“She tried.” I pause, feeling sheepish and hating it. “Everyone in my family thought the bones would go to someone else. I didn’t think I needed to pay much attention,” I admit.
“So you don’t even know what you’re doing?” he demands dubiously, looking around as though he’s now questioning what he’s gotten himself into. He shoves the plastic bag with powdery remnants back into his pocket and starts to pace.
Technically he’s right, but the way he’s acting right now bothers the crap out of me. Yeah, I’m rusty and massively underprepared for the task at hand, but it’s not like all hope is lost. I’ll get there...eventually.
Warmth moves through me, and I can’t help but feel like it’s an atta girl from my Grammy Ruby. A small smile ticks at the corners of my mouth as the sensation washes over me, and a confidence I’ve sorely been lacking settles in my soul. I square my shoulders and step in Rogan’s path. He’s forced to stop pacing and to look at me.
“Are you kidding me?” I demand. “You barge into my life, take things without asking, and now you’re going to throw a fit because those things don’t work exactly how you want them to. What kind of spoiled little shit are you?” He balks. “It’s going to take me a minute to get my magical feet under me, so to speak, but I will, asshole, and so help me god, you will rue the day—”
Laughter cuts me off, and I stare open-mouthed at Rogan as another chuckle slips past his lips. What is with this guy and thinking threats and rage are funny?
“Did you seriously just say I would rue the day?” he asks.
“Are you bipolar?” I query. One minute he’s pissed and pacing, and the next he’s unhinged with amusement. Yep, definitely crazy. Another round of chuckles overtakes him, and I roll my eyes. “Listen, I’m clearly not who you were hoping for, so why don’t you just lift the binding you put on me and be on your merry way. I’m sure you can find another Osteomancer to help you with your little problem.” I gesture at his pocket, the one with the baggie and the questionable contents.
Rogan sobers, and the odd look that just flashed through his eyes gives me pause.
“You do know how to lift it, don’t you?”
A red flush creeps up his neck, and my eyes go wide.
“You’re seriously judging me and my Osteomancer proficiency when you’re going around using magic you know nothing about?” I shout at him, stepping closer threateningly.
“I know how to use it,” he retorts. “Just not how to undo it. And proficient or not, you’re still my best hope.” He pauses for a beat and fixes me with a determined stare. “You’re mine, Bone Witch, until I say otherwise.”
My fist is connecting with his jaw before he can even blink. Pain explodes in my hand, and I make a note to yell at my kickboxing instructor. Never once did that prick warn me about how badly it hurts to hit something without gloves on. Rogan’s face whips to the right with bone cracking speed, but I’m reaching for the metal rod that Grammy Ruby keeps by her chair to shut the curtains so she doesn’t have to get up to do it.
Rogan pulls me back, but I just get my fingers wrapped around the weapon as he does. I swing like my name is Hank Aaron, and connect with his shoulder. He lets me go, which makes me stumble back as he yelps and grabs his arm with his uninjured hand, but I don’t have time to feel bad. I need to incapacitate him as much as possible and get the fuck away.
I swing for his leg, and it does the trick. He’s down on the ground like a crumbling tower of cards, and I’m sprinting for the door. Yellow curtains billow in my wake as I shove them out of my way and run out into the main part of the shop.
Witches. What binds witches? I shout internally at myself as I search the shelves of the shop I played in when I was a kid. Salt is for demons, ash for angels… I reach the right bank of shelves and search through the bottles, hoping it will come to me.
Witch hazel, no. Turmeric, no. Wormroot, ugh! Frantically, I shove bags and bottles aside in search of something that will help me. Laurelwood...yes! That’s it. I reach for the bag of wood chips just as I’m tackled from the side. I go down like Jim Halpert in that Office meme, wide eyes and all. The bag goes flying from my hand, and once again I find myself on the floor of my shop with Rogan’s big ass on top of me.
I don’t waste time with screaming and swearing this go-round. Instead, I muscle myself toward where the bag slid. I don’t care if I have to drag him all the way there, I’m getting to the bag of laurelwood. Hoot wakes up long enough to see that we’re there and then lies back down and promptly goes back to snoring.
“Lennox, stop,” Rogan growls at me, his strong arms wrapping around me as though he’s readying himself to pin me down.
I spot a pile of pink grains and reach out to grasp a handful.
“I don’t want to hurt you, please!” he commands again.
Twisting in his hold, I shove my palm full of Himalayan salt right in his eyes. He shouts and bats my hand down, rubbing the sting from his vision as I wiggle away. The bag of laurelwood slides inches further as I scramble for it. I curse and stretch out as far as I can, my fingertips skimming the plastic. Just another inch. Hands grab my hips and start trying to pull me away.
I screech and reach with everything I have. Suddenly the bag is in my grip. I don’t know how it happened as I was being dragged further from it, but it’s in my grasp. Without hesitation, I flip onto my back as Rogan pulls me closer to him. His eyes are alight with ferocious determination. He doesn’t look angry, more like an apex predator about to down the prey in its sights.
Let’s see what he thinks about my foot in his neck. I kick for all that I’m worth, and he stops pulling at me to guard himself. He assumes I’m going for a crotch shot, and when his hands drop down, I aim for his neck instead. He gasps and grabs for his throat, and a victorious cheer goes off inside of me. Skittering back, I rip the bag open with my teeth and start throwing laurelwood around his bent over form. My breaths come fast and panic-filled as I scramble to my feet and rush to encircle him before he recovers from my assault. Wood chips fall to the ground in frenzied throws, and just when Rogan looks up at me with promises of retribution written all over his face, I close the circle.
A light moves through the ring of laurelwood, confirming its completion, and unsteadily I step back and exhale a sigh of relief.
He’s trapped.
I’m safe.
Rogan watches me, his chest heaving from his efforts to stop me. I want to smile, crow something childish like take that, asshole, but the way he’s looking at me steals the wind from my overconfident sails. A smile tilts one corner of his mouth, and I watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small switchblade. The blade slashes down his palm, and he tilts his hand to allow the drops of blood to fall to the floor inside the laurelwood circle.
“Your magic is bound to me, Lennox. Did you forget that?”
Well, shit.
With each vermilion drop, my heart rate picks up. I look around the mess that is now my shop, hoping against hope that somehow the solution to this new problem will be sitting right there in front of me. The Blood Witch starts chanting, and it tears a gasp from my lips as I feel a pull on the magic nestled at my core. A buzzing feeling overcomes me as a current of power flows from my veins into his.