Witch's Cursed Circle Complete Collection

by Evelyn Cooper

  Ryia is lying still on a white queen-sized bed with her hands and feet tied with an enchanted rope. The mixture of purple, red, and black in the rope will suppress all her magical energy.

  The vampire and the werewolf stand back as Dimia and Adara get to work.

  The Elf wraps her hands around the handle of the protruding dagger, still left inside her while Adara rests her hands around the open wound, ready to heal her.

  Slowly but surely, Dimia pulls the dagger out of the witch’s stomach. Her unconscious body is as still as a statue even when the dagger is being pulled out.

  Once it’s out of the way, Adara immediately casts a healing spell on the wound to close it, to avoid too much blood loss.

  It’s not our intention to kill her, after all.

  Yet I lost control. I have to admit that to myself. I have to, so I don’t repeat the same mistake.

  “Meghan,” after the years that passed without hearing my real name, it suddenly feels weird to hear anyone use it. It’s such a shame that it’s not being spoken by a more worthy creature.

  I turn to Dimia who seems to be waiting for my go signal, “Her condition is already stable. We’re going to start.”

  One curt nod from me, and they begin working. Seeing them move around, drawing the diagram, gathering herbs and other materials needed, helps me regain my true self. I start to get a grip on myself.

  I can’t stay shaken like this. That is the old Liliwen, not me. Not Lady Meghan Alwyn.

  We need to succeed in every phase of the plan. If I let myself drift away for even a moment, everything we’ve worked hard for will turn to dust, and I cannot have that. I will not have it.

  I have to keep steeling myself in every encounter, so I can move forward without looking back.

  I take my eyes off of my hand and set them to the ritual that Dimia and Adara are performing.

  The clock is still running and every second count. I have to keep playing the game and making smart moves until we win this game.

  What happened tonight wasn’t smart, but it wasn’t final. The game is still in play.

  Now that the Knights have cornered her.

  I’ll leave the rest to the Bishops.

  Just as Ryia had the chance to do what she wants with me…

  This time, I will be the one to break her.

  Chapter 5

  The Rooks

  A war has started within me the moment I shoved that dagger into Ryia.

  I feel no remorse for what I did, but I do regret that I acted impulsively and that it almost ruined our plan. I don’t regret piercing that demented bitch. I would gladly stab her again... I just might when this is all over. It will be her ultimate checkmate. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.

  No, Meghan!

  You are not a murderer. “Don’t let them turn you into a bad one.”

  The two sides of my mind are at odds with each other. I still haven’t recovered from what I have done. The fact that I’ve almost killed someone has me reeling.

  Does it though? Does it really?

  That’s enough!

  After the hours of chanting and performing several parts of the reverse ritual, I finally excuse myself from the room where Dimia and Adara extract memories from the unconscious Guardian Witch.

  I step outside to cool my head, in the hopes of finding solace in the garden, I tread through the old castle’s desolate halls and corridors.

  This castle has been standing for more than a thousand years. It’s even older than I am.

  Back then, this place was brimming with activity.

  There was always some kind of festivity going on here. The halls are filled with visitors who let their curiosity lead them to different parts of the castle, advisors, knights, maids who were always busy to attend to royalty and their guests.

  There’s always music flowing wherever you go. Smiles spread, pleasantries exchanged, smooth flowing dances performed, hidden affairs lurking, food carts pushed around.

  There was always something in here.

  But now…

  There’s nothing.

  The place became abandoned, and Dimia has taken it upon herself to use this as her own base.

  Once I find my way to the garden, I immediately recognise Adara’s work in it.

  The way the bushes and the flowers aligned, the way colours blossom in harmony, the way the pathway is carved through the place, and how an enchanting pond sits in the middle of it… one can tell that the hands who were responsible for this are experienced with embellishing nature.

  I can’t help but be awed as I behold in its beauty.

  Butterflies and bees dance around without a care of anyone’s presence. They move around as if the place is made to be their playground.

  The sight of the place creates a feeling of serenity in my heart. It makes me feel I made the right decision of seeking peace here.

  I look for somewhere to settle on to comfortably enjoy the tranquillity of what seemed to be a piece of Paradise.

  However, the figure by the pond narrates that my story of isolation will be set at another time.

  As I feel disappointed with the failure to achieve the alone time I was hoping for, I approach the man sprawled by the pond’s side.

  The glowing water flies playing above the shallow water emit colourful beaming lights that reflect on the surface of the pond. They give a radiating effect that lets the face of the pale man bask in a myriad of hues.

  But despite the beauty that spreads in front and around him, his stare reaches beyond nothingness as his forearms rest on his folded knees. I can tell that one has more chance of drowning in the thoughts inside his mind than in the pond beside him.

  I don’t bother to make an effort of removing the dirt or dust on the ground where I plan to plant my butt for comfort. I settle on it as it is and hug my knees.

  There’s no need to announce my presence. I know he’s already aware of it.

  “You beat me to it… having this place for myself.”

