A Lying Witch Book Four

by Odette C. Bell

  I felt the ground below me shake as something heavy slammed into it. It felt like I’d been transported to some Japanese Mecha movie, and giant robots were fighting. Well, Max and McCain weren’t robots, but they were unquestionably powerful. A fact that was proven as I finally crested the hill and saw the carnage of the two men fighting.

  McCain spread his arms wide and sent a massive bolt of charged magic flying toward Max.

  Max dodged to the side, skidding on his boot as he reached down and grabbed up a massive sheet of metal, using it as a shield to rebuff the attack.

  My heart went out to Max, begging him to fight back, for a single sheet of metal could not best a sorcerer king.

  Then I realized something. Max probably didn’t have any magic anymore. The contract had been destroyed, after all.

  Sure enough, as the seconds wound on, it became obvious that Max was powerless to fight back save for with his mere brawn.

  I had to do something.

  I threw myself at them, clutching the dagger as hard as I could.

  Plunge it into his chest. All I had to do was plunge it into McCain’s chest, then all of this would end.

  Max caught sight of me. “Get back!”

  I ignored him. “You’ve got no chance, McCain. I’ve already destroyed the contract, both here and in the past. Give up.” As far as bravado went, it wouldn’t get me far.

  McCain, it seemed, was now beyond my attempts to taunt him.

  He whirled, drawing up his hands and spreading them toward me.

  I jolted back, but I wasn’t quick enough. A massive charge of magic spread from his outstretched hands and plowed into the center of my chest, knocking me backward as I spun through the dirt.

  My body exploded in pain, in fear.

  And then it fell still.

  Max screamed my name.

  I fought with all my strength to open my eyes, to pull myself up, to sit as I watched McCain turn his attention back to Max.

  When I’d been struck by McCain’s blow, I’d dropped the sacred dagger. It now lay at McCain’s feet.

  He pushed forward and plucked it up, a truly nasty smile spreading over his lips and cracking his mouth open wide. “With this, I can now end you once and for all, Max.”

  He was going to kill Max. Oh God, McCain was going to kill Max.

  Though everyone had told me that McCain couldn’t live without Max, and vise versa, obviously things had changed now the curse had been lifted. Obviously, the sacred dagger, which had once been imbued with Max’s soul, could now kill Max without harming McCain.

  That, or McCain had lost all reason.

  This was it. The most important moment of my life, the most important fight I’d ever had. And I already had lost. For there was nothing I could do.

  I remained there where McCain had dumped me, my body a loose, weak mess. It felt like I’d never get my coordination back, like I’d never heal. Even if there was a miracle, and this fight ended without me dying or becoming McCain’s slave forevermore, I would never be a functioning human being again. I was just so freaking weak. And yet, despite the crippling power of that fatigue, it couldn’t obliterate the fear jolting through my chest and shaking my heart. For certainty told me that Max had no chance.

  Sure enough, McCain rounded on Max, and such a cruel look of victory flickered through McCain’s gaze, it was obvious what he intended to do. He brought up my dagger and switched it quickly from one hand to the other, so many sparks spilling off the blade they cascaded along his palm, sparked down his body, and crackled through the gravel.

  Blood dripped down Max’s brow from a fresh wound, and the gash was so deep, the blood oozed like oil leaking from a broken engine.

  That didn’t stop Max from letting out a sharp bellow of rage and bolting forward, his camel-leather boots skidding over the electrified gravel.

  I had half a second to appreciate just how cruel and yet victorious McCain’s expression was until he launched forward, meeting Max’s attack.

  There was no way Max could survive this. He was injured, and unlike McCain, he didn’t have a weapon.

  So there was only one way this would end. It was inevitable. Set in stone. Nothing on earth or in heaven would be able to change the conclusion of this fight.

  It was predestined.

  This whole situation had been pushing me to find a new understanding of my powers, but I’d been too lazy, too slow. I hadn’t taken the opportunities when they’d been provided to me. And now, when it mattered most, there was nothing I could do to help the only man who would ever matter to me.

  That sense of inevitability welled inside my heart. It felt like some gravity well that was sucking me toward something – that single, awful, fated future. The one I’d never been able to turn from. The one that had always consumed me. For every act of defiance I had managed. For every ounce of courage I’d scrounged – none of that mattered in the end. From the day I’d been born, my world had been destined to end like this.

  Don’t ask me what time was doing while I was coming to these terrifying conclusions. It almost didn’t seem relevant anymore. I didn’t exactly slip back into the past, but instead remained there, frozen in my own sense of inevitability, almost as if he inevitability itself were tying me in chains, locking me not just physically, but temporally.

  I would never move again. Never move again.

  This – this was the full consequence of my powers. It wasn’t being locked into one future, it was never having a future again.

  As the true horror of that conclusion settled through me, I began to fight it with everything I had. But the mere fact was, I didn’t have much left. That hopelessness and inevitability had combined to rob me of all my force until I was little more than desperation wrapped up in fear.

  … And yet something remained. Something of the old Chi McLane. Her fire. Her tenacity. And, more than anything, her ability to dictate what the future would be.

