Page 23 of Outlaw Witch

7

Zeph

Iglare at the assholebehind the desk, the one acting as gatekeeper to our next meeting. We’ve been here ten minutes already and they’ve made fuck all attempts to hurry things along, even though the office behind them is clearly empty.

It doesn’t help that I’ve stuffed myself into a suit, complete with a button-down shirt and a damn tie. I feel like I’m about to tear right out of the material and go full Hulk smash on their desk.

Doesn’t help my mood at all.

Power plays. The Archarcan assholes fucking love them. They also like to look at us like we’re shit on their shoes. Even though we do plenty of business together and you need two hands for a handshake.

... not the best idiom, but my brain cells are currently sweating out of my asshole as I sit here, bored out of my skull and deeply uncomfortable.

I feel like a chimp that someone’s dressed up, forgetting the fact I could tear their face clean off their skull if I chose to. My current job is a little less gory than that. I’m here to growl and glare and if it comes to it, I’ll bring out the big guns.

Not the ones currently stuffed inside this shirt, although I can’t wait to let them go free too.

Felix Hawkshead, Roscoe’s uncle and my boss, taps his wrist and gives me a pointed look and I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. He gets real moody when they pull this shit, even though they do it every damn time. He hates the way they think of him as less than, despite him thinking he’s the bee's knees.

I don’t say it out loud too often, on account of him being Roscoe’s only living family, but the guy is a prize ass.

I mean, I don’t like most people. But with Felix, I grit my teeth even more than usual. He’s a peacock. Struts around and shows off his feathers constantly. Worse than that, I have this sneaky suspicion that he has designs on crawling a couple of rungs higher on the Arcanum society ladder. Which means he’s also delusional.

Some of the shit he comes out with, it’s like he couldn’t care less about our business or the Nexus District, or the hundreds of people that live there. Even though it’s been him and Fabian’s dad that have been at the helm, steering the business end for the past few decades. Sometimes I wonder if he’s got some weird idea about using the entire thing as leverage, a stepping stone.

No idea how he thinks he’ll pull that off, though. If he thinks a few dodgy deals and backhands behind closed doors are going to give him a leg-up into high society, he’s dreaming.

Still, we can’t have these assholes disrespecting us. That’s why I’m here for another boring ass meeting. I’m the growling dog showing its teeth and warning them not to mess with us unless they want to get bit.

These meetings are not something I normally have to attend. Ever since they started grooming Fabian to take over at some vague point in the future, he’s the one that comes to these boring meetings. He’s got the double-pronged skills of being both cool-headed and scary as shit.

While he might not look threatening, Fab’s magic is its own beast. Once people hear that you can boil them from the inside out with very little effort, they get real leery around you.

But right now, he’s like a chair with one leg that’s too short. He can work, but he’s looking rickety. Not threatening enough.

Plus, his mind seems to be a million miles away these days. I know he’s still not sleeping well and sometimes it’s like having a conversation with someone that’s on strong painkillers. His focus is even shittier than Roscoe’s, which is... something, considering talking to Ro is a lot like having a conversation with a sugared-up toddler.

We decided that Ro and I have taken advantage of Fabian enough over the years. We’ve both been pretty happy to fuck about and reap the advantages of being Nexus Mages. The money, the cars, the willing pussy.

But over the past few months, we’ve had to step up. Which means acting like Felix’s personal guard against people offending his sensibilities.

Fighting another eye roll as the receptionist sniffs and pointedly ignores the two of us, I get to my feet. I might not be able to make blood spurt out of your eyeballs, but I can be plenty threatening without ever getting my hands dirty.

I head over to one of the wall-to-ceiling windows and look out. It’s currently weak sunshine, another reason for my less than stellar mood. Weak weather is a pet peeve of mine. If it’s not storming, I’m not interested.

Drawing on my magic, I feel the tingle deep inside me as it activates in my chest and spreads right the way through to my fingertips. There’s nothing like it. No drug or buzz from booze is quite like springing a storm to life. I used to love hanging around on the rooftop of our building, staring up at the clouds. I could swear they were begging for connection, a little boost of energy until they can break free.

First comes the rain. I watch in satisfaction as the sky grows darker until it’s practically black; the clouds bursting and desperate to unload their downpour. With another little burst of magic from me, they break.

The effect is instantaneous. It’s like the sky opens up and a river of water is being thrown down from the sky.

I shoot a look at the secretary, but he only spares the windows a quick glance before turning back to whatever he’s typing.

Guess I need to mix it up a little.

I focus on thoughts of ice. Cold. Hail.

Soon the raindrops have morphed into hail stones that bounce down onto the pavement, clattering as they hit the ground with force.

---