A Lying Witch Book Three

by Odette C. Bell

  Again a look of pure rage contorted his face, and again he leaned down and slapped me.

  This time, I used all my muscular control not to allow my head to shift to the side. Instead, I watched him out of the corner of my eye.

  He sneered at me, and something on his watch beeped.

  Cold dread sailed through my stomach as a smile sailed across his face.

  He whirled on his foot and walked over to an old 44-gallon drum. Atop was a magical dagger. It was glowing as lines of light filtered through the metal.

  He plucked it up and walked towards me.

  This was where I would have to save myself, right? This was where I would have to give in to the magic, beg the fireflies to return.

  … Or this was where I gave up.

  He loomed above me, the dagger in his hand, its reflected light illuminating the side of his face, plunging his eyes into shadow.

  He watched his watch.

  I waited.

  I grit my teeth, and I waited. For the fireflies, the something. And yet, as I lay there, I couldn’t surrender.

  Couldn’t surrender.

  And the more I held onto that thought, the more it shifted through me, the more it dislodged something deep in the center of my chest.

  A feeling. A memory. A path. Back to the past.

  Back to the past.

  Things started to go dim. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt ethereal hands wrap around me, start to pull me back towards some point.

  It didn’t take me too long to realize what was happening. I was falling into a vision – I was falling back in time, wasn’t I? Back to Max.

  I didn’t try to fight it. Didn’t try to hold on as I fought the Lonely King with my last scrap of breath. Instead, I let myself slide backward.

  Soon I could feel it. The sunshine. I could hear the wind rustling through the trees, feel the soft grass beneath my feet.

  When I’d fallen back into the past several weeks ago, I’d done so as myself, capable of movement and independent speech. Now it felt like I was a shadow, like I was coming along for the ride.

  I was aware of a long dress around my legs, sturdy shoes over my feet. My hair was longer and scratched around my neck as it furled about my shoulders. My hands were rough from work, my nails short and covered in dirt.

  There was some kind of basket hooked over my arm, and the rough weave of the reed dug against my skin.

  The scene began to resolve around me, and I realized I was walking up some kind of winding, rough cobbled path towards a low, squat building on the rise of the hill above me. It had a thatch roof, hewn stone walls, and looked as if it were right out of the Middle Ages.

  There was a marching breeze twisting down the hill, catching my skirt, buffeting my hair over my shoulder. My hand caught a bunch of my hair, and as I shifted my gaze down, I realized it was curly, red, and caught the sun with its copper strands.

  I tried to reach that same hand up, tried to look at it, but I wasn’t in control.

  Whoever’s body I was inhabiting, they reached the top of the hill, pushed a hand out, locked it over the rickety handle of the door, and walked in.

  A fire was burning in a hearth off to my left, crackling dry wood sounding like someone crumpling bubble wrap.

  The room smelt of earth, of fire, of nature.

  I felt the body I was occupying move over to a roughly hewn table in the center of the room. She set her basket down, several strange leaves and flowers scattering onto the marked wood.

  I had to keep reminding myself that this vision wasn’t real – that my body was still lying at the Lonely King’s feet, a sacred, glowing knife gripped in his hand.

  Then again, maybe this was real. Maybe the Lonely King had already attacked, and this was now my afterlife – a never ending vision where I was trapped in someone else’s body from the past.

  The longer I remained in this woman’s body, the more I became attuned to it until I could feel the steady beat of her heart and the gentle rhythm of her breath.

  Her dress was long, the fabric scratchy as it swayed around her legs and ankles.

  She kept tilting her head to the side, angling it towards the door.

  It was almost as if she was waiting for someone.

  Sure enough, I felt her heart begin to beat harder until I swore it rattled in her ribcage.

  A fine, cold line of sweat picked up across her brow, between her shoulders, and along her palms.

  She kept playing with the basket, arranging the leaves and flowers methodically, obsessively. Several times, I caught sight of something beneath them. A long edge of metal, the glint of a blade.

