17. Chapter 17 #2
Liam stared at me like I’d grown a third head. “He’s a vampire.”
“Liam, there’s no way. Sniff again.” I pushed his head in the man’s direction. “Sniff, Liam.”
“Saints, woman! He’s a vampire, I tell ya.”
“We have to find Logan.” I shook my head. “No. We have to follow that man.”
Stairs and corridors and screaming acolytes passed by me until I hopped on the carriage and knocked on the window. “Follow him,” I shouted at the coachman.
Fredrick hopped on a horse, turning to glance back at us before galloping ahead, vanishing into the town streets.
Liam climbed in after me and shut the door. “Absolutely not. We’re not supposed to be out in town, let alone following anyone!”
“I am under strict orders for a reason, Willow,” Liam said even as he followed me around the market while I trailed the red-hooded figure in the distance.
“It is not safe for you out here. And we should absolutely not be following that giant skelm! He gives me the willies, for Saints’ sake.
Let’s go back. We’ll tell your fantastic killer of a husband to pull a number on him. ”
“It might be too late; he knows we know something about him. And we will not tell Logan anything about this until I know what I am looking at.”
A choppy and mayhaps slightly terrified chuckle left him. “Do you really think he doesn’t know we are here?” His head swiped left and right. “I’m just calculating the chances he might just kill me dead right here or wait until we go back to the mansion.”
Frederick suddenly paused by one of the busy vendor stalls.
He grabbed a fresh orange, bringing it to his nose as his eyes rolled in my direction.
My forehead burned, skin searing. It was only for a brief second, but his face warped like a mask slipping on and off.
Eyes empty, mouth stitched side to side, skin grey and sagging.
I drew in a shaky breath. What the Hell was happening?
Shoulders crashed with mine, pushing me back and away from reaching him. A crowd had swallowed me into a sea of people.
“Where’s everyone going?” I asked Liam, who also sank into the throng and kept being pulled away from me.
Something cold slipped in my veins when I saw everyone pick a slab of wood from the metallic bins attached to the lampposts and light them in the street lanterns.
I could hear Liam calling after me as I pushed ahead through the crushing crowd now chanting words I could barely hear, following them into the town square where an even bigger crowd was gathered around a wooden gallows hill.
It wasn’t until the ringing in my ears cleared that I heard what they were saying.
Burn the witch.
Burn the witch!
I saw him before I saw the fire and the body burning in the pyre. Standing on the raised balcony of a town house, Logan watched as flames rose up the witch’s body. It was a witch I recognised. Another red maiden who’d been offered in the Blood Pact only a couple years ago.
No.
No.
Gerda’s words couldn’t be true.
This…this wasn’t how they’d all died. Right? Right? He wasn’t…he hadn't been killing the witches by his king’s order, had he? Logan…he couldn’t be the one I had to kill to save Ethel.
I shook my head as nausea filled my throat.
Kneeling over, I emptied my stomach onto the cobbled streets, at the foot of the pyre where the witch was burning.
The faded mark on my shoulder seared like a hot iron brand—every nerve in my body revolted from the disfigurement of chaos propagating in the smoke-filled air.
A familiar hand landed on my back, and I jerked away. It took a moment for the tear-induced haze to clear, for his harsh face to sharpen. “What are you doing here?”
“You,” I whispered.
I pulled my arm back when he reached for me. “You,” I said, pushing up on weak knees.
“You did this!” I screamed in his face. “You barbarian,” I spat, pushing at his chest. “You cruel beast. You heartless monster.” Why did it have to be you?
I shook my head, slowly backing away from him. Why did it have to be you?
“Willow!” he bellowed as I climbed up on the pyre, my nails screaming in agony as I clawed onto the wooden slabs heated from the fire.
Flames scorched against my skin, and I only sobbed harder.
The pain. The anguish. The torture. All of it seeped in the air, mutilating and violating chaos.
I had to save her. I had to tell Agnes that I’d saved her and that I couldn’t kill him.
She’d understand…she’d still help Ethel.
I’d do anything else for her. Just not this. I couldn’t do this.
“Let go of me!” I bellowed as he dragged me away.
Still, he would not stop.
“Rain of May, winds of June,” I chanted before a hand covered my mouth.
“Chant a spell here, and you will be up there with her,” he murmured against my ear. “Don’t make me tie you up because so help me Saints, I will.”
I thrashed and pushed, screamed until my throat was sore and my ears had popped. We’d left the crowds and everything else behind. He’d slipped us onto a quiet street lined with modest grey-stoned houses.