Captive Witch

by September Stone

  Her nose wrinkles, and rivers help me if it doesn’t heat my blood. How does she do that? She looks ridiculous with her face scrunched, yet I’d take her there on that stuffy-ass couch if she’d let me. Maybe it’s wanting to escape from whatever punishment the elders will levy against me. Perhaps it’s simply to prove I could have her, even with Blondy and the Englishman vying for her attention.

  Or maybe it’s something else entirely.

  “But if we don’t get the curse broken, you’ll die at the full moon,” she says. “Wouldn’t the elders want to do everything in their power to keep that from happening?”

  I shake my head. “My life’s not worth it to them. This is Twin Rivers—it’s full of other shifters to ‘recruit.’” I can’t mask the bitterness that slips out with the word.

  She stands, studying the room around us. “But we’re not prisoners. Look at this place.” She spreads her arms as if to alert me to the show of wealth surrounding us. “If they don’t care what happens to you, wouldn’t you be in a cell? Wouldn’t we both be?”

  Her optimism tugs at my heart. This poor girl. She has no idea who she’s dealing with. “Check the door.”

  She tilts her head before obeying. Her fingers close around the handle and she twists, but nothing happens. When she turns back, her brow is knit. “That doesn’t mean…”

  Sighing, I lift a decorative silver sewing box off the small table beside the couch and launch it at the nearest window.

  The box bounces off, no more effective than a rubber ball against a cement wall.

  “A gilded cage is still a cage, kitten,” I mutter.

  The door cracks open and Bryn skitters to my side as I push myself to my feet. No matter what fate awaits me, I’ll face it like a man.

  Harvey doesn’t bother suppressing his smirk when he steps into the room. My initial instinct to rush him and throw him to the ground is tempered by the presence of five additional guards standing in the hall just behind him. “The elders are ready for you.”

  Despite myself, my eyes slide to Bryn. “Which one of us?”

  Harvey lifts a shoulder. “Both.”

  Dread coils in the pit of my stomach. Bryn’s perceived crime has nothing to do with me; there’s no reason for the elders to see the two of us at the same time. They aren’t known for holding group trials or having an abundance of witnesses present to view their judgments.

  To her credit, Bryn doesn’t shrink as she strides toward Harvey. Her shoulders back and her head high, it’s easy to think she’s about to speak to her loyal subjects, not be sentenced to death.

  Because there’s no question in my mind that’s how these proceedings will pan out.

  I allow Bryn to set the pace, staying two steps behind her. My muscles are taut, ready for a fight—but there will be no fighting. It’s past time for that now.

  The ornate hall is filled with vases of floral arrangements and paintings depicting sunrises, sunsets, storms, and constellations. But today the walls are also lined with guards and a handful of other bounty hunters not out on assignment. While the guards’ faces are impassive, the hunters eye me curiously as I make the trek to the elders’ chambers.

  Bryn is the first to enter, and her gasp seems to fill the whole room, from the marble floor to the pretentious vaulted ceiling. I’ve been inside too many times to count, and it strikes me now that I’m largely immune to the hall’s grandeur. For a moment, I attempt to see it through Bryn’s eyes. The room is cathedral-like, with walls that arc to meet at a point in the center and windows made from stained glass, making it seem like the elders have tapped into a magic so ancient, the architecture itself is impressed by their prowess. Most of the area is empty, and intentionally so. The elders want the accused to feel small when facing them. The five of them sit on throne-like chairs on a dais.

  Four. Four of them.

  Daya straightens her back and raises her chin. Blue light from a nearby window slants against her raven-dark hair. “The witch known as Bryn will present herself.”

  Bryn glances at me, her hazel eyes wide with fear. But when I nod, she blinks it away and steps to the golden circle in the center of the room. “I’m Bryn, ma’am.”

  If looks could kill, Bryn would be dead already, but I can barely contain the laugh that rises in my chest. I’ve never heard Daya referred to as anything but Your Excellency, and if her expression is any indication, she’s not a fan of this lapse.

