by Hickory Mack
Copyright © 2020 by Hickory Mack
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Artist - Manuela Serra
Formatted by The Nutty Formatter
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
To keep reading, go get your copy of Witchling!
Sneak Peek at Witching
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Character Index
Dedication
A massive thanks to my children, for putting up with all the nonsense. And for letting me sleep in on the weekends after pulling an all nighter at the keyboard. Best. Kids. Ever.
And to Albus Kittydore, for keeping me company through every frustration and every little victory.
Chapter 1
He heard her first. Graceless, hurried noises marking her as a human, traipsing around in his territory. Long, uneventful months had passed into years since the last one had hacked its way in, destroying saplings and injuring older trees with simple minded swings of a one-handed axe. Bushwhacking, they called it.
Witnessing the damage first-hand had fueled an indignant rage in his belly. It had taken him weeks to repair the older trees with healing magic, and many of the younger trees were lost. He was a fox demon, and his kind were proficient in the magics of fire, chaos, illusion and destruction. The intricacies of healing earth magic weren’t his forte.
As a reward for his trouble, he’d spent an equal amount of time playing with that particular nuisance. Eating him alive bit by bit. So, so slowly.
His lips formed a cruel smile, excitement stirring in his chest. He hoped this newest trespasser would give him a reason to play with her. He’d been deprived of entertainment for far too long and the boredom had driven him to lethargy.
With some disappointment he realized, this disturbance in his forest was different. His trees were not hurting or crying out in fear. They were curious, interested, their chatter followed her progress, verifying how uncoordinated she was. Every time her hand touched a tree or grasped a branch to correct her balance a thrill of excitement ran through the trees’ collective mind. She harmed nothing other than his peace and tranquility, though that was crime enough.
She clomped heavily on the packed Earth in an uneven cadence. Branches rustled and shook while she passed through the underbrush, following a barely-there animal trail. She was unwaveringly moving in his general direction. Her breath was uneven and loud, and he heard more than one soft cry of ‘Ouch!’ followed by a sharp snap. She muttered to herself along the way, the words too soft for even his sensitive hearing to catch from so far out.
Hiking, he ascertained, was not a regular activity for this female. Strange. He knew there were hiking trails within the border of a nest in the direction she was coming from. He’d get a strong scent off them from time to time if he was close to their barrier. Bold little things to allow the forest to grow within their boundaries, and then wander right into it, trusting their slave bound witches to keep them safe. Even the ones finding themselves lost never left the border’s barrier, it turned them back without their ever knowing.
This was clearly not one of the rare few feral humans living in the wilderness. She’d somehow crashed through the barrier wall to get here, which made her far more interesting. Draped comfortably over the branch of a massive matriarch cottonwood, he raised his head and breathed in the many scents carried by the soft breeze.
She smelled of salty sweat and coppery blood and the too-sweet chemical scent of a cheap strawberry shampoo. Mixed with all of those was the deliciously strong scent of fear. Perhaps she’d run across a predator, a bear or large cat. Animal life thrived now that those who’d endangered them had retreated behind their walls. Everything from the apex predators down to the tiniest beetle had come back from the brink of extinction. Perhaps a lesser demon on the fringe of his territory had frightened her into coming his way.
Whatever the reason, the scents of fear and blood mixed together aroused his hunger. He licked his lips reflexively.
He'd been inactive for so long the urge to feed on flesh had slowly slacked off, coming far less often. His favorite nest was about fifty miles northwest of his current location. He’d crashed their barrier less than a week ago, and his hunger had been well sated by the young man he’d taken. Even the panic raised when he made a visit to take one of their kind had ceased to be a form of entertainment.
Hungry or not, this meal was coming to him voluntarily; he wouldn’t turn her away. Besides, he had other untended needs. He could play with her for a few days before eating her, if he was careful. Through boredom and disinterest, he hadn’t lain with a female in years, but the scent of this one roused him. She might do, if he could be gentle enough. Her kind broke so easily. His prick stirred; she was less than half a mile away.
Decision made, he lazily reached into his long sleeve and drew out an ocarina, beautifully carved from the tusk of a wild boar. His music was haunting and clear, touched by magic. It cut across the land and his forest responded, subtly shifting. Branches and bushes and thorns pulled back, clearing an easy path for the female to follow. Her footsteps paused, the trees’ movement had further frightened her, but she kept going and gained a steadier pace.
He sat up and stretched luxuriously, his six voluminous black tails slipping over the edge of his perch. He rolled his shoulders and yawned, showing thick canine fangs, long and sharp. His chosen branch was thirty feet up, high enough that she wouldn’t notice him until he’d dropped right on top of her. Even if he didn’t use his magic.
