Waylen's Witch

Chapter 7 (Morgan)

I hate the heat.

As a natural redhead who burns from just standing in front of a window, I am suffering under the hot Mexico sun.

I am sweaty, sticky, smelly, and fed up.

I won't even think about the fact that I look like a lobster at the moment. I can protect myself against sunburn easily, but I can't change the fact that my face turns an unattractive shade of crimson when I overheat. At least, not without a glamour. But I refuse to expend an unnecessary amount of energy, just to satisfy my vanity.

I am NOT my mother.

It has been six weeks since I made the drunken, empty-headed decision to bet my life on a missing werewolf. And since then I have managed to come up with absolutely nothing. In the past few weeks, I have been all over Jalisco, and have turned up no evidence that Waylen Baird was ever even in Mexico.

Not entirely surprising, considering the trail went cold three years ago.

My last hope lays in a town called Mazamitla, which the locals call Pueblo Mágico.

The Magical Town.

And I am here to see if that could be taken literally, or just figuratively.

Mazamitla is by far the prettiest place I have been so far. It's nestled in a valley surrounded by lush forest-covered mountains. With the beauty of the surrounding landscape, coupled with the cobblestone streets, whitewashed buildings, flower gardens, and fountains, it's easy to see why the locals see it as magical. It certainly gives off that vibe.

However, what I am really looking for is a magic caster of some kind. If Waylen truly did have help from someone, odds are that it was someone with the ability to hide him mystically, like a witch, wizard, warlock, or shaman, to name a few. However, finding someone with the ability to do that has been far harder than I expected.

Everyone I have met so far is very tight-lipped when it comes to talking about the occult. I am aware that the mortal religion practiced here has harsh views when it comes to stuff like that, but it's also the twenty-first century, and luckily for me, burning witches at the stake is less popular than it used to be. But I can see why my questions get the reactions they do. So I am working on being more subtle in my pursuit of information.

It may be just the beauty of my surroundings putting me in a better mood, but I am feeling lucky today.

Mazamitla is a buzz with activity. Vendors dot the narrow streets with brightly colored umbrellas, and the delicious smell of spices and cooking meat permeates the air.

"Hola Hermosa," a handsome man with dark eyes, calls to me.

I look him over. He is quite attractive. His tanned skin glistens in the sunlight and his strong features are framed by dark hair. However, he sports a thick mustache that I am not sure if I am 100% keen on.

A I take him in, I feel like I may have seen him somewhere before. I can't place it but he seems oddly familiar.

"For you," he says with a broad smile, holding out his hand to offer me a pretty white rose.

"Gracias" I say returning his smiles and accepting his gift, bringing it to my nose and inhaling its sweet scent. I peak up at him and see him watching me intently.

"It's beautiful, like you." He says, and I notice that there is something different about his accent. It doesn't really sound Spanish. "What brings you to Mazamitla, business or pleasure?" His eyes trail down my body as he says the last part.

I can feel my cheeks instantly heat. I have never been comfortable with men being too forward. But, I also know better than to let them think they can rattle me.

To show weakness is to give your enemy a weapon to use against you.

I don't break eye contact as I say "Strickly business".

The man purses his lips in a pout but still manages to keep his smile.

I turn and walk away down the street when I hear him call after me. "Since when have you become such a stick in the mud?"

I freeze, my brain still trying to catch up with what I already knew deep down.

Dorian.

I turn to face him, wondering how long he has been following me around with that glamour on,

"You must be pretty confident if you are taking the time to stop and smell the roses." He smirks.

"And you must be pretty worried if you followed me all the way to Mexico." I counter.

"Just checking up on my investment. I prefer my prize be in one piece when I collect it."

This whole situation is bad enough but seeing him now only twists my gut and I feel like I could be sick.

"Well, as you can see, I am just fine. You can go back home now."

He lets out a malicious laugh "If I didn't know any better, I would say you are worried, Morgan."

How could I not be? The thought of the life I could face should I fail is terrifying. But I simply can't afford to let him get to me.

