Witch Gone Viral
Witch Gone Viral is the third book of The Red Witch Chronicles, an urban fantasy series containing magic, paranormal adventure, and vampire mayhem along with swearing, violence, and adult situations.
by Sami Valentine
Published by Pocketmaus Publishing
www.samivalentine.com
© 2019 Sami Valentine
The Red Witch Chronicles Chronological Reading Order
Down & Out Witch (Prequel)
A Witch Called Red (Book 1)
Oracle in the City (Newsletter exclusive epilogue short story)
Long Witch Night (Book 2)
Witch Gone Viral (Book 3)
Witch on the Run (Book 4 – June 2020)
Have you read Oracle in the City, yet?
Red is searching for a clue to her origins. Two pixies of unusual size stand in her way. Oh, and she has to confess to being amnesia girl to Lucas.
Find the novelette epilogue to A Witch Called Red, other exclusive reads, updates on my new books, and the skinny on the latest hot Urban Fantasy/Paranormal titles by subscribing to my newsletter at SamiValentine.com/mailinglist/ . Go there to sign up!
Dedicated to the Cabo Club.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Chapter One
January 20th, Evening, Culver City, Los Angeles, California
Red sensed the hidden predator. Stalking through the alley, she scanned the flat roofs and gripped her stake tighter. LA smog obscured the thin crescent moon. The security lights on the eaves wrecked her night vision. All she saw were shifting shadows caused by distant street traffic. Honking horns echoed between the one-story buildings. Bland like stale cake and the same color, the offices housed accountants ignorant of what crept out after dark. Red tried to push out the background noise to focus on the silent one who hunted her.
If I just turned on my third eye and used my spirit gaze… Red quashed the thought. She was a hunter. She didn’t need magic to fight.
“Pay attention!” A gravel-toned grumble broke through her concentration.
“Shit!” Red put her hand over her heart. “I was, Vic!”
Vic Constantine tipped up his red trucker hat before shaking his head, black mullet fanning out. His electric wheelchair stopped beside her. “To me, Red! You’re like a meercat, head darting around. I knew you’d get distracted.”
Red gestured to the roofs above. “I’m stalking, here. Vampire. That’s the point, right?”
“The dead will keep.” Waving his hand in dismissal, Vic wrinkled his nose. “A hunter can focus everywhere at once, grasshopper. So, listen to my questions, will ya? I’m not quizzing you for my health here.”
“I know.” Red bit her lip. She had been so worried to ask Vic to sponsor her in the hunter’s challenge, but he had taken on the project like he had thought of it.
After weeks of preparation, she couldn’t lose focus now. The hunter’s challenge was next week; first the written and then the practical to prove to the Brotherhood of Bards and Heroes that she was worthy to join their order as an official hunter. The storied Brotherhood claimed Hercules, Joan of Arc, and Iron Jack Constantine as members. She was a two-bit hunter’s intern with amnesia.
“The practical will be a breeze for you.” Vic’s words were a compliment until she saw his arched brow and scowl. “The written is the killer. It was made by a bunch of bureaucrats in London to be demon Jeopardy! with long-form answers.”
Red palmed her stake. “What was the question again?”
“What’s the plan on offing this vamp?”
“Qui—" Red started to say, until she caught Vic’s glare for breaking character. She chewed her lip to hold back a giggle. She had already been hunting for months. Tracking Quinn through an office park in Culver City felt like live action role play. Lucas had wanted to be here, but Vic had banned her dreamy boyfriend-potential coworker from field training for being too distracting. She knew Vic only wanted her to be prepared, and channeling his best Professor X was his way of helping.
Vic whizzed ahead. “Think aloud. I want to see the math, not just the answer. The practical might as well be a presentation.”
“A vampire can be killed by decapitation, stake, and fire,” she said, trotting to keep up with him. “Weakened by blessed silver.” Vampires seemed overpowered- until you realized they were sprinters not marathoners. They could only keep up their super speed, strength, and healing with fresh injections of blood. Their chests were also curiously weak compared to the rest of their bodies. “I’ve got a stake. He has a heart. I’ll improvise.”
