Burn Bridges, Not Witches

~two~

~ click ~

"What? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Saoirse!" He screamed into the phone briefly before realizing that his friend had hung up. Why couldn't she just make it easy on him? Just once?

Harry paced the length of his kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the polished floor. He was often prone to pacing when a situation required a lot of thought. Was she serious? Was she actually in danger of bleeding out, or was this her way of getting him to hurry? One would think that after ten years of this he'd be better at figuring out what she meant. He took a few more laps around the kitchen before the sound of a door opening broke his concentration. He registered the noise just in time to hear a lithe voice call out from down the hall.

"Ummm, Harry? Is everything okay in there?" Oh shit. Amber. Or was it Abby? He'd almost forgotten she was still in his apartment. They'd met at a bar the night before and she had made the decision to spend the night. It's not like it was abnormal for him to have girls over, actually, the number of girls he managed to sleep with might've been the most regular thing about him.

Harold James Sciath (sk.AYCH) was what one might refer to as a furie. This meant that although he might look like the average twenty-something dark haired, blue eyed, rich party boy, he possessed a rather large secret. Namely a pair of dark wings attached to his back. In addition to some other, less noticeable physical differences, these were the main reason he'd made the decision to become friends with Saoirse in the first place. As per the deal they'd made when they were kids, if Harry agreed to help Saoirse remain safe and hidden, she would use her magic to disguise the fact that he was less than human. And so a friendship was born. A friendship that was currently forcing him to kick a half naked girl out of his apartment at nine in the morning. Oh joy.

He slowly padded over through the hallway that connected the kitchen to his bedroom, coming face to face with the girl whose name he'd decided had been Ashley.

"Hi." He tried to speak softly. He didn't quite know how hungover she was so he wanted to try and lessen the inevitable damage being kicked out would deal on her mind.

"Hey. Is everything alright?" She spoke with little concern in her voice, as if she was asking only to be polite. Judging from her relaxed demeanor and current level of naked-ness, Harry was able to surmise several things about the woman laying before him. Firstly, the low cut cocktail dress and recently done hair she'd been sporting when they'd met suggested that she was most likely a serial socialite, a woman who used her sexuality as a means by which to enter a higher tax bracket. As he'd been blessed with a certain level of financial security from birth, he often found himself running into these types of women at social events. They were fun at first but lethal once you let them see your bank information. Secondly, judging by just how comfortable she appeared whilst laying there in his bed, it became obvious that in her history of sleeping with wealthy pretty boys like him, he would most likely be the first to ever have to ask her to leave.

"Yeah..." he trailed off, attempting to find the best way to put it. "Listen, it's been great having you but I've got to go, so I'm gonna need you to leave if that's ok." He flinched. Harry knew from experience that these kinds of talks never went well. The girls he'd bring home usually didn't appreciate being told to leave so early in the morning and from the looks of it, this one was no exception.

"Excuse me?" The mood shift that had taken place in the room was palpable. She was not happy, repeat, not happy.

"I'm really sorry Ashley, but there's been a bit of an emergency and I can't just leave with you here." He spoke softly, caution no doubt leaking into his voice.

"Fine." She spat out in a clipped tone that invited no argument. "Since you want me to leave so bad, I guess I'll just grab my things and go." She stood up in a huff and proceeded to quickly move around the room, removing haphazardly strewn clothing from various pieces of furniture.

He watched her from the door, trying to remain as quiet as possible as not to further upset the energy of the room. Puffed cheeks, wide eyes, and stopping to look directly at him every ten seconds? He'd seen this behavior before. She was attempting to guilt him into letting her stay. She was pretty good at it too. Unfortunately for her, it was a fairly difficult act to maintain while attempting to pluck a bright pink thong from a ceiling fan.

She'd dressed quickly and made her way into the hall, keeping on the lookout for her purse and heels. Stopping every so often to look up at him (she was rather short) and make another feeble attempt at conversation. She must've really wanted to stay over longer, normally girls would gracefully bow out once they'd realized that the usual guilt trip wasn't going to cut it, but this one was persistant.

After a few more denied requests for things like breakfast and a quick shower, Ashley had finally gotten the point and agreed to leave. Phew. One down.

Throwing on an old hoodie, a pair of beat up jeans and some sneakers, Harry grabbed his keys and left.

He drove as fast as legally possible. Haphazardly darting through Manhattan towards the Brooklyn bridge. Harry had never been too good at driving, preferring to either take the subway or fly to get to wherever he needed to go. He'd waited two years to get his license, putting off driving for as long as he could. It was only after heavy pestering from Eli that he had agreed to take the dreaded behind-the-wheel driving test. He'd failed three times before finally being awarded a license by the state of Texas, only to nearly total his car two weeks later.

Upon moving back to New York a year ago, he'd bought a new jeep just in case he might need it, although he didn't think it'd be necessary considering the city's plethora of public transportation options. His no driving plan went out the window as soon as Saoirse made a habit out of calling him with fifteen minutes to spare, leaving him no choice.

Oh shit.

Did she want him to go to that weird old church or Mercer's shop? She had rooms at both places ever since they'd expanded. With his exit a mere mile and a half away he needed to know. Grabbing his phone from the cupholder in his dash, he looked up Saoirse's contact and pressed call.

...

...

...

I swear to God woman you'd better pick this phone up.

...

"What?"

"Hey, do you want me to go to Mercer's or that weird church you hang out at?"

"Snake House."

"Okay...."

She let out a sigh.

"The weird church."

"Awesome, I'll be there in ten."

"Ten? I though I told you to leave fifteen minutes ago?"

"Okay, bye!"

"Harold I swear to-"

~ click ~

What? She'd done it to him. And there was no way he was getting yelled at for being there late. She'd only given him fifteen minutes in the first place.

True to form, Harry arrived outside of the Snake House or whatever she called it ten minutes later. He parked his car a few blocks down near Greenwood Cemetery and walked over to the imposing structure.

God he hated it here. It always felt as though the building was watching him. To be fair it probably was. Within those walls were some of New York's most fearsome criminals, almost all of them immigrants from the realm of magic. Shunned away from their peoples in penance for their crimes, they'd all been forced to move to the human world and find a new place to do business. He paled to think of what his friend must've done to land herself a place among these people.

He took a deep breath and stepped through the open doors into the belly of the beast.