by Laken Cane
Jewel couldn’t answer but she tilted her head and then attempted to look over her shoulder. She felt Henry.
Abby wanted to yell at him to go, to run, but was afraid to try. That warning might have weakened Jewel’s stranglehold on the spell.
“Don’t stop, Trace,” Abby whispered, instead.
He pressed himself against Jewel and grabbed her hair, exposing the long line of her throat. He put his mouth against her skin, and the spell lost a little more of its strength.
And Jewel stayed put. She didn’t run after Henry.
The spell weakened beneath the shadow wolf’s touch and the demon’s lust. But mostly, it weakened beneath Jewel’s incredible strength.
Awed by the girl’s toughness, Abby grabbed Jewel’s hand, lifted the staff, and began calling incantations, almost sobbing in relief when Jewel began to call out with her—her voice at first soft and broken, and then stronger and louder and angrier until at last, the two sisters’ voices became an almost physical entity, swirling, surrounding them with a circle of ice and wind and heat, hotter and colder and louder until at last, the demon and the witch began to defeat the demon witch’s kill spell.
Abby could feel Jewel’s agony as though it were her own. They ripped the greedy spell from inside the girl, leaving raw bloody strips that were more painful than the bits of flesh the hounds had ripped from her body.
Love, and lust, and determination.
They would kick hate in the ass. Every single time.
Abby, Jewel, and Trace began to turn within the circle of power, and it lifted them into the air, and with her mind’s eye Abby could see the woods below them. She could see the elder Cameron like a red bleep on a radar map, and knew exactly where he was.
But then she saw something that made her forget everything else—even her father.
She saw her alpha.
Chapter Sixteen
She didn’t see him, exactly, but in the same way she saw her father, she saw Eli. Saw his energy, and knew that he lived.
He lived.
She saw him because she was connected with the shadow wolf. Whatever lived inside him, his tracking ability, his awareness, was also in her. Maybe it was something more, because his power combined with hers. His power, her power, and Jewel’s power.
It created something remarkable, and she saw her alpha.
“The kill spell is broken,” Jewel declared.
They stood on the ground, staring at each other, and Abby wondered if they’d ever really been so high in the air. They had, she believed, but their bodies hadn’t.
The hounds rushed to her, and she fell to her knees to hug them. Her staff floated beside her like a long, wingless bird, humming with power.
She stood and grabbed Jewel. “Are you okay?” The hounds had hurt her, but so had Abby. So had the horrible spell. Not all of Jewel’s wounds would be visible. The worst ones would be on the inside.
But Jewel was strong enough to break a demon witch’s kill spell. She’d be fine.
Trace hadn’t fared so well.
His breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to deal with the power he’d touched. Neither a demon’s power nor a witch’s power was meant for a wolf. Not even a shadow wolf.
Jewel studied him, frowning. “Come here,” she said.
He backed away. “No, Demon.”
“Trace,” Abby said. “Are you—”
“I need some time,” he said. “You kept some of my…some of me. You can find the alpha.”
She nodded, concerned but unsure how to fix him. “Go,” she said, at last. “But as soon as I find my alpha, we’re leaving these woods. If you want to leave with us, you’ll have to catch up.”
“Yeah,” he said, and then, as Jewel started toward him, he shifted and fled the area.
As she’d seen something, so had the shadow wolf. And she was guessing it hadn’t been anything good.
“He’s overwhelmed,” Abby said. “He just needs to crawl into a hole and recover. The power will wear off and he’ll be okay.”
Jewel lifted an eyebrow. “He needs to toughen up.”
Abby laughed. “Jewel. I…”
“Our father is safe from me,” Jewel said.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“What shall we do with him, Abby?”
“We will take him to our mother,” Abby replied. “The kill spell is broken.”
“So is he, Sister.”
They stared at each other, silent, both of them wondering if Henry Cameron could be trusted, neither of them wanting to say it aloud.
“He’s here,” Jewel said. “Our father is coming.”
They clasped hands and turned to face him.
Meekly, his shoulders hunched, he walked toward them.
No one seemed to know what to say, so in the end, they said nothing. The sisters parted and their father slipped between them, as unsure as they were.
“Let’s go find the alpha and go home,” Abby said, finally.
“Home?” Henry asked. “I don’t suppose you’ll want this mad old witch to go along with you.” He was afraid to hope.
It broke Abby’s heart. She’d spent a lot of time wishing she could see him again just so she could hurt him the way he’d hurt his family. But when she’d finally found him, all she wanted to do was cut his hair, feed him, and get him to her mother.
“Of course you’ll come along,” she told him, her voice crisp. She sniffed, then swiped angrily at her eyes. “Of course you will.”
The sun, a sun that Abby barely remembered arriving, began to leave again. But she didn’t need the sun to find Eli. She had Trace’s internal tracker. Probably not for long, though, as it would surely wear off the same way her power would fade from him.
And she was sure that couldn’t happen soon enough for him.
With the alpha’s location fixed in her mind, she led them through the woods.
“He’s alive,” Jewel said, once.
“I know.”
“But he’s—”
“Jewel. I know.”
The demon went silent, but Abby could feel her uneasiness.
