War Witch

by Layla Nash

  He smiled as he seized Betty despite Anne Marie’s half-hearted attempt to save her. Sam dug his fingers into the young witch’s throat, and her whine escalated to a wail. “Yes, it is. But more sad for your friend here.”

  I pretended boredom and thought of Brandr, Old World death stalking the forest. When I gave the signal, he’d leap in and rescue the witches. I’d finish off Sam. Easy, in theory.

  When I shrugged, Sam’s smile twisted and blood bloomed on the girl’s throat as he dug in dirty nails. Betty got very quiet and very still, but in her eyes she screamed. Sam licked the delicate curve of her ear, murmuring, “If you do not free me, Lilith, I will tear this sweet little witch to pieces in front of you.”

  Tracy choked on a plea for her life; Betty’s eyes entreated me to save her as her panic reverberated through the clearing. The iron collar dug into her flesh where Sam’s wrist pressed against it, and her skin bubbled around the bloody punctures.

  Feigned indifference settled around me as I studied the girl, my mind racing to find a way to save her. Even though she hadn’t saved Rosa. I had to remain aloof; if he knew I valued her, he’d do his worst. “Sumo, I killed you, my partner and coven-mate, and burned you without rites. You think I care what happens to that kid? I don’t even know her.”

  I didn’t know her. And what I’d seen, I didn’t like.

  But Sam knew me. He knew I bluffed. He knew I would never consign a junior witch to a dark death, regardless of the price. He knew I would free him to save her. His smile gave it away.

  I turned to Anne Marie to buy time. Lank hair tangled around her face, and blood crusted her shoulder under a tattered sweater. Hard to believe it had only been a few days. “Well? It’s your choice—do you want me to save the girl?”

  She exhaled, as dull and lifeless as her hair. “Do what you want, Lilith. There is nothing else to tell you. Death comes eventually to us all.”

  My head tilted as I studied her. Resignation was not normal for Anne Marie, even in the worst circumstances. I faked a yawn as I turned to Sam. “Bring the other witches, Sumo, and I will consider it.”

  “Oh no,” he said, whispering to Betty like a lover. “Half now, half after you free me.”

  I took a breath, about to agree and then kill him the moment I fulfilled the obligation. The saints did not like oath-breakers. But Tracy whispered, “Don’t do it. He’s too powerful.”

  I bristled; I could destroy Sam any time I wanted, whether he walked free or remained trapped. I was the Morrigan, the most powerful witch in the city, and that undead bastard would not beat me. I smiled with all my teeth. “No, Tracy. I clean up my messes. Sometimes I clean up Anne Marie’s messes, too.”

  I jerked my chin at Betty. “Put the kid down. I will free you and then you will bring me to the other witches. Agreed?”

  His smile grew, teeth too large for his dark gums, as he threw Betty aside. “Agreed. You will be with your coven soon.”

  I hoped Brandr was ready, wherever he was.

  Power built around me as I focused on Sam. What a disaster. Almost enough to convince a girl to swear off men forever. Part of me really looked forward to killing him. Again.

  The spell shivered to the surface of my mind as I slid power into the magic binding Sam to the clearing. His eyes glowed red and his mouth gaped as he inhaled my magic, stealing a hint before I shut him down.

  Sam crooned. “Do it.”

  The delicate web binding him was built from the remains of our bond and locked with what survived of my love. I took pleasure in destroying it. It snapped apart with the crack of dry bones, and Sam shouted in triumph.

  The killing hex drifted from my fingers, formed with the deepest of blue death, and rolled along the web as it receded. Like a rubber band snapping a paperclip back into his eye. I smiled to myself, waiting for the moment he recognized his death.

  Something slammed into me and I staggered. The blue death fell, scattering in the dirt as my concentration shattered. I looked up just as Anne Marie’s fist smashed into my nose. “You bitch.”

  I threw her off me and jumped up, but only Tracy, Betty, and Anne Marie stared at me in the silence.

  Sam was gone.

