Page 65 of Warlocks Don't Win
“It’s not a big deal,” I said, frowning at the pelvic girdle. “Although I have to admit he has a fabulous fireball.”
An older woman in the group raised her hand, staring at me solemnly. What was her name? It had been fifteen years, and she was much older now. “I give my vote to the new voice, Clary Sage.”
As one, the rest of the coven raised their hands, “I vote Clary Sage as Salem Coven Voice.” It was eerie the way they all reacted to seeing my father’s animated bones.
“She is a worthy candidate,” the butler said, coming out of the shadows, carrying his umbrella and a basket of sausage rolls. “You have chosen well. I realized the moment I tried to shoot her in the head that she would be a fine ruler for Salem.”
The butler tried to kill me? I felt so betrayed. Also idiotic for not automatically suspecting the butler. The butler always did it.
Silas nodded his agreement. “She completely destroyed the golem.”
“Thanks for using one of my show’s props,” Jessica said, scowling hard at him.
“No way she’s going to let you continue using her name and reputation,” he pointed out with a shrug and a stroke of his evil goatee.
“Who threw a fireball at the family mausoleum?” I demanded, frowning at Jessica. She was the only other one who’d come to help, even if her help was so-so. Knowing Salem, that meant that she’d tried to kill me.
“Don’t look at me. You won my vote when you cured my hangover.”
I searched all the faces, and finally Tabitha raised her quivering chin. “I did it. You came barging into my house without any respect. I couldn’t let that rest.”
“Okay. Salem’s Coven, feel free to take care of Tabitha properly while I lay my father’s bones to rest in the family mausoleum. It is sacred to me. I will kill anyone who touches it. Or my husband.” I shook my head. I hadn’t meant to put that part in, but he was such a strong part of everything I wanted and would always want and need.
Together we went to the mausoleum carrying Rasputin’s bones while Tolly trotted behind.
“Now what?” he asked once we’d finished closing him into the vault. The house was still burning, but the house felt cheerful about it. This would be a renewing fire, cleansing the corrupt bindings that had sucked it dry for so long.
I watched that fire while the sound of Warlock’s Kiss played in the background. They were stuck here as long as the way door was burning unless they wanted to take a train.
“Nettle Winston,” I said, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Do you think I should let Jessica keep playing my part, for the betterment of witches or whatever?”
He shrugged. “That’s for you to judge. I’m personally done with it. We’ll need a new leading lady either way.” He bumped my arm with his. Still bare. Still rippling with raw masculinity. “Maybe you should watch the show. Both of them. Tell me how you want to proceed. Also, about the binding. I’m getting better and better at breaking them. Do you want me to break it? Better say yes before I lose my strength.”
I turned and looped my hands around his neck. My hands were so disgusting, stained with everything from dried blood to vodka to bone dust. “Why don’t we go to Comfrey Corner and talk about it?” I stared up at him, feeling like a real harlot while he looked down at me, eyes intent with his aching softness.
“To the bed and breakfast? You’d like to break the bindings there? It’s a good private place where you can be comfortable…”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head then grabbed his hand and dragged him towards my striped truck. I’d paint it green and purple stripes. I would always match.
“Not to break the binding, to have our honeymoon. I love you. I don’t think it’s going to go away. I know that it always ends in death or betrayal, but since it started with betrayal, and death is the state of most of the people I love, we might be able to have a happily ever after. Maybe not happily. Probably more like weirdly ever after, but if you don’t mind the stripes…”
He pulled me into his arms and held me close, gazing into my eyes for a breath-stealing moment before he kissed me. He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my eye lids, my chin, then my lips again, a burning, sweet, perfect kiss that swept away every misery I’d ever known.
He picked me up and carried me away to the cheers of two covens I was probably stuck with, along with the squeal of warlock guitars and an underlying baseline, a croaking ‘har-lot, har-lot, har-lot.’
I should probably do something about Winston’s co-star, but later. After the honeymoon was over.
The End
