Page 30 of Warlocks Don't Win
She flinched and then groaned. “Clary. Go away. I have nothing to say to you.”
I poked her shoulder. “Who oversees your golem? The next time I ask, it’s going to be very loud.”
She groaned and then opened one eye to scowl at me. Her eye was impressively bloodshot. “Silas’s cousin, Midas. He stays on set with all the equipment, to watch things after hours, so you can go bother him now. Shoo.” She waved her fingers at me.
“You let me in without checking who I was. How could you have gotten so careless?” It was certainly not a good sign of the state of the coven.
She sat up, giving me her full attention for the first time. “You look like a mockery of incompetence, but even when you were young, you were driven for excellence.” Her lips stretched into a hideous grin. “You can get rid of my hangover!”
I gave her a flat look. “I could, but that would hardly encourage you to take care of your own hangover by, I don’t know, not getting wasted in the first place. Did you have a party with your cast or something?”
She frowned at me. “How can I have a party when we’ve been shut out of the woods? We have to shoot our woods scenes, or completely rewrite the last half of the season.”
“That sounds positively dire. Rewriting half of the season? The trauma.” It wasn’t any of my business why Jessica was getting drunk to the point of being hungover at three o’clock the next afternoon. But she’d been at the gate yesterday morning, and she tended to get very stupid when Jordan was anywhere in the vicinity.
I slumped on the couch, studying the sleek black and white furniture that was worlds away from Tabitha’s vibe. “Tell me about the Bosty coven. Where is Jordan’s place in it?”
She flinched at his name. Yep. He was the reason behind her stench and bloodshot eyes. “If you take away my hangover, I’ll tell you whatever you want, but not until then.” She raised her chin, all snippy.
I sighed and got off her couch, then rummaged around in her adjoining kitchen, finding everything I’d need for an elixir that would bring her back to life, detox her, and make her vomit the next time she tried to drink alcohol. It wouldn’t last forever, but long enough to dry her out.
I brought it to her on a tray along with halved grapefruit and toast, basically the last food in her apartment. She sat up long enough to gulp down a large swallow of the thick liquid before she slumped down again, giving me a look through those red-veined eyes.
“It tastes good. You are competent then, even more than you were fifteen years ago. That’s good. You’ll need to be if you’re going to faceTabitha.” She filled that name with awful dread.
I shrugged. “I saw her already today. Her face could use a lift.”
She blanched at me. “You saw her? What did she say? What did she do when you took back the voice of Salem? Did you kill her?” Her eyes were alight with that possibility. Typical Salem coven, so loyal to its leader.
“I have no interest in being the voice of Salem. It was a brief visit. I don’t have time for her diversion tactics when I’m dealing with golems, curses, and cranky houses.”
Her eyes bugged out. “No interest? You’ve come all this way when you don’t care? Then why are you here?”
I stood up. “As fun as this has been, and it hasn’t, I’ve got to be going.”
She grabbed my wrist, then chugged the elixir, stuffed her face with toast and abandoned the grapefruit as she dragged me to the door. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Yes, I am. You don’t know anything about all the issues of our coven. You need someone who’s been here the whole time who can fill you in.”
“You don’t want to come. You want to stay home and nurse your hangover.”
She smiled brightly, her eyes already less bloodshot. I had gotten better in the past fifteen years, thanks to dealing with a coven whose home brew was always too strong.
“What hangover? First, we’ll go talk to Midas, then we’ll talk to Corse, the director, and after that…”
“I’m not dealing with that right this second. First, I’m taking a train ride.”
She blinked at me. “A train ride? You’re going back to Singsong? Now? But…” She sputtered before she grabbed my shoulders and breathed in my face, still rank of stale alcohol. “What about Winston? You can’t just leave him here to rule in your place! He’s…” She sputtered some more while her obvious loathing shone like a beacon of hate. “He’ll use the house for his show! He’ll steal all of our viewers! He’ll make us look weak, probably wipe us out or something. How could you do that to me? I thought we were friends?” Her eyes widened and she looked so pathetic, I almost pretended to buy it.
“Your acting skills are fire,” I said, patting her head. “You should do a show with him. Think of the ratings.” I was tempted to break her neck, only for a second, but enough of an urge at the thought of Jessica play-acting a romance with Winston, that I pulled my hands against my chest, crossing my arms in case my instincts came out and did bodily harm. “I’m taking the train to Bosty. How many hours is that? I’ll be back tonight. The last train is midnight, right? It used to be. I’ll check before I get stuck there overnight. That would be embarrassing.”
She blinked at me. “Bosty?” Her lip curled in derision while her eyes screamed confusion. “What could you possibly want there when your warlock is already here? Are you mad?”
“I’m surprised at you. You see my hair, and you need to ask? Yes, I’m mad. Utterly.”
She shrugged. “Fine. We’ll take my car to the station. I have a parking pass since I spend so much time in Apple City.”
