Witch's Shadow (The Hemlock Chronicles Book 1)

by Emma L. Adams

  It’d taken a day and a half for me to reach Edinburgh seven years ago because the faeries had wrecked most of the major motorways during the invasion. But between that and the forest, there was no contest.

  “If I tell her that, she’ll put me on cleaning duty for the next six years,” Lloyd said. “I’m in the shit for coming to that meeting to begin with. Why not tell me?” His light tone was tinged with the slightest hint of bitterness.

  “Would you have believed me?” I asked. “I didn’t want you to end up targeted by association. And now… whoever sold that poison to you knew we were friends. They might be watching you, too.”

  “That is not cool.”

  I screwed up my forehead. “I’m sorry. I thought nobody in the whole of Scotland had even heard of the Hemlock Coven. We’re a forgotten legend even in England.”

  “Next you’ll be telling me you’re secretly royalty.”

  “More like the pariahs of the supernatural world. The Hemlock witches don’t have a high survival rate.” Unless being eternally trapped in wood and stone counted as ‘survival’.

  Witches’ gifts varied even more than the mages’ did, limited only by their own imaginations. Give a witch a handful of herbs and there was nothing they couldn’t accomplish. But the Hemlocks? Their power was off-the-charts, dangerous enough to take command over nature entirely. That forest was no natural creation. It was pure magic, not bound to this world or any other. And the power I’d felt when I’d tapped into the shade’s magic in the spirit realm was barely a fraction of that strength. If I went back into the forest and put myself at the Hemlocks’ mercy, they could easily trap me in that place for the rest of my life.

  “That,” said Lloyd, “would make a hell of a story. Should I call the papers?”

  “If you do, I’ll kill you.”

  “You know that threat means nothing to a necromancer, right? I’m perfectly capable of spending the next few decades haunting you.”

  “That sounds almost as terrifying as the fact that I got kidnapped by my own relatives and yanked halfway across the country. Believe me, I’d rather be listening to a diatribe from Lady Montgomery.”

  “They’re that bad?”

  I thought of Cordelia’s remorseless gaze as she’d sealed my fate. “You have no idea. Anyway, wish me luck breaking out of this room.”

  “Good luck, Jas. Let me know if you need me to exorcise someone.”

  Exorcise. Hmm. “I might just take you up on that, once we’re back in the same city.”

  I hung up the phone. Never mind the coven, the mages, or anyone else—I needed to get back to Edinburgh, before the person who’d tried to kill me targeted everyone I knew.

  I stepped back from the door, drew back, and kicked it as hard as I could. Pain shot through my toes, and the door rattled against a lock someone had obviously put on the outside. I gritted my teeth and kicked with the other foot—

  And found myself face to face with the second scariest thing I’d seen that day: Lady Harper, retired mage, and the Hemlock Coven’s only living human ambassador.

  Today just got better and better.

  4

  I overbalanced, catching myself against the edge of a cupboard. Lady Harper looked me up and down as though contemplating something the cat had dragged in and smeared all over the floor. A fearsome eighty-something woman who’d famously killed two Sidhe in person, she rested one hand on her carved cane and the other on the door frame, blocking my escape. While her neat button-down shirt and long skirt made her look like a retired head-teacher, her mage talent involved tossing people through windows without lifting a finger.

  “Er… hello, Lady Harper.”

  I didn’t know you were still alive wasn’t a polite way to greet a woman who’d served on the West Midlands council of mages twice, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t have got in touch with me if she wanted to. She was a former Mage Lord, and probably had Lady Montgomery’s phone number.

  By way of a greeting, she said, “What in the name of the Sidhe did you do to your hair?”

  It’s nice to see you, too.

  “I dyed it.” I ran a hand over the rumpled edges. “What… what are you doing here?”

  “I should be asking you the same question.” She scrutinised me with her intense stare, and made me acutely aware of every speck of dirt on me and every hair out of place. She hated anything dirty or sloppy. I’d been on the receiving end of her ire pretty much non-stop ever since she’d plucked me out of the witch orphanage and tried to drag some magic out of me by sheer force. While she was distantly related to the coven, she had no witch magic to speak of, and she was the only person who’d ever worked for the Hemlocks who wasn’t confined to that creepy forest.

