Black Market Witch: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 7)
BLACK MARKET WITCH
BOOK SEVEN OF THE RED WITCH CHRONICLES
SAMI VALENTINE
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
About the Author
The seventh book of The Red Witch Chronicles, an urban fantasy series containing magic, paranormal adventure, and vampire mayhem along with swearing, violence, and adult situations.
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)
· Small Town Witch (Book 5)
· Witch in Time (Book 6)
· Black Market Witch (Book 7)
· And more to come!
Find other reads, updates on my new books, and the latest Urban Fantasy/Paranormal titles by subscribing to my newsletter at SamiValentine.com/mailinglist.
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.
Published by Pocketmaus Publishing
© 2021 Sami Valentine
Samivalentine.com
1
September 2, 10:35 p.m
Somewhere in Oregon
Heart racing, Red deadbolted the kitchen door behind Vic. The mountain cabin was surrounded. Dark magic surged outside. She said, “I didn’t think he’d find me. I’m so sorry!”
Vic swiped a clean towel from the counter to press against his bleeding thigh. He leaned against the stainless-steel fridge with a pained hiss. “Apologies are for if we die. You weren’t planning on dying, right?”
“Not today, boss.”
Smelly woodsmoke tainted the air. Where was the fire? The unsaid question spurred them into the living room. Gunshots echoed in the front yard. Vic jumped away from the shuttered windows.
Red said, “Take the Falcon and run. I’ll distract him.”
“I’m here to the end. Doesn’t matter if it’s only ten minutes.”
Red didn’t think they’d get five.
Ten Days Earlier…
August 22, Evening
Charm, Oregon
Lili’s Diner
Red guarded the entrance to Lili’s Diner. The clientele had been rowdier than usual lately. She slapped a mosquito on her arm. It was the only bloodsucker in sight.
Give it time.
Charm only looked like a quiet seaside village. It rested on a paranormal fault line between dimensions. The previous public health ordinances had lifted, but the human townspeople were still timid. Maybe they’d noticed the murder rate had declined when they stayed inside doing puzzles.
It left the night to the supernaturals.
At the bar counter, Herman the possum shifter chugged beers with Dale the human mechanic, who had an iced tea. Stace Bonner and Jackson Gonzales were in a hushed argument in the last booth in the retro red vinyl row. Zach Sanchez whizzed in and out of the back room with beer crates, delegating to his blue-shirted employees as he went. Other regulars clustered at the tables in their usual spots.
Bouncer was Red’s title tonight, but she pitched in where necessary. She didn’t need a part-time job with her mysterious inheritance. It was merely nice to leave the house for something besides a monster mash.
Vic Constantine power walked from the bar. Maudette the waitress examined his retreat. The older brunette pursed her pink-painted lips in annoyance as she poured shots. He trotted quicker from the stare to Red. “You look lonely over here. Slow night, huh?”
“I like it.” Red crossed her fingers, then knocked on the wood door to avoid jinxing herself. “I texted the cue to stop serving Herman, so it should stay that way.”
A Black hunter, who’d arrived from out of state with a tall farmer-looking white dude, took a dose of liquid courage at the bar. He asked the waitress, “So, is that Asian guy your boyfriend?”
The break in songs on the radio made his words carry to the door. Maudette replied louder than necessary. “That’s a good question.”
“Great,” Vic grunted. He stared too intently at a displayed hubcap on the wall. Every inch of the folksy hometown dinner was covered in local memorabilia and kitschy flair. It looked like half the small-town eateries that they’d passed through in the west. It wasn’t that interesting after a summer here.
Sweat darkened Vic’s Black Sabbath shirt around the armpits. His mullet stuck to his neck. It might have been muggy, but it wasn’t that hot, even with the broken air conditioning unit. Open screen windows let in a nice breeze. The cricket song outside mingled with the diner’s retro rock playlist.
Red said, “Why are you all squirrely and moist right now?”
“Maudette is turning forty-one next month.” He kept his back to the bar, touching his ear like a biological clock ticked in it. “She dropped the kid question on me, dude. As in, do I want them. I’m freaking out.”
“Oh.” Red looked over his shoulder at the pretty brunette waitress, who stared holes into his back. “Hasn’t it only been a few months? A casual few months?”
“Maybe three. Four if you count the second that we came to town. What do I say?”
“I’m so not the right person for this question,” Red said. “However, if it were me, I’d want the truth. No matter how hard.”
Vic grumbled, “You say that when it’s a hypothetical.”
“Well, my maternal instinct’s definitely dormant at twenty-six. But if I wanted something big like that, I personally wouldn’t want to waste time. Either way, you should be talking to her about this.”
