Page 31 of Warlocks Don't Win
“Partying?”
She gave me a contemptuous lip curl. “With business executives. Running a television show isn’t exactly easy, Clary. Not like running away.”
I flashed her a sharp smile. “If it was so easy, I wouldn’t be here.”
She looped her arm in mine, the arm that was tucked against my chest so I wouldn’t accidentally kill her. “What did bring you here? Never mind. That’s your business. The important thing is that you stay here long enough to fix things.”
“Fix things?” I sounded as mystified as I felt.
“The house, the coven, your issues with Winston. You don’t need to tell me that you came here to get untangled from him. I know him well enough to know exactly what you’re up against. Poor Clary. And not even the hair scared him away?” She sighed heavily as she eyed the locks. “It was worth a shot. It doesn’t look terrible on you. Green was always your best color, and purple your favorite.”
Was purple my favorite even before I met him? I couldn’t remember. I did remember how hard it was to get disentangled from Jessica once she had her tentacles around you.
Chapter
Eleven
The train ride was quick, an hour, and the cab ride a sedate drive from the station through the old city and up the hill overlooking the harbor where the Winston home perched, guarding the city like an old gargoyle.
Jessica inhaled sharply when she saw the house where we’d stopped.
“Oh.” Her blank expression was probably authentic as she stared at the house she’d probably only seen pictures of.
I glanced at her. “You should probably stay here while I go and pay my respects.”
She shuddered but kept her hands around my arm. She used to like touching me because my magic cancelled out hers, and she didn’t need to think about turning me into a victim, but could have the physical contact she always craved. Now I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but it reminded me of Tabitha, of the way she’d tried to touch me twice. You just didn’t do that to people you hadn’t seen in fifteen years.
Jessica had slept most of the train ride, her head falling on my shoulder like old times, sleeping off her hangover. Now she looked down at her outfit, aware of how underdressed she was for an interview with an old maven like Dame Winston.
“No. I’m not letting you go in there by yourself,” she said, raising her chin and trying to look brave, but not too brave, because then you wouldn’t really know how awesome she was for facing her fears.
“Your acting was always passable but now it’s really good,” I told her, getting out. I paid the cabby and walked towards the black iron gates that guarded the formal front rose garden. The front gate was unlocked, but a wash of magic went through me, checking my intent, leaving my fingertips tingling. The magic was familiar, an echo of Winston that had been buried in my chest.
I really needed to unbind the two of us. I shuddered and then continued up the front walk, enjoying the scent of roses and honeysuckle.
Jessica continued to cling to me, looking around like she feared a crow attack at any moment. Maybe a golem.
I started talking to give her something else to think about. “Midas is Silas’s cousin? The one always messing with explosives?”
“That’s him,” she agreed, still staring at the house solemnly.
“He came up with the golem?”
“It was something the team came up with when we were slightly drunk. Keeping a golem is a lot of stress we didn’t think about. If it doesn’t have a purpose, it can get destructive. You could have it help you with your garden, clearing paths.”
“I could if I didn’t already destroy it.”
She gasped, finally focusing on me. “You destroyed it? How? It was an extremely durable model we ordered all the way from Angel City!”
I cocked my head at her and tsked. “No, Jessica, the question is why. Why did I destroy a golem? Why am I asking about it? Why do I know it exists?”
She blinked at me, but didn’t speak because we were at the front door. I knocked, not bothering to pull back my shoulders and suck in my stomach like I’d done when I was first introduced to Dame Winston.
The door opened without a creak, and there was the butler, handsome, around my age, well-groomed, elegantly matching the home. “Miss Sage,” he said with a slight incline of his head. “I’m afraid that Master Winston isn’t free this afternoon.” Or here, but he wouldn’t tell me that.
“I’m here to see Dame Winston,” I said with a tight smile. Even after years of letters, I was still nervous about seeing her. She was so pulled-together. Except that now she was cursed by my house.
The butler blinked at me. “May I ask what brings you to visit?”
