Page 37 of Of Flame and Fury
Her long head of greasy blonde hair is a mix of tangles and bald patches. Her eyes—Jesus—are sunken in the way that happens when the tears run out and that horrible numbness sets in.
She wipes her mouth and rises, exposing several spots where teeth are missing. The lack of bruises to her face suggest the teeth were pulled out. I know she sees us. Instead of explaining her presence and, well, her condition, she staggers to the water pump, her dirty feet stepping through the puddle she drank from.
An old bucket remains perched beneath the pump. The witch doesn’t bother pumping fresh water. She cups her hands and dips them into the bucket, relishing the long sip she takes.
“Oh, my goodness,” Emme says. “Please don’t do that. I-I can help you.”
Emme recognizes her lack of strength. She likely can’t pump the water.
“No,” the witch tells Emme. Her irate tone stops Emme in place. “I’m thirsty.”
Her voice is dry. The water is filthy. Neither matter. She knows she’s dying.
“I-I can heal you,” Emme says. She steps forward, gathering the gentle pale light of her healing powers around her hands.
Emme means well. She always does. Except this witch’s injuries are beyond repair. Her residual magic is the only thing keeping her standing. Still, I don’t stop Emme. This witch doesn’t pose the threat she once did.
The witch shakes her head. “Even if you could, you don’t want to heal me. I’m the cause of your pain.” She sniffs, her fingertips passing along her defeated features as if she doesn’t remember her face. “I let him in. The Fate. It took a great deal from me, but I did it. I walked this compound long before he stepped foot, and I made it so he could take his place among us.”
It explains the sense of evil that surrounds her.
“Is that possible?” Shayna asks me. “The witches spent, like, months strengthening the wards.”
I don’t listen to Shayna as much as I study the witch’s words. “You walked the compound long before he stepped foot,” I repeat. She doesn’t just mean walked. This is a spell. “You created a path for him. With magic.”
The witch glares at me, annoyed that I somehow spoiled her big reveal. That’s when I’m certain I’m right. Maybe I did learn a thing or two in witch school.
“I don’t understand,” Emme says.
“You can’t weaken the wards,” I say. “They’re set up in layers. It’s what makes them so strong.”
Shayna motions to the witch. “Then how did she get little ol’ Johnny in, T?”
“She was one of many who helped strengthen the wards. I’m right, aren’t I?” She shuts her mouth and stares at me. It’s a genius plan, really. If I didn’t have the urge to slap her upside the head, I might actually give her some credit. “You knew where they were, so you cut out a path, like a zigzag or something similar that would be hard to detect through all those layers.”
“Or more likely a maze,” Emme reasons. Her attention turns to Shayna. “Should a different witch securing the ward come across an opening to the path, she would meet a wall, misleading her into thinking the wards remained intact.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “It provided a false sense of security. The only way to detect the breach was if it were made visible either on the ground or by air.” It’s brilliant. Then again, we never mistook the bad guys for stupid.
“How did Johnny see it?” Celia asks. Her face is a mask of wary predator and pity as she regards the ragged soul standing before us. Celia feels for the witch’s fragile state, not that it will be enough to spare her. Bottom line, she screwed us over.
For all the witch seemed to brag about her brilliance, she turns tight-lipped, taking another gulp of dirty water instead of answering Celia.
“A blood sacrifice would make it visible,” I answer for her. I take another long look at her frail condition. It’s too easy to feel sorry for her, given how close to death she is. Except, I learned a long time ago how manipulative supernaturals can be. This witch is no exception. Hell, look at who she let into Camp Genevieve. “Did you kill her? Or did someone do it for you?”
“I’m stronger than I look,” she spits out.
I’ve clearly insulted her without trying. Might as well keep going. “Strong or not, you didn’t act alone,” I tell her.
This is the moment to figure out who else betrayed us, and I’m not letting it go. I won’t know for sure if she’s lying. But maybe I’ll find out enough.
The witch runs her dirty hand along the spout. “We tested the path on the creatures first.” She laughs in a way that projects rising hysteria than humor. “You wouldn’t believe how many died trying to find the right ways in. But the Fate made them plentiful and beautiful. There was no end to his power or his creativity.”
Shayna quirks a brow. “You sound a little impressed there, dudette.”
Shayna isn’t one to be cruel. Like me, she’s stunned by how taken the witch is with Johnny. It says a lot about her character. This is a person who’s likely always sought power and prestige.
The witch narrows her eyes at Shayna. “He is everything.”