  I manage to pass off my laugh as a coughing fit as Daya continues.

  “I am Daya Ambrose, interim leader of this council. You stand accused of the murder of His Excellency Amos Cross, one of our number.”

  “I understand, but if you’ll let me explain—”

  Daya lifts a hand to silence Bryn. “Words can deceive. Magic cannot. Therefore your trial will reconvene after you brew a potion for us to test.”

  Bryn tips her head to the side. “I don’t understand.”

  The corners of Daya’s lips curve in a cold smile. “Are you aware, child, that when a witch creates a potion, she leaves behind an essence unique to her? That if two witches craft the same brew with ingredients harvested from the same place, it would still be possible to determine who made which?”

  As Bryn shakes her head, I gulp. Everything is going down as I expected. The elders don’t care about stopping someone like Mona from trafficking supernatural kids or selling drugs to noms. They know damn well Mona is responsible for Amos’ death, but she’s too difficult to get to. Bryn is the easy target for their vengeance.

  “I understand why you think that’s the best way to go about this,” Bryn says. Although her words are rushed, her tone is even. “I’m sure that procedure usually works flawlessly. But this situation is different. Until yesterday, I was a prisoner. A slave. A siren named Mona Ward would force me to make potions. I never knew what they were for or who they might hurt. I’ll testify to that if you bring her in for a trial.”

  The elders’ shoulders shake as they share a chuckle. The only one who remains unmoved is Daya. “If a man hires an assassin to kill his neighbor, that man is guilty of organizing the crime. But the assassin is culpable for the murder.”

  For the first time, Bryn’s shoulders slump. Despite what I’ve told her about the elders, it’s obvious she was holding out hope I was wrong.

  For her sake, I wish I’d been wrong.

  “Poe,” Daya says, snapping my attention back to the present. “Please present yourself before us.”

  Dread zings through me as I step forward to join Bryn on the golden circle. I’ve stood here countless times before to receive orders, but for some reason this feels different.

  “Harvey tells us he found you in the woods, and that although you had already located your target, you weren’t planning to bring her back to us.”

  I clench my teeth to hold back a line of curses aimed at Harvey. When I’m sure I can speak without snarling, I answer. “The witch has been a captive most of her life. I felt certain your judgment would end with her termination, so allowing the girl to spend her last day as she wished seemed…” I press my lips together, not sure how to finish the statement.

  Daya holds my gaze. “Harvey expressed concerns that the witch may have clouded your mind with promises of…” She purses her lips. “Well, promises of a carnal variety, shall we say.”

  I don’t bother pointing out that nearly every female target offers me promises of a carnal variety. I’m already skating too close to an outright lie, and I’ve never seen that tack end well for people standing in this spot. “Your Excellency, have I not proven myself loyal to this council’s commands in my time here?”

  She regards me for a long moment. “Indeed. And today, to prove that loyalty hasn’t wavered, we intend to call on you to carry out any punishment against the accused.”

  Her words hit me like a punch in the gut, but I do everything in my power not to let the reaction show on my face.

  They want me to kill her. Because although Daya says the wor
d punishment like there are multiple options, there’s only ever one. Although, to my knowledge, there has never been a bounty hunter who’s carried it out before.

  I know in my bones I can’t do it—not unless I shift. And if I do that, there’s no telling what my panther will destroy before I surface again.

  I’ve never given a second thought to carrying out whatever orders the elders have ruled. I’m in debt to them, and I pay that debt by protecting them—and the world—from those who have gone against our laws.

  But this goes beyond that. It’s vengeance for the death of one of their own, and it’s against the wrong target.

  But when I look into Daya’s eyes, I give the only answer I can. “Of course, Your Excellency.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Calder

  I pace, gripping my hair in both my hands. This can’t be happening. I just got her back, and now she’s gone.

