A Lying Witch Book Four

by Odette C. Bell

  McCain was only 2m behind us, and I watched, almost in slow motion, as he hefted the sword over his shoulder and aimed it at Sarah.

  Somehow, she’d managed to survive his last blow. I knew she wouldn’t have a chance of surviving this one.

  “It’s time to get out of here,” Sarah said as she selected one of the intricate keys and said a single word under her breath.

  Usually, I wasn’t particularly good at picking up the words used in spells. I was too new to discern what the hell was being said. But this time I got it. Nartus.

  I also saw an opportunity. No, the future didn’t open up before me. I didn’t give in to my power. And yet, somehow, I connected to it. Maybe it was the same as what Mary had done when she’d set up the trap for McCain. Maybe it was different. Maybe this, right now, was my special, unique way of balancing my magic. It didn’t matter. What mattered is that in a nanosecond, everything aligned. I saw an opportunity, I reached out, and I took it.

  Literally. I punched a hand forward and grabbed the remaining fancy key, yanking it off the key ring and jerking back. It was just in time. For a second later, Sarah disappeared. Before she did, she reached a hand toward me and screamed at me, but her scream was cut short.

  As Sarah disappeared, the fancy key obviously having allowed her to warp without the use of a lock, the spell sent an after-shock blasting out in every direction. It hit me right in the face, considering I’d been leaning down in Sarah’s arms. I was buffeted backward but managed to pitch into a role and push to my feet. McCain wasn’t so lucky. The shockwave caught him just as he was leaning back and toting his sword over his shoulder for another swing. The momentum was such that he pitched backward, the sword falling against his chest and momentarily pinning him in place.

  This time, time didn’t slow down, and while it would have been kind of nice, I didn’t need it.

  I pushed forward, the fancy transport key still in my hand, the word to activate it on my lips. I skidded to my knees, my pants tearing as I jostled over the gravel.

  McCain began to push up just as I reached him, just as I punched a hand out and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

  I clutched the hilt in both hands and yanked back with all my might. Though at first McCain seemed surprised, a split second later, he realized what I was doing.

  He bellowed as he jolted forward and wrapped his grip around the sword, pressing into me.

  I didn’t give up. Holding the hilt of the sword in one hand, I slashed forward with the sacred knife.

  I caught him across the top of the chest, and the blow was enough to send him jolting backward, enough for him to lose grip on his sword.

  Time spiraled into a point. Of opportunity, of chance, of failure. As I yanked the sword back, I questioned if I had the time to plunge forward and stab McCain through the chest, returning Max’s soul to him.

  I didn’t.

  He bolted toward me, arm spreading wide.

  I didn’t give him the opportunity to lock me in place. I slashed at him with the knife. I kept his sword in one hand, clutching the key against it, and I said the magic word.

  There were plenty of reasons why the spell wouldn’t work. Not least of which I didn’t exactly have much magic to speak of.

  But it didn’t matter.

  In a cascade of sparks, the transport spell took hold, and I was ported away. The last thing I saw was McCain’s terror as his enraged face snapped close to mine. But he didn’t reach me in time.

  I had no idea how to use one of these fancy keys, but apparently they were foolproof. Half a second later, I felt myself being spat out, and I landed on the opposite side of the tip. I skidded face-first into a mound of gravel. McCain’s sword fell at my side, and I managed to keep hold of the sacred knife. The transport key slipped out of my grip. As I pushed up, it was just in time to see it disappear. In a twist of sparks, it simply crumbled, its magic obviously having been used up.

  I stared at it, heart beating, throat constricted, then jolted to my feet. I craned my neck and scanned my surroundings, trying to figure out where I was. My original assessment was correct, and I was all the way on the other side of the dump, a good kilometer or two away from McCain.

  “Oh holy hell. Shit, it worked. It worked,” I said as I shook my hands and tried to chase away my fear. That hadn’t just been close – I’d been literally a millimeter away from dying.

  Though I dearly wanted to sink down to my knees and indulge in catching my breath, I knew I didn’t have that luxury. I pushed back down to my knees and silently considered McCain’s sword.

  I may have failed in plunging the sacred knife into McCain’s chest, but at least I had his sword. And that would count for something. Not only would it give the witches a chance against him, but it was the past version of the contract. All I had to do was destroy it, and I’d be one step closer to finishing this.

  “Jesus Christ, how the hell am I meant to destroy it?” I managed through a stuttering breath as I continued to survey it. I didn’t pluck it up. Now it had been removed from its master’s grip, it looked as angry as hell. Red lines of power kept pulsing through the blade, and it looked about as hot and dangerous as molten lava.

  Though this section of the tip was sufficiently far enough away from the rest of the battle, I could still hear the soft sounds of distant explosions. And I knew full well what that would mean. Linger and people would die.

  “Okay, okay, you can do this,” I stuttered to myself as I pressed close to the sword, almost straddling it. Obviously, the only weapon I had was the sacred knife, so I was pinning all my hopes on it. But how exactly could you destroy a sword with a dagger?

  I got my answer as I peered closer at the blade.

  It was no ordinary sword. Written along the hilt were magical runes. And though I couldn’t recognize them, it was obvious they were some kind of spell.

  So all I had to do was change the words of the spell, right?

  It was a gamble. But right now, it was all I had.

  Pressing my tongue between my lips and hoping like hell I wasn’t about to aggravate the sword only to have it cast some defensive spell in my face, I pinned the hilt of the sword to the ground with one knee and started carving against the symbols. At first, nothing happened. At first, it was frigging hard work. Hello, I was carving into metal. But the longer I concentrated on the task, the more the magical dagger reacted to me.