  Suddenly, from outside, someone called a name in a powerful voice that could have easily been mistaken for thunder.

  The woman’s heart quickened, raced like a fleeing horse.

  She clutched hold of the basket with a shaking hand just in time.

  The door was thrust open.

  And in walked Max from the past. The same strapping body, the same clothes, the same sword swaying at his side, the same weather-beaten but handsome face.

  I reeled, waiting for hatred to spark through his gaze, for violence to stiffen his face.

  Instead, a broad, electrifying smile spread over his lips, pushing his cheeks hard against his eyes. He pushed around the table, clamped two hands on the woman’s waist, plucked her up, and spun with her.

  I felt the fabric of the dress rumpled beneath his strong, rough fingers, felt the hard press of his hands on my hips as he turned me with true ease.

  No, not me – the woman. I was only in her head, only connected to every one of her senses. But I still couldn’t move – only watch.

  The woman let out a happy laugh. It was forced. I could feel how hard it was for her to open her lips, to let her breath shudder from her throat.

  Max set her down, but he was close. And he kept his hands on her hips as he leaned closer. The smile never left his lips as he leaned in and tilted his head to the side. “Mary McLane, your cheeks are as red as an autumn apple.” He removed one of his hands from her hip, and she shivered as he brushed his thumb over her cheek.

  Mary McLane? I was in her head? My forebear? The one who’d started the curse? The one who’d betrayed Max and set this whole mess off?

  Though I’d traveled to this past before, last time I’d been in my own body. This time was different. Had to be. And, judging from the fact he wasn’t tying me to the stake and threatening to burn me for my sins, it was before Mary had lied.

  My mind ticked back to the knife in her basket. So did Mary’s eyes. She’d dropped the basket on the floor when Max had picked her up. The basket had fallen by his feet, a glint of the blade visible beneath the mound of leaves and flowers.

  Max kept brushing at her cheek. “You seem cold. Have you been braving the roaring wind for your plants again? Do not concern yourself with such trivialities – you do not need them. Surrender to your magic, my love, and it will do the rest. It will guide us forevermore.”

  Repulsion slammed through me as I realized what he was doing – the same damn thing the shadow was trying to do with me in the future. He wanted Mary to use her powers so she became a brain-dead automaton following her magic with no ability to make up her own mind.

  I felt Mary try to press a smile over her lips, but it was weak.

  For the first time, Max appeared to notice. Confusion flickered in his deep gaze as he stopped stroking her cheek. “What is it?”

  “Have you…” her gaze ticked towards the basket, her eyes locking on the glint of steel, but all of a sudden she jerked her head back up and stared at him. I felt her heart beat even harder. “Have you never questioned whether the legends are right?” Her voice was weak, and Max had to lean in to pick up her whispered breaths.

  A frown spread across his face, but it didn’t last. His lips curled into a confident smile. “Never. It must be wrong. How could it be right? The magic of the seers is the only force through which we can assure our
future. And together,” he pressed her close until the line of her breast pushed up against the hard edge of his torso, “we will assure that future.”

  Her gaze ticked towards the knife, but she pulled it back with greater force. “So you do not fear that your magic… will cost you everything? I have heard the legends, my Max McCane, and they warn that a sorcerer king will always be alone.”

  Now a serious look welled in his gaze. “How can I be alone with you at my side? With your ability to see the future, there is nothing that can harm us. You will keep my people safe, guide us towards greater glory.”

  I remained there, watching, feeling through every second of this. It wasn’t like I was watching this on TV or experiencing some fleeting dream. No, for as every second passed, the line between Mary and me fell away.

  “You… you believe that, don’t you? That there will be no cost, that neither of us will pay?”

  Max pressed in and kissed her, his hard lips locking against hers for a pulsing second until he drew away.

  Momentarily, her heart stilled, but then it beat faster than before, thumping so hard I was terrified McCane would be able to feel it as his chest remained pressed against hers.

