Page 1 of Warlocks Don’t Win (Singsong City #9)

Chapter

One

I t started, as all true disasters do, with a kiss.

Not just any kiss, no that wouldn’t be enough to alter the course of my existence. It was the kiss of true hate.

I was minding my business at my shop, ‘Change your Stripes,’ the best consignment shop in Singsong City, when fate descended.

We’re not overpriced, with a scanty selection like that arrogant fairy, Tor Puck’s place over on Kings Street.

Don’t get me started with Tor. He comes into my place once a month like clockwork with his miniature cat to check out my displays so that he can copy them.

Happily, I don’t really do displays. I do sales so I don’t have to do displays.

Why did I open a used clothing shop when I wasn’t entirely passionate about it? Easy. The only thing I inherited that wasn’t entailed so I could cash in when my mother died was her wardrobe. I rented a truck and drove it to Singsong City as soon as I got out of jail.

After spending five years wearing stripes, I looked really good in them, so I kept going with it in my hair.

Not intentionally. My magic got all weird from my emotional trauma, my mother murdered, me reeling from trying to absorb her dark will and magic that I’d never wanted.

Actually, it was my fiancé accusing me of her murder that really messed me up. Love is a lie. And then it betrays you.

But it was fine if I woke up with weird stripes in my hair, never knowing what color combo it would be. I had an entire clothing store to mix and match with, so my hair issues were fine. Annoying, but what wasn’t?

Speaking of annoying, Portalia showed up on my doorstep on an otherwise mediocre evening in her hot pink turban, gold fringe swinging over her wrinkled forehead.

Her silk robe was green with red flowers that clashed with the turban.

What did truly go with turbans, even if they weren’t outrageously hot pink? It was one of the great mysteries.

She crowded into my shop since I don’t have a doorstep, followed by most of the coven, including the band, beards over black t-shirts that declared that the Warlock’s Kiss would rock you.

They needed rebranding. The entire coven, really.

The only person (if you can call evil incarnate a person) in the group who was perfectly on brand was Winston the Warlock, tv star, ambassador of witches and warlocks, and my ex-fiancé who had gotten me convicted.

I didn’t look at him, just crossed my arms and gave Portalia my flattest non-glare. “You’ve all come for makeovers. It’s about time. We’ll start from youngest to oldest.”

She grabbed my arm, yanking me against the counter and pulled me close enough to see the feral light in her eyes.

“Rynne’s up to her neck in trouble. Didn’t you get her mother’s text?

Don’t tell me that you’ve turned off the coven notifications.

” She tsked while she tugged on me. “We have to go to the courthouse and create a barrier that will keep the demon trapped there, keep him from killing the police officer. It’ll be good for the local witch reputation. ”

I gave her a flat look. “Not my problem. Also, it’s not common knowledge that I’m a witch. Also, I heard it’s a demon that feeds on corruption, which means the cop’s corrupt, ergo better dead than alive.”

She slapped her hand on the counter and then winced because she’d hit it too hard.

“Clary, with the traffic how it is, and the whole city in panic thanks to those instigating reporters, we can’t get any closer.

You know the city better than anyone. If you can’t help us get to the courthouse fast enough to make a difference, who can? ”

I pointed at Winston the Warlock without looking at him.

My eyes were still blistered from the time I’d accidentally gotten an eyeful of the egotistical beast of judgmental decrees at the last circle.

I’d planned on never seeing him again. Even if he showed up in front of me, I would do my best not to see him.

“He’s an outsider,” Portalia said, shooting him a suspicious look.

“Then why is he inside my shop?” I asked, voice raising slightly.

She blinked at me. “Clarinda, now isn’t the time to get testy. There’s someone trying to summon a greater demon. How do you think your business is going to do if the city is burned to nothing?”

My business was my life. I wrinkled my nose at her and then reluctantly turned to scowl at Winston the Warlock.

He was looking around, a slight curl to his perfect mouth showing his distaste for the world of second-hand clothing.

I wanted to burn those lips off his perfect manly face and hang him from the ceiling.

“Why are you here?” I asked, keeping my voice emotionless. I wouldn’t want him to think I was still burdened with negative emotions thanks to his evil ways.

