Page 61 of Warlocks Don't Win
My mother snorted. “Proper witches do not run Salem Coven. Proper witches get burned.”
I shot her a look before I refocused on the house. It was so massive, stretched above me, around me, so much life beneath my feet that fed its life and will. Maybe my mother hadn’t given it bodies to bury, but generations had.
I took a deep breath as I stretched my will through the fibers of the wood and stone, feeling my own soul stretch and crumple at the effort. I was sweating. My hair was also levitating around me, waving on an invisible wind.
“You will release them,” I whispered, but my will and soul were stretched thin, almost to snapping as I pressed against that weight, until I found the core of its life and swallowed it.
I was Sage House. I could see the lines of energy spreading from the house to every witch linked to it. The Salem coven, the television crew, Winston who was stuck between floors, and then that strong bond reaching towards Bosty and Dame Wilson.
The curse was a beautiful thing, growing, stretching, devouring. It was a pity to pull out the roots one by one until the flower wilted and melted away in a rush of wind.
I blinked and found myself back in the immaculate front hall, Winston stretched on the floor beneath me, wearing nothing but very ripped pants. His muscles were so raw and delicious. Like the rat tail wrapped around his ring finger. I took a step towards him and then the effort caught up to me and I stumbled on top of him, sprawling so my face was between his pectorals. It could have been worse. Skulls would have been much worse.
“Clary?” he mumbled, not moving.
“’Sup? I think I broke.”
“Broke what?”
“Yep. My brain. My soul. The curse.”
His arm flopped and his hand landed on my head. “Cool. I feel like I’ve been through a wood chipper.”
“That’s what your pants look like. But the house was good and left your legs. You have real pretty legs. Wood chipping legs isn’t pretty.”
He gurgled a laugh. “I’ll take your word for it. Being crushed by floors is awesome. Should market it to the masses.”
I snorted a laugh and rubbed my face against his skin. “Do you have a lot of slivers? Sage House is notorious for slivers.”
He flopped his other arm and then his hand landed on my lower back. “I feel like I have no skin. Does that indicate slivers? I’m passing out now. I love…”
I waited for him to finish, but he could be saying he loved slivers for all I knew. Come to think of it, passing out was a really good idea.
I drifted off and didn’t wake up until the door slammed open along with a mighty gust of wind.
Winston rose into the air, spinning, dropping me onto the floor. Ow. I squinted at the figure standing in the doorway, outlined by a flare of light behind her. Dress. Long. Very witch tea-party. Ah. Someone from Salem Coven was here to murder me. About time.
She stepped across the threshold and split the marble across the hall with the force of her will. A serious witch then. And Winston was still wrapped in her energy floating above my head. He was struggling. Was she hurting him?
That thought broke through my haze. I sat up and rolled to my feet, grabbing onto the side table for stability.
“You shouldn’t have broken the curse,” the witch said, tones as proper as they could be.
I stared at the figure until the light shone on her patrician face. Strong bones, hooded eyes, distinguished nose. Winston’s grandmother recovered quickly.
“What are you doing?” I looked up at Winston while he struggled more fiercely against the invisible bindings she’d wrapped him in. Could he breathe?
“I’m killing you. Are you really so naïve that you can’t see the truth even after Winston confessed his black heart to you?”
I looked from Winston to her and back again. He looked very nice without a shirt, even if his skin was distorted, compressed by her will and magic. “He says he loves me. I’m not sure he’ll be okay with you killing me. Unless you kill him too.”
I absolutely would not let her kill him.
A slight frown creased her brow. “You maintain your foolish protectiveness towards the creature who destroyed you? Why would you let love make you so weak?”
Love? I didn’t love Nettle Winston. But we were both such good hair serums. Think of the hair serums we could make together. We could sell them in the shop along with his incredible cologne.
“Are you going to kill him too?” I said instead of arguing the love thing. That was the main point. If she intended to kill him, I’d definitely have to stop her. No idea how I was going to do that when standing upright was pretty iffy.