  “I believe I have more than enough magic to keep us safe. And you, my precious seer, are all I need to chart our future.”

  Mary stiffened.

  Me? I wanted to ball a hand into a fist and slam it into McCane’s face. He was using her. Either willingly or through his sheer arrogant stupidity.

  “And… if I can’t? If I can’t tell the future… if I turn from….” Mary trailed off as Max’s once warm expression stiffened.

  “You wouldn’t do such a thing,” he said, nearly every measure of warmth gone from his face.

  It took a moment, but Mary forced a nod. I could feel how stiff every muscle in her neck was, how tight with tension her torso felt. It was as if someone had tied her up with wire. And they had – for Max was doing it with his penetrating look.

  He brushed at her cheek again, but there was an edge to it. “Mary, I would do anything for you,” he drew close, leaning down and pressing his forehead against hers, “as long as you will do anything for me.”

  She hesitated, her gaze cutting towards the knife once more. “Then leave your books. Stop your training. Run away with me. Leave it all behind. We don’t need the magic—”

  Max pulled away abruptly, and Mary had to jerk a hand out and catch the table so she didn’t fall over. Her eyes pulsed wide as she watched the anger spread over Max’s face. It was like a fire burning through a forest, crumpling his brow, igniting deep in his eyes.

  His whole body was stiff, his hands held so tightly at his sides, his fingers could have driven through his palms and pierced all the way through to the other side. “Why do you speak of such things?” he spat.

  Mary’s heart hammered, her cheeks slack and cold. Her gaze didn’t cut towards the knife, though – it simply locked on Max as sadness swelled in her chest. “I… I jest. It was nothing more than a test. To… to ensure your loyalty,” she whispered.

  Max relaxed. Slowly his shoulders descended, and his hands opened. He breathed, his chest pushing against the rough hessian of his tunic top, his sword jostling against one of his large legs. “You do not need to test my loyalty, my love,” he finally managed. Yet there was no love in his tone, just suspicion and anger burning deep in his gaze.

  Mary turned her head down, held her hands tightly in front of herself and shook her head. “I was wrong.”

  “Yes…. But you are forgiven.” He reached a hand out to her. “For sometimes you know not what you are doing.”

  He pushed away from her, turning to check the crackling fire in the hearth.

  Her gaze suddenly flashed up as she stared at his back. In a whisper that could not carry, she muttered, “No, my Max McCane, it is you. The magic controls you, and you can’t even see it.”

  Mary’s gaze locked on the knife in the basket, the hilt just visible.

  Pick it up, woman, come on. I begged her. But she couldn’t hear me, and there wasn’t a thing I could do as Max whirled on his foot.

  Mary had been crouching down, reaching towards the basket, but Max reached her, looped an arm around her middle and looked into her eyes.

  She stiffened.

  “This talk of loyalty – I can’t remove it from my mind. So tell me, my beloved seer, what tomorrow brings. Those in the village devoid of the magical arts predict attack – retribution for the village I took last week. Are they right?” Max stared at her, his gaze hot and yet cold, swinging between passion and hatred in the blink of an eye.

  I felt Mary’s cheeks tighten, felt her throat constrict.

  Max pressed further against her until his breath beat against her cheek. “Are they right? Look into the future, my beloved seer, and tell me what to do next.”

  I felt her eyes dart from left-to-right as she stared at his face. I felt the breath well in her chest, become stuck in her throat.

  And then I felt it. I felt it as something descended through her – dread.

  For Mary McLane came to a decision. “No,” she whispered, her breath brushing against a few loose strands of her crinkly red hair and sending it scattering across his neck. “No, there will be no attack.”

  “Are you sure, my beloved seer?”

  “… Yes, my Max McCane, for I’ve seen the future.”

  The longer I inhabited Mary’s body, the more I was drawn into this scene, and the tenser this scene became, the more I forgot the distinction between Mary and me.

