Page 4 of Bargain with Fate
“What about me?”
I swiped a key from the counter and tossed it to her. “Take my golf cart the long way home. I’ll pick it up later.”
“Thank you, Maya.”
“You should call the other witches and let them to know to be careful when they leave the pool.”
Margie hesitated. “I don’t think they’d have any trouble.”
“I mean, I agree they’re badasses, but why not?”
“Catherine is with them. They can all outrun her.”
“Wow.”
Margie winced. “Please don’t tell her I said that, but it’s true.”
“Do you think they’d sacrifice Catherine for their own safety?” The other witches were fighters; I couldn’t picture them letting this creature get the upper hand. Magic was restricted in the Neighborhood, but they weren’t known for following the rules. Neither was I, for that matter.
“I wouldn’t want to be Catherine and find out.” Margie shrugged off the blanket and stood, still wrapped in her towel. “I’ll walk out with you.”
“Let me grab a weapon first.” It seemed irresponsible to go outside without one. I’d retrace Margie’s steps back to the square and see what I could find.
I hurried to the weapons trunk and chose a shoulder harness and glaive. The six-foot polearm topped with a single-edged blade would allow me to fight while still keeping my distance. If this creature was large and armed to the teeth (and claws), this was the best weapon for the occasion. It was also collapsible, which made it less awkward to transport, and the locking twist allowed me to assemble it in two seconds. Modern advancements weren’t all bad.
Margie recoiled when I returned to the living room holding the full-length glaive. “You might want to be careful brandishing that thing inside.”
“I have experience, don’t worry.” I collapsed the glaive and attached it to the shoulder harness.
“Look,” she said, pointing to the floor. “Even your cat is scared.”
“First, Jinx isn’t my cat. Second, she isn’t scared of anything.”
Margie glanced around, perplexed. “Are those her bowls?”
“Yes.”
She pointed to a soft fishing rod with a fake fish attached. “Is that her toy?”
“When she deigns to play with it.”
Margie sniffed the air. “I hope that’s her litter box I smell.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “What’s your point, Margie?”
The witch brushed past me toward the front door. “Jinx is your cat.”
The black cat meowed, whether to confirm or deny Margie’s statement, I wasn’t sure.
We walked outside together. Margie drove in one direction in my golf cart, and I headed in a different direction on foot. Jinx tried to follow me, but I shooed her back to the porch.
“Do you see what I’m carrying? It isn’t safe for you,” I said.
Jinx swished her tail in protest.
“I can’t do my job properly if I’m worried about protecting you. Please, stay here.”
The cat reluctantly turned back. Only then did I continue to the square.
