Page 9 of Warlocks Don't Win
I turned to see Winston the Warlock heading towards me, holding the skunk by the scruff, his own face slightly purple.
I held up my hands. “Keep it away from me!”
“It’s your familiar. You need to control it!”
“He’s not mine! You’re the psychopath who let him in my shop!”
“Her, and I never saw this skunk until recently.” He shook her slightly while she curled up her hind legs and looked adorable. Adorable? When I still couldn’t breathe?
“She’s your familiar. You need to take responsibility for her.”
I crossed my hands, making the evil eye. “She’s your familiar, not mine. She’s evil, like you. You belong together.”
He frowned at me for a moment then looked at the skunk. “If you, as her mistress, are giving her to me, then I will take it upon me to relieve this situation of its poignancy.” His eyes lit with purple flames and then he started muttering a spell of great power.
The sky crackled and the clouds swirled while a wind rose, blowing my hair into my face.
“Aloris Sumpsit Sensio!” he boomed, sending a shock through my bones. Big magic. What did he do to the skunk for spraying him?
I waited to see if she would turn into a frog, or die a terrible death with melting bones, but as far as I could tell, nothing happened.
The skunk blinked at him and then looked at me.
Was that supposed to do something?
I clapped my hands over my ears and stumbled back. “No! You are not my familiar! You don’t get to be in my head! You aren’t…” I groaned and fell to my knees in the field, getting my lemony pants all dirty, not that they weren’t already rank. I felt the link between us growing at a ridiculous rate, like Winston’s spell had forced the familiar bond to wrap around my soul. I was going to kill him. Both of them.
“Clary?” Winston said in a low voice very close to me, which meant that he’d probably gotten on his knees in the field beside me.
“Go away.” I pressed my forehead against my lemon pants and tried to disappear. Why didn’t I have disappearing magic? That would be so much more useful than draining magic.
“The truck has aired out as much as it can without intervention. Our clothes are vile along with the rest of us. There’s a motel a few miles down the road, in the middle of nowhere, and we could shower, maybe find some spelling supplies to neutralize the truck.”
I groaned. Was he trying to be useful, or send me into spasms? A motel? That’s just what this needed, a one-bed trope.
“Tomato juice is supposed to be effective,” he added.
I whimpered and looked up at the glorious man with soulful eyes and cutting cheekbones who was holding the skunk like it was a baby, long tail wrapped around his neck.
“What’s the point when she’s just going to spray again?”
Winston brightened up considerably. “I spelled her to smell good. That was my big magic. It should work, and if not, I’ll come up with something else.”
I stared at him for a long time. “You used big magic to make the skunk smell good?” That was actually the most useful use of big magic I’d ever heard of. Was he useful in the old days? It seemed like he was more theoretical, using his magic to understand obscure dimensions and hidden pockets, or understanding brain stimulus. It had been fifteen years. People changed a lot in that length of time.
He stroked my familiar’s head with a slight smile. “She’s sweet.”
I rolled to my feet and brushed off my pants like I cared about looking respectable. “Yeah, well, glad you think so, because she’s yours.”
She looked at me.I will protect your mate very well.
And that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I shuddered hard and headed to my truck. I couldn’t tell how bad it stank becauseeverything was equally awful. Did I actually want to stop and destink with Winston in a motel? No. Absolutely not. But did I want to go back home covered in stench? Not that I cared what anyone thought, but no. They would laugh at me for the rest of their lives. That wasn’t the problem. It would make me look weak and out-of-control which would invite back-stabbing. I didn’t have time for power struggles and assassination attempts while I was unravelling Winston’s grandmother’s curse.
But the idea of a motel with Winston was not a happy one.
We spread our unhappiness once we got to the motel.
“One room,” the clerk said, covering his nose with his hand while he stared at us. “One room and I’ll have my sister run out for some tomato juice so you can bathe in it. One room and don’t touch anything until you’ve bathed in tomato juice. Also, I’m charging triple.”
