Page 7 of The Powerless Witch
I didn’t hesitate when she headed toward the castle, nodding to Georgia before the werewolf headed back. I glanced after her just as she was disappearing into the crevice between the stone walls, then I focused my attention on Celeste’s best chance of survival.
The witch didn’t speak for the next several minutes, walking quickly, but with her short legs, it was easy for me to keep up. We passed several women on the way, all wearing gray, white, or pale blue dresses, but nobody stopped us. Curiosity and concern were all I could read in their expressions.
No hostility. No hate.
“What happened to her?” the dark-haired witch asked after we made another turn and ended up in front of a flight of stairs. I followed, clearing my throat before speaking.
“She was stabbed by a witch hunter and there was some purple substance on the blade that stole her magic.” The witch hissed, looking at me over her shoulder, but it wasn’t anger that filled her eyes, but pity. “We managed to heal her, but she hasn’t woken since. We couldn’t feel any of her magic returning either.”
“We?” the witch repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Me and her vampire…friend,” I said awkwardly and her eyebrows rose even higher as she stopped by a wide double door, pushing it with both hands. The room on the other side was almost empty, save for a large table in the middle. Three of thewalls were covered with shelves from top to bottom while the fourth was all glass, letting in the light peeking through the clouds.
The witch picked up a few objects from the table before patting the empty space. Reluctantly, I set Celeste down, nudging the hair out of her face and studying her one more time to make sure she had no other injuries. The dark-haired woman unzipped Celeste’s jacket and stripped it down. She caught the edge of Celeste’s shirt as if she planned to take it off, then stopped and looked up at me.
“What is your relationship with her?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, glancing down at Celeste’s pale face. It was one thing sharing our bond with the wolves. They could understand in a way no other creature could, but the witches… The witches were Celeste’s only chance.
“She’s my mate,” I said, and the witch blinked, her shock evident on every inch of her face. “I claimed her to heal her. Her wound was fatal.”
“Mate.” The witch nodded thoughtfully, pushing the shirt up to look at the stomach where the wound had been. “Interesting.”
I was just opening my mouth to ask what she meant when another pair of steps stopped behind me. A new scent entered the room, making every hair on my body rise in a strange familiarity.
“Mate?” a female voice spoke, and my eyes widened in shock as I spun around. The girl—no, the woman—stood at the threshold, holding a tray full of bandages and neatly folded linen. Her long brown hair was bound at the base of her neck, her dark skin standing out in stark contrast with her pale gray dress. But it wasn’t her appearance that made my heart jump, nor was it her scent. It was the face that had haunted both my dreams and nightmares for over eighty years.
The tray clattered on the floor as her hands shot to cover her mouth. The witch behind me said something, but neither of us paid her any mind.
“Isaac?” the woman in front of me whispered in a trembling voice and despite the shock, despite the pain and the loss that had weighed me down for decades, I grinned.
“Alice,” I whispered, rushing to her side and hugging her tightly like I had imagined doing a million times before. “I found you. I finally found you.”
Chapter 3
Celeste
Iran and ran, my heart pulsing in my throat while I fought to get air into my lungs. Tears streamed down my face as I stumbled and fell, but I barely felt the pain. The branches caught in my skirts and tore them; the stones seemed to come out of nowhere and block my path. It was like the universe itself was trying to stop me.
I tripped again and crashed onto the ground. My forehead bounced off something hard, pain stealing my vision. When I opened my eyes again, something dark and warm was slipping over one of them and dripping onto the soil. I winced as I touched the graze on my forehead, looking at the droplets that had stained my hands red. The blood continued to flow into the ground, sinking deep into the earth.
I tried to get up, but my arms caved in and I crashed back down. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself a moment to catch my breath and calm my reeling mind.
Why was I running? I had done nothing wrong! They had no proof the baby was a boy, only Medina’s word. Why did they believe her over me? Even if the child was male, this was too much. There had been a woman who conceived a boy, and I had heard from my mother how they killed it after it was born. The witch still lived in our village, alive and widely accepted, even though she never married or bore another babe.
I shouldn’t have run. I shouldn’t have left my family. Yet in that moment, I had been so afraid, so terrified for them. I had hoped this child could be a new beginning, the first step of the life I envisioned with the man I loved.
My Noah. Or maybe he never was. No, no, I couldn’t think that! Medina lied about my child; she was lying about Noah, too. He loved me. He…
A loud crack resounded through the forest and on instinct, I threw myself aside right before a huge boulder landed almost on top of me. The ground sunk under its weight while the tree where my blood still gleamed bent backward.
I rose to my feet to meet my attacker, calling on my magic to protect me. The forest seemed to hum around me, a melody I hadn’t heard often. The only time I could remember hearing that sad, eerie song was when I watched my mother resurrect a pair of witches so she could find out what killed them. And back then…she had cut herself and fed the earth, asking for the bodies back, if only for a time.
I touched my forehead again, then dropped to my knees and sunk my bloody fingers into the soil. Something flew toward me again, but my magic rose to protect me while I whispered the words my mother had taught me.
I felt the shift, the rumble of movement beneath the surface, the call being answered. I had never really embraced my birthright—my mother insisted I was still too afraid of death to truly understand the magic yet—but I had her blood running in my veins and my mind was strangely empty of fear.
A loud crack sounded above me and I looked up just when the trunk of the tree snapped against my ward, falling to the ground in pieces.