Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
T he frozen air beyond the veil bit at my cheeks. The second I exited the portal, harsh winds ripped around me. I wrapped my arms around myself, not that it did any good.
What mattered right away was taking in my surroundings. It was the first step to survival—knowing where I was and what I was facing. Heavy grey clouds hung ominously in the sky, darkening what little autumn sunlight there was to offer. I turned back, searching for a way out of this death trap, but what I found was a mundane archway of stone—it was covered in similar runes, except these didn’t glow with power, nor was there shadow swirling inside it.
In front of me was an endless forest—there were trees practically everywhere. Jewel toned leaves layered the frosty ground beneath my feet, making every step sound like I was stepping on old bones.
‘Where have you brought us to this time?’ I asked the entity responsible for the trials. Of course, she didn’t reply. Hekate, the three faced Goddess, never interfered with her creations; it was almost pointless engaging with her. She was like the wizard from the Wizard of Oz, lurking behind a velveteen curtain whilst pulling the strings. We were her toys, to be used when and how she desired.
And in every story we had of her, the Witch Trials was her favourite game of all.
‘Caym?’ I called out next, searching the forest for a crow. But before my familiar had a chance to reply, there was movement behind me.
A sea of witches exited the portal. They were reacting to the cold atmosphere like I had, some wide-eyed with wonder, others sharing sceptical looks similar to mine. It was well documented in history that the location of the Witch Trials changed every time it was hosted, and that there was no pattern to where Hekate chooses to host the trials. So even though we were all wondering where the hell we were, no one would be able to tell.
My mother had won the Trials, lasting through the contest until the end. It was well documented that she, among all the past victors, had taken the fewest lives of her fellow contestants to secure her win.
I hardly imagined I’d have such a luxury. How long would it take for the first drop of blood to be spilled here?
But my very human needs were more important right now than me wondering about ethics. I shivered again, more violently this time. Unless there was shelter beyond the dense forest around me, this next month was going to be long and cold .
I stepped into the line of trees, my hands raised and my gift poised, ready for anything. All around me the sea of witches passed, moving with urgency, likely trying to locate bases to hide out in or search for food and supplies. I should’ve gone with them, but I found myself drinking in every face, searching for the traitor I knew was in our midst.
‘Considering you were given a head start, I’m surprised you’re hanging around here, creeping on the competition.’
I snapped around, my gift readying, only to come face to face with chestnut eyes flashing with a ring of gold.
‘Romy,’ I hissed, ‘you should be more careful!’
‘No, you should.’ Her hands found her hips as she came to step beside me.
‘What are you doing here, Hector?’ Romy snapped, clearly part-surprised and part-pissed off I hadn’t taken the chance to escape when she’d offered it.
‘Had a change of heart,’ I replied, eyeing the witch with an air of suspicion. She was the adoptive daughter of the man who’d just become my second-greatest enemy, and who I knew was in league with my enemy number one. Even if I shared a beer and some conversation, I knew deep down I shouldn’t trust her.
How much did she know of her father’s deceit? Was Romy part of the plan? I knew she wasn’t the champion he spoke of, not when he was begging for her life to be spared. But she was his family—she had love for the traitor. Just the knowledge of that made my power rise up, and I knew my eyes would be glowing with a silver ring.
‘Calm down, would you?’ Romy reached for me, nails pinching as she anchored herself to my arm. Her touch alone was a reminder of what she could do with her Gift. ‘I’m not your enemy yet, Hector. Reserve your energy for them.’ She eyed the enormous crowd of witches.
I couldn’t open my mouth to tell her just how right she was. Not with so many others near us. If I wanted to succeed, I needed the element of surprise. Staying one step ahead was how I’d survived those eighteen years alone with Caym.
Caym . Where was Caym? I spread out my awareness again, suddenly panicking. I couldn’t sense him. My mind had never been so quiet. It distracted me enough that Romy had to repeat herself.
‘Let’s get out of here. The first trial could start at any moment, and fending off these witches in the cold isn’t exactly going to be beneficial. We’d better work together if we want to find someplace warm.’ Romy’s nails retracted from my arm enough that I pulled free.
I was about to tell her that there was no ‘together’ when I remembered the old saying— keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
I just hadn’t worked out which one Romy was yet.
‘Lead the way.’
‘I intend to.’
As we walked, it turned out that the Witch Trials weren’t being held in some barren forest at all. Once we followed the crowd, we quickly came to the actual location just beyond the dense trees.
A fucking castle .
I first caught a glance of the imposing gothic structure as it peeked over the tree-line. The weather-worn dark bricks stood out against the rich jewel tones of the trees. Unlike the rest of the witches, Romy and I didn’t start running towards the castle. We kept steady, Romy practically glued to my side. If she was anything like me, her gift would be close to the surface, prepared for anything.
‘Surely this is a trick,’ I said, mist blowing beyond my cold lips.
Romy must’ve noticed my trepidation and shared it, because she too stood dumfounded at my side. ‘It seems Hekate is offering you a gift, Hector.’
Strange fucking gift, I thought.
‘This hasn’t ever happened before, has it?’ My question wasn’t exactly for anyone in particular, but I spoke it aloud anyway.
