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He gave me a warning look, and I had the sudden sensation of a thick thread piercing my lips and sewing them shut. I couldn’t cut them open, although that was my first thought.
I needed to learn to start with less brute force, more finesse.
Duck dongles.Nothing made sense as my brain could only think “can’t speak” and I barely resisted the urge to claw at my own mouth.
My panic must’ve been obvious enough that Iggy unstitched my mouth, pointed at one of the fight dummies, and started to walk me through the intonations. It was a frightfully easy hex, but one I’d never ever heard of.
“It was from a marriage manual,” Iggy said quietly. “One that hasn’t survived.”
I met his eyes briefly, my question as obvious as if I’d said it aloud.
“Because I saw to it that the remaining copies were destroyed,” Iggy said. “There was a woman . . .” He said nothing more, but it was a tidbit of his life I hadn’t known, a gesture of friendship.
And it was enough for me to try harder.
2
GENEVIÈVE
By the time Iggy and I were both sufficiently exhausted by attempting to improve my hexing, I was . . . energized. I found fighting worked a lot like caffeine for me; the more I had, the more I wanted. My teacher, however, was starting to look at me as parents looked at children who had discovered a cache of cake.
“Want to patrol? Or are you too tired?” I asked, bouncing on the balls of my feet as I asked. I was pretty sure Iggy was not up for a patrol, but I had energy to spare.
“Where’s your less abrasive half?” Iggy gave me the sort of look that made me remember that he wasn’t convinced that I was safe when I was left unsupervised.
“I’m a grown ass witch, Iggy Pops.”
“With a murderous enemy,” he rebutted.
“True but . . .”
Iggy gave me a look, and then parroted an Allie quote at me: “Friends don’t let friends get murdered.”
“Fine.”
Despite the weirdness of our admittedly brief history, hehadbecome a friend. I’d had no desire to add him to my very short list of friends, but there he was, setting up shop in my life. Clearly, I wasn’t great at boundaries or grudge holding. My ex-girlfriend Sera was a friend. Allie, a woman who attempted to murder me, was my assistant. Beatrice, the queen of the creatures I’d been killing since I was a teenager, was my ancestor.Shewas the weirdest member of the group: my very un-alive, fanged, witchy grannie—who, because life is weird, had previously slept with Iggy, whom I’d resurrected.
But then again, maybe weird was the way of the world.
Myfamilywas weird, and myfriendswere weird, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. So if the dead dude I had resurrected was determined to be my babysitter, I might just be stuck with it.
“I expected Eli to come collect you by now,” Iggy said in his version of casual questioning. “Might Bea be stopping by? Or shall I escort you to the walled manor of your princely hero? I’m fairly sure the city doesn’t require a patrol at this hour.”
I laughed. “You suck at subtle.”
“I’ll have you know that I can be remarkably subtle. You, Ms. Crowe, simply happen to be better at seeing through my subtlety due to that fae thing.” He waved his hand at me as if my ‘fae thing’ was a physical trait. He pressed his lips together then, already lost in a thought, muttering, “Perhaps we can harnessthatto craft hexes . . .”
Iggy paced toward the room that had once been his temporary quarters when he was dead. Of late, it had been his “rental” lodging when he wasn’t “renting” a room at my assistant’s home. He fancied himself my guard, as well as Allie’s lately, and a part of me found it charming.
“Do you have any interest in Allie?”
Iggy startled as if I had accused him of wearing off-the-rack suits. “Ms. Chaddock? I have been most careful of the widow . . . and her temper.”
“Because you aren’t interested or because you fear Chester killing the people you like?” I started to gear up, adding assorted swords and other weapons, while Iggy stood glaring at me.
“The lovely revolveress is simply letting out an unused room to a gentleman in need of shelter,” Iggy protested. “I hired a room at Ms. Chaddock’s manse because I needed a home.”
His faux posh wording didn’t work on me the way it had initially.
