Down & Out Witch

  Down and Out Witch

  by Sami Valentine

  Published by Pocketmaus Press

  www.samivalentine.com

  © 2019 Sami Valentine

  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.

  Dedicated to Filip, the mad Swede who loves freedom, Montenegro, and open source software. Because he asked.

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  Down and Out Witch

  July 17th, 2018, 9:12PM, The Skinner Bar in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, USA

  “You know how in a western movie when the new sheriff walks into the saloon and everyone stops to stare?”

  “Yeah?” Vic stepped into the wood-paneled bar beside her.

  “Why does it feel like one of those times?” Red glanced at the mirrors and blessed silver crosses hanging by the door, catching a glimpse of her own reflection. She looked as she’d expect after hours on the road. A ginger in a wrinkled black hoodie. She wasn’t checking her messy ponytail or the foundation covering the scars on her neck.

  Red might have been pale from working nights, but she wasn’t a vampire. She wanted to make sure the whole bar could note her reflection. It mattered in a place like this.

  The Skinner was the only hunter bar in Oklahoma City. Judging by the framed Tanya Tucker and Merle Haggard posters, it hadn’t been redecorated since the 80s. Half-filled tables clustered in the center of the cramped bar. Hunters in plaid and denim stared at the newcomers out of the corners of their eyes, beer bottles raised to their lips. Even with country oldies playing on the jukebox, the place felt hushed.

  “Maybe they don’t see a lot of Koreans.” Vic shrugged, brushing his fingers through his windblown black mullet. He bypassed the tables to approach the swinging kitchen door beside the bar.

  Red followed. Peanut shells crunched under her boots. The stares lingered.

  It didn’t matter that he looked like a Korean country boy in his Wranglers and denim vest, or that she was a woman. That wasn’t it. Red and Vic had the look of hunters about them.

  The vibe in the air felt like when the skies turned green over the prairies, and air sirens warned the town to take refuge in the tornado shelters. What had spooked these hunters enough that they were jumping in their chairs? They had crossed state lines to do this bounty. Why hadn’t any of these strapping hunters tried to claim the prize? Red thought the bounty was high, she already had the feeling that they should have asked for more.

  She unzipped her hoodie to make it easier to reach her shoulder holsters. One held a gun loaded with wood and blessed silver-tipped bullets. The other had a stake.

  “Be nice.” Vic pushed the swinging door open and ushered her inside.

  “I’m always ni—" Red started to say before she saw the large black man in the hairnet and apron cleaning the grill in the tiny kitchen with rapid movements too quick to see, the greasy stove becoming spotless. She glowered at Vic. “For fuck’s sake. He’s a vampire. Neglected to mention that on the drive.”

  “Souled, thank you kindly.” The vampire gave her the side eye as he cleaned his hands on his apron, then put out one for Vic to shake.

  Vic brought the vampire in for a hug. “This is Souled Sal. He’s been running this bar longer than you’ve been alive.”

  Popular culture wanted you to think that vampires were sparkly pale pretty boys. Some were, but vampires came in all shapes and colors. White vampires had the pallor of death to give them away. Black don’t crack, not even after being turned. If you didn’t know what to look for, it wasn’t until the fangs came out and their eyes glowed amber that you knew what you were dealing with. The vamps with souls might have been friendlier than the rest, but Red had dealt with enough of the unsouled variety that she wasn’t eager to hug a vampire, not even one with a soul.

  At Vic’s stern glance, she gave Souled Sal a grudging brief handshake. “Nice place.”

  “It’s a shithole, but it’s home.” Souled Sal said in a deep voice and shrugged. “This one’s new, Vic. What’s your name?”

  “Red.”

  Souled Sal raised an eyebrow. “The one your mama gave you.”

  “Never met her.” Red stared him down. Vampires were said to be able to tell if a human was telling the truth. It was bullshit. They could only detect sweat and increased heartbeats, then make a guess.

