Page 6 of Warlocks Don't Win
He blinked at me. “Brainwash the witch into thinking what?”
I gave him a sweet smile that wasn’t as fake as before. “That she works in my shop since she ran away from home. She has to keep the skunk out or destench everything over and over again. You have the skills, but are you willing to bend your precious scruples enough to?—”
He waved a hand and a puff of smoke filled the house. “It’s done. In her head her mother went to a witch retreat, so she won’t wonder why the house is empty when she packs up her things and drives her mother’s car to your shop. She’ll need serious therapy after all of this.”
I stared at him for a moment. “It’s done? Poof and it’s done? That should take you at least two hours to get in her head properly.” Two hours which I’d spend getting far away from him. I’d investigate the curse on my own, thank you very much.
He smiled slightly. “It was my native talent to influence the thoughts and feelings of others. I’ve only become more efficient at what I do. If we’re not pretending to have scruples in regardsto the girl, I don’t have to waste time. We can get right on breaking my grandmother’s curse.”
I stared at him for another second before I looked at Parody. Her face was passive, eyes closed, but there was something much more peaceful about her now. I shrugged and headed for the door. “Therapy. She’s not the only one who will need therapy after this is over.” I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t even breathe properly in the same room as Winston the Warlock. How was I supposed to find a curse and neutralize it with him? But I wasn’t going to let someone use my heritage, which I’d paid for in blood, sweat, and prison time. Particularly against my one remaining ally
He followed me out, leaning close to murmur in a low voice that gave me shivers, “I’m getting my therapy right now.”
I shuddered then shoved him away from me. “Ugh. If you don’t want me to murder you, keep your distance. Where is your car?”
He gave me a bland smile. “And how could I follow you on the bus in a car?”
I stared at him while goosebumps ran down my spine. “You followed me on the bus all the way from the apothecary?”
“From your shop.”
And I hadn’t noticed? Terrifying. “You’re stalking me?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
He smiled blandly. “The curse originates from your house. I needed to make sure you weren’t responsible for it.”
“How can you be sure I’m not?”
His eyes were so annoyingly pretty, soft, with a spark of purple that connected to me on a deep level. “Are you?”
I stared at him. He was asking me if I was responsible for the curse on his grandmother? I cleared my throat and shifted. I’d wanted him to ask me if I was innocent so long ago, insteadof assuming that I was a murderer. “Of course not, which you already know.”
He gave me a slight smile that didn’t engage his dimples. Good thing. I hated his dimples. They weren’t nearly manly enough. I wanted to poke them with my sharpest nail.
“Then we should catch the bus back to your shop,” he murmured.
I stared at him for a long time, the idea of riding a bus with him, filling me with all kinds of doubts.
I glanced at the keys on the side table to the dead and disposed witch’s car who had pushed Parody off the edge. Speaking of being pushed off the edge, there was no way I could possibly survive interacting with Winston the Warlock and keep my sanity intact. Then again, insanity went with the lemon stripes. And going to jail for murdering him would be really therapeutic.
“Sure. The great Winston the Warlock riding a bus?” I started smiling slowly while his expression flattened. “I’ll sit at the back and watch the show. You’re going to sign so many autographs.”
There was a flicker of horror in his eyes that gave me a ping of true joy before he nodded. “Fan service is my middle name.”
“I thought it was treachery, but the great Winston the Warlock probably has dozens.”
He grunted and followed me out of the house. He didn’t point out how many middle names I had, the great Sage heir. He was above arguing over something stupid. I wasn’t. I wasn’t above getting a kick out of watching him get swarmed, either. Except that a tiny flicker I’d long since buried disliked other people tormenting my warlock.
I sank in my seat and closed my eyes. I didn’t have a warlock any more than I had a familiar. They both stank.
It took me three hours once we got back to my shop to destench the place and pack.
“I still can’t believe you don’t have a car,” I muttered as I shoved the last suitcase into the back of my truck. My hair issues made it imperative to have a revolving wardrobe of seriously weird clothes options, even if I intended to only be gone for a weekend.
“I ride a broom,” Winston said with a shrug before biting into a sausage roll.
I snatched it away from him and shoved the rest of it into my mouth before I considered the implications: his mouth being where my mouth was, an intimacy that I’d already experienced way too recently.
He gave me a mild smile while his caramel eyes glittered diabolically. “Are you allowed to consume your own spells?”