  “I have no idea how I got here,” I said. “I was in the Hemlocks’ forest. Where am I?”

  “You’re in the home of one of the witches.”

  “You don’t mean the Edinburgh witches, do you?” I knew her answer before she spoke. Somehow, that forest had transported me from Scotland all the way to the outskirts of south Birmingham.

  She gave a sniff. “No, of course not. The covens and I don’t get along.”

  That’s because you don’t get along with anyone. “I need to get back home. I take it one of your people brought me into the forest in the first place?”

  “Naturally,” she said. “I suspected your cover story would be a flimsy one, so I took precautions. I told the Briar Coven to look out for you.”

  My nails cut into my palms. “You told people what I am. And you wonder how assassins found me?”

  “I bound the witches I ordered to watch you to a confidentiality agreement, Jas. They’ve known for years.”

  “That’s even worse,” I said. “What’s the point in telling an entire coven I’m the heir to the Hemlock legacy if they couldn’t stop an assassin from sneaking into their own market? And the killer’s still at large, so I need to go home and pass on the warning to everyone who’s ever come into contact with me. Cheers.”

  “Obviously, I didn’t tell them about Evelyn,” she said. “Which you’d do well to be grateful for.”

  Goosebumps crawled across my skin. “You knew about her, too? Did everyone?”

  “Just myself and your fellow Hemlocks. If others had known, they might not have turned a blind eye to your ill-advised plan to flee the country.”

  “It was going perfectly fine until tonight—last night.” How much time had even passed when I’d been in the forest? “It’s not like I had ‘get poisoned’ on my agenda. I already dealt with a deranged ghost yesterday, and I was hoping I’d get to skip the summit and watch zombie movies, actually.”

  “And there I was, hoping your attitude might have improved during your stint at the guild,” she said.

  “Oh, I’m not ditching my apprenticeship,” I said. “I’ll say that much. Look, you and I both know I have no more witchcraft than your average piskie. I can’t be their heir.”

  She studied my face. “Believe me, the circumstances aren’t ideal, but you’re the only one from the bloodline.”

  “And someone tried to kill me for it,” I said. “Someone sold the poison to my best friend—who, by the way, had no idea about any of this until about ten minutes ago. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to take the Creepy Forest Express back home and tell my boss that I’m not deceased after all.”

  “No, I think not,” she said. “You claim not to have used witchcraft, but it’s dormant in you, and I think we can pull it out.”

  “There is no ‘we’. Did you not hear the part about the assassins and the boss—”

  “Yes, I think we can.” She snapped her fingers. “I have someone here who may be able to help you.”

  Two other women appeared behind Lady Harper. On the left was a pale woman of average height with a sword strapped to her waist. Her brown hair was swept into a ponytail, her leather jacket hugged her muscular shoulders, and she cast a glance at Lady Harper that conveyed an impressive amount o
f disdain. The woman on the right, on the other hand, smiled at me. She looked more like I’d expect a witch to—bright clothing, flowers woven in her curly hair, hints of chalk marks on her warm brown skin, and the faint aroma of herbs.

  “Hey, I’m Isabel,” she said. “This is Ivy.”

  Her sword-wielding companion scanned my face. “I know you.”

  “You’re… Ivy Lane?” I said.

  Ivy snapped her fingers. “You were at the council meeting in Edinburgh. How’d you get all the way here?”

  “Witchcraft,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, but I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  “Did you say witchcraft?” asked Isabel. “You’re Jas, right? Hemlock?”

  “Does the entire planet know?”

  “She’s the one?” asked Ivy.

  “Unfortunately,” said Lady Harper, limping past me. “You take care of her.”

  Ivy sidestepped her cane as the old mage shoved her way out the door. “We didn’t sign up for this.”