“I’ve never thought about it, really. I like kids, but I’m a hunter. I don’t have a legacy— Hey!” He grinned and pointed at her. “Wait a second. You’re not twenty-six. Well, I mean, you won’t be in an hour. Tomorrow’s your birthday.”
“Oh shit, you’re right. I didn’t even think about it.”
“Me neither. I even gave you a present on the usual day,” Vic said. August 2. It was the day he’d found her.
“We were close on the month, though,” Red said. “Does this mean I get another present out of you?”
“How’s about I save your life sometime?”
She laughed, then shielded her eyes against the sudden glare of headlamps.
A police car parked at the diner. Sheriff Aisha Callaway stepped out in uniform. Her brown eyes didn’t miss a detail of the crowd as she walked to Red and Vic. The regulars shrugged and went about their business while the out-of-towners averted their faces.
“Hey, Aisha,” Red said. “Off the clock and ready for a drink?”
“I wish. There have been reports of unusual animal behavior. My deputies have
them under wraps for now. The spooky squad got used to playing on the streets, but the lockdown is over. Pass on the friendly warning to Jackson and his people.”
Vic chuckled. “What? You don’t want to argue with the stubborn son of a bitch yourself?”
Red elbowed him as she noticed Stace approaching.
Stace crossed her arms stiffly over her checkered tie-neck blouse. Petite and cheerful with a supermodel’s bone structure, she could stop traffic with a smile. Not now. She looked surly for a fairy. “Is there a problem, Sheriff?”
Callaway matched the stiff pose. “I’m on my rounds.”
Stace said, “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I found enough.”
Stace narrowed her eyes. “Hmmmm.”
Red pasted on a smile to play diplomat instead of bouncer. Some days, she’d swear the two Black women were buddies, but they were still testing each other out as allies. Jackson was supposed to be the top werewolf around these parts, but Red always thought Stace and Callaway acted more like two meeting alphas.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Aisha.” Red shot a warning glance at Stace to be nice. The sheriff had looked the other way when the family friendly diner for humans had turned into a supernatural speakeasy to survive the summer pandemic. “It’s very thoughtful that you’re looking out for us. Again.”
Callaway waved. “I’m off then. Make good choices.”
After the cop left, Vic asked, “Was that advice for me or you two?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Stace said. She smiled at him, bouncing on her toes. “So, Maudette was telling me that you guys are getting serious. You and her and Jackson and I should go on a double date. Wouldn’t that be so much fun?”
“I need a drink,” Vic said, sweating again. He walked to the bar, took a gander at who was behind it, and pivoted to hide in the men’s room.
“What’d I say?” Stace pouted.
Red cackled at his panicked exit. The idea of a double date scared him more than demons. “It’s not you.”
“I’m sure Maudette will fill me in tomorrow. Patrol time. See you back at the house.” Stace hugged her. Pink fairy sparkles glimmered around her ankles, and she shot into the trees surrounding the diner. The half-fae Hero could find plenty to hunt in there.
An enormous cemetery lurked behind the old-growth oaks and firs.
Red returned to her post at the front. She rested her hand on her new hunter’s kit belted to her waist and upper thigh. Charged selenite crystals were embedded in the leather to amplify her magic. The tiered pouches contained all the things a modern woman needed—pepper spray, a switchblade, and a blessed silver cross.
Chapstick too.
She said good night to Dale as he left. It was her only patron interaction until a rusted gray van backed into a front space.
A solo woman hopped from the driver’s side. She tossed her high black ponytail like a whip. She was pale, but she wasn’t a vampire. A silver cross hung between her small breasts. In her late twenties, she wore dark leather everything—corset, pants, and trench coat.
Inside the diner, the shifters didn’t react. They usually sniffed the air when a stranger of their own kind arrived. The other woman must be human.
Red prepared her usual spiel about no violence, no weapons. At least openly. The place couldn’t afford a sanctuary spell like an alchemist’s casino, but Zach possessed a unique empath way of stopping trouble and a shotgun under the bar if that didn’t work. She said to the hunter, “Heya, welcome. We have a few rules.”
“Never cared for those.”
Red rattled off the policies anyway. The other woman walked inside before she finished.
“Dash?” a tall white man in plaid said. He was one of the hunters drifting through and waved the newcomer over to the bar. “When the hell did you get into town? You gotta meet my buddy, Vic Constantine.”
Dash smoothed her hair, looking around. “Victor Park Constantine? You mean it?”
Thump. The loud clatter distracted Red from spying on the new chick. Herman had fallen off his stool, splashing booze all over himself. He was supposed to have been cut off from the bar. Whom had he wheedled into giving him a drink?
“Jackson!” She called over the diner’s assistant manager and only staff shifter, then jogged to the drunk possum and untangled the stool legs from his own. “Herman, we’ll get you a coffee and call Dale to pick you up.”
