Page 3 of Warlocks Don't Win
He slowly sank to the floor, staring at me with shocked betrayal in his eyes.
I didn’t smile and gloat, not because I didn’t like hurting other people, even despicable monsters like him, but because I didn’t care enough about him to enjoy his torment. Also, I had the city to save or whatever. I plucked a strand of his hair, pulled on his coat and stepped through the door, twining that hair around my finger as I went. My ring finger. Left hand. Where I used to wear his family heirloom. Anger and nausea went so well together.
I ignored my burning lips and rapidly beating heart as I shook myself out and pulled on Winston the Warlock. I’d be in control of the rhetoric he used as he proved his heroism, and‘Stripes’ wouldn’t be connected to the witch coven. It was a win all around. Heh. Except for Winston himself.
It took me no time at all to catch up to Portalia, and then I took over the defense circle around Brannigan, the corrupt police officer who was the demon’s target, while I crackled with purple energy that was Winston’s signature. It was so easy to weave the spells, to contain the demon, to be the commanding, manipulative, powerful Warlock no one would question.
I reached out a powerful hand towards the witch circle where they stood around the fallen officer in the courthouse, feeding their strength into the demon’s victim. It was a weird thing to have so many unkempt people in the pristine courthouse. That is, it had been pristine. Now it was scorched with some lofty pillars that weren’t so much lofty as horizontal. One of the Warlock’s Kiss members was eating an egg sandwich, most of which was getting stuck in his beard. Whatever. Very manly.
“The Singsong City coven is free to operate independently as long as the sun rises on a new day.” What was I saying? No idea, but Winston’s deep voice made it sound official and powerful. The main thing was that the coven was under my power, not his. I put a lot of effort into making certain they were all addicted to my sausage rolls, which compelled them to my will. Specifically, not causing public issues that would bring down the wrath of those who wanted to burn the witch. Or throw her in prison.
Portalia muttered about that irresponsible Clarinda who never even showed up. Yes, that witch. So uninvolved.
Soon enough, it was wrapped up, the demon threat was gone, and I got to go back to my shop. I was looking forward to getting into some black sweats and burying my happiness in ice cream, but when I stopped just inside the back door, the scent hit me. Winston was gone, but he must have left the back door open, letting in a skunk who was standing on a stack of tailored slacks that I’d just steamed and spelled, fresh, ready for the racks.
Not the wool! I held up my hands, but it raised its tail at the same rate.
I lowered my hands, its tail did not lower. Gulp. What did I do in a past life to deserve this?
“Hey there,” I said in a sweet, lilting voice. I used to sound like that all the time. Weird. “Do you want to go on a nice ride with me to the woods? If you come willingly, I won’t have to put you in a cage.” Like I had a cage. This was a clothing commission shop, not a zoo.
It gave me another look and then sprayed in a large swathe while I flinched back. The stench! I was going to kill Winston the Warlock for doing this to my shop. And me. And my clothes!
It leapt down, ran past my feet, and out into the dark alley, tail waving jauntily.
The scent was going to kill me. And I was going to kill Winston the Warlock. He thought that this was revenge? He had no idea what revenge looked like. But I’d show him. If I ever saw him again. Which I wouldn’t.
Honestly, I preferred the skunk over Winston the Warlock. At least the skunk wouldn’t leave my lips burning while longing burned in my traitorous heart. Just my eyes. And the wool! It would take all my efforts and magic to undo what the skunk, and Winston, had done.
Chapter
Two
Three months later, my war with Tolliver the Terrible had escalated.
I came back from my coven meeting to find the raw, burning scent of skunk in the wedding dress section. I had five worthless traps, two empty cages, and life with the most diabolical monster known to man.
I knew Tolliver’s game. He’d decided to make me his familiar. It wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t lonely just because I was alone. Alone was safe. Not alone stank like skunk and Winston the Warlock. Also Portalia who dared lecture me about my lack of participation in the demon defense while eating three of my sausage rolls. I mean, their entire purpose was to enspell the eater into submission to my will, so I shouldn’t resent her for putting herself in my power, but she didn’t know that’s what they did, and it was just so rude. She’d clearly never had an evil mother who explained social niceties to you in the most compelling ways. Not that my sausage rolls weren’t incredibly compelling.
At any rate, it would take hours to neutralize the skunk scent. Over the past few months, he’d snuck in and sprayed every quarter of my shop, but always avoided the traps. That’s notquite accurate. He’s sprayed specifically where the traps were without letting them get a hair of his tail.
To neutralize the stench, I’d need to go shopping for some special ingredients that they didn’t sell at the drug store, which meant taking the bus. I could drive, but I didn’t like linking my clothing sales persona with the witch one. Not that I did anything much with either one, but it was always best to fly under the radar. I hated radars. And flying. Also the bus. But most of all, skunks.
The bus ride was tolerable. Only one person tried to talk to me, something about the new fairy garden in Undercity. He smelled of werewolf, which was a no for me. Not that there were any yesses. I’d never date anyone whose taste ran to stripes, particularly mixed with my current lemon printed pants. It showed a lack of decency and, well, taste. Someone in the relationship had to have taste, and it wasn’t me. Why did I have to look like this? Lemon yellow evoked a feeling of happiness, friendly acceptance of the world, while the pink was so soft andnice.It gave people the idea that I wanted to greet the world with a smile. Maybe decades ago the idea had some appeal, but my upbringing was much closer to greeting the world with a curse than a smile. Not that you couldn’t smile and curse at the same time. My evil mother had been the most cheerful person I knew.
I quickly erased my smile so the wolf friend wouldn’t take it personally. I wasn’t fast enough. He kept talking, carrying the conversation all agonizing twenty blocks until I finally got off, hurriedly telling him goodbye and spelling him to stay where he was.
The apothecary was busier than usual, with several members of the Singsong City witch circle standing near the grimoire display, arguing about aphrodisia pollen vs. bee stinger venom for the most fast-acting love spell.
“Both,” I said, passing through them on my way to the counter.
Scandium gave me a smile from under his miraculous mustache. It swooped up on either side of his mouth like a silver hang glider. “What can I do for you this morning, Clary? I got a potion in recently, a scent neutralizer from a special supplier.”
I shook my head. Like I’d ever trust anyone else to prepare my anti-skunk elixirs. “I’ll just take five ounces of powdered newt claw, four cups of willow bark and…”
He shook his head. “We’ve recently sold all our newt claw powder. But like I said, I have a potion by a master that should do what you need without all the tedium of preparing your own.”
I held very still while I considered, not about whether to buy the prepared potion instead of raw ingredients, but the fact that someone else had bought out his entire stock of newt claws. That was unusual and spoke of big spells, the kinds that I didn’t allow to happen in my city.
