Duke frowned, then nodded slowly.
“It’s not like it’s draining me. I mean, I haven’t even noticed.”
“Probably because she’d been doing it your whole life. Hazel.” Duke took her hand. “Just consider it, okay? I hate the idea of her taking from you, even now that you know, for your whole life it was done without your knowledge. That’s wrong. Even if it’s your mother. The Mother. It’s still wrong. Criminal, in fact.”
Hazel closed her eyes. She understood what he was saying. She did. But they were talking about her mother, a woman she would have given anything at the asking. But that was the thing that was bugging her in that moment, the thing Duke was saying out loud, clearly and without mincing words. Her mother, the Mother of all Healers, revered leader and worshipped for her power in and of itself, had taken, without permission, what Hazel had. She’d been likely doing it from birth, with or without the stone. She probably felt that she had a right to Hazel’s gift. But that wasn’t true. Taking without permission was stealing and stealing from another witch was punishable by law. That’s why the amulet was so valued. Duke had found something that was capable of stealing another witch’s powers without him or her knowing and it could be used across great distances. Her own mother had been using the stone on Hazel since she was a teenager.
Hazel let that sink in fully.
She’d insisted that Hazel wear the amulet everywhere, at all times. Such treachery. To prey on the unconditional trust of a daughter. But something that Hazel’s mother would do, had done in other ways. To Mahdyia, to others. Hazel had witnessed examples of her mother’s ruthlessness in the name of punishment or self-preservation over the years and it was always disguised as effective leadership. Why wouldn’t she do it to her own daughter as well?
It would be easy for Hazel to push it away. To bury the feelings of betrayal and disappointment. To ignore the truth. But Hazel realized that easy had been her go-to most of the time her mother was concerned. Cowing to her dominance and commands over and over again. Was it possible that the woman didn’t have Hazel’s best interests at heart? Was it possible that the Mystic was right and that destiny was fluid? Changeable? Had her mother been lying to her for her whole life?
It seemed more and more probable.
Hazel opened her eyes. “If you found the stone, why did you give it up? I mean, how did my mother get it to begin with?” She suspected it had something to do with Bridget. The fact that Bridget even knew Hazel had it was telling.
“It was stolen from me when I was an intern.”
“By Bridget?” Realization dawned. “You were one of her boy toys, weren’t you? Not just a one-time thing, right? She’d used you for sex.” She flicked a glance in Bridget’s direction. “And then she snatched the gem out from under you, right?”
He had sense enough to blush at least. “And then gave it to your mother, I guess.” He shrugged. “Hey, I was young and naive. We all make mistakes, right?”
Hazel felt lighter than she should in that moment. So the love affair between Duke and Bridget had been nothing but that—an affair that ended when she’d gotten what she wanted from him.
“It’s in the past anyway. I found the stone, wanted to present it to Mother Knight myself, earn a place in her esteem. But now that I know what she was going to use it for, I’m kinda glad I didn’t.” He checked to make sure everyone was busy doing something else, which they all seemed to be, then brushed his fingers down the side of her face to touch her bottom lip. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Hazel. Not on purpose anyway.”
She kissed his fingers and smiled. “I think I know that.”
20
“Chanda and I took care of the immediate threat,” Bridget began. “But you all need to be wary of new attacks from the Magika. They don’t like to lose a plentiful source and may act vengefully when you start triaging.”
Duke stayed close to Hazel. He wasn’t going to coddle her or try to keep her from danger, that wasn’t his job, but he didn’t want her to get hurt either. He’d been happy to see the interns take the initiative to dose themselves with protection. He had a long-standing immunity from years of exposure to different kinds of succubus—one experience in particular that had given him lots of protection. It had made for a funny story after the fact, probably, but maybe not one that Hazel would find too amusing.
