Page 17 of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin Witch

Seven

Quinn

I stood in a pub in the middle of Christ-forsaken-nowhere, and was no closer to achieving my objective than when I began. The coven who hired me was seeking the source of a microburst of magick—not a big deal in itself, but they didn’t have any records of a supernatural living here. As a mercenary of sorts, my unique skills made me the perfect choice for such a task.

“Hey mate! You want something?”

I waved away the barkeep and tried to be subtle as I moved around the pub. The traces of magick were weak, but I knew that would likely be the case since it'd happened a few days ago. I did catch a few details that would be helpful—anger, and an older witch, aged forty. My eyes bugged out as a familiar scent reached me, and simultaneous waves of intrigue and paranoia crept into my veins.

A virgin forty-year-old witch.

Not many people would even recognize the scent, but I could thanks to my unique upbringing. It wasn’t as though I was a prude, but witch virginity was a tricky thing. Losing it was the only way to fully access a witch’s powers, which made the potent burst from this witch even more interesting. If she could give off this much power as a virgin, how powerful could she be?

Most covens treated the loss of virginity as a celebration; the witch in question would choose the male, go off and do the deed, and return to celebrate coming into her inheritance with her sisters all around her. I sneered at the thought—it was all so stupid. Nonetheless it begged the question: why was this witch alone and untouched?

My clients would want to know about this immediately. If the witch didn’t have her own coven, they’d likely want to adopt her into the fold. New blood was always invigorating, even though birth rates for witches were supposedly picking up in the past few decades.

I frowned, sensing more than just one lonely little witch. The stench of a werewolf was easy enough to pick out even if you were only half-trained. There was more though… I closed my eyes and settled into the feel of decay and neglect that lingered against my skin. I’d never felt it in person before, but I knew enough to recognize the signs. My eyes shot open.

Vampyre.

A trickle of sweat dripped down my back as the possible implications rolled over me. In the blink of an eye, this had gone from a simple scouting mission to a possible abduction. I schooled my face into a disinterested expression and nodded to the barkeep, who mumbled something about ‘all kinds of strangers.’ As soon as I was outside, I headed to the back of the building and whistled, extending my left arm.

Ayah dove down from the sky, a vision of white and gray feathers. She landed neatly on my outstretched arm,her golden eyes focused only on me. Her talcons sank into the leather guard I always wore on my left forearm, and she nuzzled into my neck.

“Tell the coven we’re going to need a team; there’s more going on here than a rogue witch.”

Ayah made a sound in her throat, and I launched her into the air. She gained height and soared off, and I watched until she was nothing more than a mere speck against the horizon. If we were dealing with vampyres and werewolves, backup would be needed. Desperately. In the meantime, I’d have to be extremely careful as I investigated.

I emerged from the alley, blinking into the high noon sun.

“Are you new in town?”

The old woman was wearing a large bonnet and a startling amount of pink. I blinked, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to her overall … brightness.

“Uh, yes. I’m just … visiting.”

She beamed, showing me a row of crooked, aged teeth. “Who are you staying with? I have a daughter around your age who would just love to meet you. There aren’t too many youngsters around.”

Even though I’d just turned forty-three, I supposed here that would be considered young. Other than the barkeep, everyone appeared to be in the twilight of their lives.

“That’s her right over there!”

The woman pointed across the street, where a middle-aged woman was arranging flowers in the front window of a shop.

“DONNA!”

I scowled, my hands flying to my ears as the woman screeched next to my ear. The woman in the shop looked up, her eyes shrill and calculating. Upon seeing me, they went round like a deer’s, and she twirled the bottom of her blonde ponytail with her fingers.

I didn’t have time for this.

The older woman had a firm grip on my arm, and I wrenched it away. She sputtered angrily next to me, but I didn’t pay attention. That smell was in the air again—sweat and canine, mixed with pine and smoke. I stalked in that direction, leaving the woman behind.

The market.

I glanced around the small, ramshackle ‘store’ in frustration. The werewolf had been here, and recently. What was he up to?

I tracked his path around the store, confused when it appeared he’d simply been … shopping. I left the market, ignoring the owner who shouted something at me as I left. It seemed if you walked out of an establishment without buying something in this town, people took it as a personal affront.

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