by Casey Lane
I rushed forward, pulling his head up by the hair to check for breathing. Nothing. Those blows shouldn’t have killed him, but perhaps his passages were more clogged than I’d initially thought. The death touch was effective, but killing unsettled me. Supernatural or not. The loss of life never sat well with me. Uttering a curse, I glanced around.
A crowd had formed, people gaping in open-mouthed horror at the scene. I remained crouched over my victim, golden eyes flashing with the ebbing rage that had fuelled me moments before. Someone hollered a warning from the back of the crowd to my left, and I ran.
The horde parted as I raced towards them, fleeing the retribution that was surely close behind. I knew what was in store for me if I were caught. Murder was punishable by death, and I’d come too far to die at their hands.
The narrow, cobbled alleys weren’t designed for swift travel, and the thick throng of people made it harder to get away as I dodged and leaped deeper and deeper into the neglected parts of the city. I needed a place to hide until nightfall, when I could slip away. Slowing my pace to catch my breath, I closed my eyes briefly, listening, feeling for anyone in pursuit. I was too exposed, so I ducked into a side alley and pushed my senses far and wide.
The steady thrum of warning in my ears was enough to tell me I didn’t need to project to find them. Not when I could physically hear four, no, five of them, heading my way. I needed to move quickly, like a phantom through the night. I spun, full circle, looking for anything to get me out of this mess.
Think, Johanna. Think!
As I drifted farther from the main street, a wall to the rear of the alley came into view. I hauled myself over it, landing with a grunt on a pile of wooden crates and spoiled vegetation. I rolled from the heap, scrunching my nose at the stench of rotting cabbage.
“Fantastic, just bloody—”
“This way,” a voice whispered from a doorway to my right.
“Who’re you?” I snapped, preparing myself for a fight.
“You could attack me, or you could come inside where we can help you.”
The man had the oddest eyes. So blue, they looked electric for a moment before softening to a plainer hue. Something in my chest loosened, sensing that he meant me no harm. His lips twitched up at one side, and he held out a hand. “Your choice, girly, but they’re closing the gap.”
I studied him, attempting to read his oddly magnetic eyes. He felt safe, but I couldn’t be sure. Not without reaching into another spiritual plane, and there was no time. The decision had to be made now. With a glance back up the alley, I took his hand and let him tug me inside.
The door closed quietly behind us, and he led me along a dark passageway. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I took in small details: symbols on the walls, framed photographs with scribbled notes stuck to the glass, the smell of something cooking, and a female voice humming a melody. I followed in silence as we turned a corner into a bright, strangely comfortable room. Large armchairs were positioned around an open fireplace, and in one sat a girl around my age.
Her long, dark hair hung beyond her shoulders in tiny, intricate braids that swung as she raised her head. Dark gold eyes, framed by thick, perfectly arched brows, held mine for a moment as she weighed me. This girl was different from the strange boy with luminescent eyes; something in her reached out with an otherworldly touch before her full lips spread in a welcoming smile that creased the corners of her eyes. This half-Witch was a seer.
“Didn’t have to run. She came to me.” The boy grinned, glancing sidelong at me.
The girl left her seat, approaching me with open arms. “I’m so pleased you’re all right. Did he find you quickly enough? Were you hurt?”
I flinched as she embraced me, unused to physical contact after living so long with the People of the East. While kind and caring in their own way, the East looked down on physical touch.
She frowned.
“Let her breathe, Jayma!” he chided, rolling his eyes. “This is Jayma. I’m Oliver. You can stay here until you feel you’d like to leave.” He gave me a kind smile then sauntered into the adjoining room, not waiting for a reply.
I turned my attention back to the girl, Jayma, beaming before me, and smiled. “Johanna. Thanks for the rescue.”
Her friendly face spread into a broad grin, her round, flushed cheeks dimpling as she grasped my hand. “Come and sit. Tell me about your travels!” she gushed, ushering me towards the armchair.
Definitely clairvoyant, I mused silently. Witches’ gifts were often tied to the Mother. Clairvoyance wasn’t uncommon among them.
Her skin was even darker than mine, closer to Papa’s. I’d never met another half-breed Witch, although I was more of a mix than most. The Supernaturals didn’t treat our kind well, so it shouldn’t be surprising that most of us fled to the corners of the earth. Here she was, though, another half-breed in Supernatural territory, alive, and smirking, at that. My lips curved up into a small smile as I sank back into the soft cushions, physically relaxing for the first time in months.
Jayma watched me, a frown etching furrows into her brow. “How long have you lived out there?” she asked, her cheerful tone gone.
“A few months.” I shrugged, gazing around the room.
Before my attention could settle on any individual feature, movement in the doorway distracted me. Oliver crossed the room, offering me a steaming mug of tea, and sat in the chair to my left. I thanked him and looked from one to the other, waiting for someone to say something.
A look passed between them before Oliver said, “What you did for that boy… Do you know him? Is he with you?”
I shook my head, lowering my eyes as I sipped my tea. “No, I don’t know him. All he did was steal some fruit, and that— He pulled a knife on him. I couldn’t…” My voice trailed off as I remembered why I couldn’t have allowed them to harm him. Too many had died, just trying to survive in this cruel, unforgiving world.
