Where Devils go to Party (Winterwood Witches #1)

Chapter 3: Ms Phantasm

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with my head!" I shouted as Shauna left the stage to go secure our captive.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of zat. By all ze accounts, you are quite mad," a smooth, excessively accented voice whispered into my ear.

"Aaaaah!"

Stumbling over on my butt, I stared up at a lanky set of faded skinny jeans suddenly standing beside me. A tall man in a brown leather vest stood grinning down at me and offered a hand back up. His rich green eyes kept defocusing and drifting to my left, but he didn't seem to notice. If he was here, that mean she was too. Great. Reluctantly, I accepted his help back to my feet.

"Enchante, Miss Phantasm."

"Knock it off, Cole," an irritated voice snapped from the other side of the room.

"I hab no ideaz what you ah talking about."

"You are not European. You are from Redfern. Knock it off."

"Yeah, but she doesn't know that."

"Actually, she does," the woman yelled back, heading over to where Shauna was digging the preacher from off the rubble.

"Oh." The happy grin vanished from his face as he realised exactly what I am.

"Last time you were from Texas." I smiled sadly.

"Uh. Did you fall for it though?"

"Oh, yes, you were very believable. I really thought you were a cowboy. Just like the time you were from South Africa. And the Caribbean before that."

"You don't have to rub it in." Cole paused, tilting his head as if trying to calculate. "Exactly how many times have we actually met?"

"More than a few."

"Right. Excuse me for a second."

The lanky man walked towards the back of the stage and casually started head-butting the nearest wall. It wasn't the first time I'd witnessed such a reaction from him. Ignoring him, I glanced back over at Shauna and the preacher. Several men in identical denim jeans and jackets crowded around the fallen holy man, pinning him in place while the woman who had snapped at Cole drew several precise runic sigils in chalk on the ground around him. Compared to the bizarrely uniformed denim gang, she stood out far more in a crisp black suit and tie complete with unnecessary black sunglasses. Indoors. At night. Wannabe MiB poseur. As if reading my thoughts, the woman looked up at me and glared. At least I think she glared. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses.

Finishing her binding, the woman stood up and started giving directions to the denim-clad men around her. All but two of the men scattered around the room, carrying out orders, but apparently whatever she said didn't sit too well with Shauna. She looked just about ready to tear someone's face off. More than ready. Shauna started flexing her fingers as bestial claws began to take shape. Not good.

I groaned and started heading towards them.

"We'll be taking him back for questioning, stay out of our way," the woman said with mounting irritation.

Shauna snarled in reply, "No, we did all the work. You don't just get to walk in and take him."

"And what a skillful job you did of it." I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "I'm sure the report will be captivating."

Shauna was looking less and less in control of herself by the second. It wouldn't be surprising if she up and tore the woman in half.

Before I could reach them, one of the denim boys blocked my path.