The Witches of White Willow: A Witch Hospital Romance

by Angela Addams

  Sexist to be sure, but the maternal line was cherished and protected in all ways. As the bringers of witch life, women could not be penalized with death—too many lost during the Burning Times. Undocumented, but widely known, female witches had been burned, stoned and hanged in the thousands during that time. Any and all means of preventing death to a female witch was the utmost priority to all witch-kind.

  “What will your superiors think if you let this one die? Especially when they find out that there were Healers available offering to help?” Bridget turned back to the lead Trapper, clearly accepting Hazel’s assessment. “We have a camp just over there with supplies. We can prevent this from getting worse.”

  “We can’t release the prisoners. You saw what they are capable of. If you knew what they’d done—”

  “I can create a containment spell,” Hazel said. “I can use the stones. It’ll keep them from escaping while they’re treated. I won’t let them go, I promise.”

  “And there are enough of us here to keep them from doing any damage,” Bridget added.

  “Once they’re healed, they can lash out,” the lead Trapper said.

  “With you guys here? No way.” Chanda moved away from the group, motioning toward the rest of the Trappers. “All those weapons and that magic? Those muscles too? Gosh, I can feel the power ebbing off of you guys. It’s amazing.” It was like she was batting her eyelashes at them, her words had the same effect. The Trappers all turned to look at her.

  But there was something else there too. “You feel that?” Duke whispered to Hazel.

  Hazel nodded. “She’s using Chaos magic. I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on that before.”

  And that was Chanda’s secret. The thing she had been trying so desperately to shield. He’d felt it as they were walking. Each time her arm brushed against his. She’d been working so hard to tamp down something. He’d assumed it was her feelings—being around an empath made people wary, like he could reach into their hearts and pull out their deepest desires. They had to be willing, open, even if they were trying not to be. Otherwise, his skill was just sending out a soothing pulse to make people comfortable around him. With Hazel, when she was casting, her power called to him, questing for him to bolster and amplify. She was gasoline to his flame and he craved her magic, her essence like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

  “I think she keeps it contained,” Duke said. “Locked down very tight.”

  Chaos magic was volatile in the wrong hands, but if you were born with it, it was a gift of immense magic skill. No wonder she looked so paranoid and jumpy all the time. She had the power within to control aggression, to amplify chaos and create change. A tiny flutter could send ripples out that could alter a battle. The wrong kind of flutter could obliterate a city. It was a heavy responsibility. Chaos magic could change minds. A little nudge in a certain direction. He wondered just how much control she had over it, just how much chaos reigned within.

  “If either of these two escape, you’ll be held responsible.” The lead Trapper nodded at Bridget.

  “Understood.” Bridget motioned to the prisoners. “Chanda, Mahdyia, get back to the stones and set up a triage station. Duke, you and Hazel get started on the containment spell.”

  Hazel opened her mouth like she was going to argue.

  “You know I can bolster you,” Duke said quickly.

  “The stones are all I need. You should help the injured.”

  “Tate, Bas, you’re with me. Help these guys lift the injured. Be gentle! You don’t want to cause any more damage than what’s already been done.”

  And that was that. Everyone got to work.

  Hazel didn’t wait for him to reply. She was off toward the stones, leaving him trailing after her, marvelling at how she could still think he had nothing to offer her.

  13

  Duke hadn’t been wrong. She needed some kind of working relationship with her peers or the next year would be very long. As much as she would love to focus only on her training, she knew that many of the trials that were headed their way would require a team approach. Like this one. Which was why she’d offered to take herself out of the healing game and focus on protection instead. She didn’t have to be at the forefront all the time—he was right about that too. She’d let her ego get the best of her earlier.

  “You sure you’ve got this?” Mahdyia asked. She was laying a sleeping bag onto the altar slab, somewhat of a cushion for the patient. “No offence meant, of course, but you look tired as it is.”