  I wanted to reach out, kick him, lurch to the floor, pluck up the knife, and defend Mary. I wanted to drive this shadow back.

  And the more I held onto that burning desire, the more effect it had. I started to feel Mary’s fingers, feel the crinkle of her skin, feel the brush of Max’s shirt.

  Everything, every damn minute detail.

  Until finally, finally, I started to push through.

  I took a breath, and it was mine.

  “Well, if you’re sure, Mary, then so be it. I’ll trust you, for my heart can do nothing else.” Every word was strong, too strong for a man apparently proclaiming his love. And the look in his eyes? It curdled my stomach.

  This was the monster – the shadow who inhabited Max and stole his memories, who kept pushing me to lose my powers. And it all started here with Mary.

  Though I was beginning to break through whatever spell stopped me from using Mary’s body, I wasn’t quick enough.

  I needed to move now. Needed to reach for the knife and do what Mary couldn’t.

  Max pulled away, locked a hand on his chin, and shifted back. He surveyed Mary with a darting, calculating gaze.

  “Go to the village, my love, and wait for my return,” Max said.

  Mary nodded. But halfway through, I stopped it – gained enough control of the move to make it shudder.

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “Are you alright?”

  Mary ignored him. She turned on her heel and headed for the door.

  “Wait. You’ve forgotten your basket.”

  I felt Mary stiffen, felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She watched Max out of the corner of her eye as he shifted down, plucked up the basket, and handed it to her.

  With a shaking hand, she accepted it, her heart practically bursting as she waited for him to find the knife. But he kept his gaze locked on hers.

  I felt Mary’s gaze dart towards the knife, felt her desire to reach for it and end this.

  But she turned away and headed for the door.

  No, I screamed in her head.

  I knew she’d never get another chance like this – that I’d never get a chance like this.

  So I threw my whole mind against the remaining strings holding me back. And they broke.

  I jolted to the side, the basket slipping down my shoulder.

  I didn’t have the time to appreciate that I’d finally gained control of Mary’s body. I jerked forwar
d, crammed a hand into the basket, caught the hilt of the knife, and spun on my foot.

  I thrust towards Max.

  Surprise spilled across his face like ice melt.

  I jerked towards him, plunging the knife towards his chest.

  I’d never knowingly killed someone. Before today, I hadn’t thought myself capable of such violence.

  But this was different. This was kill or be killed.

  It didn’t matter, anyway. This was a vision. And I wanted out. Out of the past, out of this dream, out of the curse.

  Max didn’t react quickly enough. Nor did he have to. For just before my knife could plunge through his chest, I felt something split through me. There was a shudder that threw me to the left, and Mary McLane’s body tore away from me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her turn and walk away, apparently unaffected by the fact I’d just taken control of her.

  Max turned just in time, and the knife dashed against his arm, splitting his bicep down to his elbow. Blood splattered the floor and table, dripped into the flowers and leaves strewn between us.

  I tried to twist, tried to jerk the knife to the side. I didn’t get the chance.

  Max yanked a hand up and caught mine, holding the blade in place a single millimeter from his chest.

  I heard the door close behind me, heard Mary’s retreating footsteps.

  Max McCane glared down into my face. Terror seized my every muscle as he held me with unbreakable force.

  How… what… what was happening?

  Max bared his teeth. “Chi McLane,” he spat, his breath slamming against my cheek.

  True horror flashed through my gaze. “Wh-what? I… what’s—”

  “What’s happening?” he snapped, that sneer leaving his lips as nothing more than two stiff, cold, white lines. “You broke through the vision, clever girl.”

  “What? I don’t understand. Who are you? What’s going on?” As fear broke across my face, I slackened my grip on the knife.

  And so did he.

  That’s when I shoved hard against it with all my might.

  It didn’t work. Max yanked the knife from my hand, locked a hand on my elbow, and twisted me around, pinning me to his chest.