, and the front seats opened before her.

  But then the flames rushed back from the engine to lick around the steering column. The man who’d been trying to kick the door open jerked back to avoid them, moaning in fear and despair.

  After she’d accidentally set herself on fire, Kera had looked at another spell that allowed the caster to lower the air temperature in a given area by as much as a hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It could be harmful if it hit any of the people inside, but if dropped on top of a blaze, it ought to balance things out nicely.

  Kera swept her hand toward the steering column and the hood and spoke the words. Frost formed on the pleather and steel and the angry flames died, reduced to a couple of flickers near the front end.

  Now she could focus on the people.

  “Come on,” she called to the man. She took his hand and hoisted him out with surprising ease. The strength spell lasted a good five minutes, and it had barely been a minute and a half so far.

  Freeing the other two, another man and a woman, was harder since the man’s shoulder was dislocated and the woman was barely conscious and bleeding from the head. Kera had to kick an entire seat out of the way to pull them free, being careful not to injure them further but wasting no time. The fire in the engine was spreading again as the cold spell wore off.

  “Oh, God,” the first man gasped. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Kera guided the woman out into his arms, and the three supported each other as they leaned against the undamaged part of the sidewall. The witch, for her part, hopped out, hurried past them, and remounted her bike before they had a chance to ask her any awkward questions.

  She was shaking as she settled on her seat, and there were spots floating in her vision. She didn’t have a headache yet, as she’d had the first few times she tried magic, but she had the sense that one might not be too far down the line. She had gotten better at putting constraints on the amount of magic she used, but she had still consumed more than she’d anticipated.

  Worried about her ability to drive, she blew out a long breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

  By now, the first man had managed to pull out his cell phone to call 911, and two other cars had stopped nearby to check on the scene. Two women and one man had approached and were asking about a dozen questions at once. Sirens were approaching from afar, too.

  “Hey,” someone exclaimed, “where’d that guy on the bike go?”

  That kicked Kera into gear. She was far from a hundred percent, but she wanted to get out of there before anyone found her and started asking questions. She gave the group an unseen salute, suddenly borderline-embarrassed by the display she’d put on, and revved up Zee, then gave a quick check for a place to merge before starting westward down the freeway.

  Still shaky, she exited at the first opportunity. From here, it would be easy to disappear into the labyrinth of suburbs toward Century City.

  A flip of a switch gave Zee a lower range of power and she eased off on her speed, coasting casually eastward. She was a long way from downtown and wanted to avoid the main roads, but she decided she didn’t mind the ride. Simply being and breathing was helping her regain her strength.

  It had been one hell of an evening, and she still hadn’t eaten much of anything. She was very aware of the growling in her stomach, the edge of the headache behind one eye, and the feel of her heart pumping overtime. Her breath was warm inside the confines of the helmet.

  She had grown accustomed to the effects of using magic, and having the forethought to limit her usage had helped immeasurably, but that only meant she had pushed herself close to the edge without going over.

  Not long after, she saw a sign for a Greek drive-through place, and her stomach gave such a growl that she nearly wrenched the bike straight off the road. She was able to control herself, but she tapped her foot anxiously while waiting at the drive-through, and within thirty seconds of receiving her food, she was tearing into a giant gyro and fries.

  That filled her up, but as she was starting the bike, her stomach gave another twist, and she rolled her eyes before going back through the drive-through line. This gyro she stuffed into her backpack on top of her folded jacket, and she tried to control her impatience to get home. She wasn’t far.

  Finally, Kera pulled into the warehouse, parked within it, closed the main door, and flung her pack onto the table. Then she pulled out the bagged gyro and left it to sit while she took off her helmet and boots. She didn’t bother with the leathers yet.

  As soon as the possibility for relaxation set in, her head swam and her stamina left her.

  “Whoa.” She steadied herself against the wall. She hadn’t realized just how much the adrenaline and spare calories were keeping her going. She felt completely strung-out; she was coming down from all the enchantments and augmentations she’d placed on herself, like a druggie after a major high.

  Kera sat on the edge of her bed. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll just rest here a minute, then eat, then–”

  She fell over on her side and passed out.

