Peter was shaking harder now, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Oh mistress, I don’t know! The Hags are gone! Ma cousin, he’s sick, they’re aw sick.”
“Shhhh,” she cooed, running her fingers over his head, somehow avoiding getting snagged in the knots. She looked up at Duke. “The Hags wouldn’t have left willingly.”
“I know.”
“The Magika are strong in the barn,” Hazel said. She had her blade to her palm, ready to draw blood. “But they’re too busy feeding to notice us yet.”
“They’re doing a good job hiding the scope of their power,” Duke said. “I didn’t feel anything until we came close enough.”
“Sneaky, I told you.” Bridget nodded, then moved Peter away from her body. “Go to the lake, boy. Do that spell I taught you, remember the one? For protection?”
Peter nodded. “I did it. I remember it.”
“Good. Do it again and stay put. I’ll come and get you when it’s safe.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.” He wiped his tears with the back of his dirty hand then ran off into the trees.
“We work the same way. Chanda and I will corral, keep those fuckers inside the barn. Hazel and Duke, you purge. Tate, Mahdyia and Bas, distribute the brew. Keep the Magika from re-infecting. Our magic build should be enough to obliterate them once they’re free of the hosts.”
“I can make sure of that,” Tate said. “I’ll pull electromagnetic pulses. Once they’re free of the bodies, I can zap them.”
“Good idea.” Bridget looked at each of them. “Ready?”
“Ready,” they all said in unison.
21
The magic was dense in the barn, flowing all around the open space. The targets in here, a cluster of humans with strong magic, made it a feeding frenzy for the Magika.
Hazel felt it like a whip against her skin. Splashes of power hitting her from all sides as the Magika ripped and tore strength away from the humans, greedy and apparently oblivious to their arrival. It made her gag, the brutality of it. The magic floating around wanted to collect inside her, drawn to her power, but she rejected what was there. Stolen magic, taken without permission, would have to find another place to rest.
She shook it off, scanned the layout of the room.
It was obvious to Hazel what the human healers had tried to do. They’d corralled the sick in one location, a hospice of sorts, with cots and mattresses, the hay cleared away as best they could. There were no animals to contaminate the large space. It was clean, or at least it had been. In the dank area where daylight only penetrated so far, Hazel could see the bodies strewn haphazardly. Healers had fallen next to patients, suddenly overcome by the infection, having had no protection to ward themselves, knocking down tables that had held bowls with various liquids, towels and bandages. All were too weak to do much more than writhe or twitch where they’d fallen. Their voices appeared to have been stolen along with their magic, reduced to quiet moans of distress emanating on a breath, like a whisper.
“They’re strong,” Hazel reported to no one in particular. “Stronger than the ones in the cottage.”
“How many can you feel?” Duke was next to her, his fingers almost touching hers, his body so close she could smell his delicious scent despite the pungent aroma of the barn.
She wanted to breathe him in deeply, to take comfort in that. She liked him there. Had come to expect him at her side. And for once, the thought of that didn’t terrify her. “A dozen, maybe more.” She couldn’t see the beasties, but the feel of them, the repulsive essence they gave off was like a vibration of negativity. To take a witch’s magic…
“What are you waiting for?” Bridget barked as she bullied her way past them, separating Hazel from Duke, a spell sparking on her fingertips.
Hazel adjusted her footing. Showtime. She stretched her awareness out once again, seeking even though she didn’t want to, finding the thread of one of the Magika like a tail. Bile rose to the back of her throat and she pushed it down then grabbed the Magika between her fingers, pulling gently, testing the strength of its latch to its host. Strong sucker, feeding hungrily from the more powerful of the human witches—the healers who’d only been trying to help. She could feel the healer’s magic, a flame that flared at Hazel’s touch. Awareness, recognition, hope. Hazel’s magic would feel like a lifeline to the woman.
