Chapter Thirty-Four
THIRTY-FOUR
The forest was cold and wet, rain dripping through the canopy to ping off trees, rocks, and what leaves remained of the autumn season. Eleonore’s thighs burned as she hiked up the slope, stepping over fallen branches. She was no longer in peak physical condition after months of relative rest.
It didn’t worry her. Even out of shape she was fast and strong, and she knew how the witch cast her spells. Isobel drew runes in the air, which meant Eleonore would have a warning before being in danger.
Her battle-anticipation of the morning had sharpened into something uglier with every step closer to the witch. The version of Eleonore who had spoken soft words to her lover the previous night had faded, replaced by the seasoned assassin. She felt sick with anticipation and dread, and anger was a burning pain in her chest that grew hotter with each second.
It was strange how the feelings were both familiar and foreign. Hate and defiance were well-worn armor, easy to slip into, but it was startling to realize how quickly she had forgotten the feel of them. Or rather, how quickly she had stopped donning them first thing in the morning.
Ben and his friends and his gentle world had done this to her. She’d softened and put her knives aside, both literally and metaphorically. Last night she’d been glad of it. Now she felt nauseated, wondering if being soft would make her less able to do what needed to be done.
Cold air sawed in her throat, and every sense strained for signs of danger. It felt like time was turning backward. She had walked these woods before: Isobel had cultivated demon allies, and more than one had transported Eleonore out of this forest via portal—first to the demon plane, then to wherever on Earth her targets were located.
A cracking sound made her spin, throwing knife already in hand. Ben froze with his foot on a snapped branch. “Sorry,” he said.
He’d been quiet since they’d left their tree-trunk room, both on the drive to the base of this hiking trail and on the first half of the climb. He was clearly thinking about something, and though Eleonore had been tempted to interrogate him, she recognized Ben was more of a prolonged thinker than she was. He marinated in his ideas, for better or worse, and pushing him to articulate them too soon might not be the most effective approach.
The witch’s cabin could appear at any moment, though. The time for stewing was over.
“Are you done ruminating yet?” she asked.
“Ruminating? I—” He broke off, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I am ruminating. Are you actually going to torture and kill Isobel?”
She blinked. The entire way up this mountain she’d been sharpening her hate so she could put it to action, and he wanted to know if she was actually going to do it? “What kind of question is that?”
Ben looked anxious. Rain splatted on his forehead, and he flinched before wiping it away with the sleeve of his checkered flannel shirt. “You make a lot of dramatic threats. I wasn’t sure if you meant the thing about, you know, intestine knitting.”
“I didn’t mean that one,” she said. He exhaled, looking relieved, so she clarified. “Only because it would be logistically difficult. There are easier things to do with intestines.”
“Easier things—Jesus. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
What was this? Eleonore planted her fists on her hips. “What do you mean is it a good idea?” she demanded. “I’ve never tortured anyone before, but what other choice do we have? The witch stole six hundred years from me. She stole my family from me. I’m not going to let her steal my future, too.”
Ben winced. “Sorry. I know. It’s just…what if you go to jail?” He scuffed at fallen leaves with the toe of his boot. “Maybe we can try talking to her first. Or bribe her or something.”
Eleonore scoffed. “Why would I go to jail?”
His eyebrows shot up. “For torturing and murdering someone?”
This time was enjoyable in many ways, but it did not have a good grasp on the laws of blood vengeance. “How would the police find out? We’re in the middle of the woods.” A suspicion formed, one she didn’t like at all. “You wouldn’t tell them, would you?” Ben was a genuinely good person, but she hadn’t considered that might be a liability.
“No,” Ben said, though he didn’t sound entirely sure himself. When she narrowed her eyes, he sighed. “Look, I’ve never been involved in a crime before and I’m not a great liar. Maybe I can turn around and cover my eyes while you do it?”
Had he watched her performances at all? “Killers must be willing to look at what they’ve done,” she said. “It’s a serious matter.” It was one of the only reasons she’d been able to confront her own face in the mirror sometimes—knowing that no matter what horrible deeds she’d committed, she owned them and was brave enough to let herself suffer for them.
“Wait, I’m not supposed to help torture and kill her, am I?” Panic flashed over Ben’s expression. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t even know how to.”