"Says the one keeping tabs on me. You wouldn't be trying to interfere with our deal, would you?" I return his smirk, looking down at the little white knot still on my hand. "Because that would be against the rules".

Part of me wishes that he would meddle, like I know he is dying too, and then this whole bet would be off. But I know he is far too smart and careful for that.

"Not at all," he puts his hands up and takes a step back "I just wanted to extend an olive branch of sorts,"

"Riiiight," I say as dubiously as I can manage. "And what would that be?".

"Since you're struggling so much, I am willing to let you give up now and come home with me. And as a show of good faith, I won't mention your utter failure to anyone."

How was I ever attracted to this absolute tool?

"Hmm," I pretend to consider it for a second "Hard Pass".

His signature cocky smile is back in place "I figured you would say that". His gaze softens as he looks me over, much like he did before. "You know, there's nothing that says we can't take a little time out to..." He shrugs "...have some fun."

"Eww."

He laughs at that. "I saw the way you looked at me." He leans forward and whispers at my ear "You like what you see."

He doesn't phrase it like a question, but I answer anyway. "Sure." I shrug "I thought your glamour was attractive. The fact that you are under it is what I am repulsed by."

His smirk falters and his eyes turn cold. "No matter, you'll be mine soon enough." His gaze lingers and I swear I almost catch a hint of regret play across his face for the briefest of moments before he turns and walks away, shoving his hands in his pockets as he goes.

Although his back is already to me, I casually give him the finger. I am desperately trying not to let his sudden appearance rattle me. But unfortunately, he has accomplished what he came here to do.

Unlike me.

I force myself to take a calming breath.

Don't freak out. That is what he wants.

I realize I am just standing frozen in the middle of the street when a man pushing a wagon yells something angrily at me in Spanish, that I can not understand. I quickly move to the side and take a second to compose myself in the cover of a doorway. I just lean myself against the doorframe and don't even have time to take a breath before the door gives way and I go flying backward, as I tumble inside.

"Lo Siento," I start apologizing immediately as I begin to pick my aching bottom up off the floor.

"Bienvenida, Hermana," A small woman with kind eyes smiles down at me with amusement. She extends a hand to help me to my feet, which I take. I can only imagine what I must look like stumbling in here this way, and I can feel my cheeks heat as she looks me over. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Only my pride is hurt."

"Best get used to that," she says with a smile "I'm afraid that's unavoidable".

So it would seem.

"Please come in," she says as she walks over to stand behind a bar.

I look around and realize that I have indeed stumbled into a tavern of some kind. Numerous bottles line the wall behind the L-shaped counter, where tall wooden stools are folded neatly underneath.

The woman, who looks like she is around my age, pushes her long black braid over her shoulder and gestures for me to take a seat across from her.

That's great. She probably thinks I am just another drunken tourist.

The bar is completely empty and I realize that it's probably not even open yet, given that it's only 10:00 am. But the irony of ending up in a bar immediately after an encounter with Dorian doesn't escape me.

Fortunately, I can learn from my mistakes.

I take a seat across from her anyway and order a bottle of water. "It's a nice place you have here," I say as I look around.

In my limited experience, bars pretty much all look the same, and this one is no exception. Wood from floor to ceiling, pictures, and posters hanging on the walls. There is even an old jukebox in the corner and, despite the small space, a pool table by the front window. I can imagine it's quite the place to be during operating hours.

"Gracias," the woman smiles "How are you liking Mazamitla?"

"It's beautiful," I say with a sigh "from what little I've seen of it. I just arrived this morning."

The woman nods and I wonder just how many people she has conversed with just like this. She must meet a lot of people running a bar in a tourist town.

"I'm actually here looking for someone, maybe you could help?" I decide to try my luck and pull out the ancient picture I have, passing it across the bar. "His name is Waylen Baird," I add as she studies the picture.

The woman's smile broadens leaning over the counter and picking up the picture to get a better look.

My heart jumps into my throat "You know him?"

"We have met." She nods.

