Chapter 8
Blistering Departure
Harlot
I shift uneasily as the elderly witch gazes at me; I’ve learned her name is Helda.
She glances back at Emrys, her left eye twitching slightly, as if she’s muttering a hex, and her lower lip trembles a bit.
Emrys’s shadows are impregnable, yet they do not deter witches who will try regardless.
Emrys raises his hand, and her mouth halts, as if her lips are suddenly frozen.
I see the slight panic in her eyes. Emrys just forced her to stop using her mouth.
“Let's not do this, shall we? We don’t come here with ill will; we merely seek answers,” he tells the old witch, who eyes him suspiciously.
“There's been a lot of darklings showing up here lately, some more aggressive than others. My apologies, Umbra, if I seem paranoid. All I’m trying to do is take precautions as best I can,” Helda says, smacking her lips as if the short, frozen moment caused by Emrys’s powers left a bitter taste behind.
I’m surprised that the old hag isn’t impressed by the fact that such a powerful being is in her presence.
And I can’t believe she seriously tried to cast a spell on Emrys, or perhaps she’s just a master at pretending.
Unlike the rest of her coven, who all blatantly stare at him, their mouths agape, she squares her shoulders instead.
I press myself closer to Emrys, this being the first time that this many witches surround me.
Don’t worry, my Lucem Mei, they can’t get to your head. I already felt them trying, probing my shadows, but they are impervious.
I’m sorry, my love, being surrounded by this many witches makes me tense. I’ve never experienced a situation like this before.
Emrys brushes lovingly against my mind, easing me a little bit. I melt into his touch.
Suddenly, the old witch gasps, her eyes widening as she stares at me.
“You’re one of them!” she exclaims, excitedly. “You’re one of the cursed twins. Your mother has described you: eyes like a storm, raven-black hair, skin made of porcelain. It’s you!”
The other witches begin to murmur among themselves, glancing my way, and my anxiety rises.
“What do you know about a curse, Helda?” Emrys asks, his voice cold, and the entire room falls silent as he speaks.
“The girl's mother… She comes here with her books. Her sole purpose is to break the curse that chains her children to a life of misery and death.”
“Why did my mother seek your coven out?” I ask, my curiosity sincere.
“Most witches have no interest in helping a human, unless they can offer us a bargain we can’t resist. And that’s exactly what your mother did, my child. She gave us an offer we couldn’t refuse…” Helda says in a hushed tone, a pressed smile on her face, her lips a thin line.
“And… what was the bargain?” I ask.
“Some things are better left unsaid, my child; it’s none of your concern what kind of deal I struck with your mother. Perhaps you could ask her yourself…”
The hag, claiming she made a bargain with my mother and refusing to share what my mother sacrificed for my brother and me, suddenly infuriates me.
The dissent fills me with an undeniable, white-hot rage.
Unsure where my out-of-the-blue hostility comes from, I clench my fists, my knuckles turning white from the pressure, despite Emrys’s soothing energy calming me, his mind nudging mine.
His shadows fly from my skin, wrapping around the old hag’s neck like a smoky collar, slowly suffocating her.
I'm furious, and I speak to her with a demanding tone, “Tell me what my mother bargained for, right now!”
Helplessly, the old witch glances at Emrys, who looks both astonished and amazed as I manipulate his shadows, tightening them around the old witch’s throat more firmly with each passing second.
She stays silent—her failure to respond only fuels my fury.
Emrys crosses his arms, a diabolical smile plastered on his face as he watches Helda.
“Fine, fine,” she says with a raspy voice, holding her hands up defensively, and the shadows release her. The moment I free her, she sucks precious air into her lungs.
Impressive, my love, and incredibly sexy.
My cheeks flush as his deep, praising voice echoes in my mind, and I feel his lustful urges. A heat builds between my legs, and I press my thighs together. I try to concentrate on the elderly witch in front of me, who’s still coughing and taking deep breaths, trying to steady herself.
“Those damn shadows,” Helga mutters under her breath, while she kneads the skin of her neck, which is red and swollen from my attack.
Tempest, I can sense your desire, smell your arousal. And by the old Gods, it smells delicious, it makes me ravenous. Let’s wrap this up quickly, as I don’t know how long I’ll be able to contain myself. Perhaps I should just kill all of them and fuck you right here.
His smug, sexy smile, with his fangs glistening and darkened eyes, is almost enough to send me over the edge right here, but I can’t rush this; we need to have answers. Answers only the witch can give us.