Her progress was slow but doggedly persistent. He thought to reward her with a cool bath and lust tugged at his insides. With a grin he pulled his waist length black hair into a top knot, fastening it into place with a woven white ribbon, three silver bells adorning each end.
He enjoyed the sweet chime of his bells and he never failed to wear them on a hunt, feeling it was only fair to give his prey the small chance to hear him coming if he made a mistake. It stopped him from getting sloppy and kept him careful. Though he naturally moved with the stealth of his animal brethren, there was always room for improvement.
When the object of his interest finally came into view his lust died cold and his anticipation turned to dripping curiosity. His black tails twitched in surprise. He did not fancy himself a great judge of human growth cycles, but he knew enough of their lifespan. By his estimation the girl looked no older than eight. His curiosity was piqued, his pointed black ears were pricked and on full alert. He dropped down a branch, leaning forward to watch the l
ittle creature’s clumsy steps slow to a timid pace.
Oversized men’s work boots explained the child’s ungainly stumbles and a noise level he’d assumed was created by someone much larger. Predominantly the faded gray of the frayed duct tape holding them together, small bits of the gun metal black they’d once been shone through underneath.
Her filthy, threadbare and tattered jeans were rolled up to her calves, showing bare ankles and blisters from wearing no socks. Cuts and scrapes covered what skin he could see. The t-shirt she wore was plain grey, save for a collection of old grease stains, and far too large. To compensate she’d tied it in a knot at her hip to prevent it from being a dress.
The child’s hair was a dark greasy mess and her blue eyes were dull, nearly gray. A staggeringly adult look of defeat and hopelessness wizened her face. It surprised him that he still wanted to give the little waif a bath, though the intent had changed. She could use a hot meal, too. And a nap.
She wore a bubble gum purple backpack with a broken zipper that clinked gently with every step, the corner of a red folder poked out. In one hand she held a sturdy branch as her walking stick, the other was held against her stomach. One corner of his mouth curled up. Demon, human or monster, their young all enjoyed playing with sticks.
Unless he specifically wanted revenge on the parents, children did not rank high on his choices for prey. It wasn’t a moral hang-up, food is food, regardless of age. Rather, children were a hassle. They were loud, quicker than most adults and, well, often too small to be worth the effort.
This girl was so skinny he’d have ignored her completely and gone in search of a heartier meal. The huge neck-line of her shirt revealed the bird thin, jutting shoulder and collar bones of the underfed. From a predator’s perspective, the only benefit in hunting this child was the clear lack of what made children the most dangerous to hunt. A family that would go to lengths to protect her. Or, upon failing, avenge her death. He doubted this one would even be missed.
The child stopped well away from the base of his tree in a ponderous way and in a disturbing move, looked directly at him. Her sharply angled features tightened with fear, then she took a deep breath and the expression relaxed away, though the scent remained pungent in the air.
He frowned and felt his tails twitch in surprise. The magic he’d been born with was still cocooned around him. A sly, trickster magic, it naturally concealed his presence unless he deliberately let it drop. Her kind lacked the ability to see through his magic, but her gaze locked on his and didn’t waver. Mirroring the child he took a deep, settling breath of his own, reaching out with his mind. She flinched! The child felt his probing. Curiosity palpable, he tasted her essence with his magic.
Ah. The answer was so simple. He’d been fooled by the noise and her fear and missed what should have been obvious. The child was half witchling and half fae. Her half-breed lineage explained things in an unsatisfyingly ordinary way. His forest had sensed her magic and accepted her, allowing her passage into his territory. It also explained her ability to escape unnoticed and unscathed. Their flimsy barrier wasn’t meant to keep other witches in.
Witches were a valuable commodity, those belonging to the nests were owned, enslaved. The covens maintained intricate family trees, meticulously tracking their bloodlines, including the slaves. However, if a witch strayed and a child was born unknown to the governing hunter clans, their physiological make-up was too close to their non-magical cousins for them to know the difference. The child could fly under the radar until hitting puberty, when the magic started to flow. Leaking this much power, so young, this little one would become a powerful witch.
“Um, excuse me, sir? Are you the monster?” she asked timidly, her voice sounding older than he’d expected. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or insulted. Surely he’d been in the area long enough for stories to have spread but he, Lord Makkai, a loathsome monster?
“If the term is applied in the loosest sense, I suppose you would assume as much,” he replied after a pause. “How did you get here? We’re miles from the nearest nest.”
“I left the nest? That’s not possible…” she protested, brave little thing.