I am trying to keep my enthusiasm under control. This could be another dead end, but still, a lead is a lead. "When was the last time you saw him?"

She takes a moment to think "I guess it's been about three years now."

Yes. This is good. "Can you recall anything unusual about him?"

"What do you mean unusual?"

How do I ask this question without asking? I don't want to come across as a lunatic, but I need to make sure that we are talking about the same person. "Did he seem skittish or perhaps nervous?"

The woman smiles "You mean like he was running from something?"

I nod.

She laughs. "Well, yeah. Because he was."

My eyes shoot up to hers. "He confided this to you?"

She shakes her head "No. He didn't have to. I saw it myself."

"You witnessed people following him?"

Again she shakes her head "No".

I shake mine, confused "Then why do you think he was on the run?"

She looks me dead in the eye "Because he was being hunted by werewolves".

I nearly fall off my chair "You're..."

"I'm like you," she pauses to consider that "Well, in a way."

"You saw me coming?"

She nods with a roguish smile playing at her lips.

"What can you tell me about him?" I cut to the chase.

"Nothing that you don't already know."

"It's important that I find him as soon as possible."

"I bet it is," she looks at me with a knowing smile.

"Do you know where he is?"

"I might."

Of course, "For a price?"

She shakes her head "I don't want your money".

I take a breath and slow down. I get the feeling that she is toying with me, but I have no idea why she would do that. There is no written rule, but it is common for spellcasters, especially witches, to help each other where they can. So the fact that her loyalties lie with him instead of me is a little surprising.

"Why are you loyal to him?"

I look her over. She is very beautiful with gentle features and kind eyes. She is quite short, but I can tell that her spunk makes up for her lack of height. I wonder if she and Waylen were lovers and if that's why she won't give me his location.

Damn it!

This is a complication.

I feel like I have been grasping at straws for weeks and now that I finally have something substantial to go on, I can feel it slipping through my fingers. I refuse to let him disappear on me like he did with Mr. Wolf.

My eyes widen as realization dawns.

"You're the one who helped him escape, aren't you?"

She doesn't answer my question and instead asks one of her own. "Why would you make that bet?" She gestures to the knot on the back of my hand.

I am not surprised that she has noticed, she is clearly perceptive and I can already tell that she is a see-er of some kind, but I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment nonetheless. "It was a mistake," I say honestly.

She looks disappointed, but nods in understanding. "I was really hoping you wouldn't fall for that."

You and me both sister.

"But since you did, I am afraid I can't help you." She says with genuine regret in her voice.

I am so frustrated I feel like screaming, but I manage to compose myself and as the next obvious question. "Why?".

She smiles kindly. "He's not who you think he is."

I almost laugh. No woman ever wants to admit that the man she fell for has a dark side. It makes us feel like idiots when he turns out to actually be a monster. I actually feel bad for her. I wonder if she is just one in a long line of broken-hearted women he has used and left behind along the way. He clearly managed to win her over, and it makes me wonder what else he is capable of doing in order to get away.

"What if he is not who you think he is?" I ask as gently as possible. "Do you have any idea why he was even on the run in the first place?"

She laughs at that. "Do you?"

I blink in surprise.

I guess she kind of has a point there.

"May I?" She asks me, holding out her hand.

I know that she wants to read me but I am not sure if I want to know my future or have her see my past for that matter.

She sees my hesitation and nods in understanding. "I don't have to tell you, but I would still like to see for myself."

What do I have to lose at this point?

I extend my hand and the second our fingers touch a zap of electricity sparks between us and we both pull away. My fingers stink and I hold them to my chest tightly. I tentatively give them a look and see that the ends have been charred black. "What the hell was that?"

"Interesting." She says flatly, frowning down at her own blackened fingers. "That's some powerful magic behind that deal of yours."

I feel stupid for not realizing that would happen. No one is allowed to interfere with the outcome of our bargain.

The woman rubs her fingers together with a look of seething anger growing on her face. "Too bad I don't like playing by the rules."

I look at her confused and she gives me a mischievous smile.