The most common succubus feed off of sex, and years ago, when Duke was first learning to work the field, he’d stumbled on a group of them. They’d nearly consumed him with lust—near death for sure, if his Commander hadn’t pulled him out of there in time. Yeah, okay, so maybe not funny at all. He shoved that memory back where it belonged.
“What’s our plan going in?” Tate asked.
“Stick to your training. Assess the injuries, tackle the most severe first, sweep the village. Population here is around seventy-five.” Bridget cringed. “Fewer, I guess, now. Make sure you go into every home and structure. Villagers could have been stricken while working in barns and the forest. We’ll set up by the main fire and Duke will organize the healthy villagers to help locate those who are sick. I’ll speak with the Storm Hags. Hopefully none of them have fallen ill.”
The Storm Hags were usually the oldest witches in the village. Years of training and honing skills led them to the honor. Despite being old, they weren’t frail, and like the interns, they would have taken precautions against the Magika immediately. It really just depended on how quickly the attack came and what other defenses they were able to erect in that time.
“We didn’t see much through the fog when we were attacked,” Chanda said, wrapping her arms around her torso. “The village seemed quiet and I didn’t feel Chaos other than from the Magika that were attacking us.”
That was unusual. Magika thrived on chaos and disorder; it was the most effective method of invading a village. They incited fear, wreaked havoc, then latched on like leeches, to suck the host dry.
“Be cautious going in. The Magika are known for being sneaky,” Duke addressed the group.
“Blades out, make a cut, get some blood flowing and arm yourselves with a deflection spell. Nothing fancy, just something that will stun if required. We don’t know how the Magika infection will impact the villagers. It’s possible they may attack us when we step out of the fog, thinking we’re coming to hurt them. It’s not uncommon for hallucinations to come with this kind of infection as well. Be prepared for anything. Bas”—Bridget nodded to him—“can you work the fire and whip up a brew that will help the purge?”
Bas nodded. “Yeah, I have a recipe. I’ll get on it and meet you inside.” He didn’t wait for a reply and instead moved to the trees, using his knife to pry a part of the bark away.
His mother was an apothecary—it stood to reason he had been trained as well. Duke was impressed that he had stepped up. Brewing a concoction would take him out of the trauma game. Duke had to give him credit for setting aside his ego for once.
“Chanda, I need you to work triage, but if there’s a whiff of trouble, you’re in battle mode. Got it?” Bridget said.
Chanda looked hesitant until she glanced at Duke, seemed to recall his words and straightened her back, her eyes taking on a determined look. “Got it.”
“Mahdyia, you diagnose. We know there’s infection—what we don’t know is what side injuries that has caused. Any weakness to the humans will prevent us from purging the Magika. Mark your patients on a scale. One is infection only; two is broken bones; three is internal bleeding; four is dire complications.”
Mahdyia nodded.
“Tate, I need you working with Mahdyia. Watch her back, use your Elemental skill to read the environment. Bring whatever energy you need to in order to help comfort the patients and treat the wounded.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Hazel.” Bridget turned to her. “I need you to do the purge. Start small, work your way up to the deeper infections. Duke will join you after he’s organized the healthy villagers. Between
the two of you, we should get a handle on this quickly.”
Hazel glanced Duke’s way and gave him a small smile. A team, again.
“I’ll supply the others as well,” Hazel said. “Draw from me if you need it. I’ve got enough power to go around.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and all eyes moved to Hazel.
Aaaand she still didn’t quite have a handle on social interactions.
“What? That’s what I’m here for, right? I’m a power hub. Use me.” Hazel shrugged.
Bas snorted then turned back to his work, mumbling something as he did.
“You’re more than that and you know it,” Mahdyia snapped.
“Enough,” Bridget barked. “Use Hazel like you would the Circle. She’s offering, so take it.” She nodded at Hazel who squared her shoulders, spine straight and nodded back. “Blades up, get cutting, and then let’s move.”
Duke patted Hazel’s back with a little shake of his head.
“What?” Hazel looked genuinely confused, her shoulders bunched, palms turned up.