  Hazel ran her fingers over the stone next to her and felt the pulse of its magic course though her. “I’m sorry, Mads. For snapping at you. And…er…zapping you. I was out of line.”

  Mahdyia paused for a second then flashed her a smile. “Next time, I zap you back.”

  Hazel laughed. “Deal.” She laid her hand flat on the stone. “And don’t worry about me. The power here…it’s intense.”

  “Intense like Duke. I mean, Healer Hart?” Mahdyia winked. “The chemistry between you two…hot.”

  Hazel felt her whole body flush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She ducked around the back of the stone, looking for the right place to concentrate her attention. Avoidance was her best friend.

  Mahdyia scoffed. “I don’t think the others notice. At least not on your part. They still think he’s a leech, that his attention is unwanted. His eyes on you though… Yeah…smoldering.”

  Hazel winced. That lie was a hard one to swallow. She didn’t like sending the message that Duke was a slime ball. He definitely hadn’t been listening to her though. And she was tired of everyone thinking they knew what was best for her. Did she want to wrap herself up in his arms and forget about all the stress of the past day? Hell yes! But that wouldn’t be good for either of them. The Hazel he’d known for the past year was a simpler version of herself. Unfettered by obligations and destinies. It had been a nice fantasy while it lasted but the reality of the situation couldn’t be ignored.

  “It is unwanted,” Hazel whispered before coming back around the stone. “I just need things to be simple. I just need this year to happen already so I can move on with my life.”

  Mahdyia gave her one of those looks, the kind of look that made Hazel dart her eyes away, focus on anything but the truth. Mahdyia cleared her throat. “Right. Anyway, that Chanda, she’s got some skills.” She nodded toward the other witch, who was quietly setting up another bed on the other side of the circle. “Chaos right?”

  “Yeah.” Hazel studied Chanda as she worked to smooth out the bumps on the sleeping bag. She was powerful—a natural talent with Chaos. Hazel should have noticed it before. Now that she knew, there was an aura of power surrounding Chanda.

  “She’s a good choice to foist Duke on. She’s hot for one but that Chaos, that’ll sing to his magic. I’m sure he’s extremely intrigued as it is.”

  Hazel frowned. It would? She looked over at Duke, who was moving toward Chanda, saying something Hazel couldn’t hear. Something that made Chanda smile. Their hands brushed as he reached out to help her with the sleeping bag she was setting up and she giggled, which seemed to be her go-to response around him. Fuck.

  Hazel sucked in a deep breath, fighting the urge to go over there and stick her tongue down Duke’s throat. Instead, she moved to the back of the stone again.

  Let him be intrigued. I have things to do. Very important things.

  Hazel pulled her dagger from its sheath. It glittered against the stone. A gift from her mother when she’d come of age. The blade was silver, perpetually polished and forever sharp; it glinted in what little light the night offered. The handle was carved with intricate filigree, a protection spell as well as one of ownership. The blade held her mark and wouldn’t work for anyone else, perhaps an unnecessary precaution because it was taboo to use another witch’s blade anyway, but she felt it was too precious to leave unprotected.

  She laid the knife against her palm and started to pull the spell she needed f
rom her memory, the words flowing through her mind as she drew the edge across her flesh. One hand, then the other. A spell of this magnitude needed quite a bit of blood sacrifice. She sucked in a deep breath, caught a whisper of Duke’s voice and shut him out of her head. No time for that. With hands flat against the stone and magic snaking up her arms, she blocked out all distractions and got to work.

  “This witch of yours, building the containment spell… She know what she’s doing?”

  Hazel heard the voice on the periphery of her consciousness. An intrusion that interrupted her spell casting. She assessed the threads of her magic. Everything was secure and had been for a while. She’d just been strengthening, paranoid perhaps, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

  “She’s one of the best,” Tate said. “I mean, out of all of us, she is the best.”