“Hang tight.” Hazel projected the thought, stoking that flame, distracting the Magika as she intertwined her fingers in its essence, slimy like worms, with stinging spikes that tried to grip her back. “This is gonna hurt like hell but I promise you, I’ll win.”
She felt the healer’s hope surge, a promising sign. “Fight back. Help me.” She also felt Duke there, his magic coming up under her, strengthening the foundation of her power. He’d been there every time she’d cast, giving her a boost like a buttress, his magic melding with hers so seamlessly that she couldn’t distinguish hers from his. It felt right to be so connected, bonded in a way that she’d never felt with another witch or human before.
He wrapped his hand over hers, his voice in her head. “Ready?”
She didn’t have to answer. Three beats of her heart and she pulled the Magika’s tail, Duke’s strength enhancing hers. The beastie resisted, dug in deeper, latching out with spikes that did little to penetrate Hazel’s shield. The creature was screeching in panic, anger, loud and obnoxious in her head, but she didn’t relent. She pulled harder, yanking with everything she had, even though the healer was wailing too, her cries of agony matching the Magika’s cries of outrage. It was like a tug of war, a battle over this poor human’s magic and the Magika did not want to let such a rich source go, but Hazel wasn’t about to give up.
After pulling from the depth of her power while gathering what Duke offered, she sent it out, like a tether to hook to the beastie, anchoring securely so when she yanked back, she felt the first tear, like a seam ripping. Pouring all her power at that weak spot, she wrapped the tail around her wrist and dug in her heels, then tore the damn beastie out.
“It’s out, it’s out!” She heard the shouting around her. “Hazel, let go!”
Against all instinct to grip tight, she flung herself free.
“Stand clear!” Tate yelled. “Clear!” Fingers splayed, homed in on the beastie, Tate let loose his power.
A shock wave thundered through the barn, followed by a dosing of something soothing, calming, Chanda controlling the Chaos as best she could, the struggle evident on her face. She was keeping it together though. Chaos wanted to win—it would spread through the room, heightening anxiety, fear, action, but Chanda was tamping it down. Hazel could feel it like a blanket on her skin. Comforting in a way and it helped her focus on what lay ahead.
The Magika were aware now, attack ready and unwilling to leave their hosts without a fight. Hazel sucked in a deep breath, pulling from the airborne magic around her despite its nasty origins. There was no time to be picky, no time for niceties—she realized that now. She needed the power that was floating there and she’d give back with every life she saved. She fortified her stance, nodded to Duke, then joined in on the next one.
And so they worked. Systematically, diligently. Each witch had his or her job and as a team they culled the pack of Magkia down to just two stubborn fuckers.
“Stop, Hazel, stop,” Duke’s voice echoed in her head. She was so engrossed that it wasn’t until he shook her that she became aware of the urgency.
“What? I can’t stop now. I’ve got this one.” It was a slippery one, evading her grasp, jolting her with some kind of residual magic. Nothing that she couldn’t handle but annoying and distracting, penetrating her shields in a way that didn’t make sense.
“Hazel, you need to stop and look.” He had her in his arms, trapping her hands between them to stop her from casting any more.
She snapped out of her spell and looked where he was directing, where all the Healers were now looking.
“Ohhhh, shit,” Mahdyia said.
Someone had been moving the patients away from the mayhem. Bas was administering the brew to keep the ill from getting re-infected. That left one remaining victim on one side of the barn and she was in worse shape than Hazel had realized.
“Assess,” Bridget barked.
The human witch was a middle-aged female, probably about five-eight and underweight to the point of emaciation. Hazel guessed she’d probably been thin to begin with and the Magika were feasting on whatever was left, taking her essence along with her remaining body fat. Her body was ravaged, long dark hair was ragged looking, clumps missing, strewn all around, blood all over her body, her clothing torn to shreds. She was flopping on the ground like a fish out of water, her mouth gaping, struggling for breath, foaming at the corners of her lips, eyes bloodshot, cheeks hollowed out.