“We’re fine,” she told her sister. “Let’s just get Eli and go home.”
“All right.”
Neither one of them really believed Waifwater Woods would let them go easily. Henry followed like a silent shadow, and though he was damaged in ways she probably would never understand, Abby felt comforted having him at their backs.
“Now that you’re inside,” Abby asked Jewel, five minutes later, “can you still lead us out of here?”
Jewel hesitated. “I believe so.”
“If she can’t,” Henry said, softly, “I can. That door is mine, after all.”
How terrible it must have been for him, knowing the door was right there. That behind that door was peace. Behind that door was his wife. But Acadia had made sure he could never go to them.
And then a sound rent the air, and Abby stumbled back, her scream escaping her lungs in a wheeze of terror.
A wolf’s howl.
But it was more than a howl. It was a sound at once full of fury and full of agony, and as much as she knew it was Eli’s howl, she knew he was dying.
She felt it in her soul.
In her heart.
“Eli,” she cried, but his name slid from her lips as quietly as her scream had, and it took her a full minute to shake away the horror of that howl and force her legs to move.
Neither dog tried to urge her on—they hung back, panting, full of fear. Jewel stared at Abby, not exactly afraid, but alert. And worried.
“Abby,” Jewel murmured, and something in her voice made Abby stiffen and clutch her staff.
“What now?” she snapped, but Jewel would understand that Abby’s crankiness was created from fear.
Something bad was up ahead, through the trees. Something horrible.
And whatever it was, it had Eli.
But…
“Abby.”
“What, Jewel?” Abby hissed. “What is happening?”
Jewel closed her eyes. “I must leave. You and father will save the alpha without me.”
“What?” Abby grabbed her arm. “You can’t leave. You’re not going to look for Trace, are you? I need you, Jewel.”
“I have to go,” Jewel murmured. “I must see to something else. Something terrible…”
“What could be worse than whatever is ahead of us?”
“The thing that is behind us,” Jewel said.
Abby shivered and glanced into the dark trees. The cold, insidious and slick, somehow, slid over her flesh. “What’s behind us?”
Jewel leaned forward and whispered into Abby’s ear, as though the very name would somehow summon its mistress to their location. Maybe she was just trying to keep the knowledge from Henry. “Acadia. She has entered the woods. She couldn’t track me to the pocket, but she has tracked me here. I brought the demon witch.”
Abby felt the blood drain from her face, and swayed weakly. “Jewel,” she whispered, afraid suddenly that Acadia would hear them, “can she find the portal back into our pocket? Can she find my mother?”
Jewel’s eyes were full of dread. “Perhaps. But I will find her first, and I will kill her.”
The cold no longer contented itself with caressing Abby’s flesh. It sank into her bones. She swung to face Henry. “Father—”
But Henry was gone.
“Oh, this is a bad, bad place,” she said.
The cowboy had called it the edge of hell.
But the edge of hell shouldn’t have been cold. Hell was hot and red and full of fiery demons.
Whatever it was, if she ever got the chance to escape it, she was never going back.
Please give me the chance.
Give me my alpha.
“I will see to the demon witch,” Jewel said, and finally, eagerness began to color her words. “I will keep her away from the portal, and I will end her this night. Join me when you can.” As though she wouldn’t need Abby’s help. As though she were perfectly happy facing the demon witch on her own.
Perhaps she was.
Abby recalled the way she’d felt when Jewel had directed the transfer spell. She’d known then that Jewel held the power to defeat Acadia. She just had to hold on to that memory.
Because if she didn’t, if she didn’t believe Jewel could handle the demon witch, she’d go out of her mind.
Jewel didn’t wait for Abby to agree or disagree. She simply turned and melted into the shadows and once again, Abby was alone. Alone but for the hounds.
Her father had likely sensed Acadia before even Jewel had—and he had abandoned his daughters once again.
No matter. She would do what she had to do.
She took a moment to gather the power that lay inside her. She brought it to the surface, held it ready, and then sent some of it into the staff she held. Her hand burned and tingled and vibrated as it sent controlled power into the twisted combination of obedient wand and raging broomstick.
She wasn’t sure what powers she held. She wasn’t sure what horrors awaited.
But she was sure that she would save Eli. Of that, she was sure.
There could be no other outcome.
No other possibility.
She put the looming specter of Acadia from her mind. She refused to think of Jewel, facing the witch alone. She couldn’t allow herself to worry over Basilia, vulnerable in the pocket, or Henry, proving once again that he could not be relied upon.
All that would come after she faced whatever fresh hell lay ahead—because if she let herself become overwhelmed by the grimness and the hopelessness of it all, then she would be of no use to anyone.
The howl came again, that horror of a wolf’s voice, and she trembled and quaked even as she ran to meet it.
The dogs sprinted along beside her, grimly, perhaps a little reluctantly, but they would never leave her. No matter what.
A cabin sat in a clearing beyond the trees, almost as though that was where the woods ended, but farther on she could see the other side of the woods waiting. Tall trees with naked limbs quivering and swaying in the cold breeze, lit with the icy white fire from the moon. Black shadows danced from the flickering flames of the fire in the clearing, and then, smoke wasn’t the only thing she smelled.