  “I’m the leader of the Laurel Coven,” Isabel said to me. “You’re related to the creepy tree people?”

  “You’ve met them, too?” I asked. “They used their magic to bring me here through the forest, but I need to get back to Edinburgh. Someone up there tried to kill me.”

  Ivy’s brows rose. “I didn’t know you could use the forest to cross the country.”

  “Pretty sure only Hemlock witches can,” I admitted. “But I don’t have any of their magic. I’m a professional necromancer working for Edinburgh’s guild and my boss is going apeshit thinking I’m dead.”

  “Tricky,” said Ivy, with a glance at Isabel. “Is Lady Harper kidnapping people now? You know, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “You must know what she’s like,” I said to both of them. “She’s a manipulator. She wants me to serve as heir even if it gets me killed in the process—which is what an assassin tried to do to me, at any rate, so—”

  There was a tremendous crash from behind the door. “Did anything follow you here?” Isabel asked Ivy.

  “I don’t think so—”

  Isabel rolled her eyes at Ivy and turned into the hallway, while Ivy drew her blade from its sheath. It was a seriously nice sword, not like most of the bulky metal blades in the guild’s weapons room. I got on better with knives than swords, but I had none with me. I hated feeling defenceless.

  Ivy ran into the hallway, and there was a shout, followed by a splattering noise. By the time I caught up to Isabel in the hall, the remains of some kind of faerie creature lay in a heap on the doormat.

  “Bloody menaces,” said Ivy, scattering blood droplets everywhere. “Ah, shit, I wrecked the wallpaper again.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Isabel. “At this point, you might as well just leave it there.”

  Ivy surveyed the blood splatter on the white plaster. “It’s an aesthetic. Nice of Lady Harper to leave the door open.”

  “What, she’s gone?” I asked.

  Isabel nodded. “She doesn’t like hanging around here. She had an argument with my Second the other week.”

  “And Third,” Ivy put in. “I don’t think there’s a coven member she hasn’t argued with.”

  “Sounds like her,” I said, eyeing the faerie monster. “Do those things come after you a lot?”

  “All the time,” said Isabel. “We were a week overdue for an assassination attempt.”

  “That can’t have been aimed at me,” I said. “Nobody should even know I’m here.” Were the assassins pursuing me across two countries now? Despite Lady Harper’s assertion that she hadn’t revealed my identity, witches were notorious gossips and anyone might have let the name slip in the last seven years.

  “Did you grow up here?” Ivy kicked the front door open and heaving the monster’s body over her shoulder. “You have the accent.”

  “I was raised in an orphanage,” I said. “At least until Lady Harper pulled me out. She knew I was from the bloodline and took me under her wing. Kind of.”

  “Wait, you grew up with the mages?” asked Ivy.

  “For a few years. Only because I’m the Hemlocks’ heir.” Not that anyone aside from Lady Harper actually knew that. She’d been on the front lines when the Sidhe had attacked and targeted the forest, nearly destroying it, which was why I’d been raised as far away from it as possible. But there was little point in training a Hemlock heir without magic. My extra soul went a long way to explaining why she hadn’t just dropped me back at the orphanage again when I’d failed to manifest any kind of power other than the ability to annoy the crap out of her. “Not to be rude, but I don’t get why she asked you two to watch me.”

  “Who even knows what she’s thinking?” said Ivy. “I’m going to take our dead monster here to Larsen. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

  “I’m going… for a walk,” I said. “I can leave, right?”

  “Technically, no,” said Ivy.

  “But we never saw you,” added Isabel, with a wink.

  I gave her a smile, and once Ivy had got her faerie corpse over the threshold, I went after her into the garden.

  The red brick house was unobtrusive enough from the outside, with flowery curtains and herbs growing on the windowsill marking it as a witch’s abode. Lady Harper must have used her magic to bring me here, or strong-armed one of the other mages into helping. Despite only being vaguely related to the Hemlocks, she possessed their strong-willed attitude and complete and utter self-centredness. The quicker I got away from their influence, the better.

