Page 39 of Warlocks Don't Win
She touched my shoulder. The sore one. “He didn’t realize what was going on until later. He really thought that you were part of the secret society, the one he was sure were behind his parent’s deaths. He was investigating the disappearance of the Salem Mayor’s son as part of it, and all the clues led to you. The next thing he knew, you were in Apple City, away from your mother. It was the perfect opportunity to get close to you, to get the answers he needed. You played the game perfectly, never giving him what he wanted but enough hints to make him think you were on the brink of trusting him.”
We’d talked about philosophers, morality, good and evil, that kind of thing. Also magical theory. I hadn’t mentioned turning Evan into a toad. He’d been the mayor’s son. Oh. Win brought Cara to Salem after Jessica told him that I turned Evan into a toad. I hadn’t been on the brink with Winston. I’d fallen head over perfect heels between stuffed crusts and good tiramisu. And all that time he’d been playing me?
My heart ached agonizingly for a few beats before it settled down to its normal numbness. “Sure. He’s always played Detective Warlock, even before he had a tv show. Makes sense. So after fifteen years, has he closed in on this mysteriousthey? If not, he might want to try a new career. Don’t tell me I’m still his prime suspect.”
She shook her head and sat back down, looking up at me hopefully. “Of course not. You’re they key to everything. The firstcoven to be eaten from the inside out, your mother taken down when she wouldn’t join them while they covered it with your supposed murder. Even now, your house is being used by them.”
“Tabitha is the voice of Salem,” I said, slowly sinking back into my chair, mostly because the server just came out with my pizza.
“She’s a puppet. She couldn’t have controlled such an unruly coven without help.”
I snorted. Unruly was one word for it. The wrong one. She used to be more precise. Singsong was unruly. Salem was diabolical, calculated anarchy. “What’s the ultimate purpose of this evil conspiracy, or am I not allowed to know? Just general evilness?”
She frowned at me. “They killed my parents, like they killed Winston’s and your mother. So many ‘accidents,’” she said doing air quotes, “All seemingly unrelated, but Winston was watching. He’s the only reason I held the voice when my parents…” Her expression closed down, became icy and cool. “He thinks that you can help us. I think that whoever’s in charge of your Singsong coven is playing you.”
The server gave her a frown before smiling at me and putting the pizza down on the table. “Careful it’s hot. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Sarsaparilla,” I said before taking a large piece of gooey happiness. “Why are you telling me this instead of him?” I asked when the server was back in the kitchen.
“You don’t trust him.”
“I don’t trust anyone.” I took a vicious bite out of my pizza. I particularly didn’t trust incredibly pulled together people who had introduced me to the hate of my life.
She watched me for a long time before she finally broke and grabbed a slice. She chewed with her mouth closed. So prim and proper. And look at that posture. You could use herfor the poster child of well-behaved citizenry of magical society. Winston probably did. And to think that she was in stabbing distance.
The server put a cold bottle of sarsaparilla on the table and withdrew.
Okay. What did I know? I’d murdered my mother. Winston had testified. I’d spent the next five years writing to his grandmother. Was that also part of his sleuthing? Did she write to me for him? Or… and that’s the thought that had me gripping my bottle like a weapon. Did Winston do the dirty work himself?
I stood up and flashed her a lazy smile. “Time’s up. It’s been a laugh. At least the pizza was genuinely delightful. You’d better get back to Apple City before you become a victim of this secret society.”
“Clary…”
I left her in her perfect pink suit, walking quickly until I stepped outside into the cool air and gasped a breath or two.
Winston was leaning against his movie star car, looking at me with heavy lids over his meltingly warm eyes. He could make anyone do anything, include fall helplessly in love with him. He even turned me into the criminal he was looking for. So why did he have a sage plant tattooed over his heart?
I walked over to him and nodded at his car.
“I could use a ride home. Do you mind?”
He smiled and opened the passenger’s door, searching my face for signs of what I was feeling. He’d wanted Cara to tell me about the secret society. Why? He was a master manipulator. There had to be a reason I was too sensible to understand.
Once we were both inside, I crossed my arms so I wouldn’t accidentally touch him. Kill him. He’d played me from the beginning. I’d been an even bigger idiot than I’d thought I was, and I’d known I was a fool. “You think that Singsong Coven ispart of this secret conspiracy, but what do you think that I can do about it? It’s not my coven.”
“Portalia came through a portal. She’s been monitoring your magic, your energy, which likely means that she’s connected to it, drawing it out of you and your house.”
I snorted. “The amount of effort for that kind of spelling makes it so impractical as to be impossible. She would be basically comatose with the struggle.”
“Unless she shared the effort with a group of extremely competent magic users.”
“Right. I can now see that Portalia is definitely the head of a secret society that plotted to murder her opposition across the country.” I nodded soberly. “It’s the pink turban. I should have seen it at once.”
“I don’t think she’s in control of it, but she may be a piece of the puzzle.” His eyes tightened as he slowly brushed his fingers over mine.
I pulled away like I’d been electrocuted. It felt like it, electricity jamming my heart, trying to get it to feel again. “The next time you touch me, I’ll draw the life and magic out of you until you are dead. I’m done playing your games.” I bared my teeth in a smile and let him see how feral I was. My familiar was a skunk, you know.
He curled his fingers into a fist before returning them to the steering wheel. “I know. You weren’t ever playing. It took me a long time to realize that.”
