How to be a Badass Witch Read online

  Ted nodded in resignation, though he didn’t pick his head up. “In…a minute.”

  “You’re at least doing better today than you were last night,” Christian pointed out.

  “Not true. Last night, it didn’t feel like there was a railroad spike being driven into my brain.”

  “Yes, but right now, you’re managing to sit in a chair without falling over.”

  “Irre…something. Non. Not. Not relevant.” Ted twitched his fingers weakly.

  “Irrelevant.”

  “That’s the one.”

  Christian shook his head and took another bite. He chewed and swallowed before saying, “Nope, very relevant. I kept having to prop you up on the bar to keep you from falling off the stool…which probably made me look caring and heroic in front of Kera, though. So, in a way, our expedition was a success.”

  “Yeah,” Ted mumbled, picking his head up and staring at the burger with undisguised wariness. “You’re welcome.”

  “Anyway,” Christian went on, enjoying the free entertainment, “you weren’t the one paying. It cost me over fifty bucks to make that happen. Free booze does something to a man, doesn’t it?”

  “Yup,” Ted agreed. “It does a thing. I’m not sure what, but I do know that I hate myself.” He picked up a fry and examined it carefully before taking a cautious bite. He ate the rest of it and picked up a handful. “So, Kera.”

  “Yes?”

  “The supermodel who can code. Sounds like you guys talked in college. Does she, uh, have a sister?”

  Christian laughed. “Not sure,” he admitted. “Her family’s all back east somewhere.”

  “Good,” Ted acknowledged. “The best kind of family. Far away.” He ate another fry with an expression of grim determination.

  Chris finished eating and crumpled up his wrappers before stuffing them in the bag. “So, I want to go back, but not too soon. Don’t think I’m ready. Not to mention, coming in two nights in a row will make me look needy and stalker-y. We don’t want that.”

  “Correct,” agreed Ted. “Plus, there’s no way you can possibly do it without me, and I’m fairly certain I’m going to need another day to recuperate. Or three.” He looked at his sandwich, shook his head, and continued with the fries. “Any sooner, and I think my liver will cut itself out of my body.”

  Christian nodded. “Deal.”

  They’d snagged a place near one of the trash cans, and Christian tossed his wrappers in while Ted tried to keep eating.

  A few bites later, Ted said contemplatively, “Stephanie.”

  “Hmm?”

  “The other waitress. Black girl.”

  “Ah, yeah. What about her?”

  “Can’t let you start dating a goddess and just leave me behind,” Ted explained.

  “Oh. Well, we’ll work on you next time.” Chris grinned and downed the last of his soda. “Seriously, though, thanks. I would have stayed in the booth all night if you hadn’t been there. Instead, I got to talk to Kera, and it…went well.”

  He still couldn’t believe that part. She had known who he was. She had remembered his favorite beer.

  She had said she’d always wanted to buy him one.

  That couldn’t be real, right?

  Ted, meanwhile, seemed to have more prosaic concerns. He moaned and shuddered. “I’m glad my sacrifice was not in vain.” It seemed that a second spell of nausea was hitting him, but with Ted, it was tough to be sure when things were real versus when an act.

  “Yes, yes, your sacrifice.” Christian rolled his eyes. “Come on, buddy, let’s stop at a drugstore on the way back and get you some Tums.”

  When Sven was done explaining Pauline’s plan for a gang war and police non-intervention, Johnny, now showered, stared at the map on Sven’s phone and frowned. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a few puffs before responding.

  “You think she’s all there?” He looked at Sven speculatively.

  Sven sighed. “I’m…not sure. Scares the hell out of me, though.” He rubbed at his head. “But that’s the way it is with anyone who runs a group, right? They all see the world a bit different.”

  Johnny nodded. “Just wanna make sure I’m not signing up for some cult shit. I’ll kiss ass and show respect, but you want me to do crazy shit with rituals? I’m out.”

  “Nothing like that yet.” Sven pulled out a wad of cash Lia had come to drop off. “Just some good old-fashioned shit-talking and bribery.”

  “That, I can do.” Johnny grabbed about half the bills. “You want Chinatown or Little Tokyo?”

  “I’ll take Little Tokyo.” Sven didn’t want Johnny to start any more shit at the Mermaid.

  When the two parted ways, Sven took the time to watch Johnny drive off. Sometimes he worried about his friend. Johnny claimed he was willing to kiss some ass, but the truth was that he had too big an ego to do that without a damned good reason.

  Sven was sure of two things: first, that Pauline could provide a reason, and second, that he didn’t want to be there when she did.

  It was a short drive from the rental office to Little Tokyo, where he parked out of the way and strolled around to get a feel for the place. Three gangs operated here, mostly minor players who had aspirations of greatness with nothing to back it up—the kind of people who talked a big game but always chickened out.

  It was up to Sven to get them to take decisive action.

  He wasn’t going to start by asking them to attack each other directly, he thought. He was going to get them to pump up their confidence first by preying on the easier marks—regular civilians.

  Once they were on a high from that, the tensions should spill out on their own.

  He spotted his first group of candidates pretty quickly: three young men wearing their colors a little too obviously, both looking for a fight and afraid of starting one. Sven wandered closer, hands in his pockets, and made a show of watching them.