Jackson Gonzales, a dark-haired werewolf, stomped up to them. His linebacker shoulders cast the balding shifter in shadow. “You’re embarrassing yourself and the rest of us.”
“It’s late, Gonzales. I work hard,” Herman slurred from the floor. “I almost finished the air con here. For free!”
Jackson said, “Dignity is what separates—”
Red cut off the customary start to his lecture to Herman. It could last fifteen minutes if Jackson was on a roll. She didn’t want a scene. “Use that wolf strength and get him up for me. Dale already left but will turn around if we call now.”
“No, I’ll take Herman home. I have Gatorade and aspirin for him in the truck like usual,” Jackson said, helping the old possum to his feet.
“Did you get more of the purple kind?” Herman said, his annoyance fading as he was led outside.
Red righted the toppled stool, waving Maudette away as she mopped up the spilled beer. Herman had absorbed most of it on his electrician’s jumpsuit. He was lucky that Jackson always gave him a ride after a scolding. Leaning over the counter, she tossed the dirty rag into the sink, then used a hand sanitizer pump as she heard the creak of leather on leather.
It was Dash.
Red avoided other hunters. They all thought she was dead, and for now, she wanted it that way. If she ignored the other woman, would she go away?
“Hey.” Dash cozied closer to the bar. “So, you’re human, right?”
“Yup,” Red said. This conversation starter went two ways, either a request for info on a bounty or a venting session about supernaturals. Neither interested her.
“You’ve worked here a while?” Dash waited for another monosyllabic affirmation. “You must know Victor Constantine.”
More than Red wanted a rando to know. “I’ve met him.”
The hardboiled hunter demeanor melted. “Is he still here tonight? My friend was going to introduce us, and now we can’t find him.” Dash noticed her own dreamy tone and continued in a deeper, more serious voice. “I have a job.”
“I last saw him by the john.”
Vic walked over to them. “Who?”
“You,” Red said.
Dash shook his hand. Her gaze savored him as if he was everything she’d dreamed. “Mr. Constantine, I’m Dash. Can I talk to you for a moment alone?”
“Call me Vic.” He directed her to an empty booth. “Step into my office.”
Maudette darted to Red once the two hunters were out of hearing range. “What’s your read on that one?”
“She’s a poser wearing a whole cow hide.”
“You don’t dress like a vegan either.” Maudette squinted at Dash. “Judging by her blonde roots, y’all might use the same box hair color. You hunter girls are a complete type, I swear.”
“I’m nothing like—well, maybe we do have a look,” Red said, touching her own dyed black hair. She reflected sheepishly on the jackets in her closet. Those were practical, protective from both road rash and claws. It wasn’t like she tried to fight in tight leather pants. Except that one time…Humbled, she reconsidered Dash out of the corner of her eye.
Maudette was less discreet. She wrung out a bar rag like she was choking it. “I’m serious. I had to pour beer with a straight face while she gushed about wanting to be his apprentice. Said she’d settle for being his girlfriend. Heard the position was open.”
Red wanted to ask which one but figured it would be the wrong question. “Vic likes you and dislikes—and I’ve calculated this with Lashawn, so the math is solid—nearly 95.4 percent of people he me
ets.”
“That’s 95.4 percent reassuring. Thanks,” Maudette said and went to take a drink order.
Red floated back to the front door, keeping an eye on Vic and Dash’s table. She couldn’t see the other woman’s face from this angle, but he soaked up the attention. Was he going to give her an autograph next?
Patrons loitered by the exit with long small-town goodbyes. They blocked Red’s view. When she caught sight of Vic again, his delight had disappeared. His face said that he wanted to be anywhere else, even if Red couldn’t hear him over the diner speakers. Dash leaned over their table toward him, gesturing like a lawyer bringing her final argument to the jury.
“…but still, I’m not interested,” Vic said. His voice carried over the diner in a break between songs on the stereo. He retreated to a barstool in front of Maudette.
The waitress smiled, wiping the counter.
Dash left, wrapping her trench coat around herself, forehead puckered in confusion. Guess this wasn’t how she’d imagined her fangirl encounter ending.
Red watched the woman speed out of the parking lot. Mud covered the license plate, but it wasn’t an Oregon one. Dash barely paused at the crossroad stop sign. The gray van looked almost yellow in the glow from the light pole.
It was the same make and model as the Millennium Falcon. Creepy.
Red joined Vic at the bar. “I take it that you didn’t want the job.”
“No, he didn’t.” Maudette leaned over the counter to kiss his cheek. A holler from Zach Sanchez in the kitchen made her retreat after one more peck.
“It isn’t like she thinks,” Vic said. “It’d be flattering if it were. Last year, the offer might have been. Dash wanted my help on a werewolf hunt.”