Page 13 of Warlocks Don't Win
My stomach growled, but I ignored it and him, needing to focus on what little I could control. Matching. I’d match my psychotic hair if it killed me. Why green and purple today? Lemon and pink would be better. That wouldn’t look like I’d taken his magic and mine, and twined them together through the power of the one-bed trope. Did I read too many romance novels in my mattress room? Maybe. But I had to do something to unwind after a stressful day in the shop, and there were only so many times I could read my grimoire before I got bored. Tv was out because I’d run into an ad for Winston’s show, and have that visceral need to kill everyone, particularly his co-star. The one he kissed regularly.
I rifled through the suitcases and came up with the one that would have green and purple. If I thought about it, I could still feel the pressure of his lips from that time three months agowhen I’d stolen his magic and gone to help defeat the demon. That kiss would probably stay in my mind for years, in my body for who knew how long. But kissing was just another day at the office for him. Flirting was automatic to him. He could say that I was his therapy, or his fantasy, without batting an eye. I wanted to stab him in the eye. I wasn’t over him or it wouldn’t kill me. And waking up in his arms with our magic theme colors coming out of my skull? I needed to be over him.
It had been fifteen years, but I was still a live volcano, ready to erupt at the thought of his co-star. I really did need therapy. Could I use this situation to help me actually get over him? Or would that backfire, as most things in my life did?
Tolly climbed on the side of the truck and started combing my hair with her little claws.
If he betrays us again, we can burn him and build a house on the ashes.
I looked at the skunk and sighed heavily. “I don’t want a familiar.”
You don’t want a lot of things.
I wrinkled my nose at her and then pulled my hair out of her grasp and hauled the suitcase across the parking lot. “I don’t need a familiar.” That’s what she was insinuating, that my needs had trumped my wants. But she was in my head, so I couldn’t lie to her. Unfortunately. Did I need closure with Winston the Warlock? Closure sounded good. Like slamming a door shut that had always been blocked by a carelessly discarded coat. But how could I possibly do that? How could I clear out the ghosts and walk forward with a future instead of just avoiding the past?
I thought about that while I showered and dressed, then when we stopped at the truck stop for breakfast, egg croissants and fruit for me, a hotdog for him. I kept thinking about how I could get closure the entire trip to the east coast.
Finally, when I pulled into the town limits of Salem, I had my plan. Well, the rough sketch of an idea, really, but when a plan involved someone else, you couldn’t really plan it entirely on your own.
“Winston, you’ll probably want to hang around until I unravel the curse, right?” I asked slowly.
He looked at me, sharp and intent. “I will be staying in Salem, yes.”
I nodded and cleared my throat. This was going to be so awkward. Like waking up with green and purple hair. In his arms. We hadn’t discussed that. He could have put me back on the bed, or dumped me on the floor, but instead, he’d held me all night. “What do you think about the fake dating trope?”
He furrowed his brow, clearly confused. “I don’t think I could use it on the show.”
I laughed and sounded as out of control as I felt. “Yeah. No. Probably a bad idea, but I thought there might be some advantage in pretending that we were dating during this curse-breaking debacle.”
He choked on air and then coughed until I pounded on his back. Not that I thought it would help, I just wanted to hit him.
“Never mind,” I mumbled, cheeks hot, all of me feeling more humiliated than usual.
“No, it’s a great idea,” he rasped then coughed a few more times before saying in his usual velvety voice, “I’m just surprised that the idea didn’t occur to me. Probably because I didn’t think you’d agree to date me again in any capacity in a million years.”
I winced. “Not real dating. Acting, like you do on your show with that…” Nope. I wasn’t going to talk about his co-star, who he’d been kissing for at least a decade.
He paused for a moment. “Of course. I mean, I am a professional. What role do you want me to play? Do you have a specific outcome in mind? Who is the audience we’re playingfor? Are you going to do costume? You were always magnificent at costume.”
I shrunk smaller and smaller with every word that poured out of his vile mouth. “You know, love-besotted fool, under my magical control, body, soul, will.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Ah. You want to revel in the power of trampling my heart beneath your feet without actually exercising the power that you already have.” He gave me a peculiar look. “Clary, you absorbed your mother’s magic. There isn’t a creature on earth that you couldn’t entrance. But you want to make me your fake slave, not your real one. Does this make sense?”
“No. Nothing makes sense about any of this. But that’s my life now. Are you willing to be humiliated in front of the entire Salem coven?”
“I’m an actor. Humiliation is a given. But Clary, you could just take my will and make me your slave without asking me. Instead, you want me to willingly accept enslavement?”
He made it sound almost worse than taking his will. “Just until we unravel the curse. That way you can stay in the house with me. And my familiar. And the dust. There’s going to be so much dust.” I shuddered. There was a ridiculous amount of dust when I went back for the clothing. That was five years without dusting. It had been ten more. “So much dust,” I whispered.
“Ah. You’d like me to help you with dusting. In fake thrall. Do you want me to sleep on the floor beneath your bed as well?”
Was he mocking me? I couldn’t tell. When I searched his face, he looked slightly interested, but in a professional way, like I really was offering him an acting job.
“Probably,” I said before I could reconsider.
He looked truly shocked, big eyes, round mouth, the whole thing. “Okay. You’re going to have to tell me what your real motive is for this ridiculous thing. Have you gone completelyinsane? Seeing me makes you miserable. You hurt every time I open my mouth. You woke up happy until you saw me. You hate me. I could taste your hate on your lips when I kissed you. I wasn’t ever going to see you again, because I don’t actually like making people miserable, but then my grandmother…” He furrowed his brow. “Why do you want to fake date me, Clary?”
“Closure,” I said stiffly. “I hate you so much. I should be over you entirely, but I’m still nauseous every time I look at you or think about you, and that’s nothing compared to your tv show.”
