Page 19 of Warlocks Don’t Win (Singsong City #9)

Once I was back on Sage property, I let out a deep breath and tension along with it.

Tabitha was a problem. She wasn’t the voice of the coven on accident, and she used that whole aura of distracted, harmless, behind-the-times to make people underestimate her.

Could she be the reason behind my mother’s death?

Murder. I’d been the knife behind my mother’s death, but not the reason.

I’d had no reason to kill my mother since I didn’t want her magic, her power, her house.

I’d wanted Winston to save me from my legacy, from hers.

I walked the woods until I was closer to town. If Tabitha wasn’t going to give me answers, I’d have to go directly to Jessica. Who would mock my hair with even more energy than I would. And Winston. What would she say about me marrying that mage? The entire thing was ridiculous.

Her apartment was down the street from the reptile house, in a new condominium building that didn’t try to look like it had any kind of heritage. It was nice, particularly after visiting Tabitha.

I found her name and then buzzed her. It took five minutes of buzzing for her to answer, voice groggy.

“Good. Delivery. Come up.” She unlocked the doors without actually checking to see who I was.

Interesting. Not nearly paranoid enough for someone who dealt with real golems. Likely someone else on her set was in charge of the actual magic that could backfire so easily if you weren’t paying attention.

I walked up the steps, skipping the elevator because I wasn’t fond of being trapped in metal boxes.

Reminded me of jail. She was on the seventh floor.

I walked into her apartment, aware that I might be all wrong about her, and she might have something even nastier to throw at me than the golem.

She did, but it was the stench of excess, vomit and sticky sweet something.

She was slumped on the couch with an ice pack to her head, looking like she’d been run over by a very bad spell, or, if the scent of her apartment was any indication, a hangover.

“Who is in charge of your golem?” I asked, dropping on the couch beside her.

She flinched and then groaned. “Clary. Go away. I have nothing to say to you.”

I poked her shoulder. “Who oversees your golem? The next time I ask, it’s going to be very loud.”

She groaned and then opened one eye to scowl at me. Her eye was impressively bloodshot. “Silas’s cousin, Midas. He stays on set with all the equipment, to watch things after hours, so you can go bother him now. Shoo.” She waved her fingers at me.

“You let me in without checking who I was. How could you have gotten so careless?” It was certainly not a good sign of the state of the coven.

She sat up, giving me her full attention for the first time. “You look like a mockery of incompetence, but even when you were young, you were driven for excellence.” Her lips stretched into a hideous grin. “You can get rid of my hangover!”

I gave her a flat look. “I could, but that would hardly encourage you to take care of your own hangover by, I don’t know, not getting wasted in the first place. Did you have a party with your cast or something?”

She frowned at me. “How can I have a party when we’ve been shut out of the woods? We have to shoot our woods scenes, or completely rewrite the last half of the season.”

“That sounds positively dire. Rewriting half of the season? The trauma.” It wasn’t any of my business why Jessica was getting drunk to the point of being hungover at three o’clock the next afternoon.

But she’d been at the gate yesterday morning, and she tended to get very stupid when Jordan was anywhere in the vicinity.

I slumped on the couch, studying the sleek black and white furniture that was worlds away from Tabitha’s vibe. “Tell me about the Bosty coven. Where is Jordan’s place in it?”

She flinched at his name. Yep. He was the reason behind her stench and bloodshot eyes. “If you take away my hangover, I’ll tell you whatever you want, but not until then.” She raised her chin, all snippy.

I sighed and got off her couch, then rummaged around in her adjoining kitchen, finding everything I’d need for an elixir that would bring her back to life, detox her, and make her vomit the next time she tried to drink alcohol. It wouldn’t last forever, but long enough to dry her out.

I brought it to her on a tray along with halved grapefruit and toast, basically the last food in her apartment. She sat up long enough to gulp down a large swallow of the thick liquid before she slumped down again, giving me a look through those red-veined eyes.

“It tastes good. You are competent then, even more than you were fifteen years ago. That’s good. You’ll need to be if you’re going to face Tabitha .” She filled that name with awful dread.

I shrugged. “I saw her already today. Her face could use a lift.”

She blanched at me. “You saw her? What did she say? What did she do when you took back the voice of Salem? Did you kill her?” Her eyes were alight with that possibility. Typical Salem coven, so loyal to its leader.

“I have no interest in being the voice of Salem. It was a brief visit. I don’t have time for her diversion tactics when I’m dealing with golems, curses, and cranky houses.”

Her eyes bugged out. “No interest? You’ve come all this way when you don’t care? Then why are you here?”

I stood up. “As fun as this has been, and it hasn’t, I’ve got to be going.”

She grabbed my wrist, then chugged the elixir, stuffed her face with toast and abandoned the grapefruit as she dragged me to the door. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am. You don’t know anything about all the issues of our coven. You need someone who’s been here the whole time who can fill you in.”

“You don’t want to come. You want to stay home and nurse your hangover.”

She smiled brightly, her eyes already less bloodshot. I had gotten better in the past fifteen years, thanks to dealing with a coven whose home brew was always too strong.

“What hangover? First, we’ll go talk to Midas, then we’ll talk to Corse, the director, and after that…”

“I’m not dealing with that right this second. First, I’m taking a train ride.”

She blinked at me. “A train ride? You’re going back to Singsong?

Now? But…” She sputtered before she grabbed my shoulders and breathed in my face, still rank of stale alcohol.

“What about Winston? You can’t just leave him here to rule in your place!

He’s…” She sputtered some more while her obvious loathing shone like a beacon of hate.

“He’ll use the house for his show! He’ll steal all of our viewers!

He’ll make us look weak, probably wipe us out or something.

How could you do that to me? I thought we were friends?

” Her eyes widened and she looked so pathetic, I almost pretended to buy it.

“Your acting skills are fire,” I said, patting her head.

“You should do a show with him. Think of the ratings.” I was tempted to break her neck, only for a second, but enough of an urge at the thought of Jessica play-acting a romance with Winston, that I pulled my hands against my chest, crossing my arms in case my instincts came out and did bodily harm.

“I’m taking the train to Bosty. How many hours is that?

I’ll be back tonight. The last train is midnight, right?

It used to be. I’ll check before I get stuck there overnight. That would be embarrassing.”

She blinked at me. “Bosty?” Her lip curled in derision while her eyes screamed confusion. “What could you possibly want there when your warlock is already here? Are you mad?”

“I’m surprised at you. You see my hair, and you need to ask? Yes, I’m mad. Utterly.”

She shrugged. “Fine. We’ll take my car to the station. I have a parking pass since I spend so much time in Apple City.”

“Partying?”

She gave me a contemptuous lip curl. “With business executives. Running a television show isn’t exactly easy, Clary. Not like running away.”

I flashed her a sharp smile. “If it was so easy, I wouldn’t be here.”

She looped her arm in mine, the arm that was tucked against my chest so I wouldn’t accidentally kill her. “What did bring you here? Never mind. That’s your business. The important thing is that you stay here long enough to fix things.”

“Fix things?” I sounded as mystified as I felt.

“The house, the coven, your issues with Winston. You don’t need to tell me that you came here to get untangled from him.

I know him well enough to know exactly what you’re up against. Poor Clary.

And not even the hair scared him away?” She sighed heavily as she eyed the locks.

“It was worth a shot. It doesn’t look terrible on you.

Green was always your best color, and purple your favorite. ”

Was purple my favorite even before I met him? I couldn’t remember. I did remember how hard it was to get disentangled from Jessica once she had her tentacles around you.