Page 14 of Warlocks Don’t Win (Singsong City #9)

Chapter

Eight

H uh. It had been years since I’d practiced facing an attack spell like that.

Win didn’t look so good, pale and greenish, but I didn’t have time to check him because the lumbering golem that had shot the spell was stepping through the window, arm raised showing his massive axe, prepared to chop off the head of his target.

It was so over dramatic. A flashy light spell and a golem?

It’s like someone had been watching too many television shows.

The golem hesitated, confused about whose head he should chop first, mine or Winston’s.

I summoned all my magic, as well as my mother’s, and grew that axe handle around his wrist, digging roots into the clay arm while I threw breadsticks at him to get his attention. It was fast for a golem, but that wasn’t saying much, as golem’s are usually quite slow. Indestructible, but slow.

He swung the axe at me, and I dodged back, feeling the whoosh of air behind the blade.

That was a sharp blade, spelled to kill what it cut.

That would be handy in a few seconds. But first, I had to try not to die.

The golem advanced and I retreated, still throwing rolls at him.

The rest of the restaurant was empty. Lucky.

I grabbed a tablecloth and threw it over him, then dashed to the opposite side of the restaurant.

I threw salt and pepper shakers at it while it turned slowly, pulled off the tablecloth and then came towards me, focus and annihilation in its dead eyes.

I started mumbling a spell, “Tarum pachit frustrum,” which were mostly nonsense words, but I’d always liked the sound of them. “Sigwy Flaynop bolgraz.”

The axe shook itself, like it was waking up and then twisted in his hand and started chopping at his face and neck.

The golem struggled, grabbing the axe handle with both hands, but the axe just sank roots into both hands, making it impossible for him to use his other hand to grab me or smash me.

I dodged past him while the axe chop-chopped and the golem struggled to redirect its will towards the targets he’d been programmed to kill.

That would be me. Or Winston. No, the spell had gone where I’d been before Win had gotten me out of the way.

Was he hurt? I had no idea what kind of spell it had been, but blue lightning wasn’t ever a good thing.

Was he breathing? He was still on the floor, looking waxy and unconscious.

I turned with a snarl and threw a curse at the golem using all my frustrated anger.

It was good to get it out, because if I had to heal Winston, I couldn’t have rage and dark energy blocking up the good vibes.

I threw another curse, knocking the golem back, into a table, while the axe kept chopping.

On the one hand, it would be good to stay here until the golem took care of itself, but the longer Winston was untreated, the worse it would be.

I couldn’t work on him here, not without any equipment or spell books.

I had to take him back to Sage House and hope we both survived the trip.

And that the butler hadn’t burned it down while I was eating. And that the house cooperated.

I grabbed the large man under his armpits and dragged him across the floor to the door, the golem chopping himself in my periphery.

Ugh. Did Winston have to weigh so much? I took a deep breath and flexed my core as I dragged him another foot.

And now I was wishing I hadn’t eaten so enthusiastically. Gurgle.

I dragged him on until finally, I got to the door.

His body was still heavy, not quite loose, tense, while his expression was also growing in tightness.

He was struggling against the spell. Maybe I didn’t have to do anything.

The scent of ozone wasn’t fading, though.

That golem had meant to destroy with that spell more than the ax. And Winston had taken it for me.

I curled my lips and dragged him faster down the sidewalk to where I’d parked my truck.

It wasn’t far. Thank goodness. I put down the gate and then came the really fun, gut-wrenching prospect of putting him in the back of the truck.

I was going to die. Sweat beaded on my forehead while I strained from my arms to my ankles, struggling until I got his upper body on the back.

Then I took a rest for a second, dropping into a crouch while I panted and tried to think positive thoughts.

Someone was really trying to kill me, and Winston had taken a death spell for me. Not that you should name a spell before you were certain, but the scent of ozone was very familiar, as were the wisps of smoke that were starting to curl off his skin. He was fighting it off, or he’d already be dead.

I’d be dead if he hadn’t taken it for me.

I shook my head and straightened, clambering up to the back so I could haul the rest of him on.

He wasn’t dying today. Or ever if I was the one meant to be killed.