“Ingenious. Stake the vampire,” Vic said drolly. “He has another advantage over you. Where we are? Big picture!”
“An alley?” Red clamped her mouth shut, flushing at her own idiocy as she realized what he’d meant. “The truce with Cora’s vampires. I don’t know if he has a soul or not in this scenario of yours.”
“You’re not going to be a merc anymore. Can’t play fast and loose with their rules. Join the Brotherhood, obey their truces. We’re not as powerful as we used to be back in the day. You mess up, they might be able to pull your ass out. That’s a big might,” Vic reminded her. “It’s what you’re signing up for.”
Black trench coat fluttering, the vampire dropped to the alley floor in a crouch, blond head bowed before he stood. Quinn Byrnes put his hands on his hips. “I thought someone was killing me?”
Red smirked at her boss. Souled vampire and good sport, he had volunteered to be their devious demon this evening. “That’s the plan.”
Unfazed, Vic flapped his hand. “Get back up there. Play on your phone until I’m done with this teachable moment.”
Quinn shrugged before leaping onto a dumpster and launching himself soundlessly up onto the nearby roof.
Red tried to follow his movements but lost her boss after he sprinted past an air conditioner unit. She forced herself to focus on Vic. He acted like he disdained the dusty academics of the Brotherhood, but he sure could lecture like one.
“Vamps are political critters. They might not be on LinkedIn, but they have a network. Loyalties to their sire, a Supreme Master of a city, and the Blood Alliance—in that order. Then factor in souls. This isn’t just a smash-and-stake like Utah.” Vic shrugged, miming shaking her. “We’re in LA. You need to know your shit.”
Red bobbed her head.
“Fun Fact: Cincinnati is the only other American city with both a truce and a souled supreme.” Vic twirled his finger. “Resume stalking.”
Trying to split her attention, Red looked for an outline of Quinn on the rooftops while bracing herself for Vic’s next question. Wind whipped through the alley, sweeping her black jacket behind her. She tightened her grip on her stake.
A window brightened in the dark middle section of the alley. Dulled through a curtain, the light splashed over pavement cracked like a fault line onto a dumpster. Silver reflected from an oblong shape on the ground as the curtain moved.
Red looked back to Vic. “Someone is working late. Might even have someone sleeping in the alley. I’ll need to lure the fight away to avoid a Black Veil breach.”
“Good, we’re already in deep with the Blood Alliance. How would you describe them in an essay question?”
“Shadowy vampire government.” Red’s voice trailed off as she squinted down the alley. She started to walk forward, instinct driving her.
“That’s the nutshell! Put it in the form of an essay. The August Harvest, the soul curse. Come on, give me something,” Vic said, rolling slowly behind her.
Red blinked and squinted, speeding up as the form came into view.
The shape at the far end of the dumpster wore dusty boots, unearthly still, with the toes pointed up. No blanket lay on the rough sleeper. The chill leeched through her jacket. Winter in LA might make someone back east laugh, but the nights were long. The homeless bunkered down with all their layers.
The light in the window turned off before she could figure out what was wrong with the leg. Unease tingled on her skin as her eyes slowly adjusted to the change in darkness. The training was louder than an actual hunt with all of Vic’s questions. If someone was trying to catch some sleep in the alley, they would have stirred by now.
Vic called, “Where are you going?”
“Don’t you see that?” Red stalked up to the dumpster. Stepping in a wide circle, she slowed.
A skull stared up at her, jaw dropped in death. Tattered deerskin pants and fringed shirt revealed bleached bones. Attached to dusty tibias, cowboy boots pointed to the moon, silver toes gleaming. The skeleton in buckskin sat against the wall, tilted against the dumpster. A stake lay in its rib cage. It was a vampire. Had been, at least.
Killing the undead meant watching it putrefy, the flesh reverting to its rightful level of decay in an instant. The dead vampire must have been old to leave bones so white they could have roasted in the Mojave for a century.
