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“Black glass? Yes.” Wynter angled it so that the light danced along its length. “There’s nothing delicate about it, though. It’s more durable than iron and sharper than any blade.”
Grouch licked his lips. “I’ll buy it from ya.”
“It’s not for sale,” said Wynter.
“What are those runes on it?” asked Annette.
Wynter gave her a hard smile. “Don’t you worry about those.” She ‘sent’ her sword back to its sheath in the cottage. “You two have a good day now.” She strode off.Fuck them. There were other blacksmith shops. She could try those. She would.
She did.
And each time, it went almost as badly as it did with Grouch. There was laughing and sneering and an outright refusal to hear what she meant by ‘improving’ their weapons.
Figuringanyjob would do, she sought out others and talked to several shop managers. All turned her away. And she concluded that there really were too many assholes in this world.
It wasn’t merely that they’d been rude. It was that they’d once been in her position. They’d once been newcomers here, looking for work. People had obviously taken a chance on them, and yet they wouldn’t give another newcomer that same chance.
Wynter headed to the surface of the town and searched for work there. She found none. She did, however, realize that someone was following her. The feeling hit her mere milliseconds before a very familiar breeze fluttered over her in warning.
Wynter didn’t look back. She continued to walk casually along the path of the plaza. She stopped near the mouth of an alley, feigning being lost, and then began to walk down the aforementioned alley in search of an exit.
She’d reached the large barbed fence at the rear of it when she heard the heel of a shoe scuffing the pavement. She turned and found herself facing a bulky male with a mean scar slicing diagonally from his hairline to an eyebrow.
She jutted out her chin, going for belligerent. “Problem?”
He smirked. “Not anymore. I’ve been looking for you for some time. And now I have you.”
The monster within her woke from its slumber and studied their enemy. Wynter would rather not free it here. Anyone could walk past the alley and see too much—she couldn’t risk that. Sending it telepathic images, she showed it what she had in mind for this asshole, knowing from past experience that the bloodthirsty entity was occasionally happy to watch.
As he took a step toward her, she said, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Oh, you think I’m here to collect on the bounty? I am. Kind of. You see, you’re wanted alive. But a mage has offered me yet more money to instead kill you. I’ll never turn down more cash.”
Irritation surged through her. She really should have executed the families of her killerslongago.
“He also wants me to make it hurt.” Wicked fast, the male witch raised his hand and let out a gust of magick that sliced at her skin, sharp as a scalpel.
Fucking ow. Ignoring the pain, Wynter struck with her own magick. Toxic and scorching hot, it lashed his face and neck, leaving deep welts that sizzled like meat on a grill.
He retaliated fast while chanting under his breath, blasting her with blue fire. She jerked back, but the cold flames seared her lips and chin. Oh, this fucker wasgoing down.
She whacked him with a heavy surge of magick that sent him colliding into a dumpster. Even as he slid to the floor, he hit her with blue fire again, but he hadn’t moved fast enough—she’d already called to her sword and angled it just right so that the blade deflected the flames.
Then she was on him.
She could have made this quick, but …nah. She jammed her thumb against a bleeding welt on his face and sent a dart of magick straight into his bloodstream.
He cried out as an inky blackness slicked its way up his veins. His skin paled and softened at first, looking almost papery. But soon, it became red and swollen and veiny. He cursed in shock and pain as blood blisters formed over his body; some burst, giving off a cloying rank smell.
What happened next … yeah, it’d make anyone queasy. His flesh began to blacken. Dry up. Peel. Decay. The rotting magick ate at his body, including his lips, making his mouth look like an obscene hole in his face. His teeth cracked and crumbled, and two of his withered extremities fell off.
The otherworldly breeze that had earlier carried a warning now danced over Wynter’s skin, humming with approval. Similarly, the monster within her settled once more, satisfied with how she’d handled the situation.
Just as the inky blackness in his veins reached the witch’s scalp, his eyes darted to the side of her now-burning face and widened almost comically.
Knowing her mark was visible, Wynter gave him a bright smile. “Yeah, you went andfucked up. I could have killed you quickly but, as you can now see, making people hurt … well, it’s what I’m built for.” And so she waited for the life to fade from his eyes before she sliced off his head.
*