‘Nope,’ Romy muttered. ‘Not ever.’
The castle. This was the second time it had materialised as the hosting ground.
Once during my mother’s time. And now, for me.
Tears pricked at my eyes, surprising me. I had never felt so close to my mother, not physically. It surprised me, grief sneaking up on me like an assassin with a knife poised to kill.
‘Is Dracula hosting the Witch Trials?’ I quipped instead, finally getting a proper look at the castle, swallowing down the urge to release my emotions and deflecting with humour instead. If this was Hekate attempt to disarm me, it was working.
‘I hardly think Dracula ever visited Scotland,’ she knocked her shoulder into me, noticing the sheen in my eyes. ‘Are you okay?’
I ignored her question, burying the emotion down where it belonged. ‘Scotland?’ I asked instead, aware that Romy had to know her uncle’s plans if she knew exactly where we were in the world. ‘You seem to have Hekate whispering into your ear.’
‘No, Hector.’ Romy lifted a finger and pointed towards the left wing of the expansive building. ‘I hardly think they hang tartan from castles in Transylvania.’
I narrowed my eyes, taking in the very detail I had missed. At the back of the left wing of the castle was a tower. It speared into the grey sky, revealing an opening at the top. A bell hung within, its brass dull. But it was the sheets of material draped from tower which gave away our location. Just as Romy had said—tartan.
‘Ever been to Scotland before?’ Romy asked, our feet moving from the hard grass to chipped stone walkway. I admired her attempt to steer me away from topics of conversation that unsettled me. She didn’t need to do it—hell, if she wanted to end me, my moment of emotional distraction would’ve been the perfect time. But her words were comforting instead as she diverted the conversation.
‘Never,’ I replied, ‘And I didn’t expect this would be what got me to visit.’
Nor did I think I’d be standing in the very place my mother had once been. This was the place my own story had begun. It was where she won the Witch Trials, became Grand High, and met my father.
Her memory was practically woven into the tapestry and stone walls.
Romy laughed, an honest laugh which took me back to her friendly approach the first time I had met her. ‘Well, if we see it through to the end, maybe you can visit the real thing.’
Because of course, we weren’t actually in Scotland. This place, the grounds of the Witch Trials, belonged in the in-between.
In-between what, exactly, had never been specifically documented, only suggested by past victors. But I wasn’t about to begin analysing the environment right now, not when I was starting to figure out how to stay alive.
‘Is that maybe because you plan to kill me to win, so you’ll be coming back without me?’ I replied while scanning the hallway.
Romy shook her head, a strand of curls falling from the gathered braid at her back. ‘I don’t plan to kill anyone, Hector.’
‘But you do want to win?’ I was asking generic questions whilst searching for the real answers lurking amid her reply, any bit of information she might divulge in a slip of the tongue.
‘It might be a surprise, but I don’t take pleasure in the idea of murdering fellow witches. We’re far and few between as it is. The vow of Grand High is to use the Source to protect our kind. Leaving a trail of bodies behind us to get to that Source doesn’t sounds like what Hekate would want.’
I didn’t want to believe her, but I did. It would have been easier to stay cautious of her. Allies weren’t necessarily a benefit during the Trials. I was no empath, but truth was evident in everything she said. Despite myself, I was beginning to trust her.
‘And yet Hekate hosts these deadly games,’ I reminded Romy. ‘If she didn’t want us to fight each other, she would find another way to pick the next Grand High…like your father, for example.’
‘Fuck, no,’ Romy half laughed, half shouted. It caused the few witches left around us to turn to look. ‘Jonathan isn’t deserving of the title of Grand High.’
I almost choked on my breath. This was it. ‘Why so?’
Romy stopped, something dark passing behind her eyes. The silence that followed spoke of a thousand reasons, as though she was deciding which one to pick. When she spoke, her voice was colder than the air surrounding us. Sharper too. ‘He’s just… undeserving.’
There was a story there, one I was desperate to uncover. I mean, I knew the prick was undeserving because he was working with the Witch Hunters.
But I was growing more and more confident Romy didn’t know, although what she was keeping from me was obviously as dark as what I’d already found out.
‘We should get inside,’ Romy said, ‘see if we can find some supplies and a room to barricade ourselves into?’
‘You keep saying these things as if we are sticking together.’
Romy, before I could stop her, threaded her arm in with mine. ‘Hector, you are so smart. That’s exactly what I’m planning.’
‘I don’t work with?—’
‘Yeah, yeah. I hardly need to be told you’re more comfortable being a solitary witch. But if you were really familiar with the history of the Trials, you’d know those witches who stay alone usually end up dead first.’
Romy wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean I felt comfortable. Either way, a target was on my back. If anything, me being with Romy only risked her life…
Although…
No. I was wrong. Because whoever the champion was had been commanded to spare her. Romy was likely the most protected witch out of everyone here. Me sticking to her side would complicate the Witch Hunter’s attempts to kill me, given that he had to protect her life. So I kept my arm threaded with hers, offered a smile, and walked, arm in arm, inside the castle’s entrance.