She sighed. “Obviously you are not participating. I am the murder expert. You are my accomplice. But accomplices should also be willing to stand witness to the deed.”
Ben shifted from foot to foot. She’d bet anything he was squeezing his toes in those hiking boots, expressing his anxieties with repetitive movements. “You can go to jail for being an accomplice to murder.”
Now Eleonore’s brows soared. “You can?”
“Yeah, you can.” He rubbed a hand over his rain-spotted hair, still fidgeting. “At least, that’s what cop TV shows have led me to believe.”
Eleonore made a rude noise. “What a ridiculous law.” An accomplice was adjacent to a murder; they ought to be adjacent to a prison sentence as well. She considered the issue for a moment. “Well, then you can turn your back and cover your eyes.” She still wasn’t sure how the police would be alerted, but she didn’t want Ben to go to jail either.
“Now I sound like a coward.”
Eleonore blew out a frustrated breath. This conversation was not productive. “You don’t sound like a coward. You sound like a practical man who doesn’t want to be imprisoned.” If she’d worn a watch, she would have checked it to see how much time they’d wasted debating jail sentences and who was or was not looking at the murder while it happened.
Ben kicked at a fallen log, and the rich, earthy smell of rot rose into the air. “I’m not just worried about me,” he said. “I worry about you. Aren’t you tired of violence?”
“In general? Yes. In this case? Not at all.” She’d been captured on the battlefield, and now one last act of violence would put an end to this chapter of her life.
“Can we at least try to convince her to lift the spell before you torture her?” he asked. “Maybe we can trick her into doing it.”
“If she wants to lift the spell without being tortured, she can be my guest.” Eleonore shrugged. “I’m still going to chop her head off after.”
“Maybe we could have the cops arrest Isobel instead,” Ben suggested. “Force her to spend the rest of her life in prison.”
“Mmm.” Eleonore gave it brief consideration. As a life witch, imprisonment could last very long. “No.”
“Why not?” he asked, looking like he genuinely didn’t understand.
She was tempted to shriek in frustration, but she reminded herself Ben was a product of this soft, gentle time where species mingled freely and the police would arrest someone for even being an accomplice to murder. He had hot running water and a microwave and a television, and he’d never needed to solve a problem by rearranging someone’s insides. “This is who I am,” Eleonore said.
Ben shook his head stubbornly. “That isn’t all you are. You’re also a theatrical performer. A good friend and an incredible lover. Someone who protects vulnerable people like Gigi.” His throat bobbed. “People like me.”
None of this explained why he was dawdling instead of letting her finish this job. “This is my vengeance,” she snapped. “Not yours.”
The air seemed colder in the wake of her words. She felt a flash of regret at having spoken to him so harshly, but she could hardly breathe past the desire to be free, and now that they were so close to Isobel, her hate burned hotter than it ever had. It felt like a six-hundred-year scream was trapped in her throat.
Ben’s shoulders slumped. “I just want you to be happy and safe. I don’t want you to have to kill again.” He swallowed. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Killing the witch will make me happy and safe.” She didn’t like saying Isobel’s name out loud—it made her sound like a person and not the formless evil who had stolen Eleonore’s free will. She sighed. “One more kill, Ben. That’s it. And then I’m done with it forever.”
He nodded, gaze still trained on his boots.
Eleonore didn’t like seeing him sad or worried, but they didn’t have time for this. Isobel probably knew they were coming, whether by scrying or a perimeter alert spell. Every moment they wasted gave her time to prepare a counterattack.
The cold, wary voice in Eleonore’s head came back. Maybe he’s stalling for a reason. Maybe he isn’t ready to let go of you.
She could promise Ben she’d stay with him after they were no longer mystically bound, but she knew better than many how little a promise meant. He was an anxious man, unused to being cared for. He was afraid of losing her—he’d admitted it just now.
One foolproof way to never lose her was to keep her chained to his side.
Ben wouldn’t do that , she thought, arguing against her own paranoia. She’d decided just last night to trust him fully. They were allies in this fight.
But her gut clenched, and she felt sick.
Eleonore turned and started hiking again. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”
A red door stood alone between two trees. Eleonore’s heart jumped at the sight of it. She’d walked through that door many times before. “This is it.”
