Chapter Three #2
“I am,” says the Witch with condescending patience. “Love, if your ‘reconnaissance’ hasn’t even gotten you that far, you’re not very good at your job.”
The burning flush on my ears spreads to my cheeks. “You’re not on vacation, I’m on vacation!” I blurt angrily.
The Witch blinks at me. I make a mental note to kick myself later for the stupid statement.
“Sound logic, to be sure,” he says slowly, “but I believe that it is physically possible for us to both be on vacation.”
“I know it’s possible , I’m—dammit, would you put me down already? You can’t just keep me up here like this all day!”
“Ooh, now that sounds like a dare!”
“There are laws, you know!” I continue, trying to sound as threatening as possible while I’m being dangled in the air like a cat toy. “There are laws about hex applications, laws about physical magic—”
“And I’m following them,” the Witch interjects, his tone sweet as a sharpened candy cane. “Have been for quite some time now, and I’m perfectly within my rights to defend myself against a stranger trying to follow me back to my hotel room.”
“I wasn’t following you back—”
“You, on the other hand,” he continues, stepping in ferociously close, “have been tailing me since the day I got here. And seeing as we’ve confirmed that you’re from the Bureau, now might be an excellent time to inform you that I’m actually quite well versed in the laws you’ve so helpfully mentioned, and I can think of at least a few regulations regarding reasonable distance and probable cause that you’re breaking with your ‘reconnaissance.’”
The Witch is close enough that the fringe on his robe is brushing against my knees. I swallow like I’m choking and tell myself that my heart is definitely not beating unreasonably fast and that I am not trying to identify all the complicated layers in whatever scent he’s wearing.
“What’s more,” says the Witch, his voice taking on an increasingly threatening note, “if I have an existing violation—which I don’t— you’re required to notify me.
Which you haven’t. So I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to maintain the regulatory distance of 50 yards, lest I make a complaint with my bureau liaison and ruin your surely well-earned holiday. ”
My pulse is hammering through me, the sensation of proximity to the Witch humming like electricity under my skin. The Sense gets stronger as Witches get closer, and this is as close as I’ve ever come to one.
The Witch flickers his green eyes over me as I struggle helplessly under his control, and he smiles. “Unless, of course, you’ve been following me for some other reason. Enjoying the view, perhaps?”
“Don’t talk to me about regulations,” I snap, ignoring the philandering. “I know the regulations! You’re acting suspicious as hell and I’m keeping an eye on you, that’s it.”
The Witch leers flirtatiously at me. “Bet you’d like to get more than just an eye on me, wouldn’t you?”
I feel fingertips trail across my chest, brushing over the space where whatever Magick the Witch is using keeps me mounted to the wall like a specimen to be examined. I smack his hand away, and the Witch has the fucking audacity to look positively thrilled by my reaction.
“Quit fucking around!” I say angrily.
“My apologies, Mister Witchfinder, Sir, for not taking this unlawful interrogation seriously,” the Witch replies, his voice drenched in amusement and sarcasm. “But, like I said, I’m on holiday. And when I’m on holiday, I think I’m allowed a bit of fun. You ought to try it sometime.”
The Witch steps back and, with the wave of a slender, ring-soaked hand, I’m dropped unceremoniously to the floor, stumbling slightly as my feet unexpectedly touch down. I glare at the Witch, now eye to eye with me and wearing a disarming smile.
“You really expect me to believe that, of the less than 200 Witches in this entire country, one of them just happens to be at the same hotel as a BSCO Agent because we both just happened to take the same vacation at the same time?” I demand.
“You expect me to believe that a Witchfinder is following me around like the Grim bloody Reaper because he’s on vacation?”
I don’t answer him. Hearing it out loud, maybe that does sound kind of…
weird. And maybe the guy genuinely is just here on vacation.
Unlikely, but what the hell else am I going to do when all I have is a sticky feeling that something’s amiss and a currently-defunct Bureau badge that he clearly has little-to-no respect for?
“Just… stay out of trouble,” I order. “I’m watching you.”
“Well, in that case, enjoy the show,” the Witch replies, then turns and saunters off down the hall, around a corner and out of sight.
I sigh and adjust my ponytail, a nervous habit. If the Witch wanted to kill or maim me, that would have been the moment to do it. And with no evidence outside a rarely-incorrect hunch, I have no choice but to return to my vacation.
Still, I can’t seem to settle my heartbeat until I get back to my room.
And the lingering memory of the interaction—the smell of lavender and thyme, the tingling sensation where fingers brushed against my chest, the calculating green eyes shrouded by smoky make-up and wit—definitely aren’t helping to calm me down.