  Thankfully, he responds with a small grin as if the vacant stare did not exist in the first place.

  “I guess I’m not the only one with an agitation that demanded to be released somewhere.”

  The grin in his face vanishes. His still expression gives way to a worry that temporarily halted the battle that was ensuing within me.

  The silence that he let on adds another reason for the already bubbling anxiety in my chest.

  I don’t know what words should come next. I was never good at comforting other people. Heck, I can’t even console myself.

  A bit of relief comes as he finally speaks, “Do you remember that time when you threw a bowling ball to my face using one of those levitating street spells?”

  The scene plays in my head, triggered by a sudden brought up past.

  “Yeah. You made me worry about death when you disappeared for months. It was only natural to vent my frustration when you suddenly showed up.”

  Bran smiles with the look of fondness, “I was afraid of your reaction. I was afraid you wouldn’t hang around me anymore because of what I had become. I was scared of losing you.”

  Bran… he was never the confident one. He was a diligent high school student who always wound up getting bullied. His frail body never allowed him to fight back, and his weak resolve always made him much too easy a target for all those horrible bullies.

  I could see the hell he lived through in his eyes when they stared back at me with their intense, soul-baring hazel green hues.

  The first time I saw him being kicked and beaten to death in an alley, I couldn’t care less. I had enough issues of my own to handle.

  But the way he tried so hard to shield himself with his thin arms reflected the way I helplessly defend myself from the cruelty my eyes had seen.

  And then suddenly, I couldn’t just leave him alone. I decided to meddle in his business and sent his oppressors away with a few street spells that needed practical testing.

  Sin
ce then, he stuck to me. He stopped carrying around the world around him when he found companionship by my side.

  I didn’t also expect I would open myself bare in front of another vulnerable being.

  But Bran had an encounter that would forever change his fate. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse, yet it was also something that scared him to death.

  He didn’t fear for himself. He feared for me. For what I would make of him.

  And maybe even now, he still might be thinking I hate what he’s become.

  I can only sigh as this thought occurs, “You were such an idiot then. You didn’t know how I was looking all over the town and the woods for you. I thought something went wrong with the transition that’s why you never returned. I thought you were already dead.”

  The transition to becoming a vampire is not as easy as everyone thinks. Gaining power and something that is close to immortality, it requires a great deal of strength and will to go through the painful process of having your human side die.

  He never had much of either.

  The vampire blood is poison to normal beings. Too much can kill one before giving the chance to turn. That’s why the population of this race never boomed.

  They usually kill their prospect before turning them by being careless of the amount of blood they transfer.

  And that’s why my worry back then was very well warranted.

  But the guy only chuckles in response to my outright expression of panic from the past.

  Another dragging silence follows.

  It seems that changing the topic is the only way to go through this unnerving ambience. So, I ask the first thing that comes to mind.

  “Did Dain find his sister?”

  “He knows where she is. But he’s making no move to go to her.”

  Unlike Bran who I met before he turned, Dain was already a werewolf when we met.

  He was always the quiet one, the exact opposite of the newly turned Bran who turned to be a chatty vampire. He’s always kept to himself, so he was a mystery to me.

  Somehow, whenever I looked at him, another part of him stares back, the one who’s always isolated from the world. And I think, that’s what made me reach out to him.

  My efforts were not disregarded, thankfully. Although he was already part of the circle when we first met, I was able to convince him to get out of the shell, he insisted on lugging around with him.

  And so, he too decided to stick by my side. I always felt that the reason for this was that he saw his younger sister in me.

  That’s why I can help but think… “Is it because of me?”

  “Partly,” this vampire is really never the lying one despite the possibility of his words to have a negative impact. However, he continues, “but mostly for an entirely different reason.”

  His answer stirs my mind in confusion, “He became a werewolf to have the power to bring her back. He already got that, right? What’s holding him back?”

  The duo might be the exact opposite of each other, but they share one thing: the reason they turned.

  As Bran desired to be stronger, Dain did too… although not for himself.

  His sister suddenly went missing. So, after the vain efforts of his family in the months of their search, he took matters into his own hand.

  His solo investigation led him to encounter a werewolf pack that held his sister captive. In his burning determination to have her back, he challenged the leader.

  The brawl, however, almost cost him his life. Even though he was a trained firefighter, he was still very much just a puny human in front of the alpha.

  Beaten and battered with werewolf DNA in the bites and cuts and even though they had left him by the roadside, he somehow still had some will in him that helped him go through the excruciating process of turning.

  He was given something that allowed him to win the fight he once lost. But it didn’t bring his young sister back.

  She vanished even before he was able to take over the pack.

  “I honestly don’t know. We might seem close because we fight over the stupidest things, but there’s still so much about him that is a mystery to me.”

  “You guys seem closer than I remember. Dain was so pissed at the time Ryia blew up your head.”

  I immediately regret what I just said.

  It triggers a horrible memory in an instant that makes me wish I should’ve just stopped talking.