“It must be possible as you’ve done it. Now, answer the question,” he ordered, growing bored once her secret was revealed.
“P-people disappear sometimes, when they go out on the trails. Lots of them. The hunters are required to keep records of every missing person. My father told me nobody's ever seen you, but I wanted to, and, I did.” The girl bit her lip. He wondered if the child was as proud of her accomplishment as she sounded. She set her backpack on the ground and sat on it as one trying to keep their clothes clean. Peculiar creature.
“Someone is taking people from within your barrier wall? How very interesting. Whomever it is has taken care to avoid my notice, I suppose it’s something worth looking into. Hunters are renowned for their capabilities, and yours are failing your people. That, or your barrier is failing.”
He thought on it a moment, the girl silently letting him think.
“I have not hunted the nest from the south in some time. Years. And nestlings so rarely make an appearance. And yet, here you are,” he said, arching a fine eyebrow. “Certainly a child would not come out here to avenge an ancestor?”
The girl shook her head quietly and looked at her feet.
“No, Sir. Nobody I know is on the list of the missing. Or the dead. We’re new here, my dad and me, we came a little less than a year ago.”
Another mark against her. Transplants from one nest to another were regarded with mistrust by those who’d spent their entire lives surrounded by the people they’d grown up with. Too many demons and lessers could wear the guise of a human convincingly enough to pass. As such, they weren’t allowed to move around often. They were not adventurous creatures, preferring safety over experience and freedom.
“You switched nests, found out the locals have a monster lurking about, and decided to introduce yourself, is that the way of it? Perhaps you want to succeed where others failed, to distinguish yourself? What exactly do you seek from me, Little Halfling?” he asked, his voice gone flat.
The child looked away, taking long, slow breaths. She swiped the too long bangs from her eyes and looked back at him. Her chin trembled but she swallowed hard and plastered a fake smile on her face.
“I came here to die,” she said steadily, her hand balled into a little fist. Makkai blinked. Once. Twice. He felt his expression slide into an unimpressed frown.
“I was unaware that the elders in this area had decided to begin offering child sacrifices to ensure their safety. Sacrifices are typically a contractual obligation agreed to by both sides, and the sacrifice is ceremonial. Even if a bargain had been struck, I wouldn’t accept the insult of a scrawny, filthy child as an offering,” he said bitterly. The girl flinched but he continued.
“Have your elders stopped teaching Demon-Lore? Do they no longer actively seek survival? Most of my kind would take personal offense.” He tilted his head to one side. “Unless your sacrifice is done on your own and has not been sanctioned by your elders.”
“But, you won’t find it offensive, I think,” the child answered. Perceptive little weasel. “I am not offering myself as a sacrifice. I’m here representing only myself. I’m not worth anything to anyone, so if I were given in sacrifice it would be an insult. I came here to beg for your help, Sir. I want to die.”
They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time in silence. Never in his long life had he heard such a request coming from a child. It was unnervingly morbid.
“Suicide by demon, is that your plan, Little One? Have you put any thought into what it might feel like to be eaten?” he asked, curling his lip to show her his fangs. Her mentality was repulsive and part of him wanted to scare the witchling off. “Surely you can think up any number of cleaner, less violent ways to fulfill your desire. What is so wrong in your life that you’d rather choose a painful end over living?”
Makkai had no idea what a “lunch lady” was, but he wasn’t about to interrupt the halfling to ask.
“The girls in my school kept telling me everything was better before I came. They make me sit on the floor at lunch, and they won’t let me eat. They won’t let me touch anything, like I have a disease they might catch. I hide, but they always find me. They keep telling me to come out here and throw rocks at the monster, which turns out to be you. I’m meant to provoke you, so they’ll never have to look at me again.” The child’s voice tightened but she didn’t cry.
Her words irritated him. The girl was a powerful witchling, within a few years she’d have enough power to send her tormentors running. He thought to question her about it, but she continued speaking.
“Last week three of them came to my house. Miranda, Joy and some other girl I don’t know. They killed Harry, my rooster. He kept watch over us, told us when to hide. He’d never done anything but be my friend, and they broke his neck and nailed him to a tree,” she looked haunted.
“They call my kind savages,” the demon muttered wondrously. Most demons, even the lessers, left animals alone.
“They said they’d do the same to me if I didn’t come out here. I was afraid to die, so I refused. I thought that if they wanted to kill me themselves they could have, so many times. Instead they kept hurting me and hurting me. Every day they hurt me,” the child’s eyes were unfocused, lost in horrible memories. “Except today. They let me go today because they broke my fingers yesterday and I finally agreed.”