  I launched at Anne Marie, breathing fire despite the icy fear running down my spine. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “How could you kill them?” She shoved to her feet and spat a curse at me, though her eyes reddened and her voice wavered. “Rose and Joanne, you…I never thought you’d—”

  “Don’t you dare accuse me of your—”

  Tracy elbowed between us. “Is he gone?”

  “Yes,” I said, and sprayed green sparks in the air until Brandr rose out of the underbrush like a gray ghost. His cheekbones stood out and fur lay heavy on his forearms, matted with something a little like blood. I strode over to Betty and examined the collar on her, even though she cringed. “Because Anne Marie fucking let him go.”

  “I did not. You brought him back, bitch.” Tears streaked her cheeks. “And for what? Some sick game? Sacrifice my coven for your own gain?”

  “You’re out of your mind,” I said. I hauled Betty to her feet and marched her over to Brandr. “Get her out of here. And get the collar off her.”

  “Don’t act like you’re the hero, witch,” Anne Marie snapped, as Brandr gave Betty a jagged but kind smile, and caught her arm.

  I turned away to face Anne Marie, though I searched the trees for any hint of Sam. Tracy saw Brandr for the first time. She fumbled her chains off and yanked at the collar as she stuttered, “W-wolf.”

  “Yeah,” I said, but before I could take a step, magic surged and she raised her hands.

  “No,” I said, reaching out. “He’s with—”

  But the hex left her hands before I reached her.

  It wasn’t blue death—she wasn’t strong enough to make it on the fly—but it was close enough. Brandr grunted and dropped like a stone. Betty looked at the bloody handprint on her arm and bolted into the forest, screaming her head off. No one moved to stop her, or even said her name. I knelt by the Old World alpha, trying to reverse the damage. He lived, but barely. I glared at Tracy. “Why did you do that?”

  “He was paid to kill you,” she said, brusque as she checked Anne Marie’s restraints.

  My heartbeat slowed and the world got quiet except for my breathing and the weak thud of Brandr’s pulse against my fingers. I flicked the hex off of him and anchored his life to mine with a thread of magic, but I focused on Tracy. My oldest friend. The only witch I truly trusted. “How do you know that?”

  Anne Marie watched me with narrowed eyes, pointed face more severe under purple-brown bruises. Me knowing about Brandr and the hit surprised her, but Tracy’s knowledge did not. My throat went dry as Tracy struggled for words. Two witches worked on Brandr’s memory. Anne Marie was one of them. The other...

  Tracy cleared her throat, waving her hand toward the new Morrigan. “Anne Marie told me—”

  “I didn’t tell you anything, witch,” Anne Marie said, and time slowed as deep waters rose around us.

  Two witches worked on Brandr’s memory. Anne Marie was one. I closed my eyes.

  “Maybe you should tell Lilith—” Anne Marie started, and I looked over in time to see the hex that flung her across the clearing and into a wide oak.

  Dark-cloaked witches rose from the undergrowth and a pearl-white circle flared to life, trapping us in a shrinking noose of fetid magic. I screamed curses and threw myself against the ward, trying to break it before it solidified, but I bounced back and tripped over Brandr’s still body.

  I fought.

  I dragged up as much magic as I could until the War Witch burned bright around me and I found refuge in the cold clarity. I rampaged against the kettle from inside their circle, and leveled the forest in a half-mile radius, setting the trees ablaze to consume the dark witches as they retreated and hid and ducked under their own wards. I Called every predator in a fifty-mile radius to kill them, and used th
at hybrid magic to Call as many shifters. I screamed every word of power I knew.

  And it wasn’t enough.

  I howled my fury like the wolves as the circle constricted and battered dark witches stood up instead of died. I sent my wrath into the night on a bolt of magic, and watched the stars scatter.

  I shielded Brandr as much as I could, kept his heart beating with mine, and Called Soren and Leif and even Kyle, hoping for rescue as a hex sliced through the circle and into my foot.

  Another clipped my shoulder, and the circle shrank.

  Anne Marie, still collared, tried to help Brandr, but it wasn’t enough.

  Betrayal burned a cold abyss in my heart. As the kettle of dark witches converged around us, my last words to Brandr mocked me: don’t let them take you.