“Broken bones,” Mahdyia said. “Multiple deep contusions, internal bleeding.” She sucked in a deep breath, wiping her hand over her brow. “Might be a brain bleed.”
Gouges ran down her arms and legs. Hazel took a step closer, thinking her eyes were betraying her. “What the…” What looked like bubbles or ripples seemed to run under her skin, undulating from her neck down to her torso, arms, legs.
The healer jolted up, her back arching, her mouth open wide, a silent scream there. She tore at her flesh, scratching, ripping, obviously in agony.
“We have to do something,” Hazel said, moving closer. “Restrain her!”
Duke stopped her with a firm hold on her arm. “The Magkia are consuming her, their latch is too deep.”
“So what? We just let them have her?” She wanted to tear free, to push away that feeling of resignation and defeat.
“She’s bleeding from all of her organs,” Mahdyia said. “I can’t see how we’ll save her even if you can break her free of them.”
Hazel gulped. She looked at the poor woman, then over at the other witches and humans scattered around. They were just coming to full awareness, eyes darting, the appearance of conscious thought taking hold, like a spark of awareness. They looked scared, exhausted, but there was hope too.
“I can do this,” Hazel said. “We can do this.” She shook free of Duke, quieting him with a hard stare. “Get your blades out. Bas, I need you here too.”
She was going with instinct, trusting her gut. They needed to pool their power, unify.
“What are you planning, Haz?” Mahdyia was all in, her blade at her palm already.
“A circle.” Hazel’s mind was spinning with the possibility. “We can create our own circle here.”
“Impossible,” Bas snorted even though he’d left his patient and was walking toward her. “Oh wait, I guess not for the Promised One.”
Hazel ignored his sarcasm. “I need you to weave the spell.”
Bas’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“Yes, that’s what you do, isn’t it? You unify spells? So I need you to do that. Just follow my lead, okay?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “Cut your palms, join hands.”
“Hazel,” Bridget started, sounding uncertain.
“This I can do.” She slammed Bridget with a determined look. “This is what I was born to do. So let me do it!”
Silence. Eyes locked. A storm waging. Bridget had been given Hazel as a ward in some way. Her mother would have stressed the importance to keep her safe, to not let her be reckless, impulsive.
“I can do this,” Hazel repeated firmly.
Bridget nodded, stepped back to her place and pulled her knife.
No one else argued. Hazel slid her blade across her palm, one then the other, then resheathed it.
“Ready?” She looked at Duke, who was by her side once again. He nodded, clasping hands with her and Bas was on the other side.
The magic rose quickly, suddenly, almost without her control. The moment the circle was closed, when Bridget and Chanda joined hands, Hazel felt the surge of power envelop her. Blood mingled with blood. It was intoxicating. She nudged Bas, not invading his mind like she had before, just a gentle push to get him going. He started to weave their magic together, pulling from each of them to manufacture a rope of power that united them all.
Swept up in the swirl of magic, she began her chant, focusing on a spell that would dislodge the remaining Magika and hopefully restore the human healer’s life force to what it once was.
No, not hopefully. It would. Because Hazel was the Promised One and this was her destiny.
22
What Hazel had done was nothing short of a miracle. Duke was now on the opposite side of the village, helping clear away some damage that had been caused by the wayward magic, blowback from Hazel’s spectacular spell.
She’d vanquished the last of the Magika. In her spell, and with the unity of the impromptu circle, she’d created a vortex that was ultimately both cleansing and healing. Most of the infected had been completely restored. Wounds had healed, magic had been re-infused. With a few exceptions—the last healer who’d been so ravaged and a couple of others with internal injuries needed more care—everyone had come out almost as good as new.
She was working with some of the villagers, helping restore order. She and a village woman were laughing as she taught Hazel how to knead some dough on a long wooden table.
“The Hags are still nowhere to be found.” Bridget came out of the tree line, looking frazzled. “There’s no trace of them.”
