Page 8 of Warlocks Don’t Win (Singsong City #9)

Chapter

Five

I came out of the shower, feeling safe in my black sweats, only to find Winston the Warlock wearing my natty comfort clothes on the bed eating fried chicken.

I climbed on the bed and grabbed the leg out of his hand, eating it before I could control myself. It was so good, and I was so hungry. It took me a few seconds to notice the entire other box of fried chicken on the side table.

He stared at me, close enough I could have face-butted him because I was straddling his legs while I devoured his chicken.

I pulled back, shocked at my incredibly bad manners and lack of self-control. I cleaned off the bone and dropped it into the empty box on the side. There were three boxes. “Sorry,” I mumbled as I grabbed another box and moved to the far side of the bed.

“You’re so hungry because of your familiar binding.”

“She’s not my familiar,” I muttered before I ripped into another leg.

“That’s right, you gave her to me. I forgot. We must be really close if you’re trusting me with your familiar.”

I glared at him. “You’re wearing my underwear. How much closer can you get?”

He raised a brow and considered. “I’ve never worn another woman’s underwear before. I’m surprised they fit you with how perfectly they fit me.”

I rolled my eyes and finished that chicken leg before grabbing another one.

After a few minutes watching me eat, he said, “The potatoes are terrible, but it’s what the nearest truck stop had.

Jerry the clerk’s sister ran and got it for us.

Also, there isn’t another room we can get, because the motel had a plumbing issue, so the plumbers are working on it, slowly, because plumbers in this part of the world, apparently, make their own hours. Or not as the case may be.”

“You checked to see if we could get two rooms?” I frowned at him.

Also, he’d manipulated Jerry’s sister into getting us dinner.

Did he not want to sleep in the same bed as me?

Not that he’d be sleeping with me. I’d be on the floor.

Of course he didn’t want me these days. I was a wreck in denial about her skunk familiar that had sprayed him.

I fell into the wouldn’t-touch-her-with-a-twelve-foot-pole, category. And he was a movie star.

He smiled slightly. “Jerry explained before I could make any requests.”

“Oh. Too bad about the one bed trope.”

“Trope?”

“Yeah. You know, two people that hate each other are stuck having to share one bed and then through the inevitable snuggling, they fall desperately in love. Don’t you read anything?”

He blinked at me. “Ah. That one bed trope. I have a tv show. That means I’m currently illiterate. Still, sounds grabby. I could use it in the next season.”

I bristled at the thought of him playing out the one bed trope with his gorgeous co-star. “That’s cool. So glad I’m useful to you in your Winston the Warlock fantasy.”

His smile grew. “I’m not party to any Winston the Warlock fantasies. That’s my reality. The tv show is my propaganda machine, makes good money, and keeps several of my interests afloat. No, Clary Sage, you’re my fantasy.”

I threw a chicken bone at him. He caught it in his teeth, which was absolutely barbaric, and nothing like what the old Win would have done. I stared at him, gaping.

He took the bone in his fingers and finished eating it, like a skunk in a garbage can, not too proud to scrounge discarded remains.

“You’re mad,” I announced.

He dropped the clean bone in the box and shrugged. “Probably.”

“Madness isn’t a good thing when you’ve got that kind of power.” I gestured at the bare forearms under the large pink t-shirt. The orange cartoon character had its tongue sticking out at me.

“I’m mad about you. You’re tired. Eat the potatoes and then sleep. I’ll take the floor. My big anti-stench magic wiped me out.”

He grabbed a pillow and dropped it on the thin industrial carpet and stood up, looking around for a blanket.

I grabbed his wrist. Such strong wrists. “No. I’m sleeping on the floor.”

His eyes widened then narrowed. “Hardly. You’re driving, so you need the better sleep.”

“Seriously, if I sleep on the bed, I’ll probably roll off it and land on you.”

“Seriously, the odds of that happening are so remotely small, why would you even try to use that as an excuse? You’re taking the bed. My grandmother would kill me with her bare hands if she heard that I made a woman sleep on the floor to protect my virtue.”

I rolled my eyes at the idea of his supposed virtue. “Seriously, Winston, I get nightmares and thrash around a lot. I always have, for as long as I can remember. That’s why I was so concerned about us having separate bedrooms after we were married.”

Gulp.

I’d just said the ‘M’ word.