  I’d failed him. Failed them all.

  Somewhere, Sam laughed at me.

  Chapter 48

  Darkness. And cold. And silence. The sound of breathing mocked me.

  Iron—true cold iron—burned my throat and wrists and ankles. Magic was only a distant memory.

  I understood Anne Marie’s resignation. Death came eventually to us all. But it was an unfortunate truth that sometimes we suffered before we died.

  They worked in teams. Always in pairs. One crouched by my head, whispering that I could make it stop if I told them what they wanted to know. The other used iron or magic to hurt me, to draw the pain out in ropey strands. Stretching but never breaking.

  It went on for eternity. A thousand times eternity.

  They got into my head, dug through my memories. Always promising it could end. “Tell us. Tell us and make it stop.”

  “It costs nothing. Just let us in.”

  “We don’t want to hurt you, sister.”

  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  They asked about demons, about revenants and ghosts. They wanted spells for resurrection and banishment, for mass destruction. They coveted curses to destroy souls, blue death hexes, true-death words of power.

  They wanted the forbidden knowledge. They wanted the slippery slope and the abyss below.

  It stayed hidden, locked in a carefully-constructed corner of my mind. I hid with it, huddling around that dangerous knowledge. Mother and Dad guarded me, their whispered instructions balancing the dark witches, regardless of how much the iron burned.

  I curled around the dark knowledge as the suffering dragged on, as pain blurred into one long night. I held onto Mom and Dad, and even though the witches whispered that it would be so easy to give in, Mother told me the easy step taken was a mile climb to respectability. Dad held my hand and told me to hang on, to be strong.

  Said they were proud of me.

  I heard them over my screams, as I begged for it to end, begged the witches to kill me.

  Over and over, a soundtrack that blurred in my ears: We’re proud of you.

  Hang on.

  Be strong.

  When the threats and cursing and questions and pain drowned out my parents’ encouragement, there was deep water.

  Deep water, closing over my head, making it harder to breathe.

  A new witch whispered in my ear, breath hot on my cheek. “Look at the vaunted Morrigan, crying like a baby.”

  The world got very, very quiet.

  My lips parted, cracked until blood coated my teeth. I couldn’t feel my face enough to know whether he told the truth about the tears.

  He laughed against my temple, tweaking my broken nose. “Your friends will watch me use you for something spectacular. You will fuel a spell to remake the face of the world. We will destroy the Alliance, the Truce, the humans... Everything. With your blood, your bone.”

  Cuts stung as scabs pulled and broke as I tried to form words.

  “This will be your greatest contribution,” he whispered, fingers tiptoeing down my throat, pressing the collar deeper into my skin until another seething pain bubbled to the surface. “Despite Samuel’s claims, I know you will never join us. So we will use your blood and bones. It is all you are good for.”

  No. A small part of me, a small spark buried deeply, rebelled. I’d done many good things in my life, whether they made up for the bad or not. And I focused on the small things, like Kyle’s wide-eyed hero worship as he studied my hex. Moriah’s grin as she filled me with margaritas. Soren’s dry respect as he tried to arrest me. And Leif.

  Leif, who in the fifth year of war reminded me that men could be strong and kind and everything that Sam was not. Leif, who restored my faith in humanity after Sam destroyed it, and me besides.

  “And your wolf. He’s already mad.” The dark witch chuckled, fingers trailing down my arm. “We healed him up so the young ones could practice on him. It’s a beautiful thing.”

  I kept my eyes shut. Brandr’s suffering hurt my heart and eradicated anything positive in my mind. I dragged it back to Leif, who in the fifth year of peace recognized me when I didn’t recognize myself, and was glad to see me.

  That evil witch kept whispering as he tried to break me.

  But there was Leif. Gray eyes and dangerously long eyelashes, the calluses on his palm as he held my hand. The warm fog of his pack magic. The way he held me in the SUV as the antidote burned through my blood. Soft lips on the couch at the bar, the sting of teeth against skin.

  Leif.

  I found his image in my mind, his serious face an anchor. Help me, I said to him, and in my heart he answered: Always, kjaereste.

