O.C. Writers

I stole from her warm bed before dawn cracked open a jaundiced eye. Before my voracious love for her bade me stay. Before the old castle stirred and stretched. The day would end in a fearless full moon and I had the witch in the woods to kill at midnight.

My sweet betrothed slept on while I dressed in my officer’s leathers and pulled on my boots. The witchbane dagger hidden in my pack fit into a sheath on my belt. I kissed the locket holding a tendril of my Lady’s hair and secured the cord around my neck. On the stone steps a rat scurried past. The pitch black beyond my lantern light swallowed the vile vermin whole. I shivered.

A horse nickered as I approached the stable, then another. The voice of Grub, the Tokor stable boy, settled them.

“Grub, ‘tis Captain Kinney.” My low whisper preceded me through the door. The pungent odor of horse and hay awakened my nose. I held the lantern high.

Grub rolled off his pallet of straw that lay on the stone floor and stood, rubbing his eyes. “You be needing Valor, Cap’n?”

I gave him a glance. ‘Twas all I could take of his misshapen appearance. His lumps and bumps and pockmarks branded him one of the uglier specimens of his hideous, slow-witted Tokor race. Lucky for them they could talk to the animals and ate rats, the stable their only employ with the aristocracy.

“I’m about the King’s business this day. Meeting my regiment early.” The lie slipped easily off my tongue. “I’ll need a strong girth. Extra water. And hurry.”

As he rushed away to do my bidding, I approached Lady Madeline’s young mare. Belle stood sleepy-eyed, her head hung over the stall door. Her velvety muzzle nudged my palm. She gave a wet snort.

“Belle says she be wanting her Lady’s attention,” said Grub from my horse’s stall. Water sloshed and Valor stomped a hoof.

Yes, I desired Lady Madeline’s attention, too, the pull of her keen on my body and heart. But my hatred of witches and my sworn secret duty would not be denied. In this, humans and Toks, even the peace loving Fae, had a common goal. We would not rest until every last witch vanished from the earth. We were close.

Valor picked his way along the narrow path deep in the woods, the animal still as sharp and strong as when we’d started out. I’d ridden all day, only stopping for rest and water twice. The trees fractured the full moon’s light along the trail and a cold, damp mist arose. I headed toward a familiar pond with a waterfall. The unholy witch defiled this idyllic spot with her encampment. As I drew nearer, my heartbeat pounded in my ears. I’d found and killed many a witch before, but this one I’d been hunting for a lifetime.

The faint sound of falling water reached my ears. I reined in Valor. After settling the animal, I crept along the wooded trail on foot, keeping low and silent. Soon the roar of the waterfall filled every cell. Above the din, a high-pitched keening rent the air and raised the hairs on my body. I crouched and peered through the surrounding bushes.

The witch, deep in trance, stood by the water’s edge, her face upturned to the full moon. Midnight was upon us and her unholy ritual had begun. In front of her, a small flame arose from stacked twigs encircled by pebbles, crystals and dried flowers. Despite a mist from the waterfall, the fire grew and stank like burning flesh. Now in rapture was the best time, the only time, to catch her unawares. I removed the witchbane dagger, fashioned by Fae for this deadly purpose, and balanced the hilt mid palm.

The hag’s long, fair hair dragged on the ground as I remember. Her face, the same high cheekbones, the same fierce scowl. Yes, she was the witch I sought—Hettie Dread. Since I was five, she’d been the monster of my nightmares. This night she wore a gown of slivered silver and moonbeams, much as a fairy princess might wear. My heart burned to rip the garment to shreds.

Eyes closed, she began to chant. Her limbs trembled. I rushed forward, rage choking me. My arm rose to plunge the dagger deep into her shriveled heart. A power strong as ten men hurled me backward. I slammed into a tree, my breath and senses knocked out of me. I gasped for air. Stars swam in front of my eyes. A crushing force held me against the tree. My feet dangled, but my arms were free. A green band as thick as a man’s waist held me fast. What had happened? Had I driven the blade home?

A blood-letting scream slashed through my haze. My eyes cleared. No. By all the Gods. Hettie Dread, her mottled face contorted in a wild fury, stood by the fire, her gown pristine. My heart slowed to a dull thud. Chilled fingers walked my bones. I’d failed.

“You!” she spat.

In an instant, she stood not a foot from me. Her eyes blazed as she stared deep into mine. I closed them lest she see into my soul. The band tightened until I could scarce take a breath. I struggled against the force. A crack, then piercing pain stabbed my side. A rib? Two? I could not even cry out.

“Open your murderous eyes, Liam Kinney.”

Her sulfurous breath washed over me. I opened my eyes, shamed by the welling tears. She waved a hand. The band loosened. I gasped for breath.

“You dare interrupt my blue moon ritual? You dare try to kill me, almost the last of my kind?”

“You—you murdered my family. So many…” My voice wheezed.

A sick smile twisted her lips. “Ah, but you already have your revenge, Liam Kinney.” She stuck a taloned finger in my face. “You killed my mate, my one and only love. And then you carved out his—heart.” Her voice broke.

I didn’t deny the latter. My own soldiers had done the foul deed. “What of me now? Kill me or let me go.”

Hettie didn’t answer. She focused on my chest. “What have we here?” She picked up the locket and sprung the latch.

“No. Don’t touch it.” I tried to lunge at her but the green band squeezed. Pain shot through me anew. The scaly band slithered beneath my hands. What? A snake with a head the size of an ox arced around the tree. My stomach heaved. The forked tongue lashed out, leaving a seared trail on my cheek. The monster’s hiss blew my hair back.

“Now, Samson, you’re scaring the poor man.”

The snake withdrew but kept black beady eyes on me. Sweat trickled down my chest and pooled at the band—the long coiled body of a snake named Samson. My throat went dry as ground meal.

Hettie plucked the auburn curl from the locket with two curving fingernails. “Does this belong to your love? Someone so precious that you wear a piece of her close to your heart?”

A blazing heat charged every muscle. If I were free I’d strangle her with my bare hands. “Put it back. You sully her with your vile touch.” I shouted the words like a madman.