Chapter 17: Stalked

Witches brew? Was made by the devil.

I couldn't help the groan of agony that escaped me as I staggered out of my motel room door and onto the sidewalk, blearily staring up into the sun for a moment. Asshole sun. It really needed to stop beaming so brightly and happily over everything when I was just so very miserable. How had things gone so terribly wrong when last night things had finally felt perfectly right? But, there was a lot of blur involved, too, so how did I know my evening didn't end in some kind of horrendous tragedy I'd regret forever and ever, amen?

I was going to kill those witches.

I stumbled through the parking lot, staggering into my car. Carol didn't seem concerned when I bounced off her. Useless and utterly unsupportive. I needed to trade her in for a newer model. I ran one hand over my face, groaning softly at the point of pain in the center of my forehead where a spiking headache woke up and poked me over and over again. My sneakers scuffed across the pavement as I got myself moving again. Because lifting my feet completely took too much effort and focus and I'd lost my ability to muster either.

Well, not completely true. I'd generate both of those for the right reason. And that reason called me like the siren song of a distant promise. Coffee. I needed coffee so badly. Surely someone had coffee around here.

And then, sunlight sparkled on a glass door as a patron opened and let it close behind them, the rays of light washing my face in a beacon to heaven. Yes, right. The coffee shop across the street. My salvation.

If only I could get to it and not die first.

***

It sees her. Its prey. It chases her, sniffing the ground, snuffling the air, seeking her energy, seeking her magic. Its only purpose, its reason for being, etched in its creation.

Her destruction.

***

I wasn't going to make it. It was too far, and I was too far gone. I wasn't going to make it to the coffee and without the coffee I couldn't do the important life things like walking and talking and all the other necessities that were required in order to survive whatever this hangover from hell was. I would, at any second, collapse on the ground and expire from the utter lack of caffeine I was positive made up 50% of my insides. Maybe 60%.

***

She's so close now, its target in its sights. It cannot fail, must fulfil its task. It waits for the perfect moment, the instant of unsteadiness as she enters the street. And leaps-

***

I staggered at the sidewalk, pausing to wait for the light. Swayed, groaned. Felt something impact me in the back.

And then I was falling forward into the oncoming traffic, a scream echoing in my head- "Whoa there!"

Someone grabbed me from behind, pulling me back from the oncoming line of rushing cars, a passing motorist laying on the horn loud enough I was sure my poor, painful brain would rupture. I turned and looked up into Jack's concerned yet smiling face. All fear washed away under his gaze, his favorite expression when he looked at me, apparently. And only then realized I hadn't brushed my teeth. Or had a shower. Or brushed my hair. Or changed my clothes.

Since last night.

"Yikes. Thanks. Sorry. Bit off kilter this morning." I shuddered, feeling darkness clinging to me. I'd imagined being pushed, obviously. Stupid witches brew and its hallucinatory aftereffects. But it wasn't until I smiled up at my savior and made him my focus that the dark tension fled, even as Jack very gently let me go.

Meanwhile, he sniffed me, my hair, my clothes and then shook his head with a soft groan. "Hmm. What's that I smell? Bonfire and witches brew? Did I miss the naked dancing again?"

"What did you hear?" Did I dance naked last night? There were a lot of blurry, laughing, distorted and silly moments that I really didn't remember and, oh my god, was it possible I pulled a Zephira?

"Hilarious." He smirked because he didn't value his life. And that wasn't an answer.

Still, he'd saved me from being a bumper pancake, so he'd earned a second chance. "For that, smartass, you owe me a coffee." Because he hadn't won back that much of my gratitude.

Jack's hand slid into mine and despite how crummy I felt, I rather enjoyed the sensation.

Like it was a good fit. "Must have been a fun night."

"You know, it really was." Startled, I admitted it. Even worth the hangover, worth the aching need for coffee, worth the stinky everything. "I've never had friends, just to let go with." I had to stop blurting embarrassing life truths at the poor guy. One of these times he was going to get the fact I really wasn't much of a catch. "They did call me a witch though. Maybe I'm one of them now and sold my soul to the coven or something?" I was hoping he would tell me otherwise.

What was I really worried about anyway? "Would that be such a bad thing?" Okay, officially worried.

"I guess not. Especially if they feed me and fill me with witches brew on a regular basis." Wait, what? I was considering doing this again? No way. All joking aside? Yikes. And yet... sigh. If they asked, I'd be there and I wasn't able to deny it.

In a try to lighten the mood I'd fallen into, I made a vain attempt at the witches call. "Witches?"

Jack laughed. "Witches!"

Okay, that was pathetic. "Seriously? Like this. WITCHES!"

The driver in the car passing us stared like I'd cursed him. I waved and grinned, headache disappearing, good humor returning.

Bless him, Jack tried again, but his high-pitched falsetto attempt to match me ended in disaster and laughter and finally him tugging on my hand and leading me across the street to the coffee shop safely so I wouldn't get crushed by a car.

All along I wondered if the perfect man had fallen into my life, and maybe witches weren't so bad after all.

***

Constance leaned over her cauldron, staring at the image of her traitor son and that thing in the depths of the still waters. She fingered the satin lining of the hood of her heavy velvet cloak and snarled at the reflection. "You will be done by the end of the day."

***