First Witch (Awakening Series Book 2)

by Jane Hinchey

  He shrugged. Turning his back he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. With no time to think, she tossed back the covers and quickly dressed. Her hair was a mess. She'd gone to sleep with it damp and now it was a massive tangle around her head. Pulling her brush through it, she winced at the knots but kept going anyway, ignoring the hair ripping from her scalp with each stroke. Finally tangle free, she braided it and slipped on her jacket.

  Zak was waiting in the living room. Gone was the warm friendly face from last night. In its place an icy stranger. This was it. Tonight it was all going down. She hadn't found anything to break his connection with his magic, had wasted today sleeping off her hangover, and now she was out of time. Whatever spell the witches had concocted had better work—her sister's life, and Zak’s lay in the balance.

  They stood silently, eyeing each other.

  "You should go," he said.

  "I...I don't know what to say," she admitted, choking.

  "Why say anything?"

  "Because I can feel that this is the end. I don't know what it is the end of, just that it is. And as much as I hate you for what you've done, you could have—"

  He held up a hand, cutting her off, the lip curl back.

  "There's still time." He sneered, his insinuation clear. And boom, he was back to being an asshole. It made it easier to leave. Striding across the room, she let herself out, half expecting him to call her back, to say he was sorry...for everything. He didn't.

  She jogged to The Black Cauldron, trying not to think of the evening ahead, the trepidation building within her. Memories of Veronica surfaced, how it had felt to kill her, shame burning in her chest. She didn't want the hunter dead. Just stopped. Somehow she didn't think the witches were on the same page as her.

  Tilda was waiting at the shop door for her.

  "We thought maybe you'd changed your mind." Her gaze was hard, accusing.

  "Nope. Slept in. Hungover."

  Franny overhead and came bounding toward them. "You pulled an all-nighter?" Her voice was laced with admiration.

  "Not exactly an all-nighter, but yeah, it was a big night. And an even bigger headache this morning." Georgia winced, remembering throwing up, the hunter holding her hair back. Classy.

  "Maybe we can go for drinks tonight after this is all over." She looked at Georgia with puppy dog eyes, all big and pleading.

  "Franny. You have better things to be doing than planning your social life," Tilda admonished, voice cold. "Go get ready, we need to begin."

  Chastised, Franny hurried off. Tilda tossed a white robe at Georgia. "Change into that."

  Figuring Tilda was still pissed at her for being late, Georgia carried the robe upstairs to the apartment. Slipping into the bathroom for some privacy, she stripped and donned the robe. She waited by the stairs for the rest of the witches to join her, then followed them up the stairs to the rooftop.

  19

  On the roof the women gathered around the pentagram painted on the concrete surface, the light breeze ruffling the long hooded robes they wore. Each witch held either a red candle with black symbols printed on it or a black candle with red symbols. Georgia hadn't seen the symbols before; each candle was different as far as she could tell. She was puzzling over the designs when Melissa nudged her toward the pentagram.

  "Stand in the middle."

  She moved to the center of the pentagram and the witches formed a full circle around it, placing their candles in front of them on the boundary line of the pentagram. They then clasped hands.

  "What do I do?" Georgia asked, jumping slightly when the candles flared to life.

  "We're going to channel your magic, to make us stronger,” Melissa said. “You just need to relax and not fight it. Let your magic flow."

  "Okay. But...can't we be seen out here?" She glanced at the taller buildings around them. If someone were to glance out of their window and see the witches gathering on the rooftop, would they call the cops?

  "The building is warded. No one can see us. We're perfectly safe here."

  "Oh. Okay."

  It was eerie on the rooftop. The witches began chanting and the lights around them dimmed, all except for the flames on the candles. It was weird as if suddenly they weren't in the middle of a city but miles away from civilization in the black of night. While the light breeze moved the cloaks around the witches' legs, the candles burned strong, flames not moving or bending to the wind’s will.

  "Luna bohyne sorores a ja, sine nam cerpat sacrificio nos ad silu obeti, et suas magie ingressus." The chant became louder.

