Spellbreaker

by S A McClure

  She couldn’t be sure. Her mind prickled at the sound of the coven’s voices. If the matriarch was death, then what did that mean for her?

  She screamed. Her voice reverberated around her, as if it were bouncing against an invisible barrier. She stretched out her mental fingers and grazed the curve of a bubble. It depressed against her touch, leaving a small hole behind.

  Without hesitating, Iris punched through the barrier, widening it. There was nothing but darkness beyond. An inky black swell of nothingness. She hesitated, her mind snapping back into her body just as the crimson-eyed witch raised a silver-edged dagger above her head.

  Time was up.

  She sprang into the darkness. Her body exploded in a burst of glittering light. It was as if she were seeing herself from the outside. As if that body were not really her own. Her mind was separate from herself. Her senses deafened. She couldn’t feel. Or smell. Or taste. Or hear. There was only darkness. There was only the swirl of something she couldn’t identify.

  And then, she slammed back into her body. The weight of her own flesh and bones rippled through her.

  Iris’s eyes fluttered opened.

  Her cracked lips bled.

  Her chest heaved with each shallow breath.

  “What happened?” Grandmother demanded as she yanked Iris from her chair. Her eyes flashed crimson and smoke curled around her ears. Her fingers burned into Iris’s flesh like a brand.

  Iris twisted her arm, trying to wriggle out of Grandmother’s grasp. Pain erupted at her wrist as Grandmother tightened her grip. Iris’s head drooped forward and her thoughts came in sluggish bursts of color.

  “There was a coven. They tried to kill me,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Grandmother dropped her hands to her sides, her cheeks paling. A vein in her forehead throbbed as she regarded Iris with slit eyes.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Iris

  Iris’s feet slapped against the cold stone floor. She shivered. It was colder in the corridors than it had been at the cottage. Frost crawled across the walls like ivy. Her breaths puffed in front of her, vanishing into nothingness before they had even really existed.

  She followed Grandmother without question. Crimson fire danced in Grandmother’s eyes as they wound their way through the corridors. She kept glancing behind them, as if she were anticipating an attack at any moment.

  Iris felt numb. Dazed. She didn’t know how she’d done it. One moment she’d been watching the dagger come down to sink into her neck, and the next she’d been drifting in the darkness, and then, finally, she’d sunk back into her body.

  Her real body.

  Not the dream one.

  Though, she suspected that if the coven had been successful in using that dagger to kill, she would have been dead—both in the dream world as well as the real one.

  Grandmother tugged her hand and Iris responded, quickening her pace.

  They passed rigid, dead animals. Their gazes met hers as she silently strode by. Grandmother barely looked at them. She was so callous. She always had been. It wasn’t that Grandmother’s coldness truly bothered Iris. It was just that she didn’t understand how anyone could move throughout life without an ounce of compassion for the suffering of others.

  “What happened to them?” she found herself asking before she could stop herself.

  Grandmother didn’t answer, but continued to pull her along. Iris stumbled over her own feet. Her limbs didn’t feel like her own. She was awkward, clumsy in way she hadn’t been since she had been twelve. She braced her arm against the wall, heaving in gulps of air.

  Grandmother spun around, her yellow eyes gleaming, and clutched Iris’s shoulders in her bony, thin hands. “Listen to me, girl.”

  Iris shook uncontrollably. Her mind continued to move at its sluggish pace. She couldn’t quite grasp the words she so desperately wanted to say. Each time she thought she had them, they rolled over her tongue, slipping back into the recesses of her mind. She gasped, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

  Grandmother shook her. Hard. Her teeth chattered and her bones groaned. She tried to scream. There was no sound.

  “I couldn’t see what happened to you. One moment you were there and then the next, you were just gone. The matriarch of the coven was strong enough to rip you from my protection. Do you understand what that means?” she hissed.

  She held Iris’s gaze as much as was possible. Iris’s eyes flicked in all directions, never staying focused on the same spot for long. She was dizzy. Disoriented. But she couldn’t quite seem to stop. She was there. She knew this was real. Knew from the weight of Grandmother’s hands on her shoulders. And the tension in her shoulders. And the way she felt when she met the eyes of the dead, rigid animals littering the lair’s floor.

  Where was Emma?

  Her breathing changed, becoming—if possible—even more shallow. She thought her lips parted. She felt the cracked flesh pulled and stretch. But there was no sound. More tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

  A sharp sting stretched across her cheek. She bit her tongue, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth. She blinked rapidly, trying to stop the flow of unfettered tears as they stained her face.

  “Stop crying,” Grandmother commanded. “It will get us nowhere.”

  She shook Iris again.

  Iris wrapped her arms around her middle. The bile rose up before she could stop it. She gagged, trying to force it back down.

  Where was Emma? The thought ripped through her.

  “We can no longer stay here,” Grandmother said. “Do you understand?”

  Her fingers pressed into the soft spots of Iris’s flesh. Already, she could feel the bruises blossoming on her skin. She cringed. She tried to pull away, but all she managed was to fall back against the wall.