  “Must be powerful if she knew my capture was that sick.” It was the lead Trapper speaking, his gruff voice one Hazel wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

  “We all knew she was that sick. Hazel just has a way of getting to the heart of the matter.”

  “Yeah, well, I hope you’re right because if these two get loose… Well, let’s just say there’s likely to be a shitload of injuries as a result.”

  Hazel pulled herself out of her spell and pushed away from the stone. She mourned the loss of being immersed in such power but her head was fuzzy and she wanted to concentrate on what was being said.

  “What did they do?” Tate asked. “I mean, what makes them so dangerous?”

  “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this—it’ll give you nightmares.” But the way he said it sounded like that’s exactly want he wanted to do.

  “I can handle it.” Tate’s voice quivered only a little. He chuckled in an attempt to cover it up.

  Hazel was going to reveal herself—she wanted to hear what the Trapper was going to say but she didn’t want to do it under cloak and dagger. She started around the stone.

  “They’re Fire witches.” The Trapper’s voice stopped Hazel from moving another inch. “Been working their way up and down the woods, peddling fire spells that are too potent for the average witch or human to use.”

  “No way! We were just at a village where a little girl was burned.”

  Lily. Hazel sucked in a deep breath.

  “Yeah, well, that’s probably their handiwork. Anyone else injured there?”

  “No, but the girl was pretty badly burned. We helped her… Or, I should say Hazel did. She’s amazing, really. She pulled the fire magic from—”

  “I’ll need to get coordinates so we can check it out. Make sure the danger has been contained,” the Trapper interrupted.

  “I neutralized the spell myself months ago.” Duke’s voice joined the conversation. “I can give you directions once we’re done here, but the tribe is wary of strangers.”

  “Good, and don’t worry. The humans know we’re there to protect them, but we don’t actually need to get that close. A mile outside and we can ensure there’s nothing residual hanging around that can cause problems.” The Trapper paused. “These two, they sell fire spells to whoever they can—typically a low level witch or practicing human who is craving power but has no experience. Then they go off and wait. The spell is designed to consume flesh only. So they wait for it to explode and annihilate the village and then they go in there and salvage what’s left.”

  Savages.

  Hazel shuddered. These Fire witches had meant to destroy that whole village? They had used a little girl as their messenger? Lily would be disfigured for life because of them.

  Hazel came around the side of the stone, startling the men. “How many times have they done this?”

  “I don’t—”

  “How many times?” she growled.

  “At least five that we know of. Six if we count the girl this one just told me about.”

  “How many lives lost?”

  “Countless. The villages don’t keep up to date records all the time. Could be hundreds.”

  Hazel looked over at where the interns were working on the Fire witches, bedside manner in full effect. “They killed innocents.”

  “Yeah, heartless bastards,” the Trapper agreed. “Now receiving the best care around, from what I can see.” His tone was dry, compassionless and full of judgment.

  “That’s our mandate, Hazel, you know that,” Tate said, his voice quiet, like it was meant only for her. “Doesn’t matter what they did. If they need care, we are here to serve.”

  Hazel took in his words. She looked at Duke, who was watching her, arms crossed, face an unreadable shield. Her anger still burned. “You’re right.” And it sucked. Every witch was entitled to the best care they could offer, no matter the circumstances.

  She moved to the first slab, fury still riding just beneath the surface.

  Mahdyia glanced up as Hazel approached. She looked worn out, her hair pulled out of her ponytail in wisps around her face. There was dirt smudged under her eye and a scratch on her cheek. Bridget was on the other side of the slab working on the unconscious woman. Hazel could feel the magic swirling around them as Mahdyia moved her hands over the Fire witch’s torso.

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “She’ll live.” Mahdyia swiped her hair back with her forearm. “Looks like she was hit a few times with a powerful surge of something.” She motioned toward the Trappers and their weapons, indicating where the something likely came from. “She has four broken ribs and some internal bruising.”

  The collar had been removed and the witch was unconscious. She looked harmless lying there, her face relaxed, a spray of freckles across her nose. Not exactly the picture of a killer.

