CH. 5 Run, Witch, Run!
What was that?
What kind of creature thinks a witch's blood is tasty?
Answer: none.
Our blood is poison — to all things, good or bad. It fuels our illusions, potions, barriers, and curses. It's what keeps the world in balance and everyone else at arm's length.
So if something wants my blood...
I shiver and push deeper into the crowd, trying to disappear among the laughing humans.
When I finally stop, gasping for air, I brace my hands on my knees and inhale the icy wind of Yakor.
Lanterns glow yellow and blue overhead, children's laughter floats with the music of harps, and dancers twirl like drunk butterflies.
Everything around me screams celebration.
But all I feel is dread crawling up from my toes.
Aunt Agitha's voice hisses in my head:
"Go back, Andromeda."
The laughter twists. In my mind, the children's voices warp into a chant —
"Tasty, tasty, tasty..."
My gaze snags on her — the elderly fruit vendor.
She's standing still amid the chaos, eyes locked on mine.
And then — she's right in front of me.
I stumble back, landing hard on my backside. No one notices. The parade drums drown everything.
"Let me taste some more," she whispers, her voice rasping like sandpaper. She giggles, taking small, predatory steps forward.
"Get away from me!"
"I want your blood. I want your flesh. Give it to me!"
She lunges.
I raise my hand instinctively. "No!"
A horn blares somewhere in the distance — loud, booming — and the woman explodes into a flurry of black feathers.
I stare, trembling. Then exhale shakily. She's gone. The crowd cheers. The parade is beginning.
My feet itch to run. I need to go home. Now.
But before I can move, a gust of wind blows my hood back, my hair whipping into my eyes. I curse, swipe it away, and turn —
— right into two piercing emerald eyes.
"You..." Prince Sorien frowns, studying me. "You're that girl with Hegar. Why were you running?"
Why is he here?! "Why did you follow?"
"Because you were running."
"Uhm—what?"
"Hegar said you wanted to see the parade," he says flatly. "Now you're running from it."
I gape. My pulse pounds. My brain, traitor that it is, has already decided to panic.
"Who are you and where are you from?" he demands, expression unreadable.
Time to lie. "I'm sorry, Your Highness!" I drop to my knees, forehead pressed to the ground. "I'm a servant who escaped my masters just to see the parade. But I fear they'll notice I'm gone, and since the parade was delayed, I must return at once."
"Liar."
I freeze.
No one's ever called me that before. Even my worst lies stick like honey.
He crouches, a cruel smirk curving his lips. "You dare lie to me?"
His fingers seize my chin, forcing my head up. "Who are you. Where are you from?"
Hik! Hik! I'm trapped!
This stupid Prince — what's he doing out here instead of waving from his stupid gold chair?
If he kills me, I'll be the youngest witch in the family to die. Aunt Agitha, Ma, Grandmama — all three will haunt me for eternity.
His grip loosens. His gaze softens — barely. Then his thumb traces my cheek.
"Are you scared of me?" His eyes linger on my face, sliding lower to my neck, my chest. He chuckles, straightens, and declares, "I'm keeping you."
...What?
Whaaat?!
"Hegar."
"My Prince."
I nearly jump out of my skin. When did Hegar appear behind him?!
"This lady you found," Sorien says without looking back, "she's coming with us to Gazaar."
"Yes, my Prince."
With one last smirk, Sorien turns and strides away, the crowd parting like water.
Oh, crap.
Hegar's sigh is the sound of a disappointed father. "I told you to stay where I left you."
"But there was this woman who said my blood was tasty," I hiss. "You get it? Tasty!"
He stills. "You bled?"
I shrink under his stare. "Well, yeah. The fruit pricked my finger."
His frown deepens. "You shouldn't have left your domain."
I wave my hand dismissively. "Forget that. Who is she?"
"It may be a gargoyle."
I blink. "What's a gargoyle?"
His black eyes meet mine, and suddenly my tongue twists into a knot.
"Mmmh!" I mumble, clawing at my own mouth. "Mmmph!"
"Follow me," Hegar says calmly, already turning.
Every instinct screams run the other way! But with my tongue magically tied, I can only stumble after him.
And maybe that's for the best — if the gargoyle's still watching, safer to be near the scary he-witch than alone.
I glance back.
No sign of the fruit vendor.
But I feel her gaze, hot and hungry, crawling across my skin.