  Grandmother cupped her cheeks in her hands and pulled her face forward. They were blazing hot. Iris felt as if her skin were blistering. Grandmother Rel whispered words she couldn’t quite comprehend as she pressed a kiss against Iris’s brow.

  The burning instantly subsided, replaced by a kind of wriggling sensation that spread out from her forehead to her toes. Her limbs trembled uncontrollably. She sucked in a deep breath. She closed her eyes. Grandmother still cradled her face in the palms of her hands. They were the only things grounding her to that spot. She focused on the way Grandmother’s paper-thin, leathery skin pressed into her flesh. How she smelled of strange spices and sulfur. How her long nails grazed her arms as she continued to tremble.

  And then it was over.

  She opened her eyes as the trembling subsided. Grandmother peered at her, her yellow eyes gleaming with something akin to concern.

  “We have to find Emma,” Iris managed to croak out.

  Grandmother held her face for a moment longer before dropping her hands and continuing down the corridor without a word.

  “Did you hear me?” Iris called after her.

  The only sign Grandmother had heard her was the way her back went slightly more rigid.

  Iris shivered, the cold seeping into her. She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself, as if that would be enough to trap her warmth.

  She lingered there until the shadows began to whisper. Dreamwalker. Spellbreaker.

  She bolted after the witch.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emmaleigh

  Emma rolled off the edge of the cliff.

  It was reckless. Dangerous. And the only thing she could think to do if there was any chance of killing the cockatrice.

  Of saving Iris.

  She didn’t know what was worse: the sense of her stomach leaping into her chest as she free-fell through the sky or the cockatrice wrapping its massive paws around her body and hugging her to its chest. If she had to pick between the two she might have picked being pressed against the beast.

  It smelled awful. She already knew that, of course, but it was even worse up close. Her nose wrin
kled. She coughed, getting a mouthful of the beast’s matted, grimy fur.

  Its massive wings beat against the wind. She felt it strain against her weight. They dipped lower. The cockatrice released a strangled cry, its claws digging into her back. Lacerations broke out across her skin. The fresh cuts stung as the beast pressed into her. The hotness of her blood flowed over them both.

  And then the wind caught the beast’s wings and they were soaring upwards. She screamed, the shrill sound echoing through the skies.

  She was held so tightly against the beast that she could barely breath, much less move. She couldn’t let it carry her away. She needed it go down. To meet the glittering, icy river below. She squirmed against its hold on her. She kicked both feet towards the beast, right at its soft middle.

  It reared back, dropping her to once again into free-fall. Her voice was lost in the rush of wind that pushed against her. Her arms flapped—as if she could slow her descent. It was futile. She closed her eyes, praying to the Light that she would be able to defeat the beast.

  She vomited. The hot bile slid over her cheeks, leaving behind a sticky residue. Still, she didn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t. She fell for what felt like hours, even though she knew it was only seconds—could only be seconds.

  And then she felt the pull of air as something enormous zipped past her. She landed on its back with a thud. It shuddered beneath her weight. Cracking her eyes, she took in her surroundings. She was straddling the beast. She didn’t know how she’d avoided landing on its spikes, but she had. Its muscled body pulsed beneath her thighs. Its wings beat against the air. Its mane was matted, full of dead leaves, twigs, and the remnants of other creatures.

  She tilted her body sideways, daring herself to peer down at the ground. Emma could see her reflection—and that of the cockatrice—in the river’s surface. They were high enough above it that they were little more than shadows chasing the sun, but they were there. She smiled. If she could just get close enough to the river and trick the beast into looking down.

  She leaned over the beast’s back even more.

  It’s now or never.

  She slid off the beast and began her free fall descent again. This time, she didn’t close her eyes. She spread her arms and legs out wide, letting the frigid air catch her as she fell.

  This was it, she thought as the banks of snow lining the river rose to meet her.

  A smile spread across her face.

  But then the river became encased in shadow and she felt the pulsing of wings. She cringed as the beast’s claws raked across her already torn flesh. She screamed as the beast wrapped a massive claw around her middle, pulling her upwards.

  “No,” she yelled, her voice lost in the roar of wind and wings.

  She slammed her fist against the paw. It didn’t even flex in pain. She beat her head against the beast’s body. It screeched but continued to hold her.

  Emma released a wild yelp of frustration before driving the heel of her foot straight back. Its tail thrashed, nearly clipping her with its barb. She ground her teeth as she kicked again.

  Its hold on her loosened, almost imperceptivity. But it was enough. She jabbed her elbow straight into the beast’s gut. The claw loosed a little, and she rolled out of its clutch. She cast her arms out before her, as if she were diving into a lake. Wind whipped against her body. She rushed downwards, faster now than she had before. The cold rush of wind made it difficult for her to keep her eyes wide open. Already they were drying out with the wind.

  But, she was determined.

  She didn’t look to see if the beast was following her. She didn’t think about the impending pain of the impact. She didn’t care if her bones broke. She didn’t care if she survived.

  All that mattered was killing the cockatrice. Saving Iris. Ending this.

  She felt the sharp snap of her arm as she plowed into a mound of snow. Her mouth opened to scream and was filled with the cold substance. It was all around her. Suffocating her. Burying her beneath its weight.