  Why didn’t I stop her? I knew going to Poe’s aid was stupid. For all we know, if Poe had gone back to the elders willingly, he could have come up with some lie to explain his presence back in Twin Rivers and we could all be back to locating Elowen now.

  When Harvey the hunter used the flashstone to knock Bryn and Poe unconscious, I was ready to leap from my hiding spot to stop him from hauling them in, but Taj and Silas restrained me. It was a good thing, too—loathe as I am to admit it—because less than a minute later, five other shifters converged on the spot. Even if I’d been able to knock out Harvey before they arrived, there’s no way I could’ve gotten Bryn and Poe to safety. The shifters would’ve searched the area to figure out who attacked their comrade, and we’d probably all be captive now.

  I stop pacing and turn to Taj and Silas. “A full-out assault on the elders’ headquarters. It’s the only way to get her back.”

  Taj holds up his hands like a man trying to calm a frightened animal. I’d be offended, but that’s exactly what I feel like right now. I’m terrified.

  This is worse than when Mona sold me off. I knew Bryn would be punished for what happened between us, but I knew even then that she was too valuable to Mona for any real danger to come to her. Things are different with the elders. To them, Bryn’s power as a potion maker doesn’t make her important; it proves she’s a threat that must be dealt with.

  “Calm down, mate,” Taj says. “We can’t just run in there without a plan. I don’t know anything about the elders’ headquarters, do you? It’s probably crawling with bounty hunters, but who knows what other kinds of guards there could be?”

  “We don’t have time for recon,” I hiss. I don’t know what the range on a shifter’s hearing is, and I don’t want someone else to locate us before we can plan an attack. “We have to get her out of there.”

  “Why?” Silas asks.

  I stare at him, unsure how he can be asking the question. “You said it yourself—we need all five of us if there’s any chance of lifting the curse. Was that a lie?”

  Silas shakes his head. “No, that’s true. I just don’t see how us getting ourselves killed is going to help things.”

  I ball my fist, ready to clock the daemon on his smug chin, but Taj puts himself between us.

  “I think what Silas is trying to say is that there’s no use going in without a strategy. We need to make a plan before we run in.”

  Silas snorts. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.”

  I ignore the daemon. As much as he may have convinced Bryn otherwise, I know the only reason he found us after casting his initial curse is to save his own skin. Sure, it wasn’t his choice to cast the curse, but he doesn’t regret doing it. I’m not sure his kind are capable of the emotion.

  Instead, I focus on Taj. We’ve gotten to know each other well over the last few years. What’s more, he grew close to Bryn during his time undercover. He cares if something happens to her. And although I’m not sure how I feel knowing his affections for her might be reciprocated, I’m willing to use every angle to my advantage right now. If we don’t get to her soon, Bryn will be executed.

  I can’t lose her again.

  “Come with me or don’t, but I’m going after her. I won’t stand by and let her die.”

  Taj squeezes his eyes closed and sighs. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “And maybe you’re stuck in your head,” I snap. “Ever wonder why you get passed over for missions? It’s not because of your magic; it’s because you don’t take decisive action. You want to plan out every possible move in advance and rehearse it until it’s automatic—not because you want to be flawless but because you can’t think on your feet. Remember St. Anne’s? When things went sideways, you froze.”

  Hurt flickers in Taj’s eyes, but I hold his gaze. Bringing up that botched mission is a low blow, but now isn’t the time to coddle him. There’s no telling how quickly the elders will pass their judgment.

  Taj exhales heavily, his nostrils flaring. “Getting yourself killed won’t help her.”

  And there it is. He was more than willing to take from Bryn last night when she wanted to kiss him, but he won’t put his neck out on the line now that she’s in danger. “Staying here won’t help her, either.”

  Before he can argue any more, I turn and take off at a jog through the forest. I don’t need Taj or Silas—only the element of surprise. I rub my fingertips together, feeling the thrum of potential energy buzzing there, waiting to be unleashed.

