Page 9 of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin Witch

I scoffed. That was likely the entire point, wasn’t it? I was grateful to my Elder for turning me and helping me with my goals, but now … now I wanted more.

More would be the ability to choose where I went, and with whom. Varos was hardly pleasant company, far more interested in his own pursuits to take any notice of me.

The witchling would be a good companion for me. I was sure of it.

It was odd, because I had never once thought of having a companion until I felt the raw sting of her magick against my skin.

I followed her into the back garden where I found her on her knees, her palms flat and fingers dug deep into the soil. Her long hair hung over her face as magick weakly pulsed around her, her skirt flared around her in a pool of magenta fabric. Bare shoulders made me lick my lips, and I winced as my fangs shot through the roof of my mouth.

I took a step forward to go to her but met another invisible barrier. This one was stronger than the one in the alley, sizzling against my skin as I drew back, hissing.

Witch wards, designed to keep other paranormals out.

I pushed against them slightly, frowning when I realized they weren’t very strong. It would be painful for me to break them, but I could do it. And if I could do it, then an older vampyre or even a group of supernaturals could as well. This was unacceptable. My witchling needed me, and this only proved it further.

“What are you doing?”

My witchling jerked and whipped around to face me.

“Am I going to have to call the bobbies?”

Now that was an amusing thought. It would be child’s play to avoid them, and then they’d likely think she was crazy and seeing things. I frowned. I couldn’t have anyone thinking ill of her.

“I thought a witch like you would know better than to call the authorities on someone like me.”

I cursed internally as fear and shock twisted her face. I wasn’t doing anything to endear her toward me, was I?

“Why did you call me a witch?” She tried to sound tough, but there was still a slight waver of fear.

I rolled my eyes and pointed to the white wooden fence I stood behind.

“Mostly due to the witch ward you’ve set around the property. It’s quite good, but I’ve seen better. I figured it would be bad manners to simply break it down.”

Again, that was the wrong thing to say. The witch turned and ran into her little cottage. Alarmed, I shouted at her retreating back.

“Easy witchling, I was only joking. Can I come in?”

“NO!”

I huffed, then snarled at a nearby cat that was slinking through the tall grass. It paused, then stood straight. Its bright yellow eyes bored into me, almost as if it were sizing me up. I realized this was most likely the witchling’s familiar.

“Doesn’t seem particularly taken with me, does she?”

The cat blinked slowly, and I caught a quick flutter of amused agreement. I knew from experience that a familiar could generally communicate with tohers depending on the strength of the witch, or the bond between them and others.

The cat hissed at the exact moment I scented another being approaching—a wolf. I saw him reach the front gate from the road, and I snarled.

“Vampyre.” He hissed back, then gave me a cheeky grin as he knocked on the door.

Rage flooded my body at the thought of him being near my witchling. Why didn’t the wards affect him? I stomped around the perimeter of the house, looking for a weak spot to slip through. I didn’t want to break her wards but resolved that I would if I heard her scream.

“You’re ok with this?”

I glared down at the cat, who was following my progress but keeping a respectful distance. His tail flicked back and forth, and I caught another whiff of amusement.

“Happy to be here for your entertainment.”

The cat jumped on top of the fence, and then pounced onto my shoulder. I flinched, but he wasn’t attacking me—just flexing his claws enough to gain purchase on my undead shoulder. We stared at each other for a few moments before the wolf’s voice echoed out through the open window.

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