  It was a curious fact, one that suddenly struck me right between the eyes, but I suddenly realized that even before I had feared my powers, I had never truly used them. I had only ever reacted to them. Whether it had been from staring at pictures of the dead or desperately fleeing my attackers, I had only ever turned to my powers in times of true desperation. And as such, I had only ever used them to save myself, never to create.

  … To create.

  That’s what you did with a good fortune. You helped create an image for your client. One where their life was better, where their problems were solved. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t true. And doubly yes, maybe it wouldn’t happen, but it helped the client aspire toward something. And, more than anything, it helped them appreciate that things can change. You go to a fortuneteller when you’re stuck, and they’ll unstick you with a well-placed lie. Did that excuse what I’d done – who I’d been? No, not really, but it gave me a new path going forward. Some people can see the future better than others – they have a more formed idea of what will happen. It’s not seeing the future, just using your innate abilities to predict. And those of the lucky few who could do that, could change the path of probability and bring about a different world.

  That’s what seeing the future was all about. It wasn’t simply viewing one path set in stone. It was figuring out what was possible and deciding which future you wanted.

  Though that conclusion was remarkable and certainly had a measurable effect on me, it wasn’t enough to completely pull me out of the prison of inevitability I’d found myself in.

  The scene before me – McCain seconds from slicing Max through with the sacred dagger – it had stopped. Frozen as if someone had hit pause on a home video. I could see how slack Max’s face was, how pulled and wide open with fear his eyes had become. And yet, I swore I still saw determination deep within his soulful pupils. The determination to save me.

  McCain was a picture of perfect anger, his face contorted in victorious, explosive rage. Though side-by-side with Max their resemblance was unmistakable, McCain sudd
enly looked like a completely different man. The rage made him more of a monster, more of a grotesque, twisted caricature of what a person should be.

  My heart kept thumping hard in my chest, my body literally shaking under the onslaught of my own fear. But no matter what tortured emotions plunged through me, the situation didn’t change.

  Despite my realization, it seemed reality had frozen and would never move again.

  … Meaning I’d be trapped here. Forever. Stuck in this paused scene, forced to stare at Max and McCain for the rest of time.

  As that conclusion swelled within my heart, another wave of inevitability sunk through me, and I swore it ground me even harder against the spot, almost as if it were a stone trying to crush me into dust.

  … It was the inevitability, wasn’t it? That was what was trapping me in place.

  As I realized that, a surge of hope billowed through my stomach, rising high into my heart like a wave that wanted to push me to my feet.

  I fixed all my attention on Max. I let my gaze rove over his form, let it slip over his taut muscles, let it trail over his terrified and yet determined expression.

  If the future was inevitable, and I’d never be with Max, then the future could go to hell.

  Because, goddammit, if there wasn’t a way to break out of this realm, I would jolly well make one.

  From the beginning, Max, under the control of McCain, had been telling me there was no way to fight the curse, no way to lift it, no way to do anything other than what I was told. But I’d proved McCain wrong.

  And now? Now I would prove frigging time wrong.

  As I fought with all my might against the astronomical weight of inevitability holding me in place, I swore it started to work. I swore I began to see the dust motes before me move. Though McCain and Max didn’t speed up and suddenly throw themselves at each other, I heard the gravel scatter ever so softly by their feet.

  It sent another wave of hope pulsing through me, and that was enough to fight another blast of inevitability.

  Everyone kept telling me to come to a new understanding of my powers. And right now, I did.

  There was an inherent problem with seeing the future, wasn’t there? It wasn’t just a problem for seers. Heck no. For scientists, for futurists, for anyone who dared peer into uncertainty and proclaim with 100% surety that they knew what was coming. Their expectations would guide their behavior, block their perception, and help them create what they expected.

  And so was it with my powers. Though seeing the future had helped me out of so much trouble, it had gotten me into it, too. Because it had stripped me of my chance.

  And you needed chance to change.

  Now realizing what my true target was, I went after that sense of inevitability. Though it wasn’t technically a real enemy and certainly didn’t have a handy body to attack, that didn’t matter.

  I started to see sparks before my eyes. The memorable fireflies that would herald my powers.

  They didn’t beckon me this time, promise that if only I followed them everything would be okay.

  Instead, whereas once they’d been ordered, forming a path to the future, now they became chaotic, swirling around in a storm of color and light right before my eyes.

  … It was the future, wasn’t it? These sparks were that inevitability.

  And that, that was my power. That sense of inevitability created the future. It locked me into doing only one thing.

  I suddenly changed track. Rather than fight the fireflies with everything I had, I started to watch them. Peer into them like you would the ripples in a pond.

  Come to your own balance….

  It wasn’t just me who had to come to her own balance when it came to action and prediction. It was the whole frigging world. Every single person since the dawn of history has had to forge their own path between certainty and uncertainty.

  I’d either always been scared of the fireflies or exhilarated by them. Now I watched them with a clear heart and a sharp mind.