How dare he step in the way of that blast so that I couldn’t feel good about rubbing my incarceration in his face? Selfish. That’s what he was.

I scowled down at his face. “Don’t you dare die, Winston! Not unless I’m the one who killed you.” I slammed the gate and jogged to the driver’s side as fast as my aching body would go.

I clearly needed to do weight training. Lots of it. Also more magic training. I’d been lazy the last few years, letting my upbringing of neurotic capability fade into apathetic indifference.

Not anymore. No one got to try and kill me if Winston was going to be playing idiotic hero.

It was the television show. It had made him start to think that he really was a ‘good guy’ who would sacrifice himself for the damsel in distress.

And that was me. Look at my green and purple striped hair.

I’m a true victim of life. Someone save me from clashing!

Also crashing, because as soon as I entered the intersection, I was almost t-boned by a semi.

Dude! Why was a semi driving through the middle of Salem?

I sat there, heart-pounding, gripping the steering wheel while I waited for the silver gas truck to go through.

Headed towards the gas station. He probably wasn’t intentionally there for the sole purpose of trying to kill me. Although I couldn’t be sure.

I stepped on the gas as soon as it was out of the way, peeling around the corner, and headed towards the edge of town, and Sage House.

The gates opened for me without a screech, and the door also opened as soon as I neared the porch. I backed up so far over the porch that I could probably slide him into the foyer once I put down the tailgate.

No sooner had I put down the back when the butler came and grabbed Winston’s legs. He would have hit his head and gotten an extra concussion if I hadn’t lunged and caught his upper body awkwardly.

“Smells like a death curse,” the butler said conversationally.

I hissed at him. “Don’t speak an unbearable truth like that.”

He raised a white brow. “Unbearable? One would think that you weren’t the one killing him.”

“One would. What do you know about animating a golem?”

He raised both brows. “Not much. My magic is more ordinary, numbers and managing money well. Where do you want to take him?” he asked as we crossed the foyer.

I looked up the stairs. The best place would be in the room at the center of the house, which used to be my mother’s bedroom. But we hadn’t made it there yet on the tour, so who knows how lethal it was? Winston didn’t need more lethal in his life. Also, it was at the top of the stairs.

The butler saw where I was looking and started taking his feet that way. Which meant I was left carrying his heavy bones after him. Seriously needed to do weight training after this. Once I recovered. Which would be never. Had the stairs ever been so long?

Hm. I squinted at those stairs.

“Stop it.” I layered threats to the command so the house would know I was serious. This was not the time to play.

The stairs abruptly ended, so the butler stumbled out on the upper hall, pulling me after him. Somehow I didn’t drop Winston, just kept on, towards the bedroom with the large oak door that was closed.

“Open the door,” I ordered. If the house was in good shape, it would have taken Winston out of the truck, through the floors and up to this bed, undressing him as he went so he was ready for my mother’s spells by the time she’d climbed the stairs.

Of course, I wasn’t my mother, and I wasn’t going to be doing spells on Winston that made the house, and her, stronger.

He wouldn’t end up another pile of bones buried in the backyard.

The door opened slowly, with a loud creak that sent a wave of goosebumps crawling down my spine.

We carried him through the cobwebbed bedroom towards the massive four poster bed draped in heavy black silk velvet.

Nothing caught dust like silk velvet. Also spiders.

The butler dropped one of his legs to part the curtains while I continued forward, practically throwing him on the bed. Good enough.

I sneezed from the enormous cloud of dust that rose with the impact of his body on the mattress. He sank down until he was entirely surrounded by the down.

“Perfect,” I said then sneezed again. Annoying but inevitable. I hurried to the cabinet on the side that had all of her regularly used potions and ingredients. Everything was past full potency, but thanks to the doors, wasn’t dusty.

“What would you have me do, Mistress?” the butler droned.

“Go clean the kitchen and put on some hot water. Thank you.” I flashed him a polite smile.

He flinched and left me to it. Ah. My mother always smiled instead of threatened. It was her most charming trait. I’d forgotten how to rule with a firm grasp on another’s soul.

The first step in stopping the death spell, was to give it another target to kill. Which meant I needed something alive.