  The vampire, perhaps unaware of the trauma that keeps punching me in the gut, just dubiously asks, “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah... You took the bullets for me that time...”, somehow, I find it hard to talk straight.

  I wish we can just stop talking about this and move on to another topic.

  I can’t believe I led the conversation to the very reason why I came out here.

  But Bran berates me, for a different reason though, “Dummy. Those were my blood bullets that went in your direction. If they hit you, you would have died. Actually died. None of us would be able to bring you back. Of course, I had to save you,” he says, but I know he’s more serious than he gives on. His smirk doesn’t match his eyes, and I know he’s thinking about me being dead.

  Our immortality is conditional. We cannot die normal deaths, and not everyone can kill us… but we can die if we are killed by one of the eight. Only the circle can destroy the circle.

  It’s another condition set within the curse.

  “But isn’t it you who asked for this condition?” I wasn’t in the place to throw the rhetoric of the question at him. I, for one, know there was a specific reason behind his wish that earned him a spot in the circle.

  His pink lips form a thin line. He closes his eyes as his mind seems to drift away, lost in thought.

  It’s as if he recalls the part where he asked for the chance to die when he faced the Witch of Wishes.

  All his life, he has been trying to survive, to live. It’s the same reason he took the offer to turn into a vampire. But he simply discarded all of his own efforts.

  And for what…?

  A chance to be cursed? An opportunity to be a puppet for other’s personal interests?

  It’s unfair. He has the ability to read what I’m thinking through my actions. But I can never see through the disguise he’s putting up.

  I thought he only wore a mask for Liliwen. It turns out; I’m not an exception.

  “You know,” his eyes never leave the thin air, “sometimes, I regret being part of it.”

  “Why?” I ask softly.

  “Because I had to watch you in a state that made me feel helpless.”

  The words, even in a very ambiguous note, bury something sharp in my chest. It takes me back to the moment of the consuming anger urging me to take a life like it was the simplest thing to do.

  He turns to look at me finally.

  That’s when it hit me. He was the one shaking me to snap out of the rage-induced trance I was in back in the mansion. But his words, back then, were soundless in my ears.

  “There are so many things I’ve prepared myself to become when I made the plan,” I slowly lift my gaze to meet his golden eyes, “but being a murderer isn’t one of them.”

  “I know,” he whispers to me in a reassuring tone, “When I saw how you turned into a different person after they played with your brain… I realised… I might’ve made you feel the same way I had felt when I let you witness how I turned into something I never was.”

  He shuts his eyes with the memory, a memory that might’ve been haunting him for the numerous years of his life.

  His voice almost breaks as he says, “…helpless.”

  The man in front feels like the same weak human that cried by my bedside when I received scars and bruises from the same people who tortured him almost all his life. He has the same vulnerable feeling he has back then-helpless.

  And I hate myself for making me feel this way again.

  “Ehem,” the sound of a throat clearing makes both of us almost jump from our places. />
  A dark-skinned woman stands behind me with her right hand on her hip. Bran was quick to look away from her direction, …probably to hide his vulnerable side or from the embarrassment that we were caught getting dramatic on our own.

  “Look, I’m sorry I interrupted your bestie time together. I really am,” no, she doesn’t look like she is, “but we have to proceed with things as plan, you know?”

  I clear my own throat to try and brush off the sudden awkward atmosphere.

  Bran and I knew better than to expose our vulnerable selves to Dimia who’ll bite us in a heartbeat if she gets the chance to. She’s a relentless being to her core.

  “Is she awake?”

  “Yeah. She is. Free for you to knock down again,” I inwardly sigh to myself. She’s not easily going to let go of things, is she?

  “Then, were you able to get anything?”

  “Of course. You shouldn’t leave a task to someone you don’t expect to do it properly,” there’s no winning against this woman.

  This Elf contradicts every common belief the world has regarding Elves and Sorceress. You think Sorceress dress as a high and might magical authority? Well, consider this: Dimia is wearing a t-shirt having a rockstar symbol on it matched with a pair of tattered jeans. A white tattoo of a dragon is drawn on the purple surface of her arm. Her pointed ears are pierced with different kinds of earrings.

  Dark Elves are known to be one of the highly respectable ones in the Elf kind. But looking at Dimia, one will start to doubt the notion. Not that I don’t respect her, but her appearance would call for anything other than high respect.

  Another lady, who carries her footsteps like she’s walking on clouds, arrives with an announcement.

  Adara the Fae, on the other hand, is everything that Faes are known for. Gentle in nature, her voice is a lullaby that soothes the exhaustion of any soul. She wears dresses made of silk produced by special silkworms that were nurtured with utmost care. Her clothes are always adorned with every ornament nature can offer.

  Her hands are the one responsible for the garden we’re standing on.

  “Lady Alwyn, we can now proceed to the next step.”

  “Yeah, I already told her. Apparently, she was busy with-” before Dimia can continue her babbling, I immediately intercept.