Two Witches and a Whiskey (The Guild Codex: Spellbound Book 3) Read online

  Two Witches and a Whiskey

  The Guild Codex: Spellbound / Three

  Annette Marie

  Two Witches and a Whiskey

  The Guild Codex: Spellbound / Book Three

  Copyright © 2019 by Annette Marie

  www.annettemarie.ca

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Dark Owl Fantasy Inc.

  PO Box 88106, Rabbit Hill Post Office

  Edmonton, AB, Canada T6R 0M5

  www.darkowlfantasy.com

  Cover Copyright © 2019 by Annette Ahner

  www.midnightwhimsydesigns.com

  Editing by Elizabeth Darkley

  arrowheadediting.wordpress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-988153-26-1 (ebook)

  ASIN B07KDQCQTK

  Version 2019.02.02

  Contents

  Books by Annette Marie

  The Guild Codex

  Two Witches and a Whiskey

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Demon Magic and a Martini

  Four Shifters and a Stranger

  The Steel & Stone Series

  The Spell Weaver Trilogy

  The Red Winter Trilogy

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Annette Marie

  The Guild Codex

  The Guild Codex: Spellbound

  Three Mages and a Margarita

  Dark Arts and a Daiquiri

  Two Witches and a Whiskey

  Demon Magic and a Martini

  Steel & Stone Universe

  Steel & Stone Series

  Chase the Dark

  Bind the Soul

  Yield the Night

  Feed the Flames

  Reap the Shadows

  Unleash the Storm

  Steel & Stone

  Spell Weaver Trilogy

  The Night Realm

  The Shadow Weave

  The Blood Curse

  Other Works

  Red Winter Trilogy

  Red Winter

  Dark Tempest

  Immortal Fire

  The Guild Codex

  Classes of Magic

  Spiritalis

  Psychica

  Arcana

  Demonica

  Elementaria

  Mythic

  A person with magical ability

  MPD / MagiPol

  The organization that regulates mythics and their activities

  Rogue

  A mythic living in violation of MPD laws

  Two Witches and a Whiskey

  Chapter One

  Darius was a man of unshakable and unquestionable authority. As the leader of the Crow and Hammer, he set a steadfast example of integrity and composure. Of dignity.

  “Personal Protective Equipment,” he announced to the room. “Every job is different, and that means wearing appropriate PPE.” To emphasize his point, he lifted a leather trench coat with studded cuffs.

  I looked from the goth-lord coat to Darius’s somber gray eyes, set in a handsome face with chiseled features and a short salt-and-pepper beard. Biting the inside of my cheek, I fought back a snigger.

  “We’ve had several incidents this month that the proper selection of PPE could have prevented.” He stretched out a shiny sleeve. “Your personal style takes a backseat to safety. Leather may not be the most comfortable choice in summer, but it’s necessary.”

  No one was looking at me, but I nodded gravely just in case. The fifty other people in the pub watched Darius with equal solemnity, their unbroken attention a sure reflection of the gravity of—

  “Keanu Reeves just called,” someone said in a mock whisper. “He wants his Matrix outfit back.”

  Laughter rang through the room, and I noted the time. We’d managed to go six minutes without a wisecrack. New record.

  Darius’s mouth twitched but he didn’t break. “Vampire bites are no laughing matter, which you can attest to, Cameron.”

  As Cameron coughed awkwardly and more snickers erupted, my humor faltered. Right. Vampires. Maybe it wasn’t so funny after all.

  The man perched on a stool with his back to the bar, elbows braced against the wooden top, angled his head to bring me into view. His blue eyes sparkled mischievously, the color heightened by his tousled copper-red locks.

  “Go ahead,” Aaron murmured as Darius continued his lecture on PPE. “Ask.”

  I glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. “What happens if a vampire bites you?”

  “You turn into a vampire, of course.”

  My eyes widened with horror.

  His smirk bloomed. “Just kidding. Vampire bites aren’t a death sentence or anything. A whole nest could chew on you and you’d be fine. Well, aside from getting chewed up. That part would suck.”

  Why wasn’t I surprised that the unfairly powerful pyromage saw no need for concern? He could roast his attackers into crispy piles of undead ash.

  The guy lounging on the stool beside Aaron cast a look my way. “Aaron is downplaying the danger. A vampire bite increases your chances of converting by forty percent.”

  Trust Kai to have the facts. Not that he had anything to worry about either. I didn’t know if he could stop a vampire’s rotting heart with his electramage powers, but he could snap one in half with his martial arts skills.

  The third man, sitting on Aaron’s other side, turned on his stool. “Don’t worry, Tori. If a vampire ever bites you, our healers will know exactly how to fix it.”