While Europe may have been Supe country, it wasn’t much better in the East. The People of the East had nearly been wiped out by the Supes until they went into hiding a thousand years ago. Now the rest of the world thought they were dead. The East didn’t take kindly to travellers, though, and unless you shared the blood of the dragon, they couldn’t care less whether you lived or died. The South was more ideal from a freedom perspective—if your goal was to escape persecution. The Witches who lived there were kinder, but most couldn’t survive Africa’s desert long enough to find them. They’d hidden their villages much like the People had, but the world still knew that Witches lived. They’d thought being on the Council would change things, that the Supes would accept them well enough to leave them be…but some still hunted them. Needless to say, being a half-breed in a world ruled by the pures wasn’t easy.
Oliver twisted in the chair, facing me. “You killed two men, Johanna, to protect one little thief. Why?”
There was no anger in his tone. No threat. No malice. His gentle voice seemed to hold more concern than anything else. How very strange for a Supernatural. I considered how to answer, but I had questions of my own. “Why did you offer me sanctuary?”
His gaze flicked to Jayma, who simply nodded and settled back into her chair. “We are a small group,” he began, uncertain. With a subtle nod of Jayma’s head to urge him on, Oliver loosed a sigh of resignation. “Who dislike the inequality of our world.”
That’s one way to put it.
There was a slight quiver behind his brave façade, and while Jayma looked my age, he was at least a good two years older. “Jayma saw what you did, watched you fight for that child’s life, and she believes you’re like us. I brought you here, because, well…we look after our own.”
I processed his words carefully, reading between the lines, and nodded my understanding.
“Technically, Oli, she brought herself here. You simply opened the door,” Jayma quipped, pulling her legs up beneath her and curling into the arm of the chair.
His lips twitched, and he l
ooked back at me. “Are you like us, Johanna?” he asked, his piercing blue eyes boring into mine. This boy of no more than sixteen was recruiting me to join the fight and step out of the shadows.
I glanced at Jayma then back at him. While he hadn’t been quite as frank as I’d have liked, he was as honest as he could’ve been, given the dangerous turn our conversation had taken. If the Council knew about them, this place, there would be war, and the boot would come down on all our heads.
I should’ve turned and left. Thanked them for their help, and walked away. Something about these two called to me though. What would’ve persuaded a Supernatural boy to turn on his own kind? And who was this golden-eyed Witch blessed by the Mother? I stilled, reaching out to see the truth. As my spirit eyes opened, I saw them for what they were: flawed but true. Jayma glowed with a startling yellow, and Oliver was an intense but brilliant blue. Loyal to a fault.
Maybe it was time to settle for a while, and see what these young rebels were made of.
Are you like us, Johanna? The words rang through me again. I knew my answer.
“If you’re asking if I kowtow to them, Oliver,” I said, evenly, “then, no, I don’t. I live as I do because they took everything from me.”
Jayma huffed a short, smug breath through her nose as Oliver sighed with relief. I looked at him, waiting for his response, and was met with a sad smile. “You’ll probably fit right in then.”
The small smile I’d allowed myself at the memory vanished as a key scraped at the lock of my cell door.
Chapter Two
Passing through the long, tiled corridors, I continued to think of my friends. My dead friends. They were the only family I’d known for years, and now they were gone. Jayma. Jayma was gone. Who knew when I’d see Oliver again? I hoped to see him once more before they carried out my sentence—I knew it would be the gallows for me. A half-breed on trial before the Council? Not even Oliver, one of my best mates and heir to House Fortier, could save my life now; it was in the dragon’s claws.
Five years ago…
* * *
In the beginning, I never left the safe house. Jayma had taken me up to one of the spare bedrooms that first afternoon, told me it was mine, and that was that. I had a home again.
Over the following weeks, I became accustomed to being around people, getting to know Jayma and Oliver a little better and learning about what they did. Oliver, it turned out, was very well connected. The only son of one of the more prominent Supernatural Council Members in England, he worked covertly to help as many half-breeds as possible escape the tyranny of a small but powerful sect of Supernatural elite. One his family happened to belong to, as did several of our small but growing rebellion.
Admittedly, it took me a while to relax around him. He was a pure-blooded Supernatural, and having only ever been on the receiving end of their hatred, I was wary. He soon changed that. His easygoing, friendly nature won me over as the weeks passed. It helped that he was loyal to Jayma; I’d never seen a pure-blood treat one of my own as an equal.
Jayma, half Witch, half Supe, was the spearhead of their organisation. Her bubbly, optimistic nature was in stark contrast to her fierce opposition to the oppression of our kind by the ruling families.
It made for some heated conversations where she and Oliver were concerned. They had a difference of opinion as to what the end game was, if we ever did succeed in overthrowing the ruling family. Oliver wanted to see the Council reformed, and actually do well by his people—and ours, by extension. Jayma wasn’t keen on this idea, though, because she, like myself, knew that for true change, it all had to go. The Council wouldn’t allow itself to be reformed, and eventually the same evil that came from the Fortescues would pass on to whatever ruling family was next. I understood where they were both coming from, being both a half-breed and the should-be heir of House Kozak. There wasn’t a right answer, but for the most part, they worked towards the same goal, and until House Fortescue fell, that would be enough.