“It’s strange.” Duke shifted the last of the wood over to the pile and dusted his hands. “They wouldn’t just abandon the tribe.” From what Duke knew, there were three Storm Hags. Humans who’d reached a level of magic skill that elevated them to the honored status. They not only manipulated weather—wind, rain, sleet and snow—but they could also influence other aspects of nature. Their magical abilities and affinity with the Earth gave them a mastery of most of the white arts. Spells that all human healers had basic knowledge of, the Hags had perfected. In many ways, their dedicated practice and devoted worship of magic had gifted them with the ability to create unique spells that even the white witches couldn’t begin to wield effectively. A lot of that had to do with the fact that they didn’t shun the darker side of their power. No human did.
That’s what he’d noticed in his years as a Medic. They didn’t discriminate and although cautious of dark magic, they used it when they needed to. White Witches, Healers from White Willow, would never use anything that even hinted at the nasty stuff. It was taboo in thought and forbidden in action. It was also something that Duke envied in his human counterparts. They weren’t bound by the same laws and therefore could experiment to create stronger magic and unique spells. There was danger in that, of course, but the possibilities were endless in all directions.
“No, they wouldn’t leave without a good reason to.” Bridget rubbed her hand over her face, looking exhausted. “Peter said that the last he’d heard from them was an order to put a call out for help. He said that they were besieged by something.”
“The Magika?”
“He didn’t know, just that they were in distress and that their order to him came on the wind and was barely a whisper.”
“So maybe they fled in an attempt to keep something worse away. The fog remains so they didn’t leave the village completely unprotected. Perhaps in their leaving, they unintentionally provided an opportunity for the Magika to grab hold.”
“I can’t make sense of the time line. It seems like it was chaos here, the healers recall some of what happened before they became infected. Gathering the sick villagers in the barn, administering aid, but then they were struck down without warning, no onset of symptoms.” Bridget started walking toward the central fire. “I’m going to investigate some more. I don’t feel right leaving until we have a clearer picture of what happened.”
“Definitely not before we find out where the Hags have gone,” Duke agreed. “Why don’t you take Chanda with you? Backup just in case.” Although it could extend their field trip, he had an uneasy feeling about the Hags’ absence and agreed that
they couldn’t just abandon the humans without some idea of where their magical foundation had gone.
Bridget waved agreement over her shoulder and headed toward the Chaos witch.
The other interns had been hovering around Hazel, Duke noticed, checking in with her, seeking approval. Probably understanding more now what lay within her. Why she was the Promised One. Like she’d earned the celebrity status her mother had worked so hard to build for her.
For all the sudden attention, Hazel was gracious about it. Smiling, joking, even enduring a few soft jabs from Bas. Duke saw a change in her though. Her shoulders weren’t as tense, her smiles easier to come. She was like she’d been when he’d known her as a village girl. Not carefree necessarily but her guard was down to some extent.
He watched her walk toward the well with a bucket under her arm and a trail of little girls following her wake, all chattering excitedly about something or another.
“Hazel,” he called, catching up with her just as she put the bucket under the spigot.
Her smile didn’t waver when she looked over at him. “Oh, just in time!” She motioned to the handle. “I think I pulled a muscle or something in my shoulder. It would help if you did the heavy lifting.”
“Of course.” Duke bypassed her and the group of girls. They could have modern conveniences. That wasn’t an impossibility. But the tribe had been living off the grid since before there was a grid. While some of the villagers had left over time, seeking out the big cities and the technology that came with it, many had stayed behind, choosing this kind of life—a simpler way where the magic was more accessible and nature provided what they needed. Duke could appreciate it. It had its place. But he also enjoyed plumbing and taps and five star hotels with room service.
“Girls,” Hazel said, calling the group of kids around her. “Why don’t you show Healer Hart what you can do?”
The Witches of White Willow: A Witch Hospital Romance Page 18
