business, having to be a member and obey rules, none of that was his scene. He didn’t need to be told what to do. Not by anyone.
After finally growing tired of the violence and hand-to-mouth nature of the lifestyle he’d lived for the early part of his twenties, he’d landed in New York City where he’d learned how to run a business. When he’d saved for a few years, he’d come back home to the Northwest.
He’d made something of all that energy and ambition. He took an empty space and with some magick, okay some
The place was packed every night and as Simon pointed out just that day over lunch, they were bound to get a visit from some clan witches very soon. There was no way word of the place hadn’t reached them and there’d be a bill come due from using their precious font. Even an outclan witch like him knew he was breaking their laws by using their magick without being keyed in. Until then though, he’d continue to do so because he needed to and they couldn’t possibly have a use for all that spare power.
And because he still liked to play on the edge.