Patience, my love. If the hag fails to give us any helpful information, then I might let you slaughter them all, and you can have your way with me.
I hope she loses her purpose quickly, my tempest. I already envision your naked body covered in their blood.
Emrys grins at me, his eyes roaming over my body, undressing me while I try to focus. A delicious shudder runs through my body, then I glance at the old witch, who has finally stopped her annoying coughing.
“Speak,” I say, my tone icy calm.
She stares at me, her eyes irritated, then her gaze shifts past me to whoever's standing there. Without having to turn around, I already know someone's shrouded in shadows when I hear a muffled cry, and Helda’s eyes widen in fear.
“Instead of constantly trying to hex us or have one of your witches put a spell on us, answer my beloved’s question. It shouldn’t be that difficult,” Emrys growls, his patience reduced to a silken thin thread that could snap at any moment.
The witch who got ensnared in his shadows is thrown between us three, now making the woman the center of our attention.
She scrambles into a kneeling position. Her long brown hair falls across her shoulders, and she doesn’t dare to look up at any of us, not even her elder.
She places her hands on top of her abdomen, her thumbs and index fingers creating a triangle shape, head slightly bent, eyes staring hard at the wooden flooring.
A deep sigh comes from Helda. “It’s fine, Sable, just tell them. Nothing in these streets is a silent truth anymore, it seems. Even the stoned walls appear to listen in on whatever is going on.”
“Again?” the young witch asks.
“What do you mean again?” Emrys questions.
Once more, the witch, Sable, glances at Helda for permission to respond to our probes.
“I’m done being threatened. Yes, again, and I’ll let Adira know the deal is off. This isn’t worth it, the threats against my coven for some blood,” she spits huffily.
“The first ones to come here…" Sable pauses, as if it pains her even to recall the visit of their previous visitors. “It was the Death Witch and the First Quarter Witch. The youngling and her protector. They wanted to know about the curse and our bargain as well.”
Emrys raises an eyebrow at that. “Who else?” he asks with curiosity.
“After that… the dhampir.”
A visible tremble runs through Sable at the memory of the dhampir knocking on their door.
“Although he came to see your mother, or at least learn about her. He didn’t appear to be the least bit interested in the curse.”
Sable turns to Helda. “That was peculiar, wasn’t it?”
Helda nods in agreement. “I honestly do not know what the dhampir’s business is with your mother, my child. I promise.”
“She's telling the truth,” Emrys confirms, as dark tendrils creep over Helda’s skin, listening to her heartbeat and sensing the smallest drop of sweat.
“Adira, she comes here to research the curse, to break it, with our help. In return, she signed a bargain with Helda… If the curse is broken, she’ll provide us with her own blood, but also the blood of her children. Your… purified blood.”
“What business do you have with their blood?” Emrys snarls.
“We’re working on a concoction, a potion against the coven of the First Quarter Witch. Do not ask more, Umbra, please, I beg of you… I don’t want you to be part of our fight; this is witches’ business,” Helda says.
“Fine, but why is our blood so special? Because it was cursed? Is that it?” I ask.
As Sable starts to speak, my mouth parts slightly, and my throat feels dry like sandpaper. This can't be true…
“You’re lying,” I whisper.
“I knew it,” Emrys says at the same time.
My head jerks toward him, “What do you mean you knew?”
“I had a hunch, Tempest. I sensed it, like a faint pulse, but after the curse evaporated, it became more distinct. I could almost taste the essence on my tongue.”
As I ponder his words and Sable's, she tries to quiz us about how we broke the curse. Emrys gives her a brief rundown of what happened with Elijah, leaving out certain violent details here and there, hesitant to share our story with witches like them, who are cunning and deceitful.
“So, basically, all that needs to be done is find the cursed soulmate and slit their throat?” Sable concludes.
Emrys and I both nod.
We leave the coven behind, closing the door of the odd-looking house, with its broken windows and peeling, worn paint on the windowsills. An optical illusion, a mirage they spelled, to deter anyone who might be in search of riches.
“Do you think they shared the truth? Or was it a mere Will-o'-the-wisp?” I ask quietly, still uncertain about how I feel regarding the revelation.
“I am certain they spoke in some honesty, my love.”
He chuckles. “I try to imagine what’s going to happen when you and I start our journey of eternity… The whole world will shudder and cower when you appear.”