Destiny of the Witch (The Other Witch #4)

bonus scene

Bastion's POV

The Lion's Nest bar was full and noisy. Not my preferred scene but needs must. I slid into the back booth that was always reserved for me and held up a finger so that Timmy, the barman, would know to bring me a drink. Alcohol hardly affected me, but I preferred to look the part.

Two satyrs sat in one corner, visibly inebriated and being far too loud for the current crowd. I watched as they hit on the witch sat on the next table over. She had evidently had her fill of assholes and tequila, because she stood and left the bar without a backwards glance.

A minute late Timmy bought me a pint of pale ale. He carefully placed it in front of me with a respectful nod. Running a bar that catered to the underbelly of the Other realm meant that Timmy always showed respect. Being rude in here was a sure way to get something important sliced off. The dark denizens of the Other realm weren’t forgiving.

I nodded towards the raucous satyrs, ‘Get them removed,’ I ordered.

‘Yes boss,’ Timmy replied before visibly wincing. ‘I’m sorry!’

I ignored the apology but levelled a glare at him that would have made a lesser man piss himself. The fact that I owned the bar was a fact known to very few, and I intended to keep it that way. Calling me boss publicly was a sure fire way to torpedo that. Timmy wilted.

‘Is he here?’ I asked brusquely.

‘Not yet, B- Bastion,’ he hastily said my name, rather than the second “boss” that wanted to slip out. I ignored the stumble, Timmy was damned good at what he did, which included keeping his ear to the ground for information, and mixing a mean margherita as required.

‘Fine. I’ll wait.’

‘Can I get you anything?’

I shook my head, and he left me alone in the cesspit that was my bar. He went and spoke to Craig, the troll who acted as our bouncer. Craig rolled up to the two satyrs and told them to leave. Blanching, the two satyrs obeyed and swayed their way out. I hoped the witch had moved on before the two of them stumbled out, but I doubted she’d be lingering outside in the pissing wet weather.

I looked around the bar, my eyes missing nothing even in the relative darkness. A vampyr in the corner of the bar was greedily slurping on his date's neck with the finesse of a virgin teenager. Newly turned no doubt. I noted the clan insignia on his collar. One of Wokeshire’s. He was far from home. That usually meant trouble, but for who?

I examined his date. Her eyes were clear of enchantments, and she was giggling as the vampyr swigged her blood like it was the finest merlot. The vampyrs hands were straying and she was leaning back against him, a willing participant. Not my concern.

Four werewolves were loudly doing shots. It look a lot of effort for a werewolf to get drunk, much like a griffin, but they seemed to be giving it their best efforts, pounding shot after shot like it was water. The full moon was a week away, and they seemed in complete control, despite the start of a good buzz. Not my concern either.

Another witch, this one with a seer’s cloak pulled on, was doing a deal with a dragon shifter. I watched as some rare potion ingredients exchanged hands. Unusually, it was the witch handing seeds to the dragon. The witch’s frame was broad and his hands were rough and distinctly male. I knew the dragon shifter by sight. Peter loved growing all kinds of ingredients, the challenge for him was in the growth. No doubt the incredibly rare seeds that had just been exchanged had also been highly illegal. The Connection liked to have a monopoly on all things dark and deadly. As an assassin, I tended to take an opposing view. All things dark and deadly were my purview, after all.

Craig returned from ousting the satyrs, and instead he now shoved the dryad I’d been waiting for towards me none to gently.

‘Sit,’ I barked at the dryad known as Birch.

The assassin sat, pulling a wooden stool close rather than joining me in the booth.

I took a pull from my ale, choosing my words with care. ‘You’ve accepted a contract on a witch,’ I said flatly.

He bristled. ‘What’s it to you?’

I studied him. He had a stubborn line to his jaw, and his glare was defiant. He knew full well who he’d taken a contract on. Perhaps that’s why he’d dallied on his way to meet me. I smelled whiskey on his breath. He’d taken a stopover for Dutch courage. Unlike a lot of the Other realm’s creatures, dryads couldn’t hold their alcohol for shit. He was also experienced enough to know that there was no point trying to evade me. I always got my target. He would be no exception. He was facing me like a man. Some might call it brave. I called it stupid.

Because I'm a reasonable man, I took another sip, and offered him an out. ‘Release the contract.’

‘No,’ he said stubbornly, signing his death warrant.

He had knives on his belt, and his ankle. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have time to reach them. I didn’t even need to coax him. I just shifted my hands into my talons, lunged forwards and sliced his throat.

The urge to kill eased as my claws soaked in blood. Death released his grip on me, satisfied I’d added to his followers; he was like an influencer, always clawing for more visibility. I felt nothing but satisfaction as the assassin formerly known as Birch toppled slowly from the chair to the floor, hands clutching uselessly at his ruined throat. It was my signature move, he should have known better than to get within clawing distance. Perhaps he’d thought that I would offer to pay him not to fulfil the contract. He’d thought wrong.

Amber DeLea was under my protection; whether she knew it or not. And every person that threatened her, was a dead man walking. Now, to hunt down the fool that had offered the contract.

I slid out of the booth with a happy hum, stepping over the body cooling on my floor. The bar had gone deathly quiet.

‘Deal with that,’ I said to Timmy in the tense silence.

He nodded calmly. It wasn’t the first body I’d dropped at the bar. ‘Sure thing.’

And just like that, noise resumed like a switch had been flicked. Patrons turned back to their companions, and their drinks and conversations resumed. Another day, another dollar, another body.

My blood warmed with the hunt as I got out my phone to make enquiries with a hacker known as Inc. I could dig myself, of course, but this was far more expedient and I was keen to eliminate any further threat to her as soon as possible. In a day, or less, I’d have a name and a new target.

Amber De Lea would never know of the blood I’d spilled in her name, nor would she ever learn why. On that, her mother and I had agreed.

It was better this way.

My hands shifted back to human, and the blood on them disappeared.

If you're hankering after some more tales in the Other realm, have you read Jinx's books? My level-headed PI who discovers magic?