West Coast Witch (19 page)

The ink was lightly smudged, in the way that handwriting as a leftie can do when the
writer isn’t paying attention and they’re not using the right ink. The first sheet
was torn from the spine, held there only by friction and time.

This is the last journal I, Victoria Annabelle Torres, will make. After my marriage
to Greg Carpenter, I’m hanging up the old spell books and cauldron. I’m pregnant,
with a boy, and I can only hope to give him a quiet, normal life. But, for the next
witch who decides to learn the craft, I leave this as a legacy. This is my knowledge,
studies, and spells.

If it is my boy to pick up the craft, then I wish him to know that he, should he choose,
will be a tremendous force. Our line is strong, and if you have anything of your father’s
tenacity and care, you’ll be a great man. May the Fates shine down on you, son.

I read the message twice, thrice, four times. I couldn’t stop reading it. It was beautiful.
Short, but beautiful to me. I truly wished I could just read it again and again.

But, unfortunately I had other things to do. I turned the page away, and almost immediately,
I saw the changes. No longer was it flowing cursive. Now it was a tiny print, with
no space wasted. Notes, formulas, and drawings were sprawled all over the pages. I
tried to follow what I could, but somehow, I felt that without another witch teaching
me, there was only so much I could understand.

Speed-reading was something I had picked up in high school. Disliking textbooks and
their incredibly boring prose, I instead had taught myself how to just scan and observe,
making notes on what to go back to. I hurried to my desk, grabbed post-it notes, and
started to make notations of what each page held.

Some of the early pages were on basics. Her views on the theory of magic, how she
viewed it when she opened her senses. Of particular interest was how she constructed
her salt circle. She didn’t create the five-pointed star that Amy had shown, but instead
lit candles at the cardinal points.

As they went on, the various pages started to reveal more and more. The first was
a basic theory on how to perform what she called “conjuring” magic, the act of acting
upon the physical word with magic. A witch converts their own body into energy, using
their mind to act energy on the world. Theoretically, a witch could have the force
of a nuclear weapon, if they truly tried. Of course, there’s no way to unlock all
that potential. But, theoretically, it is possible.

Some mentions were also made of something called the “Other Side.” I didn’t dwell
on that for long. That wasn’t relevant, at least at the moment. I kept notes on what
seemed good to look back on, but I found nothing on blood or tracking.

After a few hours of sitting around, flipping through my mother's journal, it eventually
started becoming a blur of information. It was starting to get complex, with mentions
of equations, laws of nature, and other dimensions.. I needed to take my mind off
of it, come back later with a fresh view. “Amy?” I spoke up, breaking the silence
that had been hanging.

“Yes?” She looked up from her reading. “What is it?”

“I want to be able to defend myself, should the need arise.” I stood up, and flipped
out the knife. “How do I use this thing?”

She arched an eyebrow, and then stood. “Well, I suppose that you should get some form
of education in how to defend yourself. I cannot help you with the gun, but the knife
is something I know. We should do this in the kitchen. There is not enough space anywhere
else.”

We walked to the kitchen. “The first thing,” She said. “Is to know when to draw your
weapon. The knife is a short one, and not suited for throwing.”

I looked at the blade in my hand a moment. “So what do I use it for?”

“You are not going to be able to parry a blade with it.” She set aside her own knife.
“But instead, it should be used to augment your abilities in a melee.”

“All right.” I nodded. “ I understand.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Try to hit me.”

“What, with the knife?”

“If you think you can.” Her knees bent slightly. “Do not gamble on a chance you might
hit. Exploit a weakness, and take it. Now, come at me with the knife.”

I settled the knife into my right hand, and made for a quick stab into Amy's belly.
Before I even knew what was happening, she had batted at my wrist, and sent her elbow
into my jaw.

“Shit,” I hissed as I recoiled back, struggling to keep my feet. “You're fast.”

“I have to be.” She said. “I am not very big. So, I have to compensate with speed
and the appropriate application of force.”

“You hit fast, and hit in the right place.” I rubbed at my jaw.

“Would you like me to show you what I did?”

I nodded. “Yea, sure, that'd help, I think.”

“Can I have the knife?” Amy held out her hand. “Very well, I want you to do what I
did. Bend your knees slightly.”

I did so, and moved just a little back from her.

“You are tensing muscles, preparing to move in any direction.”

I nodded. “So, you come at me, and what do I do?”

“You make sure you are watching my hand. You have to move fast.” She drew the knife
back. “We will do this in half-speed. I move to stab. You bring up your hand, and
bat it away, all right?”

I nodded. “All right, come at me.” I said, and kept my eyes on Amy's hands.

“Stop that.” Amy said.

I glanced up to Amy. “What?”

“Do not just look at my hands. You need to be aware of everything, of the entire situation.
If you do not know what is happening, you will not succeed.”

“All right,” I rolled my eyes, frustrated. “Then tell me what to do.”

“You have to be able to scan me at a moment, to take stock of the situation and your
opponent. If you can do this, you will have the advantage. You can control the fight.
Now, are you ready?”

I nodded, and she moved. Her hand moved with the knife, and I moved in the same half-speed,
to bat the blade away.

“Good,” She said. “Now, you blocked the stab, you want to knock your opponent off.
You either hit your arm into their face or punch them.” She smiled. “I will save proper
fist-fighting for another date, I believe.”

“Why's that?” I asked. “I don't know, this looks pretty simple.”

She smiled. “I do not want to distract you too much. I do want you to remember, though,
Eric, that the best way to win a knife fight is not to get in one. There are too many
variables, and it relies too much on chance and circumstance. Better to avoid the
fight if you can, to achieve your objectives.”