Ben looked around with confusion. “Where’s the house?”
“Mystically hidden.” Eleonore raised her voice. “It’s me,” she shouted. “Come out, you bloody bitch!”
Nothing happened for a minute. Wind whistled through the treetops, and rain pattered against fallen leaves. Eleonore didn’t wipe the drops from her skin—she couldn’t afford to lose focus for a single moment. Her knives were comforting weights in her hands.
“Should we knock?” Ben asked.
The door finally creaked open, revealing the shadowed interior of the cabin. Then Isobel stepped out.
Eleonore sucked in a harsh breath. The Witch in the Woods wasn’t wearing her cloak, which meant Eleonore could see her plainly for the first time.
Isobel looked more delicate than Eleonore had expected. Her slender body was encased in a burgundy velvet gown belted with a golden chain. She had straight black hair that fell to her waist, eerie midnight eyes, and pointed ears that, together with the ethereal beauty of her face, spoke of fae or elven ancestry.
Eleonore nearly threw a knife straight into the witch’s throat, but she restrained herself. “Undo the binding spell or I will torture you horrifically,” she ordered.
“Eleonore,” Isobel said in her ancient, undefinable accent. “How nice to see you again.” Bizarrely, she smiled.
Eleonore’s eyebrows shot up. “Is it?”
“I’ve missed our TV binges. And no one reads me poetry anymore.”
The gall of this witch! “That’s because you sold me on eBay,” Eleonore said. “For ninety-nine cents, might I add. Why did you do that?”
“It was an impulsive and very drunken choice, which I regret.” Isobel shrugged, a subtle and graceful movement. “Alas, I thought ninety-nine cents was the required starting price for all listings—I’d assumed bidding would quickly reach one million gold doubloons once people realized what a valuable friend and companion you were.”
Merde, the witch looked for all the world like she actually believed what she was saying. Her dark eyes were wide and earnest.
“A friend and companion?” Eleonore asked incredulously. “We were never friends, witch.”
Isobel’s brow furrowed, and she blinked a few times. “But we’ve spent so much quality time together.”
It was as Eleonore had remembered: Isobel truly, bizarrely did seem to think they were friends. “You imprisoned me for six hundred years,” she pointed out. “You made me kill your enemies.”
“Destroying enemies can be a lovely bonding experience.”
“Only if you destroy them together and everyone involved in the murdering wants to be doing it. You forced me to do it with the binding spell.” Belatedly she remembered Ben didn’t want to be doing this murdering either, but that was different. She wasn’t forcing him to be involved. He could leave at any point.
She resisted the urge to slide him a guilty glance.
“Well, yes,” Isobel admitted. “I hadn’t had much luck asking people to be my eternal assassin, so I had to improvise.” She raised a hand, and Eleonore braced herself for an attack, a hair’s breadth from throwing her knife. Instead, the witch examined her fingers, which were long and delicate. “I’m not physically strong. If I hadn’t procured protection, I would have been killed long ago.”
Eleonore should really get on with the whole torture and murder business, but the angry words she’d bottled up for so many years were forcing their way out. “Maybe you shouldn’t have made so many enemies, then.” She could see them in her head, a parade of villains who had fallen to her knives or fangs. “There was that warlock whose prized crystal ball you stole, the centaur whose kingdom you tried to usurp, the witch whose hands you removed because you were jealous of her magic…” The list went on, but in each case Isobel had angered someone into retaliating, then had them assassinated. Even if they hadn’t been good people, Isobel was worse.
“When you live as long as I have, a few enemies are inevitable.” Isobel’s gaze drifted to the side, and her eyes lit up. “Ooh, a man! Did you bring me a gift?”
Did she think to steal Ben’s life force? Eleonore bared her fangs and let out the nastiest hiss that had ever escaped her lips. “He isn’t for you. He’s the new owner of the crystal.” She shifted to put herself between them, glancing over her shoulder quickly to see how Ben was faring.
Ben looked furious, not fearful. His glare was vicious as he stared at Isobel. “You’re a horrible person,” he told her.
“Thank you,” Isobel replied with a smile.
Eleonore had another grievance to air. “Speaking of the crystal, the cursed thing is plastic now. Didn’t I at least deserve quartz?”
