Page 21 of Warlocks Don't Win
“Or he’ll burn the place down.”
“It could use a good burning.”
He spoke in a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell anyone what really happened? You just accepted all the blame and took the guilt without struggle. I thought you were stronger than that, but you just crumpled.” His brow crumpled.
He thought I was weak, pathetic, spineless. I wanted to stab him with my breadstick, but I just cradled it to my chest instead. “It’s no one’s business what I do with my life.”
He rolled his expressive eyes. “You officially pleaded not guilty, but you didn’t defend yourself beyond that. Why wouldn’t you at least say something about?—”
A short man in a red bow tie came over, holding our orders. “You sure a little thing like you can eat so much?” he asked, glancing at me, like I hadn’t already devoured most of the bread. The piles of cheesy noodles drenched in sauce made my stomach growl.
“None of your business,” I said like a bratty teen, but Winston had called me crumpled.
His brows rose and Winston sighed heavily. “She’s just hungry,” he said by way of explanation. What did he mean ‘just hungry?’ There was nothing ‘just’ about hunger.
He put down the plates and I dug in, ignoring Winston, who was watching me like he’d never seen anything so barbaric before. And he’d seen me covered in my mother’s blood.
He finally cleared his throat and started eating his own dinner. He really did eat all those carbs. What was his game? Was he really here only for his grandmother’s curse? But he’d kissed me in the shop. Why would he do a stupid thing like that? Maybe arrogance, but it was so weird. And waking up with him had been the best feeling. No, I wasn’t thinking about that. Clearly. He could have tried to kill me any number of times since then. Why would he choose to kill me now, after we were at Sage House, with a bunch of witnesses? No, that would be stupid, and Winston wasn’t an idiot. Except for that time in my shop when he’d kissed me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, brow raised over those caramel eyes.
“Someone tried to shoot me in the woods.”
He stared at me, eyes flickering purple for a moment before he stood, throwing the table over and sweeping the legs of my chair so I fell to the floor with a thud.
A crash through the windows came a second before a streak of energy hit Winston, wrapping around him like blue lightning, shaking him in its embrace until it went out and he slumped, boneless to the ground.
Chapter
Eight
Huh. It had been years since I’d practiced facing an attack spell like that. Win didn’t look so good, pale and greenish, but I didn’t have time to check him because the lumbering golem that had shot the spell was stepping through the window, arm raised showing his massive axe, prepared to chop off the head of his target. It was so over dramatic. A flashy light spell and a golem? It’s like someone had been watching too many television shows.
The golem hesitated, confused about whose head he should chop first, mine or Winston’s.
I summoned all my magic, as well as my mother’s, and grew that axe handle around his wrist, digging roots into the clay arm while I threw breadsticks at him to get his attention. It was fast for a golem, but that wasn’t saying much, as golem’s are usually quite slow. Indestructible, but slow.
He swung the axe at me, and I dodged back, feeling the whoosh of air behind the blade. That was a sharp blade, spelled to kill what it cut. That would be handy in a few seconds. But first, I had to try not to die. The golem advanced and I retreated, still throwing rolls at him. The rest of the restaurant was empty.Lucky. I grabbed a tablecloth and threw it over him, then dashed to the opposite side of the restaurant. I threw salt and pepper shakers at it while it turned slowly, pulled off the tablecloth and then came towards me, focus and annihilation in its dead eyes.
I started mumbling a spell, “Tarum pachit frustrum,” which were mostly nonsense words, but I’d always liked the sound of them. “Sigwy Flaynop bolgraz.”
The axe shook itself, like it was waking up and then twisted in his hand and started chopping at his face and neck.
The golem struggled, grabbing the axe handle with both hands, but the axe just sank roots into both hands, making it impossible for him to use his other hand to grab me or smash me.
I dodged past him while the axe chop-chopped and the golem struggled to redirect its will towards the targets he’d been programmed to kill. That would be me. Or Winston. No, the spell had gone where I’d been before Win had gotten me out of the way. Was he hurt? I had no idea what kind of spell it had been, but blue lightning wasn’t ever a good thing. Was he breathing? He was still on the floor, looking waxy and unconscious.
I turned with a snarl and threw a curse at the golem using all my frustrated anger. It was good to get it out, because if I had to heal Winston, I couldn’t have rage and dark energy blocking up the good vibes. I threw another curse, knocking the golem back, into a table, while the axe kept chopping.
On the one hand, it would be good to stay here until the golem took care of itself, but the longer Winston was untreated, the worse it would be. I couldn’t work on him here, not without any equipment or spell books. I had to take him back to Sage House and hope we both survived the trip. And that the butler hadn’t burned it down while I was eating. And that the house cooperated.
I grabbed the large man under his armpits and dragged him across the floor to the door, the golem chopping himself in my periphery. Ugh. Did Winston have to weigh so much? I took a deep breath and flexed my core as I dragged him another foot. And now I was wishing I hadn’t eaten so enthusiastically. Gurgle.
I dragged him on until finally, I got to the door. His body was still heavy, not quite loose, tense, while his expression was also growing in tightness. He was struggling against the spell. Maybe I didn’t have to do anything. The scent of ozone wasn’t fading, though. That golem had meant to destroy with that spell more than the ax. And Winston had taken it for me.
I curled my lips and dragged him faster down the sidewalk to where I’d parked my truck. It wasn’t far. Thank goodness. I put down the gate and then came the really fun, gut-wrenching prospect of putting him in the back of the truck. I was going to die. Sweat beaded on my forehead while I strained from my arms to my ankles, struggling until I got his upper body on the back. Then I took a rest for a second, dropping into a crouch while I panted and tried to think positive thoughts.
Someone was really trying to kill me, and Winston had taken a death spell for me. Not that you should name a spell before you were certain, but the scent of ozone was very familiar, as were the wisps of smoke that were starting to curl off his skin. He was fighting it off, or he’d already be dead.