  Using her sore—but intact—arm, she clawed her way through the mound. It was so dark. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. She just knew that she needed out. Her hands were numb from the cold. She didn’t care. She just kept going.

  A pinprick of light was enough to spur her onwards. She punched through the last bit of packed snow and gulped in a deep breath. The loud sound of beating wings was the first thing that registered in her mind. It was high above her. She barely felt the rhythmic wind rippling from its body.

  Seeing its own reflection will kill it.

  She shoved herself out of the snow. The cold bit into her. Her teeth chattered as she forced herself to stand. On her first step forward, she slipped on ice and fell to the ground.

  She hissed in pain as her arm was jarred by the fall. She couldn’t give up. She couldn’t let herself be taken out of the picture if it also meant her sister would be in danger.

  She rolled down the mound. Blood flowed from the cuts and scrapes on her body as she went. It stained the snow red. It was such a stark contrast. The red and the white reminded her of all the things she had killed in the past. How she had kept their little family fed. Grandmother Rel might have been one of the most powerful witches of her time, but she was also unwilling to use her abilities for such mundane purposes like generating food.

  It had always been her responsibility to feed, to protect.

  To kill.

  Her fingers skimmed the smooth, cold surface of the river as she brushed away the snow.

  The beast was upon her. It released one of its strange, strangled caws as it landed on top of her.

  Her head rapped against the ice. White and red spots filled her vision as she closed her eyes and sucked in a hiss of pain. It breathed on her, its rancid breath making her skin crawl.

  She could feel its gaze on her, feel it begging her to open her eyes and peer up at it. It pecked at her cheek, its sharp beak breaking her skin as if it were little more than a gossamer fabric. Emma reared back in pain.

  Still, she kept her eyes tightly closed.

  All she could think about was the ice. Her plan. The beast lanced her calf with one of its talons. She screamed. It was like fire spreading up her body. She moaned softly to herself as it dragged her back towards it.

  “No,” she whispered. “No.”

  Using her other leg, she kicked at the beast’s arm until it released its hold on her.

  She knew time was running out.

  Huntress.

  Killer.

  Savior.

  The titles tumbled through her mind so quickly she could barely focus on any of them.

  Huntress. Killer. Savior.

  She rolled onto her stomach. Her broken arm screamed in agony at the momentary pressure applied to it. Emma ignored the pain. She didn’t have the luxury of letting her fear or her agony overcome her. She wiped away the snow until she could see her bloody, swollen face staring back at her.

  She watched her lips curl into a thin smile. It might not be a mirror, but it was as close as she was going to get.

  The cockatrice pounced, one of its front talons digging into her back as it landed atop her. She couldn’t breathe. All she could feel was the immense pressure of the beast’s weight on her back. The crushing feeling of her spine and ribs.

  She couldn’t even scream as the beast tore deeper into her back. She knew she wouldn’t be able to survive this. Even if her sister realized something was wrong, even if Mr. Wolf went looking for her, even if they found her before her life was ripped from her, she wouldn’t survive.

  She knew what happened to body with puncture wounds as large as the one she would have from the cockatrice’s talon. She’d delivered blows like that too many times not to know.

  It flipped her over, withdrawing the talon with a rush of hot, sticky blood. If she thought she had felt numb before, it was nothing compared to the loss of feeling she experienced in that moment. She knew she must have whimpered, must have c
ried out. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel the beast nudging her with its beak and licking her with its rough, hot tongue.

  It was playing with her. It knew she was close to death and it was playing with her.

  Huntress. Killer. Savior. Huntress.

  She breathed in as deeply as she could. She held it in her. Let the pressure of the breath press against her cracked and bruised ribs. Her mind stilled.

  Killer.

  The ice was ready. She just needed it to see. To look. To die.

  Savior. She could do this. She could do this one, last thing. And then it would be over. She could let go. She could be free.

  Huntress.

  She still couldn’t feel her legs, but she sent one final command to her body. She punched her legs out. She felt her body give slightly at the impact. But, it was enough.

  The cockatrice lifted off her enough for her to roll over, revealing the clear patch of ice beneath her. She cracked her eyes just enough to see it slam its head down to peck at her face. Its beak met ice. It opened its eyes—she didn’t know if it was from surprise or pain. It didn’t matter. It was enough.

  The cockatrice locked eyes with itself.

  Emma watched as a tremor passed through the cockatrice before it stilled. Its body went rigid. A hiss of air slid through its beak, caressing Emma’s cheeks.

  It was the last thing she felt as darkness consumed her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Iris

  Grandmother didn’t lead her on a search to find Emma. Instead, she took her straight to Balkeen’s private lair.

  Shadows danced on the cavern walls as Iris listened to Balkeen blubber on the floor. His bed nested against one of the walls and chests overladen with jewels were strewn across the floor.

  “Tell me what you know, and I will consider letting you live,” Grandmother growled.

  She clutched the dwarf by the jaw, her nails digging deep into his flesh. Droplets of blood trickled down his chin as he quivered. Iris had seen Grandmother angry before, but never this frantic. The coven’s ability to rip Iris away from her protection had clearly shaken her. She had been outmaneuvered.