  I’ve trained for situations like this. I can only hope the adrenaline pumping in my veins will give me the extra boost I need to go it alone.

  Once I’ve put some distance between myself and the others, I slow my pace to a crawl, attempting a near-silent approach.

  My only clue to Bryn’s whereabouts is the direction the shifters hauled her off in, so that’s where I start. And although I complained about the countless hours of wilderness tracking drills Ryder put be through, I can’t help murmuring a thank you to the universe as those well-practiced skills guide me forward. A footstep in soft earth here, a bent tree branch there—dozens of tiny clues lead me down the path the shifters took before me.

  I’ve heard the elders spoken of in passing since I joined the Liberation Front, and for some reason I always imagined the dispensers of magical judgment in a courthouse setting. But the building sitting in the center of acres of manicured lawn is nothing short of a mansion. The symmetrical manor is as massive as it is imposing. I count four guards at the entrance, plus six more at various locations around the building. There’s no telling how many might be inside. Sneaking closer is impossible; nothing stands between the forest and the mansion.

  The sense that Taj was right tugs at the edges of my mind, but I ignore it. It doesn’t matter how many guards there are. I’ll take them all down if I have to. Bryn can’t die for someone else’s sins.

  Still standing hidden within the tree line, I summon my telekinetic power, allowing it to fill every inch of my body before directing it at the guards.

  The four by the door slam into each other before flying twenty feet into the air and smashing back to Earth. As predicted, the other guards stationed around the mansion come running toward the front of the mansion to see what caused the commotion.

  The power in me flows with unaccustomed ease, and it takes almost no thought to lift decorative boulders from along the long driveway and launch them at the approaching guards.

  Without watching to make sure the projectiles hit their marks, I dart out of the woods and streak toward the mansion. Keeping my power simmering at the surface, I watch for movement, ready to take out any more guards who might come running.

  Surprise is on my side. Harvey didn’t know Poe was traveling with anyone else. They aren’t prepared for a rescue mission.

  I push the thought to the forefront of my mind as my feet pound the ground, each step bringing me closer to the mansion.

  The front doors swing open when I’m scant yards away, revealing a team of guards. I use my ability to pull up more rocks, but there are too many o
f them. Even as several shifters yelp when the boulders smash into them, more circle me, grabbing my arms and legs to immobilize me as they drag me inside.

  I’m coming, Bryn. I’m coming.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bryn

  My fingers tremble as I measure out the valerian root powder to add to the cauldron.

  It’s a simple sleeping draught, one even a novice witch could pull off with little practice. I imagine it’s by design. First, something like this doesn’t take long to brew. Second, it’s nearly impossible to screw up.

  Eyes prickle the back of my neck. Four guards stand in the room to watch me, and they seem to be taking the mandate literally.

  This room isn’t as stately as the others I’ve seen. It’s much smaller, it’s purpose and decor utilitarian. With the long table, cauldron, and herbs and stones lining the walls, it reminds me of the workroom where I would brew potions for Mona.

  I don’t know where Poe is.

  I’ve replayed the scene in the woods hundreds of times, but I don’t know how I could’ve made things work out differently. Maybe I overplayed my hand. I just wanted his friend to think Poe was showing me a good time before taking me in.

  Maybe I should’ve stayed hidden.

  But even if I had, there’s no guarantee I wouldn’t have ended up in this exactly situation. Because even if Poe had headed back to the elders on his own, they might have found reason to keep him locked up in here. Then we would’ve had to come get him anyway.

  It’s that same hope of rescue that slows my hands now. I’ve made plenty of potions in my life. In fact, I don’t think it would be a stretch to say I’ve made more than most witches do in their entire lives. I could have whipped this one together at least three times now. Instead, I’m double- and triple-checking the steps, measuring and re-measuring ingredients—all to buy time.

  Calder will come for me.

  Taj will come for me.