She came by it innocently at least.
He started walking, his blade in hand, ready to get bloody and deal out some magic.
The village was eerie as hell, just like Chanda had suggested. Quiet. Strikingly so. Not a sound of anything. No animals—even the birds were silent. They made it through the fog and to the centre of the village without running into anyone. Not a soul to be seen. The thatched roof cottages were closed, shutters latched, doors shut. No one peering from the windows. It was like a ghost town and Duke feared that they might be too late.
He couldn’t feel a sign of life, not on the surface of things anyway and the crushing reality of that almost sent him to his knees. Hazel slipped her hand into his. He didn’t need to look at her to see her concern. She was as attuned to him as he was to her. A team. He squeezed her hand, then drew from her power as a layer of protection and opened himself up a little wider, probing out tentatively, snaking his awareness past the doors and windows.
He found the beat of life, barely there, such little energy that it was hardly detectable. There was no fear, no agony, just resignation and quiet pleas for death.
“Go find the Storm Hags,” Duke said to Bridget. “The villagers are in their cottages, weak and dying. I don’t think we’re going to be facing a battle here.” He looked toward Tate and Mahdyia. “We’ll make a sweep, clockwise.”
Bridget was already moving, Chanda in tow. The Storm Hags, once elevated to the distinction, lived by the lake, outside of the village and high up in tree houses where they were closer to the clouds and better able to manipulate the fog.
The rest of the team got to work doing their assigned tasks. A basic spell to unlock and open the doors, a call out to warn the villagers and then in they went. Hazel let Duke’s hand drop and moved to a more central location to summon her power. He could see that her palms still bled from where she’d opened them already. There was blood dripping to the earth as she lowered her hands toward the dirt. The magic began to rise up, stirring the dirt at her feet. Like a mini tornado, her power swirled around her, whiffs of color rotating, stinging Duke’s eyes with its beauty.
She was amazing.
She brought her hands up, hovering just at her waist, the magic billowing, her hair swishing all around in a frenzy, and then with fingers splayed she send it out like a wave. He felt it wash over him as it moved to the others, bolstering them while they worked, giving them a charge so that their power was precise and flawless. He buzzed with it, the tingling feel of her power touching each nerve in his body, making his body zing.
With a mental push he redirected the flow, sending a boost back to her, using his connection to Hazel to bolster her even more. It had a cascading effect—his power working to bind them all so that each of the witches were connected, tied in, and working as a team with a circuit of magic.
Bas was concocting the brew in a giant cauldron that had already been in the central fire. The fire itself had died at some point, just smouldering ashes left, but he had stoked it alive within seconds. Duke could tell he had done this many times before.
“First batch will be ready in five minutes, Hazel,” Bas called out as he stirred the giant pot with hand movements only, his power acting like a spoon. “You purge them, this will help restore their strength and keep them safe. I’ve layered a protection spell as well as some fortifying ingredients. Foolproof.”
Hazel brushed her hair back from her face then nodded.
“You ready?” Duke said.
“Ready.”
He took Hazel’s hand—he’d never get enough of that—and they walked together to the first cabin that Tate and Mahdyia had cleared.
It was a family of four. Two adults, mother and father and two children. Mahdyia had written numbers on them all. Chanda was currently at work mending the father’s broken leg. The rest were marked with ones. Infection only.
The cottage was stifling, days of being holed up with no circulation it seemed. Even with the door open, there was little air movement. Duke swept his hand out and blasted the shutters wide. He caught sight of Tate out the window, who picked up on the cue. Within seconds a breeze swept through, the gift of wind from the Elemental. Duke turned back to Hazel and the patient she was crouching next to.
The mother, with sallow skin drawn close to her bones, the contour of her skull visible, looked like a corpse, her breathing so shallow it was barely there.
