Page 33 of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin Witch

Twelve

Quinn

I was sure the wolf and the vamp would be on my tail, but after a few hours passed I had to admit they weren’t chasing me.

Probably busy with the witch. Not that I blame them.

It wasn’t often I had a woman—regardless of species—turn me down cold, and I found it was almost a novel experience. I lived most of my life panty hopping and not caring who I hurt along the way. It wasn’t like those girls didn’t know what they were getting into, so I didn’t pity them at all. In a way, each tick in the bedpost was another point in my favor, proving that my own coven had been wrong to cast me out. Women were shallow and immature, and my travels only furthered this as truth in my mind.

Cold fury funneled through me as I thought about my coven, but I pushed it away. I was richer than any of them, and my magick stronger than they could have ever predicted. I could have helped the coven out of poverty and shown them how to thrive … but no. Instead, they rejected me and drove me out … just like Aggie.

Aggie.

With two supernatural protectors around, I highly doubted she needed any help from me. And yet … something was off. I held out my arm, and Ayah came soaring down to land carefully on my leather bracer. I threw her a small bit of meat jerky, kept in my kit as a treat for a job well done. I took the small pouch of gold from her leg that was my payment. Ayah gobbled the meat quickly, so I offered her another one.

“Thanks girl. You were amazing as always.”

Her fierce gold eyes peered at me, her beak tilting down in displeasure. A wave of unease prickled along our bond, and I frowned.

“You felt it too, huh? Something is up with that coven. A European sect, right?”

The head witch who had appeared in the woods had an Irish lilt to her voice, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Ayah ruffled her feathers, then sent me a mental scape of where she had flown the past twenty-four hours. I tracked landmarks until I confirmed my suspicions.

“Gaelic witches indeed. Interesting.”

The European sect was quite large, with many covens underneath their banner. Their territory included everything from Scotland to Italy, from Norway to Spain and France. The Gaelic coven in Ireland was so disconnected from usual coven business that most people forgot them—unless you were me. In fact, they didn’t even call themselves witches, insisting instead on the name druid.

What were they doing poking around the south of England?

Regardless of intent, whatever they were doing would be of interest to the other covens, and perhaps even the council. My mouth practically watered at the implications. If the gossip was juicy enough, the council would offer enough gold to see Ayah and I set for life on a tropical island somewhere.

“What do you say girl? Up for an adventure?”

Ayah blinked and sent me a feeling of amused resignation. I smirked, knowing she lived for excitement the same way I did. I peeked up at the stars and set our course. I kept repeating to myself that I was doing it for the money and certainly not because I wanted to know more about the curious witch with a will of steel.

???

The journey to Ireland didn’t take long; it never did when you used magick. The tricky part was staying hidden. I was surprised when Ayah led me to Dublin. A bustling city was hardly where I thought I’d find the heart of the ‘druids,’ but my falcon was rarely wrong.

The good news was that it was easy to hide in the throng; less so for Ayah. As long as I didn’t use any magick and kept my head down, I was just another guy going about his day. I changed into some casual clothes, burying my leathers and weapons in my kit, which I wore on my back. I sent Ayah to watch from afar, and I waited.

And waited.

And … waited.

I normally wouldn’t wait this long, but something held me in place. Aggie’s face floated in front of my eyes, and I scowled. No. I was simply seeking information because information was currency in my line of work. That was it.

Information you can take back to Aggie to help her.

I turned without looking, fully intending to blow this popsicle stand and bury myself so far up some hired girl that I would forget what that witch even looked like.

BAM.

My kit went flying, as did the woman’s canvas tote. We both fell back on our bottoms, her staring at the mess of her cappuccino on the sidewalk, and me wincing at the tear in what was my only pair of decent jeans. Without thinking I turned on the charm.

“I’m so sorry, I’m—”

The woman snarled at me, and I felt wisps of magick escape her control. My eyes widened, but I managed to control the rest of my reaction. It was clear from her annoyed expression that she thought I was a rude, ordinary man. Perfect.

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