Page 41 of Warlocks Don't Win
He loved me? Why would he say that? What could a manipulative snake like him know about love? I also knew nothing about love, which is why I’d fallen for him. It was probably something other than love. Like indigestion. Stuffed crust pizzas were probably terrible for me.
I’ll eat it,Tolly said, looking up from the vine she was nibbling on.
“Thanks, but some things are worth dying for. Stuffed crust pizza is definitely one of them.” Too bad I didn’t get the tiramisu, but Cara was too perfect, too much of who I’d wanted to be. I’d been so close to really nailing the part, but then I had to ruin everything by murdering my mother. Then again, would Winston really have married me if it was all just a game to him? He’d played it so well, right up to the moment he found me covered in my mother’s blood.
Finally, I got the way cleared, then spent another fifteen minutes pounding on the door with my shoulder until the swollen wood gave way, opening into the darkness.
I fell, sprawling onto the dark stones while a slimy toad leapt past me, fleeing into the garden, disappearing in the darkness while I stayed there for another few beats, trying to get my breathing under control. I was the scary thing in the dark. Yeah. I mean, have you seen my hair? Scary. Especially because it was stuck on purple and green like me and Winston were the theme. We were not the theme. Nothing was more terrifying than the idea of loving him again, opening myself up to that kind of pain.
I pulled myself to my feet groaning, and lit the magic torches lining the steps down with a gesture of my hand. The scent of brimstone swelled for a moment as the bright torches flared and then settled down to their usual green glow.
It was a bit eerie to be honest. I hadn’t been exposed to creepiness for too long, and the torches with their green flickers and scent of pain were only the beginning.
Skulls, rats, creepy designs cut into the stones stained with blood, it had been my childhood normal but now struck me as overkill. I guess it was part of the presentation. My mother was an evil witch. If she dragged you down here, she wanted you to know it.
I wrinkled my nose. The stench was bad enough. Rotting bodies…I took a deep breath, accepting the inevitable. The sooner I got used to the scent the better. I breathed through my mouth as I descended, smoothing down my striped duster and floral pants.
At the bottom of the steps was the bone room, the room of raising, the square of containing. Many a demon had been raised in this place. My mother’s demonstration was very memorable, but she hadn’t liked dealing with demons. She couldn’t drain their lives and bury them in the yard.
My father’s bones were laid out on the stone altar in the center of the creepy space, shelves holding bones surrounding it.
I turned and closed the lower door, sealing myself in with him. If this went badly, it wouldn’t do to let the neighborhood know about our mistakes. That’s what my mother said, but I think even she didn’t approve of animated undead terrorizing the community. She’d certainly always put a quick stop to anything like that from our coven.
A shimmer of green appeared at my elbow and she was there.
“What are you doing, Clary? Demons are not going to help you break the bindings with the Warlock. You need to drain him like you should have done in the first place when he interrupted your murder. I can’t tell you how proud of you I am, draining me exactly how I taught you.” Her ghostly smile beamed at me.
I sighed and walked through her to the row of vodka bottles that lined the crypt. I pulled out the bottle I’d taken from Winston’s cook and set it down in the row.
“Is that good vodka?”
“There is no good vodka. Quiet. I’m trying to focus.”
“You don’t need to focus, not with our combined magic.”
I put my hands on my hips and faced her. If she was going to be here, maybe she could be helpful. “Do you know anythingabout a dark secret society of witches who killed Winston’s parents?”
“They come and go. Typically devoured by their own members before they become a problem to the greater society. Were his parents killed by them? Or was it misdirection? Perhaps someone told him that there was a dark cult to focus his attention and sharpen his sense of vengeance. That Dame Winston…” She shook her head. “Too subtly diabolical for me or anyone else to follow. Her schemes have schemes.” She sounded impressed, one diabolical witch to another.
I touched my shoulder where it throbbed. Now both throbbed thanks to my efforts with the door. It was good to be symmetrical. “That wasn’t very helpful.”
“Well, you did murder me. If I was more vindictive, I would be haunting you much more elaborately. Convenient that the house is already giving you sink floors and slivers so I don’t have to waste the energy. And your reflection is already horrifying enough to give anyone nightmares.” She smirked, so proud of her hair curse.
“Thanks to you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said warmly.
I rolled my eyes and started the process of bringing my father’s bones to life, which involved soaking them in vodka and burning chicken feathers. I hated the scent of chicken feathers, particularly mixed with moldering flesh.
It was more than that. I mingled my magic with the traces still remaining in his. I had DNA from those remnants, so it wasn’t difficult. Easier for me than my mother, which is why she’d been having me do it since I turned eleven. Such sweet family memories. Winston’s dad played catch with him. Rasputin had also thrown things at me, but mostly skulls and curses. Not the magic kind, but the Russian kind. He’d taught me so many excellent curses in his mother tongue.
I smiled slightly as the bones stirred and dark flickers mixed with the green as his magic came to life. His magic was black with silvery flecks, like ashes.
In a whoosh he came together, the dark warlock with glowing green eyes, dressed in the cloak he always pulled together with his magic. My mother had tried to replace the old tattered thing with something more elegant and dramatic, but he’d vaporized it with a look.
He focused on my mother’s blurry green ghost and said in his thick accent, “You seek revenge on your mother’s soul?”
I cleared my throat. “Not exactly. Actually, not at all. I wondered if you could give me some advice on breaking a death curse. Moridia Fleur.”