“Plastic is resilient.” Isobel nodded in Ben’s direction. “I assume he brought it with him?”
The crystal was in a bag in Ben’s pocket, but they’d agreed not to reveal it until Isobel promised to break the spell. Eleonore didn’t know what it would take to get to that point, but she was going to start with ripping off fingernails and get more creative from there.
Leaves crunched as Ben stepped forward to stand at Eleonore’s side. She was tempted to place herself in front of him for protection again, but then he spoke. “Free her,” he said in a deadly voice that sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine. “Right now.” His fists were clenched, and he looked ready to go into battle.
Whatever his prior reservations, he would fight for her. It was what Eleonore needed to know. The suspicious voice in her head quieted, and she exhaled shakily.
She had been right to trust him.
Isobel cocked her head, eyeing Ben in an assessing way that made Eleonore’s skin crawl. Hot, possessive anger flared in her chest, and her stomach felt full of knots. “Stay away from him, witch,” she snapped.
Isobel took a step forward, and Eleonore flipped the knife in her right hand so she held it by the bladed tip, ready to throw. Her breath sawed in her throat.
“Is he your friend now?” Isobel asked. Her voice had taken on a jealous edge. “Who have you killed for him?”
“No one,” Ben said. “I don’t give Eleonore orders.”
“Why not?”
“Because he actually cares about me,” Eleonore said. “Unlike you.”
Isobel’s eyes narrowed on Ben. She raised her hand as if to draw a rune in the air.
Protective fury swept through Eleonore’s veins. Without thinking, she shrieked and let the knife fly.
It embedded in Isobel’s heart.
Ben gasped and jolted forward. “But the curse—”
Abandoning all plans for a lengthy torture session—they’d moved beyond fingernail-ripping the moment Isobel had turned her attention to Ben—Eleonore bared her fangs. “Break the binding now and I will let you have a quick death. Delay and I will make it hurt.”
Either way, they would find out if Isobel’s death would result in Eleonore’s as well. She couldn’t unthrow the knife, though, and she would never feel regret for protecting Ben.
Isobel looked down at the dagger in her chest. Then she gripped it by the hilt and, with a pained grunt, pulled it out. Blood bloomed like a copper-scented flower on her dress, a darker shade against the burgundy, but it stopped far too soon, merely the size of a rose. Her dress ought to be saturated, her heart pumping life out in messy spurts.
“Ouch.” Isobel frowned at Eleonore. “That wasn’t nice.”
Eleonore gaped. The witch was long-lived, but she’d never been immortal in the way that demons or purebred vampires were. She aged like any other person, resetting the clock periodically by magically draining the lives of humans and using their energy to restore her youth. That wound should have been enough to kill her.
Belatedly, she remembered something Astaroth had said: I tried to regain the immortality she’d stolen . Eleonore had been in pain and emotional at the time, and she hadn’t questioned that odd phrasing. Astaroth was a demon, and Isobel could only harvest the life energy of other mortals.
Except…
Astaroth was half human, wasn’t he? Someone had told her that, but whether because of his horns or his general demeanor, she’d forgotten.
“Mon Dieu.” If Astaroth was half human, he was vulnerable to Isobel’s life magic. And if he’d once been immortal thanks to his demon half…
Isobel had drained an eternal life and added it to her own. She was now a true immortal.
Isobel was still talking, though Eleonore could barely hear past the ringing in her ears. “I can’t believe you stabbed me,” the witch said, sounding distressed. “You never stabbed me before. Not that you could have because of the spell, but you wouldn’t have anyway. You always said you’d rip my guts out, but that was just your way of joking, right?” Isobel clasped her hands at her bloodstained breast, fixing beseeching eyes on Eleonore. “Right?”
Eleonore was trying to figure out what this development meant for her strategy. Granted, her strategy had been to show up prepared to commit violence and figure it out as she went, but torture didn’t work as well when the victim healed instantly.
When Eleonore didn’t answer, Isobel’s eyes turned watery. “I thought we were closer than that.”
“Forced proximity is not friendship,” Eleonore said past the lump in her throat.
This wasn’t the way the world should be. Enemies ought to be mutual; the rules of engagement ought to be clear.