“Sweet fancy Moses.” Vic wheeled beside her.
“Do you recognize him?” Red glanced between Vic and the corpse. Before coming to LA, she would have been pleased to see a bloodsucker killed. Now, she had too many that she cared about to be relieved. Her fingers itched to text Lucas, her souled vampire honey, and check to see if he was okay on his patrol of Skid Row. They weren’t officially in a relationship and he could take care of himself, but she couldn’t help but worry like a girlfriend.
Silently, Quinn appeared behind them. Expression stiffening, his eyes darted around, capturing the scene with his famed photographic memory. His fingers twitched as if the immortal was already mentally sketching the scene for the authorities.
After months working with vampires, Red had gotten used to the preternatural sneakiness. She crouched to examine the scene.
Kicked up gravel from the cracks in the pavement hinted at a struggle. Only the bones marred the normalcy of the office park alley. Nothing contaminated the crime scene. Image-conscious like its citizens, LA was a clean town. The alley was free of litter and weeds beyond a few weathered cigarette butts under the dumpster probably left by a smoker hiding out on their lunch break. Two crimson-backed playing cards huddled flat against the wall.
“He was souled. Orval is his name.” Quinn glanced down, bull neck tensing. “Was.”
“So much for souled vampires being protected in this town,” Vic muttered. “There goes my lesson plan!”
Pulling a bobby pin out of her hair, Red used it like tweezers to flip the cards face-up on the ground. An ace and eight of spades. The ace had one word written on it, the script trailing off like the pen was forced off the paper. Dague.
“Does this mean something to you?” Red pointed at the card. “Cryptic clue or trash?”
“It means dagger in French.” Quinn stroked his chin.
“The cards are old, but not weathered. Maybe the victim’s?” Red asked. The partially decomposed buckskin suit draping the victim tugged her interest. Unusual on a vampire this old. The magic that decayed the vampire usually took the outfit too. A moment later, the buckskin jogged her memory. Her eyes narrowed. “I saw a frontier-looking vampire at the Halloween Ball. He seemed pretty out of it.”
“This is him.” Quinn crouched to join her, taking a picture of the scene with his phone. His thumbs blurred from speed as he sent a text message. “Preferred the desert to other vampires even before the soul. Unless he could get in a good poker game.”
“He’s glittery.” Red pointed to the skins, noticing a faint sheen in the flash.
“Blessed silver dust?” Voice raised in curiosity, Vic leaned over to poke at the pant leg. The femur dropped from the kneecap. Cringing, he glanced at Quinn. His head dropped. “Sorry, Q.”
Quinn had emoted as much as a brick wall until his reserve broke at the sight. His lip curled back, eyes narrowing. “They knew they couldn’t take him in a fair fight.”
Vic snapped his fingers. “That’s why the buckskin didn’t fully disintegrate. Blessed silver messes with the ol’ vampire magic. He got sprayed, then staked. They did some research on your poker buddy.”
“That seems like a lot for an old prospector.” Red stood, putting her stake through a loop on her belted hunter’s kit. Facing the damage on the stucco building wall, she stepped closer to study the deep scratches. Silver dusted the wall. A wide flood lamp hung from the building’s eaves on a dangling, exposed wire. He must have dug in his claws to fight against being pulled down.
“They used to call him Orval the Terror before the curse.” Hunching his shoulders, Quinn stared at the skeleton with soulful brown eyes. “I called him my friend after.”
“Your friend was tough,” Red said by way of condolence.
“He wasn’t just tough. He could turn into a bat.” Vic rubbed his hands, not even bothering to repress the fanboy glee. “Must have hit him with the silver dust while he was mid-shift.”
Quinn pointed at the scratches on the wall. “It looks like he struggled, breaking the building light, before falling back into human form. Then they staked him. I beli—"
“Whoa, whoa.” Red waved her hands. “Time out. A bat? You two can’t drop that a guy turned into a bat, then move on.”
“Bat shifting is the rarest dark gift after healing,” Quinn explained.