  Red didn’t know if she was lying. She honestly couldn’t remember. An old familiar anger welled up in her. Like the fang marks in her neck, her memory loss was another thing vampires had done to her. She flared her nostrils, taking a deep breath to try and stay calm.

  Souled Sal studied her with contemplation befitting a therapist and not a short order cook.

  That was the problem with souled vampires. They had empathy in their eyes. Hunting must have been simpler for a hunter—if more deadly—before the soul curse was invented in 1900. Fewer shades of grey. Now, you could pretend that souled vampires were like any human. But before they were cursed with souls, they all had murder counts higher than Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, and the Unabomber combined.

  “So, what’s the deal with this renegade werewolf?” Vic rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Heard four bodies have already been found.”

  “Didn’t you get my text?” Souled Sal asked.

  “Nah, I ran out on my phone minutes. Hoping this rich bounty will put us back in the black.”

  “It could put you in the ground, son.” The vampire glanced over a plate of flapjacks sitting in the square opening from the kitchen to the bar room. “Get out. The intel is bad. I’ll email you or something. Just go. Take the ginger with you.”

  “What the hell?” Vic said, but Souled Sal was already pushing him toward the back door.

  Red examined the cook’s face. When vampires were scared, that set off warning bells louder than a tornado siren. She’d known this werewolf gig smelled wrong. She reached for her shoulder holster for her stake.

  Souled Sal tensed and pulled back. “Too late.”

  The back door flew open, bouncing against the wall.

  “Sal.” The feminine voice, richly accented with the notes of Old Spain, echoed in the kitchen before a gorgeous brunette walked inside. With a face that could have won Miss Universe and a lithe body dressed in leather like a Bond villain, she clicked her tongue and wagged a disapproving finger at the souled vampire. “Our famed werewolf hunters only just got here.”

  Red didn’t need to be told that this one didn’t have a soul. Not from how Sal was acting.

  “Miss Sancha.” Souled Sal bowed his head, rubbing his hands on his apron again. “I just… there’s a lot of ears ‘round here.”

  Judging by Souled Sal’s deference, this undead stranger had power and age. Red calculated that she could get her gun out in two seconds, shoot off a burst of wooden-tipped bullets in five, and still be too slow. Even if she had the training to harness the touch of magic she possessed, it wouldn’t be enough. An old vampire could do a lot of damage in seconds.

  “Good save.” Sancha tilted her head toward the alley behind her and beckoned them with a quick crook of her fingers. “Let’s take a walk and discuss your bounty, hunters.”

  Vic glanced at Red and nodded before he followed the vampiress.

  Red knew what she’d signed up for when she agreed to be Vic’s intern: going on his beer runs, living on the road, and facing demons of every kind. She wasn’t going to question him now. She’d save that earful for later.

  If there was a later.

  “So, you made the bou
nty for the werewolf hunt. That’s some pretty pennies you put on his head.” Vic rubbed his nose.

  That was his signal to be ready to fight.

  Red was way ahead of him, but she suspected he hadn’t seen the other two vampires step out of the shadows to follow them. She dropped back a step, forcing herself to keep breathing normally. Two against three? The odds sucked.

  “Her head, actually,” Sancha said. “And yes, you’ll find that half has already been transferred into your account.” She acted like a woman out on stroll with friends, not a vampire discussing assassination.

  “Why would a vampire care about a wolf killing humans?” Red asked.

  Sancha turned her head and smiled. “Because they aren’t killing humans. This wolf is going after vampires. She’s gotten three. Oh, and a claimed human.” As if a murdered person was an afterthought. Then again, for an unsouled vampire, it was.

  Most packs had agreements with the local supreme master vampire to maintain the Black Veil, the code of secrecy that kept the supernatural world under the human radar. Werewolves and vampires rarely saw eye to eye, but outright battles were rare. Both had too much to lose in the age of social media.