  Georgia felt a tingling sensation in her feet that swept up her legs and her entire body. She sucked in a breath, then remembered her aunt’s words. They were channeling her magic. She had to relax and let it flow. She blew out her breath and forced herself to relax.

  "Luna bohyne sorores a ja, sine nam cerpat sacrificio nos ad silu obeti, et suas magie ingressus. Luna bohyne sorores a ja, sine nam cerpat sacrificio nos ad silu obeti, et suas magie ingressus." The chanting continued, louder and louder. She strained to understand the words but couldn't make out the spell the witches were using. It didn't sound at all familiar from the things she'd read in her aunt’s grimoire.

  A gust of wind swirled around her, whipping around her legs, tugging at her robe and whipping her hair around her head.

  She noticed the wind was only affecting her, a mini storm within the pentagram. The chanting was louder now, yet she still couldn't make out the words. The wind was tugging at her painfully and she felt strange like gravity was about to lose its grip on earth and she just might fly up into the sky.

  Around her a beam of light began to glow, encasing her body. Every molecule began to hum; it was almost as if someone were holding a giant magnet over her head and everything was moving up. The hum intensified, turning into more of a zap. An uncomfortable zap. This was starting to hurt. They didn't warn her it would hurt.

  Pushing her hair out of her face, she looked at the witches and gasped. Spikes of lightning were flowing from her into each and every one of them. This was why it hurt. They were draining her. She didn't know how she knew, she just did. They weren't channeling her magic. They were stealing it!

  They’d betrayed her. Lied to her. The shock was painful, for she’d trusted them without question. And her aunt. How could she do this to her own niece? Did mom know this was the type of person Melissa was all along, and that’s why they weren’t close? Had everything been one massive lie? It had to have been, for this was clearly their plan all along and Melissa had done whatever was necessary to get Georgia’s cooperation.

  This spell would mean the death of the hunter. And her. She felt so foolish for not asking more questions, for not insisting on being more involved. She’d let them fob her off. She was new to witchcraft and had believed she wouldn’t understand, that it was too advanced and intricate for her. All a lie. The truth was they needed her power, all of it, and would stop at nothing to get it. The truth hurt.

  She tried to stop it, to stop the flow, but it was impossible—it was streaming from her fast and she was already starting to feel weak. It was hard to breathe; it was like the glowing light was suffocating her. She sucked in a gulping breath, panic setting in. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she felt like her blood wasn't moving, her hands and feet felt frozen, unable to move.

  A movement outside the witches' circle caught her eye. No one should be here. The building was warded in a way that people didn't notice its existence. She squinted, trying to make out the figure that was silently approaching, moving from shadow to shadow to avoid detection.

  Pain surged through her, a scream ripping from her throat, her head tipping back as the electricity burnt her from the inside out. Oh, my god, this kept getting worse and worse. They were stealing her magic, which in turn was killing her. Again she didn't know how she knew, but some sense was telling her she needed to get the hell out of Dodge if she was going to survive this. She was panting, adjusting to
the new level of pain when she opened her eyes and saw him. Zak. Or more correctly, the hunter.

  He was behind her aunt and in his hand was her dagger. The first blade. She watched, eyes widening in horror, expecting him to draw the blade across her aunt's throat. His eyes met hers, but she couldn't make out what he was thinking. Satisfaction? Hatred? Sorrow?

  His arm raised and the blade was speeding through the air. It hit her in the chest, buried deep. She gasped, looking down to see the carved handle protruding from her body, blood pooling around it and running down the front of her robe. In shock, she looked back up. He was there, watching, face unreadable. Confusion swirled through her mind. She'd trusted the witches and all along they had been intending to sacrifice her to save themselves. The betrayal stung but hadn't had a chance to sink in. And now the hunter had killed her, for surely she was dying. She fell to her knees, still watching him. A tear slipped down her cheek and for a moment his expression changed, a look of regret, which was quickly marked by indifference. She wanted to laugh out loud, for now, it was all making sense, but the knife in her chest stopped everything—her breathing, soon her heart.

