To Hell and Back by L.B. Gilbert

Chapter Two

Valeria chewed her energy bar thoughtfully, staring at the mirror. Could the piece be haunted? The stranger may have just been an afterimage of the previous owner. A fiery death could have explained the flames.

And what about the wings and scales?

Disregarding the bits of the vision that didn’t fit with that neat explanation, Valeria turned her back on the mirror. She jerked her jacket closed, trying to shut away the memory of those eyes that seemed to strip away her soul.

“Hello,” a voice called out. A lanky, long-limbed man came out of a door marked ‘Office’. Unkempt but clean, he was wearing a checkered sweater vest that had seen better days. The man looked harmless, but his presence rubbed her the wrong way, as if she’d bitten tinfoil.

Not completely human. Valeria backed up a step, surreptitiously checking the mirror, but the outlandish vision didn’t reappear. The only thing behind her was the dusty interior of the shop.

“Hello,” she murmured as the shopkeeper came to a stop a respectable distance away.

“Welcome to Charmed Antiques and Wicca Emporium,” he said.

She thumbed at the sign painted on the glass partially obscured by a set of shelves. “I thought it was just antiques.”

The shopkeeper gave her a determined smile. “We’re under new management. I’m Viz—the new manager.”

He gestured for her to follow him. One aisle over, the clutter thinned out, the wooden shelf replaced by a glass one. An assortment of crystals, vials, and dried herbs had been laid out into either neat circles or rows.

An alarm bell rang in the back of her mind. Had she known this was the shop of a non-human practitioner, she would have chosen some other place else to hide.

Stay calm. Just because you know what he is doesn’t mean he knows what you are.

“Oh, um, thanks. But I’m just browsing,” she murmured, schooling her features into passivity.

It was unlikely he was connected to the hunters. As long as she didn’t tip her hand, she’d be able to hole up here long enough for her pursuers to move on.

“No problem,” Viz said. “Let me know if there’s anything you need. We have a lovely new assortment of rune stones just in. I haven’t even had time to take them out of the box.”

“Maybe next time,” she murmured.

Valeria had around twenty dollars left to her name, and she needed it for food. Not that she would have ever wasted money on something as frivolous as rune stones, even during one of those brief lulls where she hadn’t been chased and had been settled enough to work a regular job.

Waitressing had been hard on her feet, but it had paid for a cheap studio apartment once upon a time. Having spent more time in shelters and cut-rate hotels, her memories of the cramped studio were tinted in a rosy light, the memories precious to her. It had been the only place she’d lived that was totally her own, the memories of houses and apartments she shared with her mother too hazy to count.

“We also have a complete assortment of essential oils and diffusers if that is more your speed.”

Valeria lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “I’ll let you know.”

She and Viz stared at each other for an awkward moment before he inclined his head, conceding a reluctant defeat. “All right then. If you change your mind, just holler.”

His yellow teeth flashed before he retreated behind the counter.

Valeria ducked her head, then drifted back to the crowded section of the store. Keeping an eye on the grandfather clock—the only one of dozens of timepieces that actually kept the right time—she pretended to browse, picking up and discarding random objects.

She was about to pick up a pyramid-shaped paperweight with Celtic symbols on it when the taste of iron flooded her mouth. Snapping her hand back, Valeria wiped it on her pants.

Definitely don’t touch that one.

Turning the corner, she peeked out of the bit of window visible behind a ramshackle chest. Only a small section of the street was visible, but she believed that crowd had thinned, the lunch hour had passed. However, there was no way of knowing if it was truly safe. She couldn’t see the sidewalk in front of the door. For all she knew, the hunters could be lying in wait.

And she couldn’t hide here forever. Valeria had eaten her last granola bar, but it had done little to ease the hunger pangs tearing strips out of her stomach. Salivating, she recalled there was a taco shop a few blocks from here with a two-for-one special. It was her least favorite chain, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

She headed to the door when a dull gleam caught her eye. Leaning forward, she spotted the blade in the wide-mouthed vase holding half-a-dozen letter openers. It was a dull, knock-off athame made of modern steel. But with a little sharpening, it would be a lethal last-minute surprise for any hunter stupid enough to lay his hands on her.

