These could be his last days as a witch. If they were, he didn’t want to be spending them in a place with more cows than people. But he didn’t want to give Landstrom the pleasure of seeing him quit before he’d even tried either. Having his magic stripped was going to hurt worse than when he’d done his knee in as a teen. If he hadn’t been trying so hard to impress the cute catcher on the team, he wouldn’t have risked taking third base.
It had been worth it. His lips curved at the memory of his first boyfriend. Back then, he hadn’t known what the Coven was. They’d learned who he was when he’d fried the MRI—in his defense, he had told the doctor that he didn’t want to go in there. When he’d healed, the Coven had made themselves known. That had been the first time he’d been called before the board of three. It had been a different three witches then. The board of three drawn from the full board of thirteen. He’d made an effort to learn how the Coven operated and who the members were after the second time he’d got called in. That Landstrom had ended up on his last two boards was just unlucky.
Houses appeared, and Jude eased off the accelerator. The last thing he needed was a speeding ticket. He didn’t want to be here, and he didn’t want to fail. Bitterness rose in his throat. He was going to be spending his last few days with magic in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Not for the first time he wished he had some other magic. Something less lethal or easier to hide. If he could talk to animals, the Coven would probably have never realized he existed. His parents, whoever they were, hadn’t told anyone what he was. There’d been no warning note handed to his foster parents. No training guide for when weird things had started happening.
His phone came to life, directing him to the motel he’d booked. The pictures and reviews had been okay, better than the other option, and it was up the road from what had looked like the decent bar. The bar on the other side of town was the kind of place where he’d have to check for lice and hose off his shoes after stepping foot in there.
After two more turns, he pulled into the parking lot of the traditional U-shaped motel building. He took a moment to take some deep breaths before he got out. He could do this. He had to believe he could.
Find the creature, call the Coven, and he could be home within days. Then he’d pack up his apartment and go. Not even Landstrom would be able to check up on him from the other side of the world. The faster he did this the better.
He uncurled his fingers from the steering wheel and switched off his cell with barely a thought. Luck was on his side as it didn’t blink and die. The motel wasn’t that much different to the photos. It could do with some new paint and a gardener to trim the bushes that were no longer a neat hedge, not that he was a gardener by any stretch of the imagination.
He had a simple plan for tonight. Check in and then check out the bar—to listen to the local gossip about the cow mutilations, not to drink away his problems. Well, maybe a little drowning of his problems. But he knew from experience when he dried out, they’d be waiting for him like long-lost acquaintances he couldn’t get rid of. He wasn’t going to start creature hunting tonight. That was the kind of thing that should be started in daylight after a strong coffee.
He grinned, and while despair was lurking, he wasn’t going to entertain it. Sitting alone in his room would only give it permission to play, and he’d spent far too much time dwelling on what might happen in the car. He was here, and he had tonight, and tomorrow morning sorted.
Ten minutes later, he’d dropped his bag and pillow in the room—he always traveled with his own pillow—searched the crevices of the mattress for signs of life and was walking down the road to the bar. The bar had once been a shop, complete with gingerbread trimming. However, like most of what he’d walked past, it needed a fresh coat of paint and some repairs or burning to the ground and starting over.
A small rainbow flag was stuck in the window with a note about the next social event, which had happened last month. Overhead, the sign flickered, the short in the circuit an annoying hum that buzzed through his body like an itch he couldn’t scratch. In the time it took to draw breath, he harnessed the charge and sent it through the circuit, clearing the blockage so the electrons could flow freely through the light. The light glowed blue and bright above his head. Jude paused for a heartbeat, waiting for something to go catastrophically wrong and for sparks to fly. When nothing happened, he smiled and walked into the Whiskey Riot.
A few people turned to look at him. He knew immediately that he didn’t fit. There were a couple of men in suit pants with rolled-up shirt sleeves, but most of the men here got their hands dirty at work. The women were better dressed for the most part. There was a group of them from the chain store wearing black pants and shirts with the company logo on. They watched him with a little too much interest.
They were out of luck if they were hoping he’d buy them a drink.
He ordered a Dark and Stormy from the bar, knowing that there was probably no point in asking for his favorite spiced ginger beer or vanilla rum. He did request the rum they had on the top shelf, but only because