  It wasn’t long before they noticed him, though it was long enough that Sven didn’t think much of their chances in a fight.

  “You looking at something, Grandpa?” one of them asked.

  Sven laughed at them. “Watching you.”

  The three of them looked at one another. They had expected him to back down, and now that he hadn’t, they didn’t know what to do. The two who hadn’t spoken both motioned for their friend to keep going, clearly glad it wasn’t them in the hot seat.

  The one who had spoken cleared his throat before adopting a more confrontational posture. He advanced on Sven with his jaw up and a sneer on his face. “You got a problem with me?”

  “Eh.” Sven made a show of fixing a stray lock of hair. When he started out in this business, he’d gotten endless shit about being a ginger. He’d learned to own it over time. “Been outta town for a while and wanted to see who’d taken over here. Heard it was the Dreads.”

  The last comment was calculated. These young men weren’t Dreads, they were Vox, and they wouldn’t take kindly to him calling out their opponents.

  “You heard wrong,” the first man said right on cue. “Vox runs this place.”

  “Looks like no one runs this place,” Sven said, raising one eyebrow. “This is what passes for running something now? Buncha kids standing around with their colors in their pockets? What you standing around for?”

  They stared at him, taken aback.

  Sven leaned against the outside of a bus stop and crossed his arms. “Not a hard question, boys. You on a lunch break? Gonna be badass in fifteen minutes? Or did you just get tired of jerking it while playing Grand Theft Auto and decided to come outside and play dress-up?”

  The boys looked murderous now.

  “Shut up,” the first one said. “You’re past your prime, old man. You don’t want to start shit with us.”

  “Start shit? I could whip up a crew today and own this place by tomorrow.” Sven held up his hands. “Not gonna, but you’d best get your shit together before someone else sees you with your pants down.”
r />   “The reason you don’t see anything going down is that we own this place—” the first one began.

  His words trailed off in a gurgle as he felt the press of Sven’s pistol right below his ribs. Behind him, his friends froze, hands reaching for holsters under their coats.

  “The reason I don’t see anything going down here,” Sven said pleasantly, “is that this neighborhood has been shit for years, and the only people here are toothless old ladies like you. But it’s coming up now. You got those nice, shiny cars over there. You got the office crowd that ain’t watching their wallets. You got the trust-fund babies.” He gave an exaggerated sniff to indicate where all the trust fund money went. “You want to get steamrolled, just keep playing. You want to survive what’s coming, you best get your shit together.”

  He stepped back, and his gun disappeared into its holster under the edge of his t-shirt.

  The boys stared at him.

  “You’re lucky I saw you first,” Sven said, “and not whoever that other gang is. You might get the drop on them if you take control now.” He gave a mocking salute and headed out. He wasn’t worried that they’d shoot. They’d just gotten their asses handed to them, and they’d take it out on someone weaker.

  Like one of those office workers with an unguarded wallet.

  So would the other gangs, once Sven had gotten under their skin, too. Little Tokyo was about to explode just enough to scare all the business owners.

  Then everything was going to get nice and quiet when Pauline took control. Sven smiled to himself. He shared some of Johnny’s concerns about their boss, but he was also glad not to be in one of the boys’ club gangs he’d grown up with, all macho posturing and shit-talking.

  Took forever to get anything done when everyone was trying to one-up one another. Pauline got shit done, and it was already easy to see her running circles around the other gangs out here. Soon they’d own a cool few districts of LA, and they’d be swimming in cash.

  Sven detoured down an alley, heading for Dread territory.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kera tucked her still-wet hair under a beanie and grabbed her backpack. She was ravenous and not looking forward to a walk, but she desperately needed food.

  Besides, it was probably good to leave her apartment at some point. The bonus was that maybe by the time she came back, the world would be back to normal. She doubted it, but it was possible.

  Her phone beeped as she walked, and she pulled it out to see a message from Stephanie, asking if she was okay. With Cevin tight-lipped and ordering a lot of extra security cameras, the other waitresses were on edge even before he mentioned that Kera would be out for a few days.

  Not wanting to worry her, Kera wrote back as boring a reply as she could manage, making it seem as if she had just gotten a bad illness. She ended with, The past day has been a haze, honestly.

  It was true, she reflected. The only thing was, she was fairly sure it had been a haze because she had accidentally hit herself with a memory wipe spell, and it had overshot whatever she was trying to erase.

  Of course, she couldn’t remember what she had been trying to erase, so she couldn’t tell if it had worked as intended.

  We’ll just steer clear of that one for now, she told herself.

  At the Kims’ store, she waved at the counter, surprised when she only got a distracted wave in return. Assuming Mr. Kim was just tired, she got started on her grocery shopping. Her appetite being what it was, she had to remind herself not to load up on groceries. After all, she would have to carry them back.

  She had been so incredibly hungry lately that she tried to get some calorie-dense foods, however, grabbing several packets of nuts and trail mix, some granola and peanut butter, crackers, and a block of cheese, along with vegetables that she added more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. She also added a dozen eggs and some whole milk, figuring they were somewhat healthy.

