Page 14 of Warlocks Don't Win
“You watch my show?”
I gave him a sharp look. “Part of one episode and I almost destroyed an entire city. I need to be who I want to be, not some ball of angst and negativity because some idiot who I trusted testified against me. You did what you thought was right. I should be able to respect that, but I can’t. I thought you were the perfect prince. I want to see the real you, unvarnished, flawed, disgusting, selfish, conniving, everything like that until I can feel contempt for you instead of anger.”
He stared at me for a long moment before he nodded and looked out the side window. He whistled and nodded down the street we were passing. “They’ve recreated the entire old town for the show.”
I followed his gaze to a cobblestone street from hundreds of years ago, only more designed than a real village would have been.
“Your show is filming in Salem?”
“Not my show. I suppose you’ve missed the news. For the past two years, Jessica has been the star of the show, Salem’s Sage, which is a loose retelling of your familial history. She’s starring as you, Clary Sage, the powerful seductress whose father is Rasputin. It’s nonsense, but it draws an audience.”
My blood ran cold and I reached out and grabbed his throat. “Jessica is doing what?” My voice was sharp, like my fingers pressing into his flesh.
He pulled my hand down and frowned at me. “You shouldn’t flirt with me while you’re driving. There might be an accident. I’d hate for you to get a sprained ankle. The coverage of your mother’s death was sensationalized by every media outlet. Jessica used that fame to launch her show. She uses your property for her outdoor shoots, particularly the cemetery, although the actual house hasn’t let her enter.”
“And you didn’t think you should mention that before now?” I snapped.
He smiled slightly. “It’s your house. I assumed you knew.”
“You did not. You knew that I haven’t been back for ten years. You knew that I liked my quiet life in Singsong City. You knew that I enjoyed absorbing the sanity of a quirky coven whose biggest drama is whether the home brew is too strong. It is. It always is.” I groaned and wanted to thump my head against the steering wheel. “I’m going to kill her.”
He put a strong hand on my shoulder, sending a shaft of cruel comfort through me before he pulled away. “Nonsense. You’ll have your willing slave kill her. It would be my pleasure to kill someone for my fake girlfriend, particularly Jessica.”
Chapter
Six
The gates to the old mansion creaked open as I approached, but they moved quickly, like they’d been recently oiled but left with the sound effects for the ambiance. Or they were eager to have me back.
The sky was overcast, as it should be when approaching a house with a ten foot tombstone in the center of the circular driveway. The house was four stories if you counted the attic with the small oval windows that let in hardly any light. Maybe it was the dirt on the windows that blocked the light. The wind blew and the entire structure swayed. It screamed death trap, demolition dream, and also a generic ‘run away!’ I parked in front of the doors with a jerk and stayed there, gripping my steering wheel in my fists while I stared at it.
The skunk bumped my arm with her head.
I need to pee.
I went into action, parking and leaping out of the truck like a skunk was after me. Tolly leapt out and trotted happily into the nearest overgrown hedge, disappearing into the shadows while I was left outside of my truck, facing down the monster house.
Winston’s footsteps were audible as he walked around, crunching leaves that littered the drive until he reached my side.“Well, girlfriend, is this the part where you make use of my skills?”
I glanced at him. He was still wearing my pants and t-shirt, but he’d glamoured them black so he looked like a dangerous pajamas commercial. “No. This is the part where you stay in the truck while I go see what kind of booby traps the butler laid.”
He stepped in front of me, blocking me with his crossed arms and muscular chest. “I can definitely help you with that.”
I poked his shirt. “Not in those clothes. They’re my precious comfort zone. If they’re singed, I’ll cry. Step aside, slave.”
He quirked a brow and then with a sigh, turned and gestured me towards the door.
Right. I should definitely move my feet towards the ominous creaking mansion since I’d forced my slave to the side. It had definitely fallen apart since my mother’s death. Also in the last decade. It looked like it was about to collapse if someone breathed too hard on it. Going inside seemed like a seriously dangerous undertaking. Of course I’d neglected it for the last fifteen years.
The butler was actually my mother’s accountant. He had spent more time than most people at the house. He’d been absolutely detestable about the whole thing where I couldn’t sell the house or the weapons or the books or the magical objects. And yes, he had set booby traps after my mother’s funeral. Almost killed me on my way in, but happily, or unhappily considering, my father’s genetics made me extremely hard to kill.
I took a deep breath and stomped towards the door. I got out my key and almost dropped it, which would have been a permanent situation since the boards over the porch were flexing like they were waiting to swallow the key into the space between the porch and the cellar. I wasn’t climbing under the porch. At least not until I had absolutely no other options.
“Everything okay?” Winston called from beside the truck.
I rolled my eyes and then finally got the key into the rusty lock. With a creak that put the gate’s to shame, the key turned and the door leapt open, knob turning on its own as the house gasped its first inhale in a decade.
The stench of moldering hate and abandonment swirled around me, leaving a clammy residue on my skin. I held very still while the house inhaled and exhaled, tasting my skin in its hunger. I started trembling, feeling like the house really would swallow me and bury me alive, while the entire structure collapsed on top of me, burying me alive.
