I considered how I could word what I wanted. My original idea of “make all of this stop” seemed foolish now. I needed to be more specific. My voice shook when I spoke. “I want you to release us from your curse.”
“Us?”
“My younger sisters. Avery, Bailey, and Lucy. And me, as well.”
She cocked her head, considering. “You ask a lot of a tired old lady.” I scowled at her. She cackled. “Very well. But be warned: the price I ask may be more than you are willing to pay.”
“I’ll do anything to save them,” I said. I remembered the sensation of Hallie’s hand in mine, growing cold as she faded away.
“To save them? Or to save yourself?”
I clenched my jaw and said nothing. Yes, I had included myself in our deal. I would not be made ashamed of my sense of self-preservation.
The witch clucked her tongue. She looked amused, which made me unreasonably angry. What right did she have to find my predicament amusing?
“Your life and the lives of your younger sisters will be spared—” I caught my breath in a little gasp of relief, which only made her smile wider. “If you can complete a simple task for me.”
One task. That wouldn’t be so bad.
Right?
I struggled to find my voice. “What is this task?”
The witch reached into the folds of her cloak and withdrew a jeweled dagger. I stepped away.
“This isn’t for you,” she said. “This dagger is meant for another. There is a certain someone I want you to take care of.”
“You want me to kill someone?!”
The witch smiled that obnoxious smile of hers. I hadn’t considered that she would ever ask something like this of me. I had never hurt anyone before, except maybe one of my sisters in a wrestling match. But never on purpose and never with the intent to kill. “One life for four. It seems a fair trade to me.”
My eyes lingered on the dagger’s blade. It seemed to glow in the semi-darkness of the cavernous room. I couldn’t imagine holding that thing in my hands, sinking it into another’s flesh. Perhaps the witch was right. Perhaps this was too high a price to pay.
But then I thought of my sisters, the ones who remained, full of fear at their inevitable futures — counting down the days until they ceased to exist, lost like a whisper in a crowd. My sisters were innocent. They didn’t deserve this fate. And neither did I.
I held out my hand for the knife. “Who do you want me to kill?”
2
The witch wouldn’t tell me who my target was. “You will know” was all she said. “The dagger will tell you who it wants.”
The dagger was surprisingly warm in my hand, like it was alive. The witch removed a leather sheath from somewhere beneath her cloak and handed it to me. The dagger slid easily inside. The witch turned her back to me, rummaging in a cupboard. It occurred to me that I could probably stab her with the evil knife she had just handed me. But what would that help? I would still be cursed.
“Why won’t you tell me? What am I supposed to do? Stab everyone in sight, like an archer shooting blindly into the woods?”
“The dagger will tell you who it wants.” The witch shuffled over to a long wooden table and unrolled some parchment. “Use it for nothing but the intended victim. Not even to scratch your bum. Do you understand me?” I nodded, wondering who would ever scratch their bum with a jeweled dagger. “Be very careful with this dagger. If it so much as nicks you, your life will be forfeit. No amount of my magic will save you.”
I shuddered.
The witch pointed to the door behind me. It looked nothing like it had when I walked through it. The plain cottage door had transformed into tall metal doors covered in intricately crafted runes that glowed with the magic used to enchant them. “When we are done here, you are going to turn around and walk out that door. You will find yourself outside the gates of the Mejor Estate. There, you will find your target.”
I didn’t like thinking of a person as a target. I squirmed uncomfortably.
The witch bent over the parchment she had laid out on the table, dipping a quill in ink. She finished writing a word and then released the quill, which kept writing without her help.
“I am creating a contract,” she explained. “The deal will be set when you sign it.”
I was reminded of Alistair’s frequent admonitions to never sign anything without first consulting him. I didn’t have time for that.
“Here is the deal,” the witch said. The quill scribbled furiously across the parchment. “You will take the dagger and use it to end the life of a specific target. The dagger will tell you who it wants.”
Creepy.
“If you are successful, I will release you and your younger sisters from my curse. In the meantime, the curse will pause for three days.”
My head snapped toward the witch. “Three days?”
“If you fail to take the life of your target in three days, the curse will return with full effect. You will vanish at midnight on the third day, and then your sisters after you, and your soul will remain in my care. That is the deal.”
It wasn’t a very good deal. But what choice did I have? Three days was more time than I had when I arrived. I would have to make the most of these three days if I was going to save my life and the lives of my sisters.
If I ever saw Elias again, maybe I would use the dagger on him.
The quill stopped moving, the contract complete. The witch snatched the quill from the air before it toppled over. I thought she would hand the quill to me, but she didn’t. She spun the parchment so I could read it. The gesture was a mere formality. The contract wasn’t written in a language I could read.
I glanced up at the witch, and our eyes met. Her eyes were a dull gray that showed no emotion, even when her mouth stretched into a sneaky smile.
“When you sign this contract, you will forfeit your soul. Consider it collateral. That is how this magic works. The cost is high to make a deal with a witch.”
Was she trying to scare me? I was already terrified. “I understand,” I said.
“Do your best to avoid mirrors, especially in the company of others.”
“Why?”
