Never Marry a Warlock by Tiffany Turner Page A

decorating would be wasted now since I wasn’t coming back. I’d had the crystal chandelier in the dining room imported from Prague. My hand-crafted antique oak table would be splinters in moments. Damn, I’d miss that. I heard the click of my heels as I jammed across the marble front entryway and got through the front door.
    My right heel slipped, but I kept my balance as I raced for my Jag. A lightning bolt shot through the house. I only had seconds to dodge or counter. I spun, faced the bolt aimed at me, and countered its direction. It split into several sparks that veered off in opposite directions. They ended in a shower of fireworks that would impress a small town on the Fourth of July.
    I jumped in my burgundy Jaguar, got the engine running with a push of the button, and started down the main driveway before he could send another bolt. I knew the car could ground more bolts because of the spells I’d set on it. But a direct hit could fry the entire electrical system. The car was definitely worth more than the man right now.
    I needed to get out of Rich’s range. I floored it on the winding road, hearing a hiss and burst of dirt behind me. I knew he’d miss if I kept moving and got out of range in time. Zigzagging lightning on a winding road sucked for aiming. Thank the gods it was to my advantage right now.
    I drove north along the coast until I couldn’t hear any more blasts behind me. He was a sore loser, but he’d taken the last step in the wrong direction. Luckily, witches only married for a year. With renewals every anniversary, it could be annulled if not renewed at the vow date. This was one marriage I would be happy to walk away from.
    I reminded myself never to marry a warlock again.

Chapter 2
    I floored the Jag. All I knew was that I was heading north. I could find another town, make another identity, and find another man. One tear started to well in my eye. I sniffed. No. I wasn’t going to let Richard get to me. It was over. Anything had to be better. I would just head north. I’d find it along the way.
    I pulled into a small beach town along Hwy 1. It was like the rest, with a diner, main market, and tourist trap shops that hawked knick-knacks with shells. I’d seen it a thousand times. I needed something more permanent. I saw the sign, “Firewater Bar.” That would do. I needed something strong to dull the pain.
    I sat at a stool and ordered a glass of port. At least the one thing about this part of California, right below Carmel, they usually stocked the good stuff of everything. Everyone from the very rich to sometimes famous could drop in without notice, and they usually had cash. I had at least the cash, and the will to forget. Too bad I had a witch’s metabolism. I would have loved to get drunk. Except it would take ten times what it would take for a mortal. But no one ever would know that, unless you were one of us.
    “How come a pretty lady like you is sitting alone?” It was some local at the other end of the bar. I swiveled on the barstool, not an easy thing to do in a white cotton knit dress. It clung around my legs, highlighting the tan I’d worked hard to develop by the pool. “Feeling like I need a shot. Would you like one?”
    The guy got up and walked over to the stool next to me. “You look like you need me to buy you the drink. That bad huh?” Interesting, he actually sounded concerned.
    I knocked the port back and signaled the bartender to load us both up again.
    “Just caught my husband with another woman.”
    “Oh shit. That does sound like it’s been a bad day.” He slid down as he gave the bartender a look.
    The bartender walked over between the mortal guy and me to pour my shot of port. He turned to the guy next to me. “The usual, Jed?”
    The bartender pulled a bottle of bourbon from under the bar and refilled his glass. Jed took a drink and nodded to the bartender. “Thanks, Alan. You serve only the best.”
    I took a sip and sighed. “You’re right,