Blood Tally by Brian McClellan

Author:Brian McClellan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brian McClellan
Published: 2019-11-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

There are a lot of reasons that professionals don’t hire witches for scrying. Confidentiality is a big one: witches share everything with their coven. The stereotype that witches are a bunch of chatty old women—and sometimes men—who will talk about anything with literally anyone is a stereotype for a reason. Another reason involves their chain of command. While there are occasional witches with inherent power, most of them have struck a deal with a powerful Other and that Other will find out why its servant was hired.

For me, it’s trust. Collecting that debt when I was seventeen and then getting hives for my effort has given me a lifelong aversion to any witch. I’m a professional, and I want other professionals to treat me as such. Beyond my own experience, I don’t know anyone who works with the Other that doesn’t have a horror story about the witch next door or the cousin who hired a coven for some such thing.

So witches are always off the table. Or at least, they were.

Olivia Martin’s house was much the same as when I was there a little over a week ago to collect that grimoire. Only one thing had changed: there was a little sign in the window that said CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. CONSULTATIONS AVAILABLE BY APPOINTMENT.

I flinched at that sign, thinking back to how clearly pissed she’d been over the whole Cleveland Coven lawsuit. Me smashing up her kitchen had forced her to close her doors at a time she probably needed her regular income more than normal. I stood on the front step, waiting for her to open the door before I’d even knocked. No one came out to greet me. I could hear the sound of heavy metal playing through the window and someone singing along with it badly.

I’m having second thoughts, I told Maggie.

Don’t come crying to me. I told you this was stupid. Witches can’t be trusted. You’re the one who insisted on driving all the way out here.

The drive over from the west side had let me cool off a bit. I was less pissed at Father Orrock and his thrall runaways than I was with myself now, and only in the last few minutes had I really decided that I might be acting out of anger. But like Maggie said, I’d already driven all the way out here. Before I could change my mind, I knocked hard on the door.

I heard a thump, then a bunch of swearing. A few moments passed before the music turned off and footsteps pounded angrily across the living room. As the door swung open, I heard, “Goddamn it, can’t you read? I’m closed for … oh. It’s you.”

Olivia was wearing an old Jack Daniel’s T-shirt and cutoff denim short shorts. Her hair was tied back by a handkerchief and there was a splash of green paint across her nose. She glared up at me, a paint roller held off to one side. I craned my neck to look over her shoulder.

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