Page 45 of Bewitching the Dragon
Another warlock grabbed Rahu and threw him to the floor. His head cracked against a nearby wrought iron railing and stars and Tweety birds began circling his crown.
“Ah fuck,” Rahu said, fighting nausea as he grabbed the nearest warlock by the front of his shirt and pulled him toward him, at the same time lifting his knee so that it connected with the guy’s gut. The warlock grunted and rolled away from him, but two others jumped him, and one of them flipped him over onto his stomach. A moment later, he felt the sensation of rope being wrapped around his wrists.
Charmed, no doubt, to ensure he couldn’t shift.
Great, just great.
One of the warlocks none too gently rolled him over onto his back and then straddled his legs and looked down at him.
“Ready to visit our lair, dragon?”
“You don’t understand. I’m not the right guy. She doesn’t care about—”
Too late.
Chapter Fourteen
“Do you have it right yet?” Pacey asked, leaning over Becca’s shoulder to observe the mess on the counter. Mixing bowls and piles of herbs and beakers filled with liquids of various colors were scattered over the granite. There was a Bunsen burner and a bunch of measuring spoons too.
Because modern-day witches apparently no longer used caldrons when they were attempting to create poison with which to kill their enemies.
“I don’t know,” Becca snapped, using her forearm to brush hair out of her face. “Are you volunteering to try it to see?”
She didn’t mean to be so cruel, but she’d lost her ability to be nice at least half a day ago. That was one of the reasons she hadn’t responded to Rahu’s texts. It was far too easy to misinterpret something sent via text message, and she was too bitchy at the moment to talk rationally with him.
I don’t care that I’m a Daughter of Light and apparently my life’s mission is to kill warlocks; I still want to be with you. Do you think we can make a relationship work?
...would probably sound more like:
I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before we slept together! I know I probably wouldn’t have believed you, but you could have at least tried! And I know now that at least half the blame—okay, maybe more—lies with Argyle and Aunt Pacey, but still! You and I slept together!
Yeah, she still had a few issues to work through. Except she was too busy preparing for this new life mission to deal with her own emotions. Because she had to figure out how to make up for twenty-five years’ worth of training in, oh, a week. Give or take.
Actually, they had no defined timeline, but Argyle said the warlocks were hovering about, just waiting for them to screw up so they could sweep in and attack her, and since whatever was going on between her and Rahu had destroyed the concealment spell, it seemed pertinent that she get up to speed ASAP.
Besides, she had the strangest sensation of urgency she couldn’t really explain. Although she supposed, given what she’d learned in the last few days, none of this was particularly “strange.” It was, in fact, just another day. Typical. Like going to school and running out of milk was typical for humans. Training to kill monsters had become her new black.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Pacey said, and Becca winced because really, she should be the one apologizing.
“It’s fine,” she said instead. “I think I might have finally gotten it right this time.” She pointed at the book lying open near her elbow. “I missed this line of instruction last time.”
Pacey glanced down at the apparently really, really old spell book that Argyle had unearthed the day before, her lips moving as she read the recipe for “Poison Guaranteed to Work on Warlocks.”
Yes, that stuff existed. An entire book of spells and curses and recipes designed to destroy one’s enemies. Luckily for Becca, some long-ago distant relative who was also a Daughter of Light had thought to write down everything she knew about defeating warlocks. Her handwriting was overly curly and tiny and difficult to read, but it was still better than where they’d been two days ago.
“So,” Becca had said to Argyle that day, “how do I go about destroying these warlocks?”
He hadn’t been keen to tell her initially. “I will protect you,” he kept insisting until Pacey finally stepped in.
“She’ll be running forever,” Pacey said. “I think it’s time to let her do what she was born to do.”
Why couldn’t she be born to be a movie star or, oh, a mountain climber—or maybe a dog whisperer? Why did it have to be Born to Save the World?
Shortly after he and Pacey had a terse, whispered conversation that Becca had been unable to eavesdrop on no matter how hard she tried to focus her magic on exactly that, Argyle had left the house and returned a short time later with the ancient spell book in his hand.
Now it appeared Becca had finally perfected her first potion. Of course, since it was poison, she had no way to determine if she’dactuallyperfected it, but at least this time she was certain she’d followed the instructions to a T.
Argyle, who was always hovering in the background—if he wasn’t training her until her legs wobbled, a la Buffy and Giles—said, “If you’re certain, coat that blade I gave you with it so you are prepared.”