  I crossed the road, looking around to get my bearings. I’d been around the witches’ district before, but it was far from the polished world of the mages I’d spent my teenage years in, let alone the regimented existence of the guild. Similarly to Edinburgh, supernaturals didn’t live entirely separate lives from one another in this area of town—witches mingled with shifters, and even the odd necromancer or two. I debated asking one for directions, but the necromancers here didn’t have a reputation for being friendly, and had no ties to Edinburgh’s guild.

  I stopped, looking at the shop I’d just passed. A sign in the window said, Property of the Society of Ley Hunters.

  That’s new.

  I scanned the empty room within, which appeared to be under construction. ‘Ley Hunters’ probably referred to the Ley Line, the main spirit line that went through the middle of the UK. Necromancers got the most use out of the spirit lines, but particularly strong ones gave any sort of magic a boost. Nothing aside from the sign in the window indicated whether it was a supernatural establishment or otherwise.

  “You again,” murmured a male voice from behind me.

  I spun around, taking a step away from the speaker. A tall man whose hood obscured his face had appeared behind me, unnoticed, and his voice… it was the same as the shadowy man I’d run into in the spirit realm.

  He was a real person.

  “Did you want to look?” I smoothly stepped away from the window. “Feel free.”

  “Human Ley Hunters.” He gave the sign a nod, but didn’t take his eyes off me. “Interesting, but irrelevant. I rather think you’re the one who has what I’m looking for.”

  So much for feigning ignorance. I stood with my legs slightly apart, ready to fight or run. “I think the question is, what are you?”

  “Does it matter?” He stepped closer. “What matters is that you’re going to give me what I want. And what I want is the property of the Hemlock Coven.”

  5

  “I’m not their property,” I told the stranger. “I’m nobody’s, least of all yours.”

  I wished I’d scoured the witch’s house for spells or at least a weapon, but I wasn’t without my own set of tricks. He moved, as though intending to grab me, and I brought my fist up into his nose.

  His hood fell back, revealing blood dripping down his chin. “Ouch,” he deadpanned.

  I frowned at him. Something about his voice didn’t quite match his grizzled appearance. It sounded like it
belonged to someone younger than the guy in front of me. His hair was flecked with grey, his chin rough with stubble… and he wasn’t breathing.

  In fact, I was pretty sure I’d just punched a dead man.

  Dead people don’t bleed, Jas. I shook the thought off. “Are you the assassin? How’d you travel halfway across the country?”

  If he was the person who’d tried to poison me, it made no sense for him to be here, but who else would want to kidnap the Hemlock Coven’s heir? Aside from everyone else who wants to kill me?

  “Aren’t you going to show me what else you can do?” The man spoke, but his lips didn’t move.

  Oh… my god. What is he?

  Despite myself, I took a brief second to check the spirit world. His voice was definitely the same, but he didn’t look like a ghost. Ghosts weren’t solid. He sounded like the shadowy man I’d seen, but in the spirit world, where the man’s ghost should be, nobody was there at all.

  He moved, and I blocked his grab with my forearm. “What are you? You’re dead, but not a ghost or zombie.”

  Blood continued to roll off his chin in droplets. “Vampire is the technical term.”

  “Vampires don’t exist.” What the hell?

  “Do you hear yourself?” he asked, softly. “You’re a Hemlock witch, and unfortunately, you’re standing between me and what I want. Tell me where your coven is hiding.”

  “Yeah, no thanks.” I clenched my fist, and punched him with necromantic power. I might not have as much as a poltergeist, being alive, but no wonder I could hit so hard in the spirit realm. There was someone else’s spiritual presence alongside me the whole time.

  His head snapped back, and grey fog momentarily surrounded us again, showing me his shadowy outline. I’d thought he looked less substantial than a ghost, but it wasn’t true. He was like darkness shaped like a person, and if I wasn’t careful, that same darkness would swallow me whole.

  But the shadowy creature didn’t remotely look like the man I fought. As Death faded a little, the fog turning transparent, threads of blue light became visible, connecting the shadowy figure with the man in the waking world.