“Your reflection will expose to the world that you no longer have a soul. People don’t like that very much. They will assume you are a witch or a servant of the Dark One. And you know what happens to them.”
An image of fire flashed into my mind. Did she put that image there, or was my imagination running amok?
“Are you ready to sign?”
“If I fulfill the contract — if I ... kill this person — what becomes of my soul?” Would I get it back? Was that even possible? I didn’t know how any of this worked. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Maybe I didn’t really want to know.
“I guess you’re going to have to find out, aren’t you?”
The witch took my hand in hers. Her skin was cool and soft, wrinkled with age. I was reminded again just how frail she was. How could this fragile old lady cause so much discord?
The witch pricked my finger with her long, sharp thumbnail.
“Ouch!” I gasped.
The witch laughed. I stared at the little orb of blood beading on the end of my finger. I almost panicked. Had the witch not been holding my hand, I probably would have fled. I should have fled.
I never should have come here.
The witch directed my hand toward the bottom of the parchment. “One life for four. Kill the target before midnight of the third day, and you and your sisters will be safe from my curse. Fail and the curse returns in full force. Do you accept these terms?” she asked.
“Yes?” I phrased it as a question, but she took it as a statement.
The witch pressed my finger against the parchment. As my blood stained the contract, I felt a rush as if all the air had been sucked out of me. I watched in horror as a glowing mist rose from my mouth, floated across the table, and rushed down the witch’s throat. Before my eyes, she aged in reverse, changing
from a wizened old crone back through the years until she looked no older than middle aged. Her back straightened, her hair colored and thickened until it fell in dark waves around her wrinkle-free face. Her eyes changed from pale gray to a clear, sapphire blue. Like mine. Her eyes were exact mirror copies of my own.
“Oh, it feels good to have a soul again,” the witch crooned, admiring her strong, young hands. She looked up at me, where I stood trembling from the effects of the contract. “You may feel a little light-headed,” she said.
My vision faded into blackness.
3
I don’t know how I managed to leave the witch’s lair. Perhaps she carried my unconscious body and tossed me out the door. I probably looked rather pathetic, standing in the rain with a bewildered look on my face, clutching the witch’s dagger.
My first order of business was to hide the dagger. I would surely fail at my task right away if the staff at the Mejor Estate confiscated my weapon. The dagger was as long as my forearm. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to hide it that wouldn’t be obvious. It wouldn’t fit in the pocket of my skirt. I needed a better hiding place.
I used my teeth to tear a length of ribbon from my bodice. Glancing around to be sure no one had noticed me yet, I lifted my skirt indecently high and threaded the ribbon into the hem of my corset, then tied it around the dagger’s sheath. The dagger hung beside my leg, bumping my thigh with every step I took, a constant reminder of my dreary purpose.
I didn’t know much about the Mejors. They were relatives of the ruling family of Barune. My brothers might have mentioned them occasionally. Though I was also a citizen of Barune, I had never been outside of the city limits of Silverleaf, the town my brother governed. Both of my parents were killed while traveling, and as a consequence of their deaths, Alistair forbid any of us from leaving the city. Except Elias. He was an ambassador and had to travel.
Elias had caused all of our problems. He should have stayed home with the rest of us. Then maybe we would have all been safe from the Horrid Witch’s wrath.
I was given three days to live, handed a dagger, and thrust into a part of the country I had never seen before, without even knowing who I was there to murder. My potential last-three-days-of-life were off to a great start.
“Hey!” A voice called down to me as I loitered outside the gate, wondering what to do next. “State your business!”
I’ve come to murder someone. But I’m not sure who. Care to let me in and perhaps point out anyone who needs a good murdering? I cleared my throat. “I’ve come to pay my respects to the House Mejor.”
“State your name.”
“Delta Delaroe of Silverleaf, Barune.” I named the city my brother governed, hoping my brother’s influence would make me seem important enough to invite inside. It didn’t even occur to me to make up a fake name. If I did succeed in killing whoever I was here to kill, they would know immediately who I was and put me to death anyway, then go after my family, which would counter the only reason I had agreed to this in the first place. I understood now why I had never been allowed to make important decisions before. I was terrible at decisions.
“Delaroe!?” The man asked with excitement. “Open the gates. Let her in.”
I didn’t know them, but they knew me. Or at least, they knew of my family. The gates opened, revealing an enormous manor house that would put the largest buildings of Silverleaf to shame. Whoever the Mejors were, they were clearly quite wealthy. Maybe they could afford a luxurious funeral for my target.
Or for me.
A man wearing a footman’s livery approached at a run. “My lord’s deepest apologies for making you wait outside the gate. And in such weather. Come, come into the house. Master Micah is anxious to see you.”
The servant ushered me into the great house through a side door, exclaiming his dismay that I was not dressed appropriately for the weather and that I had no luggage or chaperone with me. I must have appeared extremely suspicious, yet the footman made no attempt to question me or check me for weapons, which he would have easily found. He guided me down a corridor and into a room that was a finer version of the visiting room in my family’s much humbler manor. The room had three plush couches and one big wingback chair, all set on a lavish rug and facing inward with a little table right in the middle. The workmanship of everything in the room was impressive and flashy, clearly intended to show off the immense wealth of the family. I felt distinctly uncomfortable in my hand-me-down dress, now damp from the rain.
