Page 30 of Familiar of the Witch

‘Nope,’ I interrupted firmly. ‘If I ever get maternal, I’ll borrow Charlize. How old is she, by the way?’

‘She’s twenty-three.’

‘And her mother?’ I asked cautiously.

Bastion looked emotionless. ‘She’s dead.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I touched his arm lightly.

‘Don’t be, she was a bitch.’ He shrugged. ‘The griffins have a compulsory breeding programme. I was matched with Dakota, but although we were genetically compatible we didn’t get on. She died when Charlize was about six months old. She went on a mission and never came back.’

‘That must have been tough.’

He hesitated. ‘I was glad,’ he admitted unhappily. ‘I know that makes me a bad person, but I got to raise Charlize without Dakota’s venom. My daughter is a good kid. She’s made some questionable choices in the past as she’s tried to prove herself, but I think she’s moving out of thatnow.’ Pride coloured his tone.

‘She’s been amazing with my mum.’

He smiled. ‘Like me, she likes protecting others.’

I shook my head wonderingly. ‘How did I ever get you so wrong?’

‘You were supposed to,’ he pointed out.

‘True. We can’t have everyone learning that Bastion is a good guy.’

His tone was serious. ‘I’m not a good man, not really. I’ve killed plenty of people, more than I can count. But now that I’m watching over you, you never need fear anything or anyone.’

His fierce protectiveness washed over me with a strength that took my breath away. He would kill to protect me; he would die to protect me. I prayed that my enemies wised up, and he had to do neither.

Chapter 25

Voltaire studied me over a black coffee. His hair was as dark as his drink and his skin was as pale as the discarded milk. He was glaring at me openly, but there was nothing unusual in that.

We’d run into each other a time or two. Voltaire headed a team of the Red Guard, the vampyr elite who were responsible for killing necromancers. Necromancers can possess and control vampyrs like puppets, and understandably vampyrs don’t much like that. The last time we’d tangled, the necromancer had ended up dead but not at Voltaire’s hand. He’d been a bit pissed off about that.

Frogmatch had insisted on coming to the meeting but agreed to stay out of sight. A vampyr was going around collecting imp tails and, while I doubted it was Voltaire doing the harvesting, I was not going to risk Frogmatch. He was nestled in the folds of my voluminous skirt, hiddenfrom view but close enough for me to feel his warmth through my clothes.

‘Speak, witch,’ Voltaire ordered.

I narrowed my eyes and deliberately took a slow sip of my cappuccino. Since he was being rude, I would be too.

Instead of asking his permission to rune, which would have been polite, I set the cup back down on the saucer and pulled out a paintbrush and a protection potion from my new tote bag. I painted runes on our wooden table:ansuzfor communication,nauthizfor restriction andalgizfor protection. That meant anything said at the table couldn’t be overheard. I pulled my magic forward and let the runes light up. Their glow told Rosie’s Other onlookers that we were discussing things of import, but that couldn’t be helped.

I trusted Maxwell, the owner of Rosie’s café, but his allegiance was to Roscoe and the Pit, not to me or the Coven Council. He had to do what was right for his people, the fire elementals, and I had to do what was right for mine.

‘Touch the table while you speak and none bar us three will hear what is said.’ Under the table, Frogmatch emerged from my skirt and leaned up to touch the underside of the table. Four of us, I corrected mentally.

Bastion leaned forward and placed one forearm casually on the table and Voltaire matched his movement. I simply laid my hand on it.

I studied Voltaire before I spoke. He was dressed in black jeans and a black polo shirt, casual-vampyr mode. I’d once seen him in full Red-Guard Regalia and it wasn’t an experience I was keen to repeat.

‘You got my message from Krieg?’ I started finally. The High King of the ogres had promised he would contact Voltaire to help me with my black-witch problem. Voltaire nodded tightly. ‘But that wasn’t enough to get in touch?’ I asked, exasperated.

‘You didn’t have information,’ he growled. ‘You wanted help. I don’t help witches, I kill them.’ He jerked his head towards Bastion. ‘I’m only here out of respect for Bastion.’ He folded his arms and leaned back then, grimacing, he unfolded his arms and placed one of them back on the table again. Heh.

‘I do have information,’ I said. ‘But I’m only sharing it if you share your information too.’ I felt a tug on my shoes and had to resist the urge to look under the table to see what the heck Frogmatch was doing.

‘Tell me your information and we’ll see,’ Voltaire said flatly.

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