  Vic scratched his temple. A stranger would have thought he was calm. Only a touch of tension crinkled at his eyes. “You need someone who can hunt in the day, someone to put the blame on when the Alpha notices the pack is down a she-wolf. Fine, but what’s stopping the whole pack from taking us out and leaving you back at square one?”

  “There isn’t a pack. Just one bitter bitch.” Sancha pulled a small envelope from inside her leather jacket. “This will get you started.”

  Vic took the envelope with a nod. He licked his lips, repressed wince flickering. He stood taller, lifting his head higher. “You got a timeline?”

  “Let’s go with three days.”

  Red chewed the inside of her cheek, making herself count to ten with the funny breathing that social worker taught her. It was either that or yell ‘bullshit.’

  “72 hours?” Vic shook his head, puffing out a hard breath and putting his hands on his hips. “On a vamp killing wolf?”

  “Tick tock, hunter.” Sancha shrugged and lifted her hands. “Run out on this bounty… We’ll catch you before you reach the panhandle.” She grinned before sprinting away in that blurred blink-and-you-missed-it way that only the oldest vampires could pull off.

  Red scanned the alley. Sancha’s shadows had disappeared too. She gulped in a deep breath, her heart galloping. “What the hell did you get us into now? First you don’t tell me about the vampire who brought the job to us. Then other vampires just pulled a Godfather on us. You know that’s an offer we can’t refuse.”

  “I realize, Red!” Vic rubbed his face, grimacing, blinking quickly as he thought. He shook his head. “Shit. Let’s just ask Sal what was in that text message.”

  “Great. More vampires. You know what I love? Vampires.” Red shook her head and power walked back to the back door of The Skinner’s kitchen. Phantom pain in her neck tingled over the scars on her neck. She swallowed back the lump of fear in her throat.

  “Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor.”

  “It’s your favorite kind,” Red said as she yanked open the door and went inside. “Sal, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

  Vic crossed his arms as he faced the undead short order cook. “What she said.”

  “I tried, you broke motherfucker, but you ain’t got no minutes.” Souled Sal put his hands on his hips.

  “Yeah, and we’re running out of more,” Red said, folding her arms, heart still racing. She bit back her bile to grit out the situation as calmly and quietly as she could. “Got three days to track a werewolf. Turns out there isn’t even a pack. Why doesn’t that feel like good news?”

  “Because you’re an astute person who has a grasp of supernatural interspecies dynamics.” Souled Sal pursed his lips before shaking his head, then looked at Vic. He pointed at Red. “Why’s this girl looking at me like I owe her money?”

  Vic shrugged. “She has vampire issues.”

  “Don’t we all?” Souled Sal rolled his eyes.

  Red made a face at Souled Sal. “Yeah, now we’re in deep. Why isn’t there a pack?”

  Sal dipped his head, a, unnecessary sigh rattled in his chest. “Because the supreme master cleaned house. Took out both the pack and the local witch coven. The hunters stayed neutral.” He glanced down, brown eyes narrowed as he bit his lip.

  Vic whistled.

  “There a reason he did it beyond evil kicks?” Red furrowed her brow. Supernatural politics were rough, but most of the players kept to their corners.

  “A feud between the pack and the coven stirred things up in a bad way. Some reporter learned too much. Black Veil, you know the routine. Save our secrecy, take out your enemies. Maybe he saw it as an opportunity. I dunno, I’m not his poker buddy.” Sal put his hands up. “Cowboy Kurt don’t fuck around. They call him the King of the Prairie Dead for a reason.”

  “How’s The Skinner still standing?” Vic asked.

  “Me. Managed to convince him that the hunters will keep to banishing ghosts and taking out ghouls. There was no reason to get the Brotherhood to send in a hero.” Souled Sal raised his palm. “I don’t think they know you used to be a Bard, Vic. I’d keep that one close to the vest, too.”

  Vic nodded without clarifying that he technically still was one. Red knew her mentor would rather be on the front lines instead of in the library.