He froze as well, but only for a second before he shook off my hand. “I’ll take my chances.” He settled down on the floor, no blanket, just him, a pillow, and my ridiculous comfort clothes.

I glared at him and then ate the mashed potatoes. Fine. If he wanted to sleep on the floor, then I wouldn’t feel bad if I killed him in my sleep.

Sleep came fast. He was right; I was exhausted, and I needed my strength to finish the drive tomorrow and deal with sleeping in my mother’s house. My house. Because she was dead and buried. I didn’t see where they’d buried her. Probably in the backyard cemetery.

I fell asleep thinking about the cemetery, the mausoleum where my father’s bones were kept…

And woke up with a tail draped over my face, wrapped in the strong arms of the warlock on the floor.

I felt good, connected both to my skunk familiar and the warlock who had let me sleep on top of him for who knew how long.

The sun was high enough to show midmorning, but I tended to get nightmares from midnight to three a.m.

I slowly raised my head so the tail slid off me until I was looking down into the caramel eyes of Winston my betrayer. It took me a full minute for the feelings to come online.

I shoved off him, sending Tolly rolling until I was on the bed in the swathe of destroyed bedding, kicking away from him.

He slowly sat up, capturing Tolly and snuggling her against his soft t-shirt while he looked at me with an intentionally blank face. His face bore marks of my nightmares, scratches that I didn’t remember giving him.

“Morning. Have you considered putting the mattress on the floor?” he asked in a low, manly voice.

I cleared my throat. “My apartment over the shop has a room that is all mattresses.”

“So it is literally a bed room. Makes sense. Your hair suits you better like that.”

I froze while my confused brain tried to compute. Ah. My hair wasn’t yellow and pink today. Better wasn’t a huge leap from that awfulness. I grabbed a hank of hair and studied the purple and green. Purple for Winston, and green for me. How terrifying.

I dropped my hair and nodded. “Yeah. It’s okay. I’ll go get my green and purple suitcase while you do the bathroom stuff.” I high-tailed it out of there, nodding at Jerry on my way.

“Check out in half an hour. You missed the continental breakfast,” he called after me.

My stomach growled, but I ignored it and him, needing to focus on what little I could control.

Matching. I’d match my psychotic hair if it killed me.

Why green and purple today? Lemon and pink would be better.

That wouldn’t look like I’d taken his magic and mine, and twined them together through the power of the one-bed trope.

Did I read too many romance novels in my mattress room?

Maybe. But I had to do something to unwind after a stressful day in the shop, and there were only so many times I could read my grimoire before I got bored.

Tv was out because I’d run into an ad for Winston’s show, and have that visceral need to kill everyone, particularly his co-star. The one he kissed regularly.

I rifled through the suitcases and came up with the one that would have green and purple.

If I thought about it, I could still feel the pressure of his lips from that time three months ago when I’d stolen his magic and gone to help defeat the demon.

That kiss would probably stay in my mind for years, in my body for who knew how long.

But kissing was just another day at the office for him.

Flirting was automatic to him. He could say that I was his therapy, or his fantasy, without batting an eye.

I wanted to stab him in the eye. I wasn’t over him or it wouldn’t kill me.

And waking up in his arms with our magic theme colors coming out of my skull? I needed to be over him.

It had been fifteen years, but I was still a live volcano, ready to erupt at the thought of his co-star. I really did need therapy. Could I use this situation to help me actually get over him? Or would that backfire, as most things in my life did?

Tolly climbed on the side of the truck and started combing my hair with her little claws.

If he betrays us again, we can burn him and build a house on the ashes.

I looked at the skunk and sighed heavily. “I don’t want a familiar.”

You don’t want a lot of things.

I wrinkled my nose at her and then pulled my hair out of her grasp and hauled the suitcase across the parking lot.

“I don’t need a familiar.” That’s what she was insinuating, that my needs had trumped my wants.

But she was in my head, so I couldn’t lie to her.

Unfortunately. Did I need closure with Winston the Warlock?

Closure sounded good. Like slamming a door shut that had always been blocked by a carelessly discarded coat.

But how could I possibly do that? How could I clear out the ghosts and walk forward with a future instead of just avoiding the past?

I thought about that while I showered and dressed, then when we stopped at the truck stop for breakfast, egg croissants and fruit for me, a hotdog for him. I kept thinking about how I could get closure the entire trip to the east coast.