  “You will cooperate eventually,” the dark witch said, fingers cold against the clammy skin of my palm. I barely felt his touch, all the blood run out of my arm, fleeing the cold iron. “Everyone always does.”

  I told Leif he owed me a real date, a real dinner.

  Anywhere you want in the world.

  It was almost enough to make me smile.

  “You will cooperate, witch.” Something cold and sharp rested against my pinkie.

  Anywhere else, I told Leif, squeezing my eyes shut despite the swelling and the tears. Anywhere but here. Soon. Please. Soon.

  “If only,” the witch said. “Because you will have no fingers left,” and pressure seized my pinkie. White fire clipped my flesh.

  I screamed as my finger fell to the floor with a dull thump, as heat consumed my hand and blood splattered onto the concrete. The witch laughed. He painted my forehead with my own blood, drawing idly as I screamed and clenched my fist and kicked the table and still the blood poured out.

  The witch kept laughing, and it seemed all the blood had not run out of me. Turned out I had plenty left to bleed.

  Chapter 49

  It was safe in my head. I leaned against Leif, who stroked my hair and promised it would end soon if I told him where I was.

  My hand throbbed with every beat of my heart, raw and fierce. I stayed with Leif. It was safer than the unknown. The waiting pain.

  Something warm and damp patted at the sunspot of pain where my finger had been, and my whole body twitched.

  A soft voice, gentle as the touch on my wrist, cut through the sharp paid. “Hold still, honey.”

  Everything in me froze.

  She hummed the lullaby she always sang when I was sick, and a cool salve smoothed over my hand and extinguished the pain. “I think we can save it.”

  A damp cloth brushed my face, patting away the fever. My chin wobbled as I took a shaky breath. “Mama?”

  Her perfume drifted over me and I squinted into the dim glow of our living room. Her face hovered next to mine, blurred through my clotted eyelashes. I’d dreamed of having her back. Maybe everything had been a nightmare. A terrible fever dream, and I woke up whole on my mom’s couch.

  “There’s my girl.”

  I closed my eyes in exhaustion, sinking back against a pillow. “It hurts.”

  “I know.” She wiped my cheeks. “You can rest soon. There’s just one thing you need to help me with, honey.”

  “Anything.” My head swam, the room a slow spin around me. My han
d faded to a distant ache. Mama would fix it. Even the fever burning through me weakened and retreated.

  Her perfume grew stronger. “Walk me through how to summon a fire demon.”

  “You already know.” I frowned; she hated talking about demons. She expected me to memorize the spells the first time through.

  She smoothed my wrinkled forehead. “I know. But it’s important. I need to hear you repeat it, to make sure you know it. It’s a dangerous world, my love.”

  The deep water called to me, but I desperately wanted her to stay. She left too soon the first time. She knew all the bad things about me and didn’t care. I kept the dark at bay, blocked out the deep voice asking where I was. I knew where I was. I was home and Mama was there, and everything would be okay. “A silver mirror, no more than three handspans, set inside a double circle. Three drops of blood and then...”

  I drifted within the soft cloud of her perfume as I told her how to summon a fire demon. The scratching of a pen on paper made me pause.

  Mother never took notes.

  As the silence stretched, she patted my shoulder. “What comes after the invocation?”

  My insides contracted. “You said never say it out loud.”

  “I need you to tell me now.”

  “I can’t.” I tried to open my eyes but the blood and tears clotted into a horrific glue on my lashes.

  “We need to know.” Her fingers touched my wrist near the cold metal she should have removed and thrown out. “You have to tell me, Lilith.”

  Lilith.

  My heart beat faster as I tried to breathe normally. I didn’t become Lilith until the third year of war. Four years after she died.

  “They will keep hurting you,” she said. “They will stop if you tell me.”

  “You can make them stop,” I whispered. She was more powerful than a measly kettle.

  “Be strong for yourself,” she said. The pressure on my wrist increased, the touch turning into a pinch.

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Think of yourself.” Her voice quieted even as it echoed in my skull, rattling through my brain. “Save yourself.”