He flashed a smile that showed both of his dimples. What kind of grown warlock has dimples? Where was his manly beard to cover his chiseled jaw? The only sign he was a warlock was the long coat and the long hair. Warm brown hair streaked with caramel. Like his eyes. Not that I was looking.

“Clarinda, isn’t it? I came to assist,” he said with a friendly air.

Yes, let’s pretend we don’t know each other. That way no one will suspect me when you wake up with a dagger stuck through your heart. Not that he had a heart.

“At what price?”

He looked slightly wounded. “It is my responsibility as?—”

“Not here, it isn’t. We aren’t paying fees to your community for the joy of having Winston the Warlock represent us.”

He raised a brow. “We don’t have time to argue. There is a demon at large.” His eyes were so beseeching, like he really was desperate for my help. Personally. I needed to get him out of my shop before I really did stab him.

I sighed heavily nodded towards the back. “My back door has a link to an alley a block or so from the Courthouse.” And then I’d definitely never see him again.

Portalia looked regal and self-satisfied. “That’s what I was saying. Why else would we stop to see you if not to get through the traffic?”

I shook my head and brushed past her, heading to the back room. I let everyone through one at a time, closing the door between each person to reset the link, letting them out close to the courthouse. Winston the Warlock hung back so he was the last person in my laundry room with me.

“Clary, I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” he murmured while I waited for the door to recharge before I put him through. Now it wasn’t Clarinda?

My blood boiled while steam curled out of my ears. Not actually. I kept as cold as a block of ice. “I’m sure my happiness and well-being is one of your greatest priorities. Why are you really here?” I asked, turning to face him fully.

He was so tall, broad-shouldered, powerful. He was trouble, and he’d come to my city, then my shop, like he wanted to pull all of us under his wing for our protection. I’d relied on him for my protection once before. For some reason, I wasn’t interested in an encore.

He studied me back with an impassive expression that I couldn’t read. He’d gotten quite good at acting in the past fifteen years. “I’d like to apologize,” he said abruptly, stiff and formal. Where was his pleasant smile as he wormed his way into a coven he wanted under his control?

“What for?”

He winced. “Your incarceration.”

I froze for a beat while reason and control lost to anger and vengeance.

Wow. He was sorry for my incarceration. Not for betraying me, for witnessing against me, for making sure I ended up behind bars in the prison for the worst kinds of offenders.

The way he said it, past tense, ‘I’d like to apologize for your incarceration,’ like he wasn’t the one who personally ensured my being convicted of murder.

My skin buzzed with rage. I took a step closer to him, cocking my head as I studied him from that angle. “I forgive you.”

I’d rather eat broken glass than absolve him of his sins.

I took another step closer to him, letting myself look at his broad shoulders for a moment.

I smoothed my fingers over the patched warlock coat, tugging on a loose seam.

“It’s not in the best shape, is it? I have a section of coats that you could look at.

Not on sale, sadly, but you don’t need sales, do you? ”

He cleared his throat. “You forgive me?” He didn’t believe me, or didn’t believe his ears.

It’s like he used to know me. No, he knew the idiotic, sweet, helplessly in love child of a notoriously evil family.

I’d wanted him to take me away from her shadows and bring me into the light of respectability and true love.

He was supposed to be my prince charming.

I’d believed in him, that he’d be my hero.

Instead, he’d condemned me to a fate worse than death.

I shrugged and tugged on his lapels. “What’s to forgive?

It was a long time ago. You really should replace this old thing.

” I was going to cut off his head and stick in on a pike in my front yard.

Not that I had a front yard. Other than the creaky mansion where my mother had died.

That would be something to really decorate the place. Lean into the haunted ambiance.

His voice was low, rough. “You left all polite society, untraceable, hidden from everyone you knew. Why would you go to those lengths if you didn’t still…”

I raised my chin. “I believe in moving on, putting the past behind me. Like you should do for your coat. How about we do a buy-one-get-one-fifteen-percent-off?”

He raised a perfectly groomed brow over those caramel eyes and I tried not to feel weird in today’s lime-green and yellow striped color combo. Including eyebrows. “And color. You used to prefer black or dark purple.”