Page 2 of Warlocks Don’t Win (Singsong City #9)

“Did I? Maybe I just thought that’s what I was supposed to like as dictated by my position in upper neutral magic society.

” I frowned at the door. It was taking too long to reset, almost like someone was interfering with it.

Could that be a subtle magical surge from our dear old friend, Winston?

It had to be. That was an attack I would be completely justified in responding to in kind.

How could I undo him? The stitching on his coat.

I could start unravelling that easily enough.

I turned and gripped his lapels again, pulling him closer so I could stare into his eyes.

His eyes widened in panic, but he didn’t push me off him. Good. I’d be better able to destroy his priceless coat if he was distracted by the fear that I might kill him like he’d testified I’d done to my mother.

“You look tired, Win,” I said, looking deep into those pools of melting caramel. “Maybe trying to rule the world isn’t worth the exhaustion.”

His eyes flickered with purple lightning for a moment before he slid his large hands around my waist and pulled me against him.

Wait. What was going on? I was undoing the seams of his coat.

Of course I was, but being so close, he smelled so good, and I felt the same rush of warmth and rightness I’d felt the first time I’d danced with him.

He’d put his hand on the small of my back, leading me into the elaborate steps that my current coven wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to follow. It had been love at first dance.

I’d been so stupid. I’d loved him so completely. If I’d found him over the body of someone holding the knife, I would have given him an alibi, mine to protect whether he committed the crime or not. He gave the judge his testimony against me.

“You look perfect,” he murmured and then lowered his head, slowly, slowly, until his lips met mine.

Excuse me. This wasn’t happening. My heart wasn’t racing, my toes weren’t curling, and my soul wasn’t singing. Nope. Except…

For too long, I let him kiss me, swept away by the sensations of happiness and well-being that were so perpendicular to my real life that I was able to swim my way through the madness and process some things.

Winston the Warlock was giving me access to his skin, his breath, his vulnerability. Of course it was all a ploy to accomplish one of his elaborate plots. He was trying to sweep me away back into that insipid obsession I’d had for the beast.

He felt so good. I had two choices: forget about reality and pretend that this was a dream segment with no consequences, or I could use our connection to absorb his magic, using that dark legacy my dead mother had left me.

I hadn’t stolen anyone’s magic since I’d turned seventeen and realized that it turned meathead jocks into super stalkers.

He was the reason I’d taken that trip to Apple City with my new friend, Jessica’s distant cousin, and met Winston at the ball no Sage from the Salem Coven would ever go to.

And fell in love. I’d been such an idiot.

Still was if how incredibly good it felt to be back in Winston’s arms was any indication. I slipped my hands around his neck, finding skin to skin contact with my palms, and then I pulled him against me, his magic, his taste, his will.

I kissed him until his hands relaxed their grip and he fell back, shoulder thudding against the door while he looked at me with bleary eyes.

“Clary?” he slurred, squinting at me. “What did you do?”

“It’s called forgiveness,” I said, pushing him away from the door so he crashed into the wall and wouldn’t block the door when he collapsed. “The next time I see you, I’ll forgive you so hard, you’ll never recover,” I whispered as I pulled his coat off his shoulders, freeing his arms easily.

He slowly sank to the floor, staring at me with shocked betrayal in his eyes.

I didn’t smile and gloat, not because I didn’t like hurting other people, even despicable monsters like him, but because I didn’t care enough about him to enjoy his torment.

Also, I had the city to save or whatever.

I plucked a strand of his hair, pulled on his coat and stepped through the door, twining that hair around my finger as I went.

My ring finger. Left hand. Where I used to wear his family heirloom. Anger and nausea went so well together.

I ignored my burning lips and rapidly beating heart as I shook myself out and pulled on Winston the Warlock. I’d be in control of the rhetoric he used as he proved his heroism, and ‘Stripes’ wouldn’t be connected to the witch coven. It was a win all around. Heh. Except for Winston himself.

It took me no time at all to catch up to Portalia, and then I took over the defense circle around Brannigan, the corrupt police officer who was the demon’s target, while I crackled with purple energy that was Winston’s signature.

It was so easy to weave the spells, to contain the demon, to be the commanding, manipulative, powerful Warlock no one would question.

I reached out a powerful hand towards the witch circle where they stood around the fallen officer in the courthouse, feeding their strength into the demon’s victim.

It was a weird thing to have so many unkempt people in the pristine courthouse.

That is, it had been pristine. Now it was scorched with some lofty pillars that weren’t so much lofty as horizontal.

One of the Warlock’s Kiss members was eating an egg sandwich, most of which was getting stuck in his beard. Whatever. Very manly.

“The Singsong City coven is free to operate independently as long as the sun rises on a new day.” What was I saying?

No idea, but Winston’s deep voice made it sound official and powerful.

The main thing was that the coven was under my power, not his.

I put a lot of effort into making certain they were all addicted to my sausage rolls, which compelled them to my will.

Specifically, not causing public issues that would bring down the wrath of those who wanted to burn the witch. Or throw her in prison.

Portalia muttered about that irresponsible Clarinda who never even showed up. Yes, that witch. So uninvolved.

Soon enough, it was wrapped up, the demon threat was gone, and I got to go back to my shop.

I was looking forward to getting into some black sweats and burying my happiness in ice cream, but when I stopped just inside the back door, the scent hit me.

Winston was gone, but he must have left the back door open, letting in a skunk who was standing on a stack of tailored slacks that I’d just steamed and spelled, fresh, ready for the racks.

Not the wool! I held up my hands, but it raised its tail at the same rate.

I lowered my hands, its tail did not lower. Gulp. What did I do in a past life to deserve this?

“Hey there,” I said in a sweet, lilting voice. I used to sound like that all the time. Weird. “Do you want to go on a nice ride with me to the woods? If you come willingly, I won’t have to put you in a cage.” Like I had a cage. This was a clothing commission shop, not a zoo.

It gave me another look and then sprayed in a large swathe while I flinched back. The stench! I was going to kill Winston the Warlock for doing this to my shop. And me. And my clothes!

It leapt down, ran past my feet, and out into the dark alley, tail waving jauntily.

The scent was going to kill me. And I was going to kill Winston the Warlock. He thought that this was revenge? He had no idea what revenge looked like. But I’d show him. If I ever saw him again. Which I wouldn’t.

Honestly, I preferred the skunk over Winston the Warlock. At least the skunk wouldn’t leave my lips burning while longing burned in my traitorous heart. Just my eyes. And the wool! It would take all my efforts and magic to undo what the skunk, and Winston, had done.