  Chapter Twenty

  The hotel James and Mother LeBlanc stayed in the first night was not cheap. After seeing his room, James decided he should make it clear that he had paid for it out of his own money and not the council’s coffers. He set off down the gently lit corridors, whistling cheerily to h
imself. It felt good to be out of the car after so many hours of sitting.

  To his surprise, he found her suite empty when he arrived.

  “Hello?” he asked the empty space.

  “Is there something you need?” Her voice didn’t seem to come from any direction in particular. “I’ll be dressed for dinner in an hour or so.”

  “Sure, sure. And, uh, it can wait.” He looked around. “Where are you?”

  He thought he heard her chuckle, then the outlines of her spell became clear: a protective shield surrounding the en suite bathroom, which otherwise would be fully visible from where he was standing. He could not see inside, but from the tendrils of steam, he assumed she was soaking in a bath. Her illusion had made it seem that the room was empty.

  “It’s been a very long time since I had a proper bath,” she said.

  His mouth twitched. “By ‘proper bath,’ I assume you mean you’re trying to make the entire room so hot, you remember why you left Louisiana.”

  Another chuckle. “You could say that,” she agreed.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt a good soak for anything as mundane as dinner. I’ll order food to my room, and you can come along whenever you’re done. Does that sound good?”

  “Very good, thank you, James.”

  He smiled and let himself back out. Thaumaturges lived for a very long time, and most tended to settle either in a hedonistic lifestyle or an ascetic one. James much preferred the company of those who chose the hedonistic route.

  Life was just better when you had perfectly cooked steaks and a good port after the meal.

  When she arrived in his room sometime later, Mother LeBlanc looked relaxed and happy. She raised an eyebrow at James’s notes and laptop, some shoved out of the way on the desk for his meal.

  “I started doing ads, and all my bad work habits came back,” James said, shaking his head. “I always did working meals back when I had a 9-to-5 job.”

  “Then I shall do the same.” She sat and took the lid off her meal. “What does your research say?”

  As she ate, he explained the various internet rabbit holes he’d gone down to find their new potential recruits. It appeared that their recruit was somewhere southwest of Charleston, and James had combed a distressingly wide array of police blotters, local social media pages, and more.

  Whoever their mysterious recruit was, they were not hiding their tracks quite well enough to evade Mother LeBlanc and James. The incidents that were happening around them were described as “one in a million”—car crashes that ended with a car hanging precariously over a cliff, yet with no deaths, supercell thunderstorms, and gas line explosions.

  “There are comments on each of the stories,” James told her, “saying ‘What are the odds?’”

  She shook her head. “Higher than they should be.”

  “Yes.” He was troubled as well. “We’ll have to figure out the backstory for each of these.”

  Magic was rare enough to bind those who practiced it into a tight-knit group and powerful enough that they had to be careful about who could wield it. Even if one’s power was stable, free of cracks or drains that would be dangerous to them or others, there was the matter of character.

  It took a very specific type of person to be a thaumaturge. They must be determined and disciplined enough to master a very difficult skill, which ruled out a great many potential recruits. Far too many attempted to become powerful without mastering the techniques and attempted spells they could not control or which they did not have the power to complete.

  Spells like that were dangerous. Not only did they often kill the magic wielder, but they could also hurt or kill bystanders. It was possible for such a catastrophe to produce a Chernobyl-like effect, though magic wielders worldwide had been relieved to learn that the Chernobyl disaster had not been due to magic.

  Just good old-fashioned human error.

  But magic wielders could not afford human error, not to mention the human ego. Thaumaturges must be careful. They must also be willing to put in effort without being in the spotlight—not simply on occasion, but sometimes for decades at a time. That ruled out many others, and James’s choice of career had been a concern on the council when he was trained.

  After all, how could someone who worked in advertising be comfortable out of the spotlight?

  James had eventually proven that he was a good fit and his skills were good for controlling public perception, but it had been an uphill battle.

  A good recruit must also be willing to use power sparingly. Some became addicted to magic and wasted away. There was little room for error on that front. Magic was more exhausting than any endurance sport, and an addiction to magic would quickly result in death.

  Lastly, a good recruit must be willing to forgo justice in the interests of the common good. Many recruits, driven by a desire to help the world, found themselves unable to forgive bad actors or allow them to prosper. Many descended into vigilantism and focused on criminal elements of society.