The doors closed behind me for only a moment before they were opened again by a somewhat breathless, incredibly handsome man.
“Thank you for attending to our guest, Peter. You are dismissed.” The handsome man spoke to the footman, but his eyes never left me.
He wore a robe over silk nightclothes, which was completely preposterous attire to wear in the presence of a guest. His short brown hair was disheveled from sleep. On his feet, he wore bedroom slippers. My arrival had clearly stirred him from his bed. There was an urgency about him that made the shock of seeing him in his nightclothes somehow perfectly acceptable.
The footman bowed and left. I opened my mouth to speak, but the stranger held up his hand to silence me.
“Don’t say a word,” he said. He walked past me to the windows on the other side of the room, drawing the curtains. Then he briskly strode to a side door, which he locked with a key he wore on his hip. I began to feel anxious, alone in a locked room with this man. Maybe he was trying to murder me. He rattled the handle of the door he had entered to ensure it had been locked behind him. He made a complete lap around the room while I stood there stupidly trying to decide if I ought to defend myself.
I flinched when the man grabbed my hands. His skin was warm. Nothing like the witch’s touch. The fancy man with the silk pajamas led me to the nearest couch. He didn’t seem to mind at all that I was still wet, as he practically shoved me into the seat. He knelt before me, clasping my hand. “My apologies if my actions have startled you, but a certain amount of secrecy is required, under the circumstances. The name Delaroe. You must be one of Elias’s sisters, am I correct?”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. I nodded instead. The man caressed my hands with his thumbs as if I was a dear friend or a lady he was courting. He was distractingly handsome, even in his disheveled state. His eyes were blue-green, like the ocean.
I silently pleaded with the witch, as if she could hear me. Please don’t make me have to kill this beautiful man.
“I am the one you have come to see, correct?” He was doing all the talking, while I stared and nodded dumbly.
“Are you—” I recalled the name the footman had used earlier. “Master Micah?”
“Just Micah, please. Yes, that is me. Do you have a message for me?” He looked so hopeful, like a puppy waiting for a treat.
“I — no,” I said. His expression fell. I wanted to lie just to make him smile. But instead, I said, “I’m sorry. I—”
“No, no. It was rude of me to assume. I just — I just hoped you had come with word from your brother.”
“Alistair?”
“No, not Alistair. But is he well?”
He’s planning several body-less funerals.
“As well as can be expected.”
Micah nodded. He still hadn’t released my hands. “I hoped you had word of Elias’s whereabouts.”
Oh, look. Someone else looking for Elias. Micah noticed the shift in my expression. He gave a heavy sigh and released his hold on my hands. I folded my hands on my lap, uncertain what to do with them now. Micah paced in front of me.
“Elias was supposed to send me word four days ago. He was stopped by Sydnian soldiers on his way across the border. I’m overcome with anxiety at his silence.”
Four days ago.
That was when the witch’s curse began. Four days ago, all of my sisters were alive. I clenched my hands tighter in my lap.
Micah stopped pacing. “If you have not come with news from Elias,
why are you here?”
Whoops. I hadn’t thought to come up with a cover story either. Worst assassin ever. I couldn’t exactly say, I’ve come as a soulless servant of the Horrid Witch to murder someone. “I — I was hoping to find Elias, actually,” I said. Which wasn’t exactly untrue. I wanted to find him, tell him the wretched news of what he’d done to our family, and then punch him in the face.
Micah nodded. “You and I both. She arrived safely, but … without him.”
“She?”
“Oh!” Micah looked at me with deep interest. I squirmed. “I suppose it makes sense that he wouldn’t have told you. He was trying to protect you.”
Protect me?! My jaw fell. Fortunately, Micah had turned toward the side door he had locked earlier, giving me a few moments to compose myself. This man either knew something I didn’t or had a complete misunderstanding of my brother and his motivations. If Elias had been trying to protect his family, he had most certainly failed. A deadly curse was about as far from protection as I could imagine. If his aim actually was to protect us, what had gone wrong?
Micah cleared his throat, jolting me from my whirling thoughts. He was standing next to the open door, clearly waiting for me to join him. I stood and grimaced at the wet patch my dress had left on the fancy couch. I joined Micah at the door. He took my elbow and guided me through another extravagant sitting room, through another door, and into a far less fancy branch of the house. I smelled fresh bread and assumed we must be close to the kitchens. Micah steered me into … a supply closet?
He was certainly about to murder me. Maybe he would lock me in here and leave me to a slow and awful death. The joke would be on him, though, since I would be dead in three days anyway. I touched my skirt, feeling the shape of the dagger that hung against my side. Could I use it to defend myself? Could I get to it in time?
Micah lifted his arm, and I flinched, curling into the nearest corner. But Micah wasn’t trying to strike me. He reached his hand into the molding by the low ceiling. I heard the click of a lever. The empty back wall of the supply closet tilted. Micah caught the edge of the wall and pulled it open, just wide enough for a person to slip through.
Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances Page 27