“How very Sun Tzu.”

“I read too, Eric,” she reminded me.

I hadn’t realize the passage of time until my stomach rumbled. I sighed. “Amy?”

Amy offered a smile. “Yes?”

“Amy, can we take a break for lunch? I need to refuel.”

“You make your mother seem like a tidy little woman who starved herself.” She rolled
her eyes. “Do you have somewhere in mind we can order from?”

“There’s a Chinese place down the street, but I’d rather walk. As nice as the little
fighting lesson was, I don't want to sit around in a car.” I said as I closed the
knife. “And I seriously need to get back into running with Matt next week.”

“So, what do you see in that man? As a friend, I mean?” Amy asked as she went to close
the windows she had opened on my computer.

“Matt’s always been good to me. Seven years ago, my grandpa had a bit of a late life
crisis after my grandma died. He took off to California, where I was, had a heart
attack, and couldn’t travel any more.”

“How does Matt work into this?”

“By my second semester at State, I was burnt out from taking care of my grandpa and
school. Matt saw me, and he wanted to take me under his wing. I was his pet project.
He hates seeing people glum, part of why he went into therapeutic studies. I introduced
him to my grandpa one day, and after finding out that my gramps was a former actor,
took us all to a production.” We left the apartment, and started to leave the building.

“That is…generous.” Amy said as she followed me down the stairs to the ground floor.

I nodded. “Yea, it really was. I didn’t know it at the time, but Matt Taylor’s got
some crazy-rich parents. And Matt’s the type to spend trust fund money on making others
feel better. I wouldn’t have lasted that second year without him.” I opened the door
for Amy on the way out, which she rolled her eyes at.

“Well, it seems I misjudged him.”

“Yea, Matt doesn’t really enjoy putting it in the spotlight, but he’s a great guy.
He was there when I broke up with my college sweetheart, when my grandpa died..”

“Your college swee-“

“Another story, another time.” I said. I really didn’t want to have to go through
that particular story today. “But it's part of why I want to help Sam so much.”

“How does Sam work into this?”

“Sam was a rebound. I mean, not in a bad way. We were both going through crap, and
we found some peace together.” I sighed. “I owe this to her.”

“Very well.” Amy said, and we went into the Chinese restaurant, a small place that
also served as the local butcher. I ordered enough for two, and Amy ordered just sweet
and sour soup before we took a seat. “So, what does Matt do for work?”

“He works as a child therapist for the school system.” I pointed a finger accusingly
at her. “Why are you so interested in him?”

”My job is to assess any potential threats to you.”

“Threats?” I laughed at that. “Amy, Matt and I are close like blo-“ I froze. “Like
blood.”

Amy furrowed her brow. “What? What is it, Eric?”

“A theory.” I said. “Okay, this is just me theorizing, okay?”

Amy nodded. “Very well, continue.”

“Okay, so, theory. If I have blood from something, I could track it back to who it
came from, right?”

“Yes, though I am not sure how the spell would work.”

“Okay,” I said. “How about this? What if we use the blood from a vampire who had bit
her? I mean, the blood actually is in them, right?”

Amy thought about that for a moment. “I do not know. That is...a bit of a stretch.
I am not sure that magic can do such a thing.”

“Well, we can try such a thing, right? What's the worst that can happen? Come on,
let's finish up, and then head back and try this.”

I rushed back to the apartment after we were done with lunch. I will admit that I
almost slammed the door in Amy’s face on the way in, as I was so excited.

It took me a moment to figure out that Nick was standing in my kitchen. I froze for
a moment, staring at him.

He spoke first. “Hello, Eric, Amy. So nice to see the both of you.”

I looked back to Amy. All the color had drained from her face. She was absolutely
shocked. “How did you find him?” She whispered, her voice a whisper.

“I found him before you did, Amy.” Nick said. “Is that what you call yourself now?
It’s been so long, I always preferred that other name.”

“Amy,” I turned back to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“When did he first approach you?”

“Sunday.” I answered. “But I didn’t know who he was until two days ago, when you were
recovering from that ordeal at Francis’ office.”

“And you did not tell me?” She sounded hurt, honestly.

“At my request, Amy.” Nick insisted. “So, you’re guardian to a witch. Victoria Torres’
son, no less. That’s quite the feat, Amy.”

“If you have a point, get to it.” Amy slowly recovered her voice, almost snapping
in its haste.

“I have asked for Eric’s assistance in locating one of my missing Marshals.”

“You mean some poor fool you duped into your war.”

“That’s a nasty way of putting it.” He said. “All my Marshals are volunteers.”

“So you have changed your methods? I remember what you used to be.”

Nick put out his hands, palms up. “I’ve learned from my past experiences. You’d appreciate
what I’ve done with the Marshals.”

“There is very little I can appreciate about you.” Amy hissed.

“You two, stop it!” I shouted. Both of them froze, looking at me, silent. “I really
don’t give a flying fricking care what your history is right now. Nick, is there a
reason for you visiting, or is it just to piss Amy off?”

“Piss her off?” Nick smiled. “No, though I do miss our fights.” He withdrew a small,
envelope from his pocket. “I’ve been able to pull something from our files. It’s hair
from Marshal Thomas’ records. I think you’ll be able to do a tracking spell.”

“All right,” I nodded, and took the envelope from him. “I’ll take a look into it.
Listen, Nick, I think the chances of finding Thomas alive are, well, slim, at best.”

“Slim.” He nodded. “I’m expecting as much. I would like, at least, a body for his
family and to close his file.”