  On her way up to the counter, she also grabbed three composition notebooks. She was getting tired of having everything she owned covered in Post-it notes.

  Mr. Kim raised his eyebrows at the large amount of food.

  “Are you having a dinner party?” he joked. “You will serve breakfast foods?”

  Kera smiled as he rang it all up.

  “I didn’t hear Zee when you came in,” Mr. Kim commented.

  “Oh.” She struggled with how much she should tell him, given the circumstances. “Zee is…in the shop.” She tried to find a way not to mention what had happened. “There was an accident.”

  “Oh, no!” His eyes widened. “You do not look hurt—”

  “Oh, not that kind of accident.” Now she felt both flustered and guilty. “I’m so sorry for worrying you, Mr. Kim. Someone did some damage to my bike, but I’m okay.”

  “Well, I am glad for that, at least.” His face relaxed, and she again saw the strange quiet behind his eyes.

  “Mr. Kim, are you okay?”

  “I—yes, Kera, thank you very much. It is good of you to ask.” But she noticed that his hands trembled slightly as he started to scan her groceries. His movements were even stiffer than usual, but that didn’t seem to be what was bothering him.

  She looked down, uncertain of what she should say. Even when he was in pain, Mr. Kim seemed to be in high spirits. She had never seen him look scared before. Scared and sad.

  As she packed things into her backpack, Mr. Kim leaned over the counter to look out at the parking lot.

  “Are you walking home with that?” he asked her.

  “Yes. It’s a nice day out.” It really was, she told herself. Many LA natives would consider the day cold, but after a lifetime of New England winters, she found it pleasantly warm.

  “I could have Sam drive you,” he told her. “He has just gotten his permit, but I assure you, he is very good with the car. I recall you saying you lived over in that warehouse, yes?”

  “Yes.” Kera smiled. When she’d first moved here, the Kims had been incredibly helpful in teaching her about the neighborhood.

  It was sweet of him to keep looking out for her, but she didn’t want him to go to any trouble. Kera demurred with a smile and several rounds of thanks, then paused awkwardly. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

  Mr. Kim gave her a smile that was both kind and heartbreakingly sad. “Your parents did well when they raised you. Go, be young, and have a good day. Enjoy your breakfast party, eh?”

  Kera nodded and slipped out the door, but on her walk back to her house, she couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Kim’s expression. Apparently Sam wasn’t in trouble of any sort, and Mr. Kim’s arthritis didn’t seem to be the source of his problems.

  Was the shop in trouble? Kera’s parents had started multiple businesses over the years, and they had taught her that all businesses had runs of bad luck. Perhaps sales hadn’t been what they should be. Maybe there were repairs needed.

  She told herself it wasn’t her problem to solve, but the truth was that the Kims were some of the nicest people she had met in LA. She didn’t stay in contact with any of her former classmates, and—

  She stopped dead.

  Christian. Between the jerk shooting Zee, Mr. Kim’s worry, and the tiny detail that apparently magic was real and she could do it, she had entirely forgotten about Christian.

  It had been good to see him. She had seen him come in a couple of times, but he had never come over to say hi. Frankly, she had expected that. When you were dressed in a work uniform, you tended to become invisible, even to people you had known well.

  But it seemed he had remembered her, given that he’d asked her to take a crack solving his work problem. She smiled as she started walking again, hooking her thumbs into the straps of her backpack. It had felt good to be troubleshooting code again. It was always equal parts infuriating and satisfying, but the rush you felt when you fixed something just couldn’t be beaten.

  When she got home, she decided to eat before doing anything else. After consid
eration, she decided to make her omelet with three eggs.

  Then she added two more eggs.

  Then another one, just to make it an even half-dozen. She fried some peppers and onions to go in it and poured in the mixture, shaking her head.

  “You’re not going to be able to finish this, Kera,” she told herself, only to wolf it down so quickly she burned her tongue multiple times.

  “Who needth fire thpellth?” she muttered to herself. “If that athhole cometh back, I’ll jutht throw an omelet at him.”

  With her hunger temporarily assuaged, she set herself to collecting the notes she had taken on Post-its. She had given it some thought on her walk, and she batched the work into three stages: gather all the notes in one area, sort them into topics, and then take down the information.

  By the time she was done, she not only had a good idea of where her limitations lay in terms of various spells, but she also had a large pile of notes about things she had been trying to forget.

  Given that she couldn’t remember an eighth-grade play costume mishap, a conversation with her mother, or what her notes called “a clusterfuck of a date with a Silicon Valley dudebro,” she could only assume she was doing fairly well with the brain bleach.

  The only problem was that it seemed to “bleed” a little bit, the memory wipe spreading to other related memories or times, and the effect became more pronounced when it was cast more often. On a second read-through of her notes, she could see that this effect had escalated slowly.

  And apparently, it had managed to erase most of her memories of the night.

  Presumably, that wouldn’t affect people who were only trying to forget one thing, but she had no idea how she could sell it. It wasn’t like everyone could do magic, right? Maybe she’d wind up as one of those people who dressed in billowy dresses and wore a lot of crystals and just help very rich, eccentric celebrities.