Chapter 6
Opening the door, I noticed that the bonding mark on my arm had disappeared, although its presence lingered.
It was an undeniable magical albatross. Rachel and five other witches from her coven stormed past me with purpose and palpable anger, lifting my spirits instantly and renewing my flailing optimism.
Witches held a special contempt for those who cast curses, and someone who cursed another witch would be persona non grata—at best. Likely considered an enemy that needed to be handled in the most ruthless way.
They’d probably try to get to the assailant before I could.
Whereas I’d initially try a peaceful option, that was likely not to be their first choice.
Rachel, carrying a large tote, led the group of witches to the guest room without me directing her. I was grateful that in their haste, they missed the setup for the shadow god and the sigils on the living room floor.
It was surprising to find Cirrian still in the room.
Rachel and the others walked past him without acknowledging his presence.
A presence I thought was impossible to ignore.
They were dividing their attention and duties between setting up and eyeing Amelia occasionally.
Curiosity getting the best of Rachel, she stopped to examine the ring and the markings from the curse.
“What type of magic is this? It feels powerful and like nothing I’ve experienced before,” she said. All six witches surrounded the ring, examining it and the lines of the curse on Amelia’s skin.
There should have been more questions than that. But they were fixated on the ring and made no mention of the markings made by the pompous shadow god. I thought the tick lines would dominate their line of questioning.
The markings from my oath-binding had disappeared, they were ignoring Cirrian, and they had no questions about the spell that had really paused Amelia’s curse.
They can’t see him or feel his magic. I looked to him for confirmation. His impish expression was as good as any.
The kinborn witches didn’t want their role in trapping the shadow god known.
Cirrian had already detected the magic, and there was no way Rachel would mistake it for any of the magic she’d encountered.
Lying about their magic could prove counterproductive.
I hoped the trio understand the predicament I was in.
“It’s kinborn magic,” I admitted.
All eyes turned to me.
“You know kinborn witches?” Madoc asked, his excitement leading him to abandon the candles he was setting up.
I knew the witches in the room by their faces, but he and his sister Mave were the only two names I remembered with certainty.
I was fascinated by how the features of fraternal twins of different genders mirrored each other so much.
Mave’s auburn hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail whereas Madoc’s style was more chaotic and a few shades lighter.
Amelia said it was indicative of his personality.
Both sets of bright gray eyes had widened on me.
Moving in an oddly similar way, the twins would have appeared choreographed if done by anyone else.
They’d landed on Amelia’s creepy supernatural list. I couldn’t agree more.
Their peculiar, overly analogous appearance was off-putting, from their sharp, narrow noses, wide mouths fixed in resting pouts, the birthmark under each of their right eyes, and their long-limbed physique. I’d placed Mave at five ten, her brother a few inches taller.
The twins rattled off a series of questions about kinborn witches that I evaded the best I could. Rachel cleared her throat, prompting them to return to their tasks, and accepted my grateful nod with a wink.
“You’ll introduce us?” Madoc asked, pulling out a symbol-etched engraver. Magic pulsed from it like a heartbeat.
My fealties were being pulled in all directions.
I didn’t get the impression the kinborn witches were open to introductions or had a desire to deal with other witches who didn’t share their type of magic.
Nor did I want to compromise William’s relationship with them or my future dealings with them by overstepping their boundaries.
But would an introduction hurt? They could form a mutually beneficial relationship where they exchanged spells and techniques, like what was happening in front of me. Unaware of exactly what these witches were doing, I was impressed by the specificity and detail.
As they prepared the spell, I stole a glance at Cirrian. He appeared amused by my dilemma with the alchemy and kinborn witches. I glared and his lips lifted into a wicked smirk.
“I’ll see what I can do.” The noncommittal response was all I could manage. The witches’ faces brightened as if that was as good as a promise.
I leaned in and tried to make out what Madoc was inscribing on the clay sphere.