  His meltingly smooth voice rolled over me, soothing as always. Seriously, Ezra could convince me the earth was flat if he talked long enough.

  I propped my arm on the bar top. “Aaron, Kai, please take notes.”

  The pair looked at me. “Notes on what?”

  “How to reassure the magic-less human.” I beamed at Ezra. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have nonstop nightmares.”

  His eyes, one iris brown and one pale white—the result of an injury that had left a scar running from his temple to his cheekbone—lit with amusement.

  “Nonstop nightmares, eh?” Aaron’s grin grew wicked. “Tori, ever heard of an allucinator?”

  “Uh … no?”

  “They’re dream manipulators. They can—”

  “Aaron Sinclair.” Darius’s voice cut through our whispered conversation. “Thank you for volunteering.”

  Aaron’s head snapped around in alarm. “Volunteering for what?”

  Darius pointed at the woman standing beside him. “Zora is about to demonstrate how to break a vampire’s jaw to prevent a bite. You’ll be the vampire.”

  Aaron’s eyes flicked to the petite sorce
ress and went even wider.

  Before he could protest, Darius snapped his fingers. “Now, Aaron.”

  With a grumble, Aaron heaved himself off his stool and slouched to the front. Kai, Ezra, and I shared a gleeful look, then settled in to watch the show.

  The rest of the hour-long meeting passed quickly, and Aaron didn’t sustain any serious injuries in the demonstration. Darius wrapped it up at eight o’clock—and then my work began as fifty restless, thirsty people swarmed my bar.

  As I zoomed in and out of the kitchen, my spirits soared. This was what I loved: fast pace, slinging drinks, cracking jokes with customers, and giving winning smiles as my tip jar filled up. It hadn’t always been like this, but since I’d started working here three and a half months ago, well, let’s just say everything had changed.

  The Crow and Hammer wasn’t just a bar and I wasn’t just a bartender. This place was a guild, and everyone in it was a mythic—a magic-user belonging to one of five magic classes. Actually, four classes, since our membership didn’t cover the full spectrum of abilities, which suited me just fine. Who wanted to deal with literal demons?

  Me, I was special because of how unspecial I was. In a guild of talented mythics, I was a human. Yep, a regular human without a single drop of magical blood.

  I lost track of my three favorite mages over the next hour, but as things settled down, I spotted Aaron, Kai, and Ezra with a group of sorcerers. They’d pushed several tables together and were sitting in a big circle, shot glasses and whiskey bottles in the center.

  My eyes narrowed. When had they swiped those bottles? They were showing some serious disrespect for liquor law, but with a guild motto of “any rule can be broken”—and a guild officer sitting right at the table—yelling at them wasn’t likely to achieve results. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t yell at them, though. Just not this minute.

  “Tori!” A blond girl my age dropped her purse on the bar top and slid onto a free stool. “How are you?”

  “Sabrina!” I gave her a one-armed hug over the bar. “How was your trip? You just got back, right?”

  “Yesterday.” She whipped out her phone. “Sir Fluffle won first place!”

  Before I could ask, she proudly displayed a photo of a floppy-eared bunny posing with a blue ribbon. She rapidly scrolled through another dozen images from the rabbit breed show.

  “Isn’t he wonderful?” she gushed.

  “Amazing!” I agreed, not entirely sure how to compliment a bunny.

  “I predicted the show would go well,” she added. “Rose warned about inclement weather and untrustworthy judges, but clearly she had no idea what she was talking about.”

  I nodded, determined to stay neutral. The competition between the guild’s two diviners was a thing of legend, and I’d experienced their conflicting predictions firsthand. Funnily enough, both fortunes had turned out to be accurate in their own way.

  “Anyway,” Sabrina sighed. “How was your week? I heard you—”

  As she reached for her purse to put her phone away, it tipped over. A deck of black and gold tarot cards spilled across the bar, and a couple fluttered off the edge, landing on the floor beside me.

  “Got it.” I crouched and grabbed the two cards. As I held them out to her, I glimpsed the top one—and my good mood snuffed out in a rush of cold prickles. Dropping the cards on the bar top, I glared at the detailed rendering of a grim reaper and muttered, “You again.”

  Sabrina picked up the Death card. “This is very strange behavior for my deck. Why does this card keep showing itself to you?”

  Dogs could have behavioral issues. Rabbits could have behavioral issues. I’d even say vehicles could have behavioral issues. But not cards. Cards were just cards, end of story.

  Sabrina reached for the second one, face down on the counter, and flipped it over. On it, a young man with a rucksack had his face turned skyward, unaware that he was about to step off a cliff. Beneath the drawing were two words: The Fool.

  My scowl deepened. “Your deck has nothing nice to say about me. It’s prejudiced.”

