Page 52 of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin Witch

Twenty

Quinn

“Fuck, fuck. FUCK.”

Sometimes there was only one word appropriate for how terrible a situation was, and this was one of those moments.

The dying witch twitched under my arms, her hands grasping desperately at her throat as Aggie’s magick burned brightly in her veins. I’d never been bitten by a vampyre before, but there were plenty of eyewitness accounts to let me know it was one of the worst agonies on earth. The entire body felt like it was burning in a vat of acid from the inside out, and that was if you were lucky and the vampyre hadn’t drained you completely. If the vampyre didn’t seal the bite or you didn’t seek magickal treatment, then turning was inevitable.

My own magick shot into the witch, the indigo tendrils caressing Aggie’s white ones as I first set to repairing her torn throat. If the vampyre—Karl—was to survive this without a death sentence from the council, then no one could know this happened, not even the witch.

Her throat mended, I touched two fingers to her forehead, and she went still. I could only hope our combined magicks would be enough to wipe her most recent memories.

If the magickal backlash didn’t fry her first.

Healing magick was tricky, and it took a long time to learn its intricate nuances. I’d learned by experimenting on myself, so I knew more than most. A mercenary’s life wasn’t exactly safe, after all.

When I was sure the witch wouldn’t bleed out and the wolf was likely far enough away with Aggie, I sent a beacon high into the sky.

In minutes I was surrounded by the druids. The leader stalked forward, ripping her hood off her head.

“What happened?” she hissed.

I had to play this carefully.

“She was hurt, but I think most of it is healed.”

Don’t offer any information. Let them lead you to the correct answers.

The witch snarled at me, and thrust a hand outat the witch. The witch shot straight up, her chest following the leader’s hand like a crude puppet. The witch’s blonde hair had twigs and grass strewn in it, but her eyes snapped open with clarity. Her thankfully brown eyes. I nearly slumped with relief. A newly turned vampire would have blood red eyes, which would turn back to their normal color until they were hungry again. Over time the irises would turn red, and then eventually the pupils.

“Róisín. What happened?”

I held my breath, waiting with more anticipation than the coven. The witch frowned, trying carefully to stand.

“I … I don’t know. I think I was attacked. Then … then I was being healed. Oh, how it burned.”

The witch shot me a confused glance, and I barely remembered to give her a flirtatious grin back.

Stay in character. Act how you normally would.

The leader wasn’t nearly as impressed.

“Burning?” She grabbed the witch’s chin and inspected her neck, narrowing her eyes when no blemish was found. I reminded myself to breathe.

“What were you doing out here anyway? I thought—” My mouth slammed shut as her power washed over me.

“A better question would be what you were doing here, warlock.”

I scowled, hating how they always managed to make the word sound like a slur. It was tempting to rat out the vampyre or even the wolf, but all I could see was Aggie’s devastated face. What would happen to her if her protectors were taken away and executed for attacking a witch?

She’d be desolate is what she’d be. Horrifically unhappy and likely mourning them until the end of time.

I couldn’t do it.

“I … it was an accident.”

The head witch’s eyes snapped to mine, fury brimming in her gaze. I refused to be cowed and gathered my own magick around me.

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