“Don’t look at me like that,” he growls.
“Excuse me? You waltzed into my shop, magicked me, and dropped your crazy right on the ground for all to see. I’ll look at you any damn way I want to.”
“I’m not crazy, and I’m not wrong. Something is going on in the magical community. Someone is taking our kind. There are four Osteomancers on the northern continent—know how many of them are missing?”
I gape at him, not sure what to say.
“All of them except you.”
“You’re an Osteomancer?” I ask, surprised by the discovery. I figured we’d give each other the tingles or there’d be aknowingsensation that would come over me when I was near another witch.
“No. I’m a Hemamancer, my brother is the Bone Witch in the family.”
It takes me a moment to mentally flip through my lessons as a kid and figure out what that means.
He’s a Blood Witch.
I guess that explains what he did earlier when he knocked me out. “Wait, you can have more than one kind of magic in a blood line?” I ask, shocked.
He gives me an incredulous look, like he thinks my question is somehow mocking him. “Did your grandmother not teach you about our world?” Moss-green eyes take me in with concern, and there’s a definitive spark of judgment in his gaze.
“She tried.” I pause, feeling sheepish and hating it. “Everyone in my family thought the bones would go to someone else. I didn’t think I needed to pay much attention,” I admit.
“So you don’t even know what you’re doing?” he demands dubiously, looking around as though he’s now questioning what he’s gotten himself into. He shoves the plastic bag with powdery remnants back into his pocket and starts to pace.
Technically he’s right, but the way he’s acting right now bothers the crap out of me. Yeah, I’m rusty and massively underprepared for the task at hand, but it’s not like all hope is lost. I’ll get there...eventually.
Warmth moves through me, and I can’t help but feel like it’s anatta girlfrom my Grammy Ruby. A small smile ticks at the corners of my mouth as the sensation washes over me, and a confidence I’ve sorely been lacking settles in my soul. I square my shoulders and step in Rogan’s path. He’s forced to stop pacing and to look at me.
“Are you kidding me?” I demand. “You barge intomylife, take things without asking, and now you’re going to throw a fit because those things don’t work exactly how you want them to. What kind of spoiled little shit are you?” He balks. “It’s going to take me a minute to get my magical feet under me, so to speak, but I will, asshole, and so help me god, you will rue the day—”
Laughter cuts me off, and I stare open-mouthed at Rogan as another chuckle slips past his lips. What is with this guy and thinking threats and rage are funny?
“Did you seriously just say I would rue the day?” he asks.
“Are you bipolar?” I query. One minute he’s pissed and pacing, and the next he’s unhinged with amusement. Yep, definitely crazy. Another round of chuckles overtakes him, and I roll my eyes. “Listen, I’m clearly not who you were hoping for, so why don’t you just lift the binding you put on me and be on your merry way. I’m sure you can find another Osteomancer to help you with your little problem.” I gesture at his pocket, the one with the baggie and the questionable contents.
Rogan sobers, and the odd look that just flashed through his eyes gives me pause.
“You do know how to lift it, don’t you?”
A red flush creeps up his neck, and my eyes go wide.
“You’re seriously judging me and my Osteomancer proficiency when you’re going around using magic you know nothing about?” I shout at him, stepping closer threateningly.
“I know how to use it,” he retorts. “Just not how to undo it. And proficient or not, you’re still my best hope.” He pauses for a beat and fixes me with a determined stare. “You’re mine, Bone Witch, until I say otherwise.”
My fist is connecting with his jaw before he can even blink. Pain explodes in my hand, and I make a note to yell at my kickboxing instructor. Never once did that prick warn me about how badly it hurts to hit something without gloves on. Rogan’s face whips to the right with bone cracking speed, but I’m reaching for the metal rod that Grammy Ruby keeps by her chair to shut the curtains so she doesn’t have to get up to do it.
Rogan pulls me back, but I just get my fingers wrapped around the weapon as he does. I swing like my name is Hank Aaron, and connect with his shoulder. He lets me go, which makes me stumble back as he yelps and grabs his arm with his uninjured hand, but I don’t have time to feel bad. I need to incapacitate him as much as possible and get the fuck away.
I swing for his leg, and it does the trick. He’s down on the ground like a crumbling tower of cards, and I’m sprinting for the door. Yellow curtains billow in my wake as I shove them out of my way and run out into the main part of the shop.
Witches. What binds witches?I shout internally at myself as I search the shelves of the shop I played in when I was a kid. Salt is for demons, ash for angels… I reach the right bank of shelves and search through the bottles, hoping it will come to me.
Witch hazel, no. Turmeric, no. Wormroot, ugh! Frantically, I shove bags and bottles aside in search of something that will help me. Laurelwood...yes! That’s it. I reach for the bag of wood chips just as I’m tackled from the side. I go down like Jim Halpert in that Office meme, wide eyes and all. The bag goes flying from my hand, and once again I find myself on the floor of my shop with Rogan’s big ass on top of me.
I don’t waste time with screaming and swearing this go-round. Instead, I muscle myself toward where the bag slid. I don’t care if I have to drag him all the way there, I’m getting to the bag of laurelwood. Hoot wakes up long enough to see that we’re there and then lies back down and promptly goes back to snoring.
