Page 64 of Warlocks Don't Win
I curled my bloody fingers around the iron nail and then rolled to my feet and threw myself at Madame Winston. I took her down just right, nailing her right through the heart.
Her eyes burned at me, hatred that my mother hadn’t shown when I’d killed her. “Impossible. You’re dying.” She struggled in spite of the death I was giving her.
“Love,” I said while her blood spread around her and she struggled. “Gives me strength.” And so did she. Close contact was all I needed to draw as much life and magic out of her as Iwanted. I wanted to steal as much from her as she’d stolen from me and my husband.
I smiled into her eyes and ripped everything out of her.
Another fireball exploded above us, and the ceiling creaked like it was about to come down. Maybe my father was wrong about fire being good for the house. That would be hilarious.
“Clary,” Winston said, crouching over me while I stared into the last flicker of life in Dame Winston’s eyes. I stole that last breath and then got up, shaking out my sore limbs and giving him a smile.
“I murdered her,” I said then shrugged. “I am a convicted killer.”
He rolled his eyes, picked me up and carried me out of the house, a toad hopping in front of us, almost tripping him.
“You don’t have to carry me. I’m just fine,” I said, wrapping my hands around his neck, because if he tried to put me down, I was going to strangle him.
“Your legs are broken,” he responded, not stopping as he walked across the porch. It was burning, but I didn’t feel the heat.
“It was just a scratch. I feel fine.” With his arms around me, I felt much better, but I was still going to take ages to recuperate. I felt better than I was because of the life I’d stolen from his grandmother. He might not want to hear about that. But she had killed his parents, and he hated that.
“I’m never putting you down again.”
I smiled and pressed my face against his neck. He smelled so good. Nice to know that we were on the same page.
He stopped abruptly and I looked up to see Tabitha and the Salem Coven blocking our way. What were they doing here? I hadn’t summoned them. They’d missed the big fight. I’d guess that was intentional.
“You think to claim the voice?” Tabitha demanded.
Ah, right. I’d done that. Bad idea. I opened my mouth to tell her that it was just a joke, but Silas spoke up.
“I vote for Lady Sage. It is her proper place to rule the Coven. She defeated the golem I sent to kill her without breaking a nail.” He flashed me a creepy smile while I stared at him. Huh. He’d been the one trying to kill me? I guess Winston’s grandmother was right about that.
“Of course you fell for her seduction,” Tabitha said, drawing herself up like a plump spider about to shoot webs out of her fingers. “This is why male witches are so weak.”
“We aren’t weak, we’re warlocks!” one of the Warlock’s Kiss band members said, coming out of the shadows with a guitar.
Tabitha snorted. “Is this a joke? Of course it is. Singsong Coven will always be a joke.”
That’s when a pink-turbaned Portalia ran across the yard, holding aloft a stick that she thwacked the startled Tabitha with, right over the head.
The next thing I knew, it was a melee, like a Saturday at the coven with too much homebrew and not enough sausage rolls.
“I’m not sure what to do about this,” Winston said.
With a crash of lightning and a sense of impending doom, a cloaked figure with burning green eyes stepped out of the shadows, holding out a hand chest high. “You claim my daughter? Without asking for my consent?” His voice was dark, foreboding evil that you just couldn’t fake.
Winston stiffened up while those glowing eyes in that shadowed cloak burned brighter. “Ah, sir, I meant to ask for your consent as soon as the bindings to the evil force I’ve been hunting my whole life were broken. She married me without my consent, too. Not that I mind.” He flashed me a panicked look.
I patted his cheek and dropped down. I summoned a bottle of vodka from the house and took a swig, coughed and sputtered before handing it to Winston. He took a careful swallow andhanded it back to me. I held it out to my father who hesitated before he clasped the bottle in his bone fingers, gleaming in the moonlight and the reflection of the burning house.
“Very well. We drink to your happiness, my little girl.” He raised the bottle and drank, and drank, and drank, and drank, until the cloak, the bones, and the bottle all collapsed in a pile of cloak dust.
I exhaled and bent to pick up the bones. Winston helped, glancing at me as he picked up a rib. “Your father really is Rasputin.”
“That’s what they tell me,” I said, nodding at Tolly to help sniff out all the little tiny bones. It was much better to keep the bones together in the mausoleum.
“Was that actually…” Jessica sputtered, but didn’t come any closer.