Sometimes, the house was busy, people coming and going, relaying information or calling in for news. Other times, it was just Jayma and me. Those quiet times were nice, getting to know her better, spending days discussing the rebellion, and gleaning more of an insight into who they were, what they were doing, and why they were doing it. I never told Jayma about my own past; she’d already seen it, of course, but in the five years I knew her, she never mentioned it, and for that, I was grateful.
I was sitting on the floor, between Jayma’s legs, as she braided my wet hair by the fire. “Do you think you’re ready to come out with me tomorrow?” she asked, gently kneading my hair apart like my mother used to. It had been several weeks since they took me in, but going back out still didn’t sit well. I hadn’t forgotten my time in the real world, and the things I’d seen before I was even a teenager.
“Do you think it’s safe? What if I’m recognised, after…?” The shame of killing those two men was still gnawing at me, however deserving they’d been of their fates.
“People have short memories, Jo. No guards saw you. You’ll be fine,” she assured me, fastening a bobble to secure my hair.
“If you’re sure…”
She leaned over my shoulder, her own dark braids jingling as the wooden beads knocked together. Smiling, she raised a brow. “I know you’ll be fine.”
I laughed. Of course she knew. “Fair enough,” I conceded, jumping up to look in the mirror. “Brill, thanks! I can never get them that tight.”
She settled back into the chair, tucking her feet beneath her. “You’re welcome. You owe me a brew.”
Rolling my eyes, I headed for the kitchen. “You’re going to turn into a teabag, all the tea you drink.”
Of course, I was the last to arrive for my trial. The very act of parading me before the families gathered as my jury was contrived to intimidate, to unnerve and muddle me, forcing my admission of guilt. They sat in a semi-circle on varnished oak benches, higher up on a platform. Heads turned to catch a glimpse of me as I was ushered into the centre of the room.
Trying not to make eye contact with any of them, I kept my gaze above them and admired the chamber. With a high, domed ceiling, the acoustics of the room were amplified. While respectfully quiet, the families murmured to one another as I passed, creating a low hum of sound that carried around the vast space.
To my left were arched, stained glass windows that provided ample natural light, with book cases lining the walls beneath them. The sharp morning light was subdued by the warm reds and yellows of the glass, which would’ve given the room a welcoming feel were it not for the vultures gazing down on me from the benches up ahead.
There was a faint scent of lemon and oil, which I assumed was used to polish the many wooden surfaces, mingled with the slightly floral smell of the old books. I focused on the carved arch and beautiful pillars that framed their semi-circle of injustice as my guard positioned me before a solitary chair beneath the judge and jury. The Council chambers had a very gladiatoresque feel to them, even if the grandeur was breathtaking. A younger Johanna would’ve been swept away by the beauty used to showcase the Fortescues’ might, but such pretty things wouldn’t intimidate me. Not anymore.
Anastasia Fortescue glared down at me, a smirk playing on her lips. I met her eyes with an icy glare as I waited for my charges to be read out.
The room fell silent when Aldric Fortescue rose from his seat.
“Johanna Kozak.” I flinched at the venom in his voice. “You are charged with the murder of Jayma Balewa, half-breed Witch. This is a fact-finding hearing, an opportunity for all evidence against you to be presented. You may be seated.”
He sat back down, and the families followed suit. My guards kept a tight hand on my shoulder, not allowing me to sit in the small, decrepit chair they’d dragged out for this, until the hearing began.
Aldric smirked as Anastasia took a sip from a glass and rose. I closed my eyes, fists clenching at my sides in anticipation of what was to come, at
the web of lies she would weave.
Stay calm. Stay rational. This is about justice for Jayma. My best mate, the first real friend I’d had since I fled the East all those years ago.
She surveyed the families to either side of us, her eyes passing over each of their faces in turn, as if measuring the weight her words would carry with them.
She flicked her chin, instructing me to stand. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said as soon as I was on my feet. “We are here to present you with the evidence against Miss Kozak. I, personally, witnessed the horrific events and shall present my statement first.”
She paused, looking down on me, and I held her in a cold stare. I know what you’re going to do. I’ll fight. I’ll expose you for what you are.
“Three nights ago, I had a private meeting with some members of the High Council, to discuss the attacks that have been plaguing our people for months now. Jayma Balewa was there to ensure the meeting went off without any interferences.” She sneered down at me before continuing her blasphemous story that twisted lies with truth. “As a servant of House Fortier, she and others who were killed in this attack were there to do their duty to myself and the ruling family.”
No. This cannot be happening.
It was, though, because in all our grandest attempts at pinning her and the Fortescues down, I’d never accounted for her dark energy, how she could manipulate with more than words. Her eyes went black, like the demons she worked with. The others couldn’t see what I saw, a darkness that came from within. She was twisted, her energy altered in such a way that it made me wonder what had fostered the darkness inside her, leading her deeper down this path than should’ve been possible for a mortal.
