Chapter 6 #2
“Help me,” my strained voice demanded of Cirrian. He stilled, taking in the situation with a dispassion that sharpened the anxiety and anger I was unable to temper before I repeated my demand. He remained immobile, his lips pressed into a grim line.
I rushed to Rachel’s side and checked for a pulse.
It was faint as hell but there. The same for the other witch.
I wasn’t gentle dragging them closer together before giving each of them rescue breaths.
My fury at Cirrian was escalating with every movement.
I hated him. With every fiber of my being.
I despised his apathy. His dark gaze met mine.
In it, I saw something calculating. He had expected this.
He knew something would go wrong and hadn’t warned me.
Their pulses and breathing had returned to normal, but they hadn’t come to. “You’re an asshole,” I blasted.
“Probably.” He sauntered past me to Amelia, whose head had flopped to the side. He examined the markings on her neck. “Their spell didn’t affect mine. You now have seventy-one hours.”
“That’s all you have to say!” I snapped. “You knew this would happen?”
“I suspected it would happen,” he corrected. “They are a powerhouse of magic,” he said, waving his hand over the debilitated witches. “It’s unfortunate that whomever you’re dealing with is stronger.”
I wasn’t confident it was just a who. Could it be a group? A coven of witches who wanted me dead? I thought of Jonah and his group of unregulated coven-less witches who weren’t bound by traditional coven rules. He didn’t strike me as the type of person governed by a sense of propriety.
As much as I wanted to address Cirrian, I had six witches to worry about.
Retrieving my phone, my fingers hovered over the buttons as I debated whether to call an ambulance.
How would I explain this? Supernaturals typically handled their own.
There were healers among them, but this wasn’t a magical problem.
They were—well, breathing with a pulse. And thankfully, before I had to settle on a decision, Rachel stirred. Then the others did as well.
Rachel stood first, her hand pressed against her head, glaring as she took in the condition of the room and the other witches coming too and standing.
“Who can do this sort of magic?” she asked. “I don’t know any witch who can cloak their magic like this.” Intrigue and anger pulled her features into a scowl. Then her expression softened. “How bad was it?” Rachel asked me.
“You and—” Embarrassed that I didn’t know her name, I looked at the other witch.
“Kenna,” she provided.
“You two weren’t breathing.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “If you weren’t here—” Anger won out over her battling emotions. “Who is this bastard?” Rachel inquired under her breath.
“Could it be more than one?” I suggested.
Kenna answered. “Maybe. But highly unlikely. The magic was consistent. All our magic has a signature, which is why we can detect it and can detect if there are more involved in a spell. My magic would feel different than Rachel’s although our abilities are very similar and we’re from the same coven.
This magic feels like the actions of one person.
” Kenna blinked rapidly as if trying to clear her vision.
They seemed okay but moved gingerly to gather their things.
“Since we can’t locate the caster of the curse, we need to figure out how to remove it,” Madoc said, defeat heavy in his voice and expression. None of them displayed the level of confidence they had earlier, and my hope was plunging to the depths of hell.
“How much time does she have?” Mave asked.
“About seventy hours,” I provided, shaving off an hour as a buffer.
“The kinborn magic did that?” Madoc’s eyes sparked with the same intrigue he’d shown earlier.
Cirrian moved into view in a silent warning. Knowing my face would betray me, I averted my eyes and nodded.
“We might need their help,” Rachel admitted, grabbing her tote and hoisting it onto her shoulder with effort. She seemed exhausted.
“William introduced us. I don’t have their contact information, but I’ll see what I can do to get it. They seem rather private.”
I was surprised by how easily they nodded their understanding.
“Contacting them will be our last resort,” Madoc said with disappointed acceptance in his voice.
“We have research to do. I’ll keep you updated,” Rachel told me.
Their slumped shoulders and dejected mood made it hard to stay optimistic as I walked them out.
“When we undo the curse, I’m still determined to find the one who cast it,” Rachel said, her voice laced with more anger than conviction.
Her eyes burned with a fierce determination, but I could see the uncertainty flickering behind it.
“This can’t just go unpunished.” The hold on her tote tightened.
The daunting reality of the situation lingered.
Undoing a curse without knowing its exact origins, the specifics of the wording, or the many intricacies that went into spellcasting made it nearly impossible to remove.
A curse was just a nefarious spell that used death as its foundation and caused it.
I still sent up a silent plea for them to be successful.
Once they were in their car, I pressed my forehead to the closed door, blinking back tears of helplessness.