Page 90 of Which Witch is Willing?
That’s it!Aerin realized. She could take out the zombies! That would be really fucking nice of her.
She veered toward the downtown square where a bronze fountain drizzled water over a naked lady with eternally marble-hard tits. One would think zombies would haunt the cemeteries, back yards, and out-of-the-way wooded graves from which they sprouted, but no, for some reason downtown by the theater and Alchemy Bistro and Wine Bar was where the undead liked to meet before they broke away to—you know—meat.
What Aerincoulddo was clean up the entire town once and for all, securing the streets and saving ten thousandish people from facing their own problems.
And hope she didn’t run into Gwen/Satan alone, as her sisters and their significant others were holed up at the mansion trying to come up with end of world battle plans that were contingent on her success in the selfless endeavor.
No pressure.
What she didn’t expect, was to show up late to a battle. Below her in the square, a lone man with a sabre sword and a shirt puffy enough to impress Lord Byron, was propelling and reposting lumbering zombie attacks with enough skill to put Inigo Montoya to shame.
Aerin recognized him immediately as the only other man on earth who was not Julian Roarke that could pull off that kind of fashion on the daily.
With a whoosh and dismount onto the cobbled stone, Aerin took in a deep breath, swung her arms back, and thrust them toward the only two zombies left standing who were currently flanking the swordsman. The gale-force gusts she summoned knocked the zombies into the wrought iron fence on the far side of the square, impaling them on the spikes, and also blew Norman Barriston’s silvery waxed mustache only slightly askew.
The ostensibly anachronistic keeper of Ye Olde Constabulary Inn was a mere mortal, but no one had the heart to tell him so. A local IT professional, pacifist, and fencing enthusiast, he’d been thriving in the apocalypse with his signature flare and endless good humor.
“Well, hello there!” he greeted, smoothing down the curly hair she’d rumpled after sheathing his sword with his characteristic flair. “Congratulations! I do believe you killed the last two zombies in Port Townsend proper.”
“Goddammit!” she swore, making a frustrated gesture. “Fucking figures!”
He looked at her askance. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, I thought that might be good news. My fencing class and I have been hunting them, as it seemed you lovely de Morays had so much on your shoulders, what with the apocalypse and everything. Didn’t want to be a nuisance.”
Aerin sobered immediately. “No, yeah, no. Thank you…for doing that.Sogreat.” She gave him a thumbs up that she hoped seemed like she meant it.
His smile brightened. “Don’t mention it.”
They spent an awkward moment admiring the strewn chaos of several bodies he’d re-killed.
Well, Aerin puffed out a deep breath. So much for the zombie plan. Maybe she’d have to go find a town without a resident Zorro.
“So,” Aerin opened her hand and called her broom to her palm. “Not to freak you out, but the actual devil is maybe who-knows-where close by and more than a little pissed off. Do you want me to give you a lift home?”
He grimaced. “I’m no great lover of heights, and I only live a quarter mile up that hill so, there’s no need.”
“Let me at least walk you,” she offered. “Safety in numbers and all that.”
His grimace deepened to a scowl that didn’t sit well on his cheerful round cheeks. “As a gentleman, allow me offer you an alternative,” he said with ebullience, holding his finger up as if he’d aEurekamoment. “Ican accompanyyouhome, foryoursafety.”
“I mean, I’m a super powerful elemental witch, soooooooo.” She let that trail off leaving the bloody fucking obvious unsaid.
She needed protection like a zombie needed a library.
“Still,” he insisted. “As you can see, I’m no slouch myself, and you are still a lady.”
Aerin bit her tongue until it hurt before forcing herself to say. “Okay. Yeah.” Maybe if she indulged the male ego that would totally count as sacrifice.
Because beyond that she was out of ideas.
They fell into step next to each other in a congenial march up the concrete steps that would lead them to the uptown where de Moray mansion hunkered against the bluffs.
Ever the raconteur, Barriston didn’t let the awkward silence settle in. “If I may ask, what brings you out here on a night such as this?”
Because Aerin was too frustrated to lie, she told him what she’d been doing. Then she just kept talking. And the talking became ranting, until she’d spilled the beans to him abouteverything. The Coven, the baby shower, her missing wand, Gwen/Lucifer, the children, the broken seals, the Goddess.
All in all, other than a stress rash creeping from beneath his collar, he took it all in stride. Finally winding down, she let him take a moment to digest, wondering what he’d say.
It was the last thing she expected. “You know, I’ve garnered a little wisdom in my years, and forgive me if I overreach, but I’m not certain when else I’ll have the pleasure of your company. Sacrifice, I’ve noticed, isn’t simply giving something shiny away. Or even putting yourself out for the sake of someone else. That is called service. Or kindness. Virtues that shouldn’t be extraordinary, but mundane, do you see what I mean?”