  That was the largest sticking point, but one on which the council never wavered.

  James knew Mother LeBlanc was worried about the person they were going to see now. Things like car crashes, supercell storms, and gas explosions hinted that this practitioner might be using magic to punish people.

  If that was the case and the person was not willing to reform their ways, the two of them would have no choice but to shut the magic down.

  “You look grim,” Mother LeBlanc stated.

  James let his breath out slowly. “Do you ever wonder if the council is wrong?”

  “Of course. One must always make considered decisions.” She took a neat bite of her food.

  “Yes, but…vigilantes, for instance.” He had never brought this up with her, accepting the council’s logic over his occasional objections.

  “James.” She gave him a warning look. “When one must choose between punishing one person and lifting up others—”

  “But what if that’s a false choice?” he protested. “What if seeing these things go unpunished hurts society?”

  “That is a human matter, not a magical one.” She folded her hands in her lap. “A society cannot rely on vigilantes. It must structure itself to reward the good and discourage the bad, or it will fail.”

  James sighed. “It seems as if we might rob ourselves of good recruits. And…” His voice trailed off.

  “And it is difficult to seal off a person’s powers,” she finished softly. “Yes. It is not a decision to be taken lightly. But, James, you do not remember the times when we were burned at the stake for magic, and vigilantism and revenge—those things draw us into the public eye. Now more than ever, it is imperative that we stay hidden.”

  He knew she had a good point, but as he settled back in his chair, he could not stop his mind from turning the problem over.

  This was a new time in the world. Surely new solutions might be possible.

  Or necessary.

  “Where are we going next?” she asked.

  “Right.” He sighed. “Uh, we’ll be hanging out here until we can locate this person, then fixing on our next target. I’ve narrowed it down to a couple of towns, and we’ll go from there. Tonight, we rest.”

  Sven was just finishing his lunch when he heard the sirens.

  He looked at Johnny, who had eaten more quickly, and the two of them smiled. Their car was one of many parked in the wide lot nearby, so the odds of anyone noticing them sitting there were slim. If they did notice, all they would see was two men eating lunch.

  It was the perfect vantage point from which to see if the police could do anything about the escalating fights that had begun to spread.

  Sven took the last bite of his sandwich and stuffed the wrappers in the takeout bag, which he put in the back seat. He’d insisted that they take his car because they’d be here for a while, and Johnny never let anyone eat in his car.

  “How many do you think there’ll be?” he asked Johnny lazily. />
  “One or two cars,” Johnny said after taking a second to decide. He grinned. “And a couple more when they figure out this isn’t Beverly Hills.”

  Sven laughed. He sat back and listened to the sirens coming closer. By now, even the youths who had been fighting across the street were taking notice. He could see some of them looking over their shoulders and telling the others to run.

  Everyone knew how this was going to go down, except maybe the cops. If they were new, they probably thought they were going to show up and heroically insert themselves into the middle of a fight. Possibly they pictured themselves saving babies or puppies from the influx of gang violence while apprehending all of the criminals and scaring any potential wrongdoers onto the straight and narrow.

  What was actually going to happen was that the people currently fighting were going to scatter. One or two might get caught, and the rest would wait for the police to go away and either resume their fight or return to mugging people.

  Just as Johnny had predicted, two cop cars came screaming up the street, only to find the various gang members scattering in all directions. One or two hurdled the fence around the parking lot, though neither were paying enough attention to see Johnny and Sven.

  “The kids are getting sloppy,” Sven remarked.

  Johnny nodded.

  Some of the usual chases were now taking place. One of the cops was young and spry but not energetic enough to keep up with teenagers who’d been running from cops their whole lives. The other three cops didn’t even try, just jogged after their friend just quickly enough to make it seem like they were expending effort.

  It looked like they weren’t going to catch anyone, but also like no one was going to make them sorry for coming out here.

  Sven sighed and grabbed his knife. “I’ll be back,” he told Johnny.

  He hopped the fence and crossed the street at a brisk walk. With the police cars in place, lights blazing, cars up and down the street were turning onto alternate routes.

  He briefly considered stealing one of the cars, but they all had GPS in them now. Not worth it. Instead, he approached the two cars from a careful angle and made a few discreet cuts in the tires. Then he pocketed the knife and jogged back.