CH. 68 The Witch-Hunting Club Nobody Asked For
The Dark Forest feels heavier tonight.
Not because of the trees, or the fog, or the way the shadows whisper like they’re gossiping about my life choices again —
but because I am running.
Running from the Warden’s threat.
Running from the gargoyle attack.
Running from the horrible, awful, disgusting truth:
My curse is failing.
AND the witch who cast it wants me dead.
AND I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.
In summary:
Everything is fine.
(Everything is NOT fine.)
I skid to a stop in front of the Supreme’s ivy-covered cottage. A dozen glowing witch wards hover around the door like floating doilies of doom.
I slam my fist into the wood.
“SUPREME! OPEN UP! I NEED MAGICAL ADULT SUPERVISION!”
A moment later, the door swings open.
And every single witch in the coven is staring at me.
“Oh look,” cackles Old Myrtle, “the chaos child returns.”
“I am not chaos,” I say, panting. “I am… situationally disastrous.”
The Supreme steps forward — tall, ancient, ageless, glowing slightly like she moisturizes with moonlight.
“You’re late,” she says.
I blink. “Late for what?”
“The meeting.”
“What meeting?”
She gestures around the room.
All the witches nod like a very judgmental synchronized dance team.
“The ‘Find-And-Annihilate-The-Witch-Who-Cursed-You’ meeting.”
I stare.
“You already started without me?!”
“You run slow,” Myrtle says.
“You scream too much,” adds Willow.
“You attract trouble,” mutters Hazel.
“You’re shaped like panic,” says Juniper.
“EXCUSE ME,” I sputter, “I am a delight!”
“No,” they all say at once.
The Supreme lifts a hand.
“Girls. Behave.”
Then she looks at me and her expression softens.
“Drew… this curse has followed your bloodline for years. And now that your true form is emerging, the witch who cast it grows desperate.”
I swallow. “Desperate enough to kill me?”
“Desperate enough to kill anyone near you.”
My heart drops.
“So what do we do?”
The Supreme turns toward the center of the room.
A giant cauldron sits there — swirling with silver fire.
The witches gather around, murmuring spells that tickle the air like static.
“We find her,” the Supreme says.
“We find the witch who cursed you.”
Myrtle cackles. “And then we turn her into a wart.”
Hazel shrugs. “Or a carrot.”
Juniper grins. “Or a wart on a carrot.”
The Supreme clears her throat.
“…And then we deal with her appropriately.”
The witches nod in unison.
I lift my hand.
“Question.”
They all sigh.
“Yes, Drew?” the Supreme asks tiredly.
“Can I help?”
The coven immediately erupts.
“No!”
“Absolutely not!”
“You’ll break the cauldron!”
“You’ll summon a demon!”
“You’ll set Myrtle’s beard on fire again!”
“That was ONE TIME!”
The Supreme lifts her hand again. Silence drops.
“Actually,” she says, eyes glowing, “we will need her.”
Wait.
We will?
Me?
The human disaster?
She gestures toward the cauldron.
“Your blood is the key. It carries the remnants of the curse. If we follow its signature, it will lead us straight to the witch.”
I blink.
“You want my BLOOD?”
Myrtle hands me a ceremonial dagger. “Just a teensy bit. A little sploop.”
“That’s not a unit of measurement!”
But the Supreme nods.
“Trust us,” she says gently. “We’re with you.”
For the first time, I don’t feel alone.
I take a breath.
Press the blade lightly to my palm.
A drop falls into the cauldron.
FWOOOOSH.
Silver fire erupts, swirling upward. The room fills with the sound of a thousand whispers — the curse speaking, unraveling, revealing—
A silhouette appears in the flame.
A woman.
Tall.
Cloaked in shadow.
Eyes glowing poison-green.
My stomach lurches.
“That’s her,” I whisper.
The Supreme’s face hardens. “Yes.”
Myrtle spits on the floor. “Ugly vibe.”
Hazel shivers. “Powerful vibe.”
Juniper hisses, “Punchable vibe.”
The silhouette turns —
and looks straight at me.
Her voice slithers through the flame:
“Little Andromeda…
I’m coming for you.”
The fire explodes.
The witches stagger back.
I grip the edge of the cauldron, heart pounding.
The Supreme steadies me. “Do not fear her.”
“I’m not afraid,” I lie.
The Supreme gives me a look. “You are shaking.”
“That’s called VIbrATING WITH CONFIDENCE.”
A pause.
Myrtle pats my shoulder. “Sure, dear.”
The Supreme turns to the coven.
“Prepare yourselves,” she commands. “We begin the hunt at dawn.”
The witches scatter, gathering charms and weapons and snacks.
The Supreme faces me once more.
“You have a long fight ahead of you, Andromeda.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.”
But in my chest, something burns.
Not fear.
Resolve.
Because someone out there cursed my life.
And I am done being cursed.