“There’s only one feeding.” Duke pointed to the child, a girl with long brown hair who was curled into a tight ball, a low moan escaping her chapped lips. “One Magika to purge here. Focus on the child, I’ll handle the rest.”
Hazel shifted over to the little girl and didn’t hesitate. With blade in hand, she opened her palm and then did the same to the little girl, lancing the child’s chest just enough to establish a link before she laid her hands over her small body, fingers splayed as she chanted the words that would begin to tear the beastie from the child’s core.
Duke felt the battle, which wasn’t much of one from this Magika. It was drunk on the magic it had siphoned, having gorged itself on all four witches for days. Hazel stripped it away with little resistance, her witch blood working to poison the beastie with so much power that it couldn’t fight, it was too overwhelmed. The greedy things just didn’t know when enough was enough. With a screech, the Magika exploded, splattering its stolen power out, some of it landing on the owners it had been stolen from, useless to them in this form.
“What a waste,” Hazel said with a sigh. The little girl roused, cracking her eyes a little bit. “Hey sweetie, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
The little girl’s eyelids fluttered. She moaned something unintelligible.
“Thank ye,” the mother croaked from her bed. “We couldn’t ficht thaim. They came sae fast.”
She was trying to rise from the bed but Duke encouraged her to ease back down. “You’re too weak still.”
“I’ve got some brew.” Bas appeared at the door, a large steaming cup in his hand.
Duke rose and moved out of the way, encouraging Hazel to do the same. “We’ve got more villagers to deal with.”
Hazel brushed her fingers through the little girl’s hair and nodded to the mother. “You’ll be okay.”
The woman nodded back, eyes switching to Bas, who approached with the cup.
“Small sips. It’ll protect you from secondary infection,” Bas said.
“Please help!” A teenager came running toward them as they stepped out of the cottage. His hair was long, matted and dirty, his face and clothing in the same state.
Duke stopped him from getting too close. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He nudged Hazel to assess, which she was already doing.
The boy sucked in deep lungful’s of breath. “Ma cousin, there’s somethin’ wrong wi’ him.”
“Where is he?”
Hazel shook her head. “No infection.”
“How is it you’
ve escaped infection?” Duke asked.
The boy’s face reddened and his eyes dropped to the ground. “A, um, A ran. Whan the beasties came. I telt thaim no tae play wi’ thae nasty things, I telt thaim. But they didn’t listen. I got scared an’ I ran. Far. The woods, they got quiet. Sae quiet. An’ whan I came back it wis too late.”
“You send the distress call?” Duke asked. “Where are the Storm Hags?”
“I did. A remember hou’ Mistress Rose showit us. She knows me. I’m Peter. Mistress Rose always picks me tae help her ’cause I’m a quick learner.” His blush deepened. “I don’t know where the Hags are. Couldn’t find thaim.” The boy took Hazel’s hand, tugging her forward. “Will ye come, please? Ma cousin, he’s really sick.”
They let him lead, moving to the other side of the village that was partially hidden in the woods where a mid-sized barn stood. One of the swinging doors was wide open, dirty hay spilling down a ramp and darkness within. Duke could hear rustling inside; he probed and felt the ebb of terror, confusion, pain flow back to him.
“It attackit him. He tried tae ficht but the beastie wis too strong. There’s other kids in thare, an Healers, like ye.”
Hazel gave a startled look to Duke.
“The Hags have apprentices, wise women and some men who show strong magic potential. They aren’t powerful enough to be risen to Storm Hag status yet but they have more magic than the average human. They often act as Healers in tribes like this. It’s part of our outreach, to help train them.”
“Is this where they were treating the sick?” Hazel asked.
Peter nodded.
“Tate, Mahdyia, we need you here,” Duke called over his shoulder.
“The Hags aren’t in the trees.” Bridget was out of breath as she ran back into the village. She caught sight of Peter and immediately moved to him, wrapping him in her arms as she did. “What happened here? Where are the Hags?”
The Witches of White Willow Page 17
