Two Witches and a Whiskey

Book 3: The Guild Codex: Spellbound

by Annette Marie

Genres: Humorous Fantasy; Urban Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Dragons & Mythical Creatures; New Adult & College

Synopsis

Three months ago, I landed a job as a bartender. But not at a bar—at a guild. Yeah, the magic kind.

I'm not a badass mage like my three smokin' hot best friends. I'm not a sorcerer or an alchemist, or even a wussy witch. I'm just a human, slinging drinks like a pro and keeping my non-magical nose out of mythic business. Seriously, I know my limits.

So why am I currently standing in a black-magic ritual circle across from a fae lord?

Somewhere behind me, my three mage friends are battling for their lives. Somewhere near my feet is the rogue witch I just knocked out with a stolen spell. And I have about five seconds to convince this very angry sea god not to shmoosh me like a bug.

I'm pretty sure this wasn't part of the job description.

Release date: February 8, 2019

Publisher: Dark Owl Fantasy Inc.

Print pages: 328

Sample

Chapter 1

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 sorceress 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 shot 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.

Zora pushed her sleeve up and displayed an ugly half-circle scar on her forearm. “The bastard nearly ripped a chunk out of me. It happened back at my old guild and their healer wasn’t top-notch.”

As various mythics whistled appreciatively, Lyndon pulled his shirt collar aside. A similar scar marked the spot where his neck and shoulder joined. “She drained a solid pint before my team caught up. I don’t normally relish a kill, but that one didn’t bother me.”

They passed the whiskey around, refilling their shot glasses.

Andrew, a skilled defensive sorcerer and frequent team leader, leaned back in his chair. “I want to see who hasn’t tripped and fallen on their face in the middle of a fight. And when you drink, we’ll all know you for the liar you are.”

As everyone laughed, Kai alone lifted his shot and downed it. Smacking it on the table, he raised his chin in challenge. “Who’s calling me a liar?”

I snickered when no one said a word. If there was ever a mythic who hadn’t wiped out in a battle, it was super-ninja Kai.

Girard stroked his beard. “My turn, isn’t it?”

Aaron and Kai exchanged despairing glances.

Smirking, Ezra half-whispered to me, “Girard will try to make everyone drink.”

The officer shot him a grin, then lifted his glass in a mocking toast. “Not to get too macabre, but Lyndon brought up kills, so. If you haven’t seen at least six bodies in one place, drink.”

“What?” Gwen pointed accusingly. “What kind of horrific shit have you been sticking your greasy beard in, Girard? Who stumbles across six piss-reeking corpses?”

Ah, Gwen. Every time she opened her foul mouth, I had to fight the urge to laugh. With her sleek blond ponytail and penchant for designer business attire, she looked like a high-end executive—an impression she ruined whenever she spoke.

Girard wagged a finger. “Drink, Gwen.”

Scowling, she tossed back her shot. Everyone else lifted theirs—except Aaron and Kai. Their smiles had vanished, their expressions grim as they stared at their shots like they wished they could drink too.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table, then Zora grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of Ezra’s chair. “Tori, you do one!”

“Uh, me?”

His drunken grin back in full force, Aaron took my replacement whiskey bottle and stuffed a full shot into my hand in its place. “Give us a good one, Tori!”

I blinked around the table, packed with the guild’s best warriors. What could little ol’ human me say? What had I done that none of them had? Well, there were a few contenders. Flown with a dragon? Made a darkfae scream like a sissy girl? Punched a rogue druid in the nose? Problem was, I couldn’t talk about any of that.

My gaze dropped to Aaron. “Who here has thrown a drink on three mages at once?”

Laughing groans circled the table. Even Girard had to take a shot.

“Wait!” Laetitia lowered her whiskey. “I spilled a coffee across Darius, Tabitha, and myself once. Does that count?”

The table debated, then decided it counted. Zora gave me a commiserating slap on the hip, making me stumble backward into Ezra, still seated in his chair. He steadied me with a hand on my waist.

“Good try!” Zora exclaimed. “You almost had it, but no one’s managed to make everyone drink yet.”

“Tori could have,” Kai interjected. “All she had to do was say ‘kissed Aaron.’ Then we all would have lost.”

The guys howled with laughter and Aaron snorted.

Zora turned to Alistair, an older man I knew only as the most powerful mage in the guild. He was rarely here, too busy hunting the scariest bad guys both in the city and outside it.

“Last round, Alistair,” she said. “I can’t handle any more whiskey, so this is your final chance to claim ultimate victory. Go big or go home.”

Alistair tugged thoughtfully on his snow-white beard. Deeply tanned and weathered, with full-sleeve tattoos on his sinewy arms, he oozed badass-ness. I leaned forward, eager to hear his challenge.

“Hmm. All right, this is mine: Who among us has fought the ultimate opponent?” His dark stare roved around the table. “Who’s fought a demon mage?”

No one moved. A wordless ripple passed among the mythics as they assessed their comrades’ reactions. Cold, tangible fear crawled through the eerie silence. Then, in near perfect unison, they lifted their shots and drank. Only Alistair didn’t move.

Andrew set his glass down with a clink. “Not sure that one was realistic, Alistair. If any of us had met a demon mage, we wouldn’t be here to talk about it.”

The formidable mage lifted his eyebrows. “You asked for my best. I suppose, out of fairness, I could’ve asked who’s faced a demon and needed a change of pants afterward.”

The tension broke as everyone chuckled and began sharing their most frightening encounters. As the game devolved into conversation, I slid a step closer to Aaron.

“What is a—” I began.

A hush fell at the other end of the pub and swept through the room, silencing all conversation. Heads turned as everyone homed in on the front door.

Two people stood just inside the entrance. Both the man and the woman wore identical dark business suits, his hair buzzed short and hers tied in a simple ponytail. The guy carried a leather document case under one arm. I squinted, trying to place them. They weren’t guild members arriving late to the party.

Crap, what if they were inspectors from the liquor board come to bust me for letting customers pour their own alcohol?

The man took a half step forward, plucked the white ID card off his lapel, and held it up. His severe voice was quiet, but it pierced the entire bar.

“Agent Harris of the MPD. Where is your guild master?”

--
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.