“It’s a locator,” he explained. “We’ll redirect the curse to it and then it’ll find its owner. You just follow that ball.” I could hear the pride in his voice.
“It’s less conspicuous and more precise than a locating map.
It should damn near jump into the curser’s arms and then you can do what is necessary to have the curse removed,” Mave added.
Her lips tightened into a line. “Someone with this level of magic and malicious intent is a menace to everyone,” she breathed out.
“Their death will have more value than their life.”
They viewed this act as an attack that couldn’t go unpunished.
But murder being the first and only suggestion made me uncomfortable.
A discomfort that wasn’t justified because the attack was meant for me.
This person wanted my magic and my death.
I needed to interrogate them for answers because they obviously know more about me than I knew about myself.
Nodding, I stepped back and gave them room to work. I startled when warm breath brushed against my ear. “There is so much magic in this room. Very powerful and skilled magic. This is going to be interesting.”
“You okay, Kara?” Rachel asked, concern drifting over her features. Her attention lingered before she offered a sympathetic smile. I nodded, noting the pity in her eyes as she returned to her task.
To keep from fixating on the shadow god invading my personal space, I carefully watched the witches.
Once everything was set up, Cirrian slipped back into the corner.
His eyes followed mine to the candles in a circle around the witches, and the sphere with the crimson fingerprint created by the athame they shared to each prick their finger.
My optimism turned to concern. Alchemy witches preferred herbs.
They were reluctant to use spells that required blood because doing so pulled too much energy from them.
Their recovery would be slow and would hinder their ability to use magic in a fight.
My attention shifted to Cirrian. His delight had diminished, and he avoided my eyes. Something about the way his tongue languidly slid over his bottom lip before biting it, bothered me. Nervousness? Anticipation? Curiosity? I couldn’t make out the reason, but something was off.
Not wanting to bring attention to myself by staring at a supposedly blank wall, I forced myself to return to the flutter of activity in front of me but had to work to maintain my composure at Cirrian’s sudden appearance next to me.
His fluid predatory movements were going to be a problem for me.
In a deep, eerily calm voice, he said, “Kara, remember our goals do not align. You have your duties and I have mine. It is good that you remember that.”
I didn’t need any reminders that his objectives were to collect souls and magic. He wasn’t particularly fond of whatever magic I possessed, and I suspected would prefer to collect it and Amelia. A two-fer.
Digging the heel of my foot into his toe, I aimed to cause him pain or at least discomfort.
All it earned was a playful huff of laughter.
His propensity to respond to pain and irritation with amusement was unnerving.
I loathed admitting that dealing with the likes of Cirrian was entirely beyond my skill level.
I briefly considered taking the opposite approach, and handling him with kindness, perhaps indulgence, but my conscience—or maybe my pride—wouldn’t allow it. His behavior barely warranted civility.
Hands linked, the witches formed a half-circle around Amelia.
Rachel and another witch, whose name I couldn’t recall, closed the circle by taking Amelia’s hands in theirs.
The heavy quiet was broken by Latin incantations, the preferred language for more potent spells.
A surge of energy filled the air, its powerful presence slithering across my skin.
Cirrian’s anticipatory expression mixed with open curiosity. The clay sphere with Madoc’s inscriptions pulsed to life, glowing a soft lilac. It spun slowly above Amelia.
“Fascinating,” Cirrian murmured. His cool composure was undisturbed. A stark contrast to my maelstrom of emotions.
The sphere’s slow rotation became a frenetic spiral as it dragged the curse from the sigils, pulling and tugging in a wrathful battle of magic.
Then the sphere disintegrated, forming a dark mist that coiled into links before wrapping itself around the witches.
Their hands released. They grabbed for their necks, choking and gasping for breath.
The two witches farthest from Amelia received the same treatment as the kinborn witch Darren had earlier.
They were tossed against the wall with brutal force.
They were alive but unconscious and choking for air.
The same was true for Madoc and Mave. But Rachel and the other witch, who were closest to Amelia, had collapsed and weren’t breathing.