Surely the dogs had caught the scent of cooking flesh long before she had, and that wicked bouquet had merged with the scent of the alpha, terrifying them even as they understood they would have to allow their mistress to face it.
She stood with them at the edge of the trees, peering into the brightness created by the large fire, searching feverishly for the wolf she’d heard screaming in agony.
Her wolf.
Eli.
He howled again, and finally, she saw him.
The small hairs stood up on her body and she clenched her teeth, her muscles tightening, as her entire being reacted to his voice.
To his pain. And most of all, to his fury.
The restraints controlling Eli’s wolf weren’t visible. The bonds that held him were magical ones. Imperceptible restraints that bloodied and bound him, more secure than any silver cuffs or iron chains would have been.
Similar to her paralytic spell; and she felt a momentary pang of horror and shame for having used it.
As she watched, three dark robed and hooded figures filed out of the cabin and strode toward Eli. They surrounded him, clasped hands, and began chanting.
They intoned words she couldn’t understand as they walked around him—after one full circle their steps became unnaturally smooth and gliding. Their feet were no longer touching the ground.
Gooseflesh arose on her body as she began to feel the spell. The magic. And despite everything, the witch in her was fascinated.
She closed her eyes and sent her mind toward the wolf, but her mind and magic were repelled with a force that physically hurt her. The circle created by the three robed beings was a strong one—strong and foreign.
How could she break something when she had no idea what it was?
But then she was out of time. The figures stopped moving and lifted their arms high. Gray skin gleamed with a pearly luster in the firelight, and their fingers, long and skinny, began to glow with a light brighter than the moon.
The three threw off their robes and began to dance, and their chanting voices rose in glee. She caught glimpses of gray hair, ancient, bony bodies, and faces lost in deep folds and wrinkled skin.
Hags.
And their power caressed her, wooed her, called to her.
They’d called a killing power, but it was not just to kill Eli. They were about to devour him. Not just him, but his wolf, as well.
Eli’s hoarse voice finally quieted as the hugeness of his ordeal left him no breath with which to howl, or scream, or whisper, even.
And the furry flesh of his wolf began to peel from his bones as though the magic were sharp blades. The hags were skinning him alive. First his wolf, then him.
Abby lifted her staff and banged it upon the ground, her scream flying to the ears of the hags on wings of rage and power.
And as they hesitated and their power faltered, Abby raced from the edge of the woods toward them, her lips drawn back in fury, her heart full of a blackness she’d never felt before.
She and her familiars flew toward the hags, their magic, and their captive, and Eli was given a momentary reprieve as his tormentors turned to face her.
With the circle relaxed she felt him once more; felt his strength, his heart, and finally, his hope.
He had not given up. He’d just been waiting.
Waiting for her.
Chapter Seventeen
She caught a flash of hideous faces; black, gaping maws and loose skin that trembled when they turned toward her, and a millisecond of thought hit the back of her mind—the curse made her look something like that. Like the cackling, hooked nose hags of storybooks.
Thanks to Acadia’s c
urse, Abby’s false face was all people saw when they looked at her.
And yet Eli had seen beyond that face. He’d seen her. Not her true face, but her heart, her soul, her strength. All he had to do was close his eyes and touch her, or kiss her, and he’d feel the real her. Her full lips, her bone structure, her smooth skin.
But she wanted him to see her face. Her real face.
She did not want him to look at her and see those hags.
Years of stifled frustration, shame, and anger rose up along with her current fear and rage, and Abby became a whirlwind of power, a seething mass of nerves and magic. She descended upon the hags like a vengeful, savage goddess, intent upon death and destruction and the liberation of her alpha.
At last, she became the thing she’d been transformed into when she’d first thrown herself into the woods. Not a witch.
She was already a witch.
The Witch.
She couldn’t contain herself. There were too many emotions, too much energy, too much power. Too much horror.
It was a fair fight. Three against three.
She screamed a kill command to the dogs, and didn’t recognize her voice. She sounded mad. Evil. She reached for the first hag—not physically but with her power—and at the same time she sent another, different power into Eli.
She had to see what magical bonds held him before she could try to free him. But she gave up after a few seconds and concentrated on the powerful hags she faced. She had no idea how they’d bound him. She couldn’t free him. She’d have to force the hags—at least one of them—to release him.
The dogs leapt for delicate throats of two of the hags, and Abby lunged at the third. She screamed spells as she lifted her staff—a staff that was glowing and pulsing—and sent a stream of light at the woman.
But the hag muttered a strangled spell of her own, lifted her hands, and stopped Abby’s attack with a black shield of power. The light bent and turned back on itself, and Abby barely had time to throw up a shield of her own before the light slid through her upper arm like a sharp silver blade.
Almost immediately her arm numbed, which was good news considering the second before her arm had gone numb, Abby had felt a pain sharp enough, had it continued, to disable her. Then she forgot about the pain because she was busy trying to halt the progression of the hag’s power. It tried to force its way higher up her arm, and it took nearly every ounce of strength and concentration she possessed to halt it, then begin to send it back down her arm to expel it through her fingertips.