Valeria stumbled, catching herself on the shelf. A few things were rearranged in the process, and the athame fell into her backpack. She headed to the door, pausing only long enough to nod politely at Viz.

She wanted to run out the door, but she forced herself to walk. Running while wearing anything but workout gear was the best way to call attention to herself, something she needed to avoid at all costs.

The long wait in the antique store had failed. She felt the hunter’s eyes on her before she saw him. Valeria didn’t bother to search the crowd. Too weak to fight, she ran.

She ended up on the pier. Exhausted, starving, and out of options, she slipped over the edge into the icy water—and nearly drowned.

Something tight spiraled into a ball on her back, squeezing into a knot. The air left her lungs, and she sank completely under the surface, saltwater filling her mouth. The bonds of the knot twisted so hard that they broke, and she was suddenly free. Kicking to the surface, she gasped for air.

Of course. She was an idiot. Valeria had been marked. She didn’t know when or how, but a hunter had somehow gotten close enough to put a tracking hex on her, giving the asshole enough time to gather reinforcements so they could overwhelm her with numbers.

Those spells were notoriously hard to get right, especially when used against a witch. Too weak—and the spell dissipated. Too much juice—and the hexee discovered and undid it. It was as easy as taking a dip in the ocean or rubbing table salt on her body in the shower. Water alone might have been enough, but add salt and the spell didn’t stand a chance.

She knew this, but she hadn’t even thought to check herself for a hex. Now she was freezing to death in the—wait… what ocean was this?

The Pacific. She was in Los Angeles. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t freeze to death. It just felt that way because she was weak and hungry.

Valeria waited as long as she could before crawling up through the gently lapping surf to the beach above. Staying out of the lights, she walked up and down the beach until she was dry enough to blend in with the crowd. This time, no one followed her.

* * *

Viz Hobbes waiteduntil the little witch had left to burst around the counter. He locked the door and then half-ran, half-jumped to the mirror in the back.

He ran his hands over ornate metal studded with semiprecious stones, peering into the cloudy depths. Despite its age, the piece wasn’t worth much. A couple of hundred dollars at most for the stones and metal, or so his appraiser had said.

But Henry, his uncle and the relative he’d inherited the store from, had refused to sell it for anything less than what he thought it was worth. That amount varied wildly—anything from a cool hundred G’s up to a million dollars.

“It’s the legend behind it,” Henry had said more than once. “That is what makes it priceless.”

However, no matter how hard Viz racked his brain, he couldn’t remember what that legend was. But he hadn’t imagined that huge, glowing eye that had appeared as the girl turned his way. It winked shut and disappeared a second later, but he had seen it. What was more, he could see it again thanks to his uncle’s planning and foresight.

Rubbing his hands together, Viz went back to the manager’s office, rewinding the security footage from the camera hidden in the pile of vintage cameras—a little joke his uncle had chortled about when he’d told Viz about it.

Almost jumping with excitement, he sat in front of the outdated computer and brought up the camera feed, rewinding until he got to the girl’s departure. As suspected, she had stolen something. She had been very slick about it, and the camera hadn’t caught the actual theft, but one of the letter openers was gone, so he knew it had happened.

She was rather good, too. Without the camera, he would never have realized.

But that isn’t why you are looking through this, he reminded himself. Viz held his breath, rewinding it to the point where he appeared in front of the girl.

Holy shit, he was right. There was a huge eye in the mirror! A little more rewinding, and he sat back. The flame and that wing—in those colors. He shuddered.

Viz had been hoping to make some money on this. When an artifact as old as that mirror reacted, there was always someone willing to pay for the information. But that had been when he thought it would be one of the big seven he’d be dealing with, a dangerous enough proposition on its own.

But now he knew who the main party of interest would be, and he suddenly wasn’t sure if it was worth it.