  She had powerful magic. The witches needed it and were prepared to kill her for it. And the hunter had told her many times that she was his ultimate weapon, only she'd never understood what he meant. But now...she did. For as she died, so the witches died with her. They were tied to her. She collapsed from her knees onto her side, her head hitting the concrete with a crack, but she didn't feel the pain. She watched as the witches in her line of vision toppled could hear them as they fell behind her. Like dominoes, she was the first to fall and they followed. She could just make out Zak, unmoving, his eyes still on her. She'd thought he'd be smiling, gloating at his victory. Instead, his face was a stony mask. She tried to focus on it, but darkness was blurring the edges of her vision. A burst of panic shot through her, making her body twitch. She'd never see Zak again. Her Zak, the man who loved her, not this version of Zak who had hijacked his body and didn't give a damn about her.

  Skye. Blood gurgled from her mouth when she tried to speak, to beg him not to hurt her sister. Skye wasn't a witch. Georgia knew it now. Her aunt had been tricking them, lying to them to get Georgia's cooperation. Surely the hunter could sense that Skye wasn't a witch, that there was no need to kill her, despite the family connection.

  She was cold. It was freezing on the rooftop and she shivered. It had gotten dark; she couldn't see anymore. The wetness in her mouth stopped the air and she tried to spit it out, but her muscles wouldn't work and all she could hear was a gurgling sound. She was tired. She'd just rest a minute, figure out the rest later, for something was pulling at her mind...she had to do something...didn't she? But she was tired, so very tired.

  She closed her eyes.

  Her heart stopped.

  20

  Zak groaned. He was lying on something hard. Hard and unforgiving. Definitely not his bed. Opening his eyes, he took in the night sky above him, then turning his head, he frowned, not understanding what he saw.

  Bodies. Bodies hidden by robes lay scattered before him, the scent of blood heavy in the air. He lay for a moment, gathering his wits. The last thing he remembered was the dream walk with Georgia. Her suspicion that it wasn't really him. Now it made sense. The hunter had taken over his body; that's why she'd been wary and suspicious. He could only guess that the hunter was done with him and had returned to his own body, releasing Zak from his hold.

  A headache thrummed behind his eyes and he squeezed the bridge of his nose, sending a wave of healing energy to take away the pain. Struggling to his feet, he glanced around. He was on the rooftop of a building, and judging by the taller buildings around he surmised he was in a city. He turned back to the bodies, noticing they'd fallen in a circle. Then his eyes landed on the figure in the middle of the circle—red blood covering the front of her white dress, long dark hair fanning out around her head, blood slowly dripping from her parted lips to pool beneath her head.

  "Georgia!" His yell echoed from the buildings surrounding them, bouncing it backward and forwards. He ran to her. Dropping to his knees, he cradled her head in his lap, fingers frantically searching for a pulse. Nothing.

  "No, no, no. You can't be dead. No!" Her dagger protruded from the center of her chest. Wrapping his fingers around it, he eased it out, flinching at the squelching noise it made. Tossing it behind him, he clasped her face between his palms, gently shaking her.

  "It missed your heart, sweetheart. Heal yourself." No response. He placed his hand over the wound and sent his healing energy into her, confused when her wound didn't heal. What had happened here? What had they done? He glanced around at the witches, all had fallen in the same direction, all had blood covering the center of their chests, yet the only weapon he could see was Georgia's dagger. Spying Melissa, he quickly moved to her and checked her pulse. Dead.

  He froze, the truth sinking in, stopping his blood in his veins. He shook his head in denial. Georgia couldn't be dead. No. Refusing to accept it, but knowing it to be true, he returned to her, placed his lips against her bloodstained ones, and breathed into her. "Please don't leave me." His voice was a jagged whisper. "I love you. Don't go. Please." He gathered her limp body into his arms, clasped her head to his chest, and sat on the ground with her in his lap, rocking. He bit into his wrist and pressed it to her mouth, willing his blood into her body, to heal her. Then he waited. She couldn't be gone. There had to be a way to save her. Had to be.

  He didn't know how long he sat there before the buzzing of his phone penetrated the daze he was in. Fumbling for it, he finally got it out of his jacket pocket and to his ear, all the while cradling her unresponsive body against him.