  “The Fool isn’t an insult.” Sabrina pondered the card. “It’s all about opportunities and potential. About starting a new journey. It means to keep an open mind and embrace your sense of adventure.”

  I twisted my mouth doubtfully. “The card’s a bit late on that one. Pretty sure I’m already well into the ‘new journey’ thing.”

  “Hmm, I’d have to agree. Unless …” She canted her head, then slowly rotated the card 180 degrees. “Did it present the right way up or reversed? The reversed Fool warns that your journey is headed toward failure.”

  My shoulders stiffened. “Failure?”

  “Mm.” She scooped the deck into a neat pile. “Either you’ve stalled because something is holding you back, or you’ve bitten off more than you can chew and your new venture is threatening to come crashing down.”

  “Those are very different things.”

  “I could give a clearer prediction if you let me do a full reading.” Brightening, she started shuffling the cards. “How about it?”

  “Uh …”

  “Hey Tori!” Aaron called from across the pub, his voice rising above the loud rumble of conversations. “Can we get another bottle of whiskey?”

  Oh, now he was asking my permission? Suppressing an eye roll, I waved in acknowledgment, then composed my face into an expression of disappointment. “Sorry, Sabrina, I need to get back at it.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “Sure. Maybe another time.”

  Squashing my guilt, I hastened into the kitchen and high-fived Ramsey, the cook, on my way by. In dry storage, I grabbed a bottle of whiskey. The guys were going to clean me out, sheesh.

  When I pushed through the saloon doors, Sabrina was animatedly describing her victory at the rabbit breed show to Sin and Riley, who’d joined her at the bar. As Sabrina pulled out her phone for another round of photos, Sin shot me a pained look.

  Chuckling, I poured her a coke and slid it into her hand as I stepped out from behind the bar, whiskey cradled in the crook of my elbow. Out of nowhere, a man and a woman appeared on either side of me.

  I bit back a groan. “Hi Zhi. Hi Ming.”

  Zhi stared at me, his intensity at nuclear level. With short-cropped black hair, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and a terse mouth that never smiled, he wasn’t winning any friendly neighbor awards. His sister, Ming, had similar features, slightly softened by her long raven hair and bright red, over-the-ear headphones.

  “I’ll be right back to serve you,” I continued hastily. “Just give me a minute to—”

  “We aren’t here for drinks,” Zhi interrupted in his usual monotone. An intense monotone. Don’t ask me how that worked. “We’re here for the information you refuse to share.”

  “Yeah, well, as I said before, I can’t—”

  “Every day you hold your silence is a chance for the Ghost to abduct another victim.”

  I inched backward, but Ming was blocking my retreat. “I’ve got nothing to share. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Darius.”

  Was I hiding behind the guild master? Damn right I was. This human girl knew better than to tick off a sorcerer, especially a prodigy who’d completed his apprenticeship years ahead of schedule.

  “Where do your loyalties lie, Tori?” he asked coldly. “Have you and Darius discussed that?”

  I shoved past him and marched away, ignoring his glare singeing my back. He and his sister could nurse their grudge against the notorious Ghost without my help. Even if I’d wanted to share, I couldn’t spill a single detail about the rogue mythic without ending my life. He’d made me swear a black-magic oath to keep his secrets, then swear I wouldn’t reveal said oath.

  Irritation flashed through me at the thought. Every few days, I’d get annoyed enough to send him an insulting text message, but he never responded. Jerk.

  Shouts burst from Aaron’s table in a mix of triumph and dejection. Half the table lifted their sho
t glasses and tossed them back, Aaron included. He slammed his glass down and growled.

  “That one wasn’t fair,” he complained. “Lyndon, your turn.”

  Surveying the gathering, I counted most of our top combat mythics—from mages like Aaron, Kai, and Laetitia, to sorcerers like Andrew, Lyndon, Gwen, and Zora. Even Girard, the first officer, had joined in. This was the elite faction of the guild—the ones who claimed the toughest jobs and took on the deadliest opponents.

  Ezra was part of the circle too, but he’d slid his chair back and didn’t have a glass. He never drank much, stopping long before he got tipsy.

  Whiskey bottle in hand, I leaned against his chair. “What’s going on?”

  “Drinking game,” Ezra replied with a grin. “Going around the circle, each person shares something they’ve done or experienced on a job. Anyone who hasn’t had a similar experience has to drink.”

  “Since Darius covered it so thoroughly,” Lyndon declared, “I want to know. Who’s been bitten by a vamp? If you haven’t, cheers!”

  Groaning, Aaron downed his refilled glass. Wasn’t he happy to be vamp-bite-free? Or maybe he was so many shots in that he’d prefer pointy fangs over more liquor. Laetitia, Gwen, Andrew, and two others drank as well, but Kai didn’t.