Dead Witch Walking Read Online Free

I was a good little soldier in the fight for crimes against norms, even if no one but I thought so. Smiling, I leaned forward until my cleavage showed. That always gets their attention, even if there isn’t much of it. Reaching across the table, I grabbed the short hairs on his chest and twisted. That gets their attention, too, and it’s far more satisfying.
    The yelp as his singing cut off was like icing, it was so sweet. “Leave,” I whispered. I pushed the old-fashioned into his hand and curled his slack fingers around it. “And get rid of this for me.” His eyes grew wider as I gave a little tug. My fingers reluctantly loosened, and he beat a tactful retreat, sloshing half the drink as he went.
    There was a cheer from the bar. I looked to see the old bartender grinning. He touched the side of his nose, and I inclined my head. “Dumb kid,” I muttered. He had no business being in the Hollows. Someone ought to sling his butt back across the river before he got hurt.
    One glass remained before me, and bets were probably being made as to whether I would drink or not. “You all right, Jenks?” I asked, already guessing the answer.
    “The sawed-off lunker nearly pulps me, and you ask if I’m all right ?” he snarled. His tiny voice was hilarious, and my eyebrows rose. “Nearly cracked my ribs. Slime stink all over me. Great God almighty , I reek of it. And look what he did to my clothes. Do you know how hard it is to get stink out of silk! My wife is gonna make me sleep in the flower boxes if I come home smelling like this. You can shove the triple pay, Rache. You aren’t worth it!”
    Jenks never noticed when I quit listening. He hadn’t said a thing about his wing, so I knew he’d be okay. I slumped into the back of the booth and stewed, dead in the water with Jenks leaking dust as he was. I was royally Turned. If I came in empty-handed, I’d get nothing but full moon disturbances and bad charm complaints until next spring. It wasn’t my fault.
    With Jenks unable to fly unnoticed, I knew I might as well go home. If I bought him some Maitake mushrooms, he might not tell the guy in appropriations how his wing got bent. What the heck, I thought. Why not make a party of it? Sort of a last fling before the boss nailed my broom to a tree, so to speak. I could stop at the mall for some bubble bath and a new disc of slow jazz. My career was taking a nosedive, but there was no reason I couldn’t enjoy the ride.
    With a perverse glow of anticipation, I took my bag and the Shirley Temple, rising to make my way to the bar. Not my style to leave things hanging. Contestant number three stood with a grin and a shake of his leg to adjust himself. God, help me. Men can be so disgusting. I was tired, ticked-off, and grossly unappreciated. Knowing he would take anything I said as playing hard to get and follow me out, I tipped the ginger pop down his front and kept walking.
    I smirked at his cry of outrage, then frowned at his heavy hand on my shoulder. Turning into a crouch, I sent my leg in a stiff half spin to trip him onto the floor. He hit the wood planking with a loud thump. The bar went silent after a momentary gasp. I was sitting on him, straddling his chest, before he even realized he had gone down.
    My bloodred manicure stood out sharply as I gripped his neck, flicking the bristles under his chin. His eyes were wide. Cliff stood at the door with his arms crossed, content to watch.
    “Damn, Rache,” Jenks said, swinging wildly from my earring. “Who taught you that?”
    “My dad,” I answered, then leaned until I was in his face. “So sorry,” I breathed in a thick Hollows accent. “You want to play, cookie?” His eyes went frightened as he realized I was an Inderlander and not a bit of fluff out looking for a wild night of pretend. He was a cookie, all right. A little treat to be enjoyed and forgotten. I wouldn’t hurt him, but he didn’t know that.
    “Sweet mother of Tinker Bell!” Jenks exclaimed,