  "Zak?" It was Frank.

  "Yeah." His voice came out a croak and he cleared his throat.

  "You okay? Something weird happened...like we've all just woken from a dream."

  "Same." His voice wouldn't work, emotion tightening his throat. His cheeks felt wet and he knew he was crying but couldn't bring himself to care. She couldn't be gone.

  "Something’s wrong." Frank knew. Shit, all the warriors probably knew. They had a connection to him; no doubt they could feel his pain. And Skye. She'd know. As if he'd summoned her, her voice came over the phone.

  "Georgia?" she asked, her voice frantic.

  "No," he choked out.

  "What does that mean?" she screamed, her voice hurting his eardrums, but he didn't care.

  "She's dead." The phone clattered to the ground. He could hear Frank talking, asking where he was, telling him they were coming, but he couldn't rouse himself. A numbness was settling in and he let it, welcomed it. Feeling numb was preferable to the searing pain of losing her.

  Scooping Georgia up, he headed inside. He didn't know where he was, what this building was, but he guessed if it belonged to the witches it was warded to be hidden from the humans and for now it was the safest place for him. And Georgia. Pushing open the door, he carried her down the stairs. Okay, it was someone's apartment, probably belonging to one of the witches on the rooftop. Walking through the kitchen, through the living room, and into a hallway, he saw an open door at the end and he headed toward it. A bedroom. He laid Georgia on the bed and brushed her hair back from her face. She was so pale. And cold.

  He left in search of a bathroom. Returning with a damp cloth and towel, he washed her face and neck, cleaning away the blood. Her blood. He stood, trembling as he looked down at her stained robe. It felt wrong seeing her in such an outfit. Cursing, he tore it from her, stripping her and tossing the torn bloody material on the floor. She was naked beneath it, but blood covered her almost from neck to toe. Scooping the robe up from the floor, he carried it out into the kitchen and shoved it in the bin. Rummaging in the cupboard, he found a bowl and filled it with warm water, then bathed her, removing every trace of blood, refilling the bowl several times until he was satisfied she was clean. But he couldn't remove the tear in her flesh, right between
her breasts, where the blade had sliced into her. Why hadn't she healed? Was it because it was the first blade? But it was bonded to her; it was her blood that had awakened it. It didn't seem right that it could take her life.

  Sliding her beneath the covers, he tucked her in, trying to convince himself she was sleeping. Resting. Healing. She just needed time, then she'd come back to him. He sat with her, silent, watching, the ticking of a clock the only sound. Except for the noise of traffic outside. That roused him. His warriors were coming. He assumed he must be in Azure Falls since that was where Melissa had been taking Georgia. But where, exactly?

  Rousing himself, he searched the apartment. Pinned to the fridge was a flyer with notes on it. A flyer for The Black Cauldron, a new age shop on the city fringe. Crossing to the windows, he peered outside. They were only a couple of stories up. He looked up and down the street but couldn't see any signs that indicated a shop named the Black Cauldron.

  Stopping by Georgia's bed, he dropped a kiss on her cold forehead.

  "I'll be back. I need to find out where we are so the warriors can help us. Help you."

  Outside the apartment door was a small foyer and a set of stairs. He followed them down into a large room, stocked with candles and herbs, rocks and gemstones. There were several pentagrams drawn in chalk on the floor. Across the room, another set of stairs. He followed those down. Bingo. Pushing through the door at the bottom he stepped into a shop. A shop that sold everything a witch would ever need. This was the Black Cauldron. Crossing to the front door, he made sure it was locked and the sign switched to closed. He didn't need any surprises. He went to pull out his phone, only to realize he didn't have it. It must still be on the rooftop where he dropped it.

  Racing back up the stairs, he burst onto the rooftop, his eyes landing on the bodies of the witches. He'd have to do something about them. He couldn't assume the warding would hold with the witches dead. He had a few hours tops before the magic wore off. Spotting his phone, he scooped it up. Seventeen missed calls from Frank. Taking a deep breath, he dialed.