  “She has death clinging to her still.” Hazel ran her hands along the witch’s body, not touching, just waiting for a telltale jolt to direct her.

  “Her head.” Tate was there now, his hands hovering at the witch’s temples. “Feels like a brain bleed.”

  Hazel nodded. The humans had highly skilled surgeons to do these kinds of operations, ways of opening the skull and fixing problems. Witches had to use other means since they were dealing with magic injuries and a not-so-human anatomy. Made a little differently, witches required specialized care of their own.

  “How will you proceed?” Bridget stepped back, crossing her arms.

  “I can pull the magic out,” Hazel offered. “Slowly.” She glanced toward where Duke was busy working with Chanda and Bas on the other patient. “If someone else can manage the pain, keep her under?”

  “I can do that,” Tate said. “I’ll monitor her heart as well. Make sure we don’t lose her.”

  “I’ve never done a brain repair before.” Mahdyia looked hesitantly at Bridget.

  “You know the procedure. Follow the damage path and as Hazel pulls the magic out, you be there to repair. You should aim to stop the bleeding and reverse the trauma. I’ll be here if you have questions.” Bridget took up a spot on a nearby boulder, obviously intent on supervising only. “What are you waiting for?”

  Mahdyia looked at Hazel, resignation there. She lacked confidence and Hazel didn’t understand why.

  “You’ve got this,” Hazel said then moved into position. “You ready?”

  Tate nodded, his hands still hovering over the witch’s head.

  Hazel nodded one more time at Mahdyia then closed her eyes. This was going to be tricky. As soon as she entered the woman’s magical sphere, she was hit with her thoughts. A by-product of Hazel’s gift. On the one hand, it was very useful to be able to assess the strength and scope of a witch’s magic, especially when undoing the damage it caused when used as a weapon. On the other hand, it gave her direct access to the inner workings of a witch’s mind and that was not always very appealing. When she’d been in Bas’s head, his thoughts had been mostly clear, distinct, perhaps cloudy in parts, the effects of normal levels of self-delusion and perception. She hadn’t probed too deeply, but he was a good person—a good witch underneath it all.<
br />
  Things were different when she entered this witch’s thought stream though. Very different. Dark and dirty. A grit that made it difficult for Hazel to see the edges of the damage and retract the magic that was there. She didn’t like the taste of it in her head; it was worse than chaos, it was incomprehensible madness.

  The flashes of rage, fire burning, echoes of laughter, glee at the destruction. They watched, oh goddess, they watched the fires consume. Took pleasure in the screams. Hazel wanted to pull out. She wanted to block the voices in her head, the laughter, the horror of it all. But then she felt the margin of the damage—devastating damage. If she didn’t pull the magic out, it would continue to destroy everything in its path and the witch would die. She deserved to be punished for what she’d done. She and her partner were monsters. But it wasn’t for Hazel to pass judgment or to mete out punishments. This woman would go to the Scrub. She’d suffer immeasurably for her crimes. All Hazel had to do was make sure she got there healthy and ready to face the consequences.

  Hazel gulped back the hard lump in her throat, reached out for Mahdyia’s magic and pulled her closer, giving her a path to follow as Hazel did her work.

  Mahdyia didn’t resist. Once she saw the source, she zoned in. Hazel followed her example and Tate kept everyone alive.

  14

  “She’s dead! She’s dead! You killed Delilah!”

  The screams shredded through Hazel’s foggy brain. She felt the sharp edge of a blade against her throat, the rough press of fingers digging into her waist, holding her back against a hard body.

  “She’s not dead!” Mahdyia was trying to speak calmly, but Hazel could see the desperation in her eyes. “She’s breathing, look!”

  The grip on Hazel tightened, the blade dug in, stinging as it drew blood. “Why isn’t she moving?” The rough voice behind her was dangerous and deadly, like there was nothing to lose.