I know my purpose: To rid the world of evil, one bad guy at a time.
When I turned twenty I took the oath to protect, and for the last five years I’ve kept that promise. Currently, I’ve got a gig as a kind of one-witch secret service to the British Prime Minister—using a combination of potions, spells, explosions, mind-reading, and general butt-kicking skills, I’ve saved him from so many assassins we’ve quit counting. Umm, did I mention explosions? Yeah, well: we all have our talents, and mine’s combustion.
After that recent incident when those stupid warlocks tried to sacrifice me, I decided I’m going to write everything down. That way if some creep knocks me off, someone will know what happened. But hopefully this diary won’t be all about maiming and killing. I’d like to write some sexy bits, too. Especially about Dr. Sam, who’s smart, funny, adorable, everything I’d want in a man—except he’s a warlock. Sorry, that’s a big no-no in Bronwyn’s book of dating material. I might as well face it: witches don’t do so well in the boyfriend department. Somehow, men find me a tad intimidating. I can’t imagine why.