  … I started to see flashes. Sparks. The vision before me – the scene of McCain attacking Max – it started to shift, jolt around as if it were a Polaroid someone was shaking.

  Suddenly, it sped up, and McCain threw himself forward, slicing Max right across the throat.

  I didn’t react. No fear. No inevitability. Just a clear heart.

  The scene changed, jerking to the side once more.

  Now Max twisted to the side, dodging before McCain could slice him through. But McCain pivoted on his boot, pushed toward Max and plunged the dagger through Max’s chest.

  Again, I didn’t react.

  The scene changed.

  The two men continued to fight over and over again. McCain continued to win.

  But his victory was no longer inevitable. Hell no. Because it was time for a new variable to enter the equation.

  Me.

  I pushed up. In a single second of true power, I managed to break through the brunt of the force holding me in place. Though it still felt as if there were heavy chains wrapped around me, I just kept fighting and fighting.

  I threw myself at McCain.

  I had nothing but my fireflies, nothing but my new balance.

  The fireflies coalesced before my eyes as I moved. They didn’t flash through my vision and show me what would happen. Instead, like tangents, they showed me possible futures splitting off from the current, microsecond after microsecond.

  It should have split my head.

  I just went with it.

  And I threw myself at McCain.

  He was an enraged sorcerer king, and he was still a heck of a lot stronger than me, even considering my injuries.

  It didn’t matter. I had timing. The fireflies showed me opportunity after opportunity, and I selected the one I wanted.

  I rounded my shoulder and shoved it hard into his as I shifted past.

  It deflected his blow before the dagger could slice across Max’s throat.

  Max pitched backward, the momentum tipping him over as he fell back and rolled to his feet.

  I didn’t stop. I capitalized on McCain’s surprise as I shifted around, brought my knee up, and kneed the hand that held the knife.

  To be honest, I didn’t have the strength to remove the sacred knife from his iron-grip, but I didn’t need to.

  Opportunities were flowing into this situation with every second, and one such opportunity suddenly gave a throat-rattling grunt and launched himself at McCain.

  Max barreled into McCain with such force, the two of them were knocked backward.

  I didn’t hang back, waiting to see how things would turn out. I ducked forward, skidding onto my knees as I reached McCain. I brought a hand forward, balled it into a fist, and punched him right under the jaw.

  Though I was hardly a boxer, the move was enough to deflect his attention and distract him long enough for Max to grab hold of the dagger and wrench it from McCain’s grip.

  I didn’t give Max the opportunity to turn the dagger around and plunge it into McCain’s chest.

  No. This was my story, and it would have my ending, thank you very much.

  I grabbed the knife off Max, and before he could question, I pushed up to my feet and jerked away.

  I held the knife with a truly firm grip, letting my fingers lodge so hard against the hilt it was as if I were trying to meld with the metal.

  Though Max swung his attention to me, he didn’t demand for the knife back. He was rightly distracted by the bucking McCain. For McCain thrashed like a fish plucked from water. Max sat on his chest, hands around his throat, trying to hold the sorcerer king in place. But with every second, McCain’s innate power was pushing Max back.

  Mary had told me there was only one way to end this – plunge the knife into McCain’s chest and return Max, the good part of his soul, back to him.

  No. I couldn’t have that. I refused to believe there was only one way to end this. I refused to believe that ever again. For the future – despite how in
evitable it felt – was never set in stone.

  Just before McCain could buck forward and throw Max off with a bellow, I turned the knife around in my hand.

  I knew what I wanted. I wanted a future where McCain went back to the past, where he lost his abilities, where he returned to Mary, back to the way he’d once been. And Max? I wanted Max to stay. I wanted him to be healed, finally free of the Shadow McCain’s grip.

  Yeah. That’s what I wanted, and nothing was going to hold me back.

  The dagger had to be split.

  Hello, I wasn’t in a foundry, and I hardly had the tools at hand to split a dagger, let alone a magical one.

  That didn’t matter.

  All I had to do was get at the soul inside the dagger.

  McCain finally bucked Max off. Rather than try to finish off his other side, McCain threw himself at me.

  There was a definite look of pure fear flickering through his gaze.

  It was as if he suspected what I was about to do.

  The fireflies were still dancing through my vision, though they were thoroughly under my control. They were still magic, though. Still powerful.

  Though I’d come to a new understanding of them and they were under my control for now, with a whispered thought I knew I could break the dam holding them back and let them surge through me with their sense of inevitability once more.

  McCain had wanted me for that inevitability. He’d wanted me, not just for my ability to travel into the past, but for my ability to create the future.

  And now, I’d give him that inevitability. All of it.

  Just before McCain could reach me, Max pivoted on his hip and threw his leg out, catching McCain across the knees and sending him tumbling into the gravel.

  Though he fell face-first onto the ground with a rattling thump that felt like an earthquake, that didn’t stop him from immediately scrabbling forward and reaching a hand out to me.

  I stared at the hand, took a single step back, and closed my eyes.

  In a split second, I let it flow out of me. All of it. All that inevitability. I pushed it into the sacred dagger, right down the middle as if I were trying to split it apart.