The castle’s interior was almost as cold as its exterior. Dark furnishings and plum-coloured walls with gold-leafed details and designs gave it the impression that it hadn’t been lived in since the fifteenth century. The fires roaring in the hearths let off both heat and light, casting an inviting glow into the very uninviting space even if they didn’t do much to warm the air.
Dust itched my nose with each inhale. There was a musty scent to the air, mixed with notes of sandalwood, charred wood and… ‘Can you smell food?’
My stomach rumbled at the thought, my cheeks pricking and my mouth salivating.
‘I hardly imagine Hekate would let us go hungry for a month. Samhain is weeks away.’ Romy scanned the entrance hall, gaze fixing on the sweeping staircase before us. It took up the middle of the space, then branched both left and right. A walkway was above us, highlighted beneath the warm glow of the elaborate crystal chandelier. ‘Nor will she want us sleeping on the floor. We should find a room, secure it, and then follow our noses to the welcome feast.’
We both knew there was nothing welcoming about the feast. ‘Oh, can’t wait. I love breaking bread with people who’d delight in seeing me dead.’
‘Not everyone has such nasty intentions.’ Romy said, squeezing me to her side.
‘I wish I had such a rosy outlook on life,’ I said as we walked beneath the chandelier, the worn carpet softening our footfall. As the silver glow bathed us, the back of my neck tingled. It was a feeling I knew well, the familiar scratch of eyes looking at me.
I drew back as dread clawed its way down my spine.
‘What’s wrong?’ Romy asked, as I surveyed the space, searching for the answer.
‘I don’t—’ Crystal clinked together melodically. I looked up, watching the drooping designs of the chandelier dance, my reflection starring back at me in each glass droplet. Then it was falling, directly upon me.
Without thought, I pushed Romy to the side. Her body smacked the ground a second before my hands flew upwards. My gift stretched out, forcing itself against the weight of the chandelier. It hung above me, suspended only by my power.
Just as Jonathan warned, someone had tried to kill me not even a minute after entering the arena.
There was an odd silence to the castle as even Romy held her breath. Everything felt like it was in slow motion, all but the trembling in my arms and the strain of my power, spreading a deep-rooted ache across my skull.
My knees buckled, my body pressing down to the ground until I was kneeling beneath the weight of the chandelier.
I had to act before I was crushed. I thrust the chandelier to the side. Crystal and glass exploded beside me, casting shards across my body like rain. My Gift withdrew, scurrying back into my body, weakened.
Pain was everywhere. Painted over my exposed skin, bouncing within my skull.
I could barely turn my head, shards of crystal pinching at my skin. The noise of the chandelier exploding against the ground broke the seemingly endless silence. What followed was Romy shouting my name, her arms lifting beneath my armpits as she dragged me to the side of the entrance.
‘What the fuck!’ Romy was shouting, holding me up, her body over mine as though she could act as a shield.
Warm blood dripped down my cheek. I didn’t need to touch it to know the glass has cut me. Instead, my gaze snapped directly to the floor above, to find a man grinning down at me.
I couldn’t make out his face, but his eyes glowed with a circlet of blue. A water-witch. Witch Hunter or not, he’d tried to kill me.
‘What did you say about not everyone having nasty intentions?’ I asked Romy, wincing as I sat up. So many people were gawping at us—too many people to see me in a moment of weakness. I would be damned if I stayed on the floor, covered in blood and riddled with pain. So I gritted my teeth and stood.
If this witch thought he could get away with this, he was wrong. I drew in a breath, encouraging my strained power to rise to the surface. There was no doubt my eyes were spinning with silver. But before I could loop my power around the witch’s body and drag him over the balcony, another person acted first.
A shadow, at least until he stepped into the light. The man was taller than the witch who had just tried to squash me beneath the chandelier. Bright blue eyes meet mine, shifting to a pale green as a circle of spirit-magic white encased his pupils.
I didn’t see what happened next, or hear what was said. I was frozen, watching as the spirit-witch thrust out his arms and toppled the water-witch over the balcony’s edge.
He barely had time to scream before his body landed in front of me. Glass penetrated the water-witches’ body, his left arm and leg bent at an ungodly angle. I stared down at the corpse, watching rivulets of blood seep from beneath it, staining the dark carpet with a patch of black gore.
And just like that, death welcomes itself into the Witch Trials.
Romy was trying to draw me away from the scene, but her words were muffled. My focus was not on the corpse—I couldn’t give a shit about him. It lifted back to the balcony where the spirit-witch watched me. He was still there, the planes of his sculptured face almost otherworldly.
I was confident he smiled down at me before slinking back into castle’s shadows as though he was born from them. It wasn’t until he was out of view that the world caught up with me and I could breathe freely again.
‘Did you see him?’ I asked, unable to take my eyes off the balcony.
‘See who?’ Romy replied, guiding me away from the gathering crowd around the dead witch. ‘Hell, Hector. You just killed the first witch. If you didn’t want eyes on you, you should have thought about that before you went and drew first blood.’
But I hadn’t killed the witch. It wasn’t me. One word was all I managed to say as we began to take the stairs away from the scene of the murder. ‘ Him .’