  The Brotherhood of Bards and Heroes were the closest thing to an organization that hunters had. An order of scholars and mentors to supernatural champions devoted to protecting humanity, the Bards also paid out bounties to hunters since there were only so many heroes running around. A supreme master vampire taking out a den of hunters after a bunch of supernatural and semi-human types would be enough to draw the watchful eye of the headquarters in London.

  Red asked the question that she had been wondering since they walked into this bar. She lifted her chin. “How’d they know to bring us in?”

  “What other motherfucker is crazy enough to go after werewolves besides Vic Park fucking Constantine?” Souled Sal laughed. “You even have that three-name presidential assassin thing going on like you shot McKinley.” His deep chuckles subsided as he focused on Vic. “I didn’t know the bounty came from the supreme master when I called you in. I only heard it through the grapevine tonight. I’m betting that Sancha was the one who put your name down. Her sire’s one of those LA fat cats.”

  “Vic’s the most famous UCLA drop out in the underworld, alright.” Red rolled her eyes. “Why do they even need us?”

  “Are you going to ask all the questions?” Vic grabbed a beer bottle from the fridge and popped the top open with his teeth. “Am I the intern now?”

  Red put a hand on her hip. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re already over this vampire shit and ready to tango with the werewolf.” She didn’t blame him, not after what had happened with his family. But someone had to keep them on track.

  “Cowboy Kurt is weaker than he seems, even with that medieval chick on his side.” Souled Sal shook his head. “His people don’t tell me much. Soul segregation is alive and well in Oklahoma, despite what the Blood Alliance says.”

  “Yeah, what do the bigwigs at the Blood Alliance think about this?” Vic asked between sips. “Vamp bodies turning up for the police to find, only to burst into flames in sunlight? Sounds like a breach of the Black Veil to me.”

  “The Blood Alliance might rule the masters, but they don’t get involved unless it’s big. Maybe that’s why they’re outsourcing now, to nip it in the bud before it gets bigger. Maybe the covens might not care about the Proctors, but one wolf could rile up all the Midwest Packs. Even if that Alpha—Hector—was one rude, crude dude. They’re keeping it quiet, but shit, even wolves have Facebook. The war howl could have gone up the plains already. I don’t know, but if Cowboy Kurt could get Breanna, he would.”


  “The wolf’s name is Breanna?” Red frowned, the name pulled her out her disquiet over Sal’s dire warnings. “I would have imagined a name like Dallas or something with more swagger.”

  “Nah, she was a college kid before this all went down, but some things can turn an omega into an alpha, I guess.” Souled Sal shrugged. “That’s all I know. Put some more damn minutes on your phone and I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.”

  Vic clapped Souled Sal on the shoulder. “Thanks, brother.”

  “Don’t be thanking me yet.” Souled Sal returned to scrubbing the grill. This time with a human’s slowness as he bowed his head. “You might be cursing me soon enough.”

  When Red and Vic walked back into the main room, the jukebox was playing to an empty room. Shivering, Red touched the faded scars on her neck under her pulled down hood.

  Vic had found her by the banks of Coyote Creek in Oregon, unconscious and bleeding, with no memory of how she had gotten bitten. The amnesia hijinks didn’t end there. She hadn’t a clue where she had been for the last eight years. Or who she was.

  Vic had saved her life, given her a name, and taken her with him on the road. She owed him a lot. It didn’t mean she wasn’t pissed at him.

  He hunted werewolves, hoping to find the one who’d killed his biological family.

  Red ran from vampires, afraid for the day she’d meet the one she couldn’t remember, the one who had taken her memories and nearly her life.

  There was no running from this bounty. Not after the vampires had seen her face.

  July 17th, 2018, 10:34PM, The University of Oklahoma in Norman, Oklahoma, USA

  The red brick dormitory rose above them as they walked through the University of Oklahoma campus—home of the Sooners. Red studied the passing students, feeling as old as a vampire compared to their fresh youth. She might have only been a few years older than them, but she might as well have been from another world.