“Pulling a Dracula didn’t help this sorry bastard,” Vic said, then looked at Red. “You didn’t know about the bat stuff? It’s the coolest. What are some of the other gifts, grasshopper?”
“I did!” Red bit her lip before listing some of the gifts off. “From most to least common, we’ve got wall crawling, mesmerizing, becoming mist, and coming inside without an invite. And the bat thing.” She huffed, trying to cover her paranoia at missing one. “Not the time for a pop quiz.”
“It’s a teachable moment!” Vic insisted.
Yanking the conversation away from studying, she gestured to the bones. “Isn’t it a little weird that the grizzled old mountain man came to Culver City, only blocks from the office?”
Vic sighed. “Look through your rolodex of enemies, Q.”
A dim reflected flash caught her eye. She lifted an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder at the curtained window. Glancing around the alley, her stomach dropped.
The far-off streetlamp glimmered on the police officer’s badge. Head down, hat hiding his face, he stepped into the mouth of the alley.
“Cop.” Red tugged on her jacket to cover her stake.
“This isn’t training anymore, Vic,” Quinn said quietly before he raised his voice and turned toward the newcomer. “Joe! You came quick. I just texted you.”
Officer Joe Chang sprinted over to them, covering the length of half a football field in the same time it took most people to think about it. He had been a beat cop with the LAPD as a human and, even after death, never retired. Just moved stations. He knew the streets of LA better than anyone after decades serving his sire, Cora Moon. Lips pressed together and dark gaze wary, buried tension lingered on his handsome features. “I was nearby. Is the body as you found it?”
“No, we took it and hit the strip, Weekend at Bernie’s style.” Vic mimed drinking from an invisible bottle.
Stiffening, Red glared at Vic. He always had to sass around Chang, leftover rebellion from his college days when he used to get caught sneaking onto spooky crime scenes to track monsters instead of studying computer science.
“Vic Park Constantine, why am I not surprised to see you next to a dead vampire?” The cop narrowed his eyes. “Have a smart remark for that?”
Quinn exchanged a glance with Vic, his brow wrinkling in silent communication.
“I’ll wait, then.” The Korean bard
sighed and whizzed away in his chair, mullet blowing behind him.
Watching Vic go, the cop then turned to Orval’s bones. “It’s the old hermit. Died with his boots on.”
“But not over cards.” Quinn shook his head. “What would he always say when you had those poker nights in the sixties?”
Joe took off his hat, holding it to his chest. “‘Boots on my feet, cards up my sleeve, and a gun in my hand.’ That was Orval.”
“He did have some cards.” Red pointed out the scrawled message on the dropped playing cards. “Symbolic placement by the killer?”
“Or someone settled a debt the hard way and the cards fell out of his sleeve.” Snorting, Joe crouched by the skeleton. “Orval loved playing the dead man’s hand, said he knew Wild Bill Hickok. He was a friend, but Orval had a big temper and a small wallet. Not a good combo for a guy with a gambling problem.” Joe tilted his head to read the playing cards, eyes widening. His nostrils flared as he hurried to pull out a plastic bag from his pocket and gather the cards into it. “How do you think they took him out?”
Red noted his reaction before nodding to footprints in a nearby pothole filled with dirt. A dainty tread mingled with a larger sneaker print. “Silver and numbers.”
“Getting bolder…” Joe murmured to himself, licking his lips, as he rose. He put the bagged cards in his back pocket. Pressing the walkie-talkie on his uniform, he barked police jargon and ordered backup into a crackling line.
“This wasn’t local hunters.” Red pointed out when he finished.
Joe shot her a dry look. “I know. The supreme has them under her thumb. This was one of ours.”
“You’ve seen the MO?” Red asked, noting his worry.
Officer Chang glared at her before holding his hands up. “Quinn texted me that you only just stumbled on it. Go, before the team gets here and I have to say more in an official report for Cora. Aisha might keep quiet if you butt in, but the rest won’t.”
Red lifted her eyebrow. “How is Detective Callaway doing with the Fang PD?”
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