Page 21 of Livewire Witch

Roscoe lets out an enthusiastic whoop. “He’s a protection mage,” he tells me. “You want to come and watch him at work? Come on, you can come and see the rest of this place.”

I nod, instantly regretting it as my head pounds harder with the movement. “I’ll just grab my boots.”

A couple of minutes later, we’re in the elevator, heading to the ground floor. Zeph keeps to one corner with his arms folded, avoiding looking in my direction until I address him directly.

“What was this place like when you first found it?” I remember he said yesterday that he came across it when he first moved to the district. I’m guessing it’s been a kind of safe hideaway ever since.

He lets out another little grunt before leaning back against the wall. “Total shithole. It was back when there were a bunch of abandoned buildings around here. But I saw the penthouse windows from outside and something about it called to me.”

I try not to let my surprise show on my face. Not that he chose this place, but that he’s actually given me a genuine answer as to why he chose it.

“There are wards at all the entrances and the elevators,” Z adds. “We’re gonna need to key you into them so they don’t go nuts if you ever have to leave the apartment and one of us isn’t with you.”

“Although I might be gluing myself to your side for a while, honey. I didn’t do well not knowing where you were or if you guys were safe.” Roscoe links his fingers with mine. Then, clearly deciding that’s not enough contact for him, he wraps his other arm around my waist.

He doesn’t let go, even when we reach the ground floor and step out into a dingy foyer which could do with a coat of paint and a vacuum. Zeph unlocks the front door and greets a tall, thin, bearded guy with a nod.

“Halstead.”

“Stormrider.” The guy gives a bro chin jerk. “Good you called. The wards are feeling kind of... holey.”

Zeph waves a hand, gesturing around at the building. “Have at it. We’ll need the usual magical signatures with access, plus Silver here.”

The protection mage shoots me a fleeting glance. “Should be easy enough.” He then leans toward me and holds his hand out as if for a handshake.

I glance at Roscoe, who still hasn’t let go of my hand. He nods encouragingly and so I stick out my free hand to shake the other mage’s. As our skin makes contact, a little buzz of feeling goes through me.

“That’s me tuned to your signature. Means you’ll be able to get through the wards no bother.”

Then Halstead opens his coat, revealing a bulging tool belt. He plucks various seemingly random things out of the belt. First is a keychain, which he holds while muttering some words I can make out before handing it over to Z.

“For the elevator.”

The next set of items is even weirder. There’s a paintbrush and a tiny vial of a clear, gloopy liquid, a lint roller, and a tiny wind-up mouse.

As he mutters more words, I’m not fast enough to stop my magic from reacting to his spells. I should have better control over it, but I’m still feeling kind of ropey and not myself, so it sneaks up inside me and clings onto his power, sucking it up quickly like a kid wanting to get the last drop of lemonade on a hot day.

Well, guess that means I can ward buildings too. I wonder if the weird items are a prerequisite or if the warding can be done with anything.

When Halstead starts to roller the lint brush on the ancient, ratty carpet, he glances up. “This might take a little while.”

It’s clearly a dismissal, and both Roscoe and Zeph take it as such. Z gives the guy a clap on the back that almost sends him flying, before jerking his thumb toward the elevator. He inserts the key into a slot below the numbers and then presses every button.

We’re then treated to a halting journey up to the penthouse, with the doors opening at every floor. Zeph then gives the shortest possible description. Most of the floors are unoccupied. A couple have apartments free and furnished, available for people in or out of the district that need somewhere to go.

More safe havens.

He doesn’t look at me as he explains what they’re for, almost like he’s embarrassed to be showing any softness. For once, I manage to read the room and don’t tease him about it.

RIGHT AFTER WE GETback to the apartment, Roscoe gets a text and his accompanying frown is very un-Roscoe-like. He drops a kiss on the top of my head.

“I’ve got to go out for a bit. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t have too much fun without me. You can miss me, though. And if you feel the need to send me dirty pics showing me how much you’re missing me, that’s fine with me.” He nods like he’s satisfied with himself, gives me a jaunty wink that has me rolling my eyes, and promptly heads out.

Leaving me alone with Fabian and Zeph, considering that Seb took himself off to his room to play his angsty teenage music as loudly as he could a few hours ago.

I did consider retreating to my room to nurse my headache, but wound up gravitating toward the sofa. It didn’t take long for Zeph to turn on the TV and flick it over to his recorded watchlist. Discovering he had the entire season of the mindless realitybaking show we watched together over a month ago was enough to warm my little heart.

He didn’t make a comment, either. Didn’t say a single scathing word. Or at least not one aimed at me. His grumbled commentary at other peoples’ failed attempts at baking never fails to bring a smile to my face.

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