“I didn’t know you hated me so much,” Isobel said. “I stopped having you kill people in the sixties—remember? I’ve made more enemies since then, but I realized you didn’t like doing it, so I stopped.”
“You realized I didn’t like doing it,” Eleonore repeated numbly. “You mean all the times over the centuries I cursed your name and said I’d happily eat your heart didn’t tip you off?”
She shook her head. “That’s how immortals talk to each other. I thought it was all in good fun.” She made a face. “Or sometimes in good fun. When you live as long as we do, there are ups and downs in any relationship.”
Eleonore was tempted to let her second knife fly. “Break the curse right now,” she ordered.
“Didn’t you enjoy the Star Trek ?” Isobel bit her lip. “I was trying to make up for all the killing I had you do.”
This was surreal. “Captain Kirk can do many things,” Eleonore said, “but that is beyond even his capabilities.”
At that, Isobel’s tears poured over, trailing in wet streaks down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I should have apologized long ago.”
“You should have freed me long ago.” Eleonore hated this feeling in her chest, like a twisting, angry, clawing beast shredding her insides. She hated that the witch was crying, that she could be so deluded as to imagine she’d made up for years of mystical control with a few seasons of Star Trek . She hated the confusion and the way this hadn’t gone at all to plan.
Isobel was supposed to be screaming and begging while Eleonore carved her up. She was supposed to finally break down and break the spell—right before Eleonore ended her miserable life.
Instead, the witch was immortal—and apparently liked Eleonore.
“I’ll free you now,” Isobel said.
The world seemed to stop. Even the wind lulled, the treetops pausing in their whispers. Eleonore blinked, feeling like she’d been shoved out of a fighting stance and couldn’t catch her balance.
Did the witch mean it? She glanced at Ben, who looked as confused and angry and worried as she felt.
Isobel tucked her long hair behind her pointed ears, then raised her left hand palm up. With her right she held the dagger over her pale skin. “It requires a blood sacrifice—I don’t know if you remember that part.”
As if Eleonore could forget. “Then make a blood sacrifice,” she said, still struggling to believe this was real and no torture had been required. She didn’t know if the brewing feeling in her chest could be termed hope, laced as it was with fear.
Was Isobel actually sorry ? And was she insane enough not to realize Eleonore would cut her head off once the spell was broken?
Please, gods, let this be real.
Isobel hesitated. “I want you to do it,” she said, extending the knife toward Eleonore. Her long lashes were wet with tears, and her lips trembled. “If it will make you feel better.”
If the witch was going to let this happen, Eleonore wouldn’t waste a single moment. Her heart raced, her breath came too fast, and her vision narrowed on the knife. “It will make me feel better,” she said, taking three steps forward.
This was real. At last, she would be free.
“Eleonore…” Ben said.
She snapped her fangs, not looking at him. “Stay put.” She didn’t want the witch getting anywhere near him.
His footsteps sounded on the wet leaves, but Eleonore couldn’t risk looking back at him. “I just think we should take a moment—”
“Don’t you dare try to stop me,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ve been waiting for this for six hundred years.” An old fear was climbing her throat, edging out the triumph of getting what she wanted at last. Ben could stop her with a single command, but why would he? He’d promised never to do that again.
He’d promised .
If he was her clan member in truth, he would never betray her. She focused on Isobel, silently begging Ben to keep his mouth shut. Don’t go back on your word, Ben. Don’t prove I was wrong to trust you.
Isobel still held the dagger out. Her mouth twitched, and her eyes were wet and seemingly fathomless. “Do it, Eleonore.”
Eleonore’s focus narrowed on her prey. She could smell the witch’s blood, and her fangs lengthened. Ben was saying something, but her ears were roaring and she couldn’t tell what the words were.
He couldn’t stop her. He wouldn’t stop her.
The wind swirled, sending leaves skating around the clearing. The air felt heavy with anticipation, prickling against her skin. It was finally time. And with Eleonore’s speed, it would be over in a blink.
She tensed to sprint forward and grab the knife.
Then Ben shouted again, the words so loud they broke through the haze of bloodlust.
“Eleonore, go back to the car right now .”
Eleonore’s heart cracked open, and her world ended.