  Slowly its blade started to penetrate the sword’s hilt, crackles of magic spewing everywhere.

  They were so powerful, they felt like they wouldn’t just singe my eyebrows off but take the rest of my face with them. But I kept it up, pressing the blade harder and harder as I carved against the symbols. It took a full five minutes until I’d managed to deface the first symbol. When nothing happened, my heart sank. I didn’t give up, though, and I kept pushing with everything I had until finally something started to happen.

  Once I defaced the second symbol, the sword itself started to shake. The convulsions were coming from within the metal, almost as if a shuddering body were trapped within. The more I carved against the magical spell, the more powerful those convulsions became until the sword started to split apart. It was like watching glass fracture in slow frame. Pulses of light shifted through the metal until, with one last rattling shake, the whole sword shattered.

  I felt that sharp, unmistakable searing pain in the center of my head.

  The last fragment of the curse disappearing.

  The pain was so explosively violent, it sent me shaking back, my eyes rolling into my head.

  It would have been so easy to succumb to the pain, and yet somehow I managed to keep one eye open.

  As the sword broke apart, the most miraculous thing I’d ever seen took place.

  Sparks escaped the crumbling blade, and as they sunk into the earth, they started to take shape.

  I had no question in my heart what would happen next. For as the first sparks formed, my soul screamed at me that it was Max. And yet
my mind pointed out that Max was still somewhere on the opposite side of the dump. That, apparently, didn’t matter.

  As the sword shook one last time and crumbled completely, Max formed in full.

  From somewhere across the opposite side of the dump, I suddenly saw a blue bolt of something rocket toward us.

  I bolted back as it shot toward Max, but then, when it was clear that it would shoot into him, I threw myself forward, trying to protect him. But I couldn’t protect him. For that blue bolt of magic? It was the rest of his body, the rest of his soul. It shot right through me, plunged through my back, exited out my heart, and sunk into Max’s new form.

  I shuddered, gasping as the most complex of sensations pulsed through me. And then? And then the moment I’d been waiting for since McCain had ported to the future happened.

  Max, my Max, woke.

  “Max, my god. Max, it worked.” I couldn’t even understand myself as the words barreled out of my mouth one after another.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes as he came around, as he finally found the strength to push up. Though he shook and convulsions traveled through his bucking form, it didn’t matter. Max was coming around.

  I wrapped my arms around him.

  It took a few more seconds until Max found the strength to speak. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary as if he were coming around from a bout of drinking and not magical unconsciousness. “Chi? Chi, what happened? Why are you trying to strangle me?” he added.

  Maybe it was his version of a joke. It didn’t matter. I laughed anyway. Big shaking wracking sobs of laughter that rattled my chest as I hugged him tighter.

  He let me embrace him but then several seconds later pushed back, his frown coming into view as he stared into my tear-filled eyes. “Chi, you’re reacting as if I almost died. What’s going on? And,” he looked past me, his crumpled frown turning to outright surprise as he obviously noted the completely destroyed dump around us, “where the hell are we? What happened?”

  Though I wanted to remain there, listening to his voice, celebrating the fact he was still alive, a reminder of just how much danger we were in chose that exact moment to scream.

  I whipped my head over my shoulder, cheeks paling. “McCain. Shit, I thought we’d have more time.”

  Max paled.

  His cheeks, which were usually pleasantly tanned, became the color of new powdered snow. “McCain?” His voice was so low, I had to strain to pick it up.

  I turned back to him, almost giving myself a crook neck. “Your other half. Max, there’s no time to explain, but I know everything. I know that you’re the remaining good half of the Sorcerer King McCain’s soul.”

  Every word I spoke was like a slap to Max. He withdrew in on himself like a flower closing off to the night. His jaw hardened, but before he could dismiss me, or worse – come up with some excuse in a misguided attempt to keep his lie hidden – I pushed forward and clasped a hand around his. “Max, it’s too late. I know everything. I’ve been to the past. You can’t hide this from me anymore, nor do you have to. But trust me, McCain is out there. And we’re running out of time. We have to trap him and….” It was my turn to harden my jaw. It took several swallows until I found the strength to say what I had to. “Save him. We have to save him. It’s the only way to save you and the rest of the city.”

  Max simply sat there, looking about as responsive as a clay statue. As my heart sunk, I wondered if the shock would send him back into the arms of unconsciousness.

  “Max?” I said through a stuttering breath.

  Finally, he reacted.

  He jerked his arm free from mine. “Chi, you have to get out of here.” His voice dipped down low in a gravelly warning that shook through my belly.

  “Hell no. Max, there’s no way I’m leaving you. Not now, not when I fought so hard to wake you up.”

  “Wake me up? I don’t know what happened.”

  “When McCain found some way to push into the future, you just… you collapsed.” It was goddamn hard to push the words out. Every one felt like a blow, like I was punching myself in the frigging heart.

  Max, at least, didn’t pull back.

  That was to say nothing of his expression, though. It became darker as if a storm cloud were crossing his face.

  He appeared to come to a decision and, using my shoulder as traction, pushed to his feet.

  I stood, following him as terror continued to pulse hard through my belly.

  McCain chose that exact moment to bellow once more. His scream echoed and ricocheted over the dump, sounding like a blast from a thousand fog horns.

  As Max shifted forward, movements uncoordinated but still bristling with strength, I caught sight of the side of his face.

  It made me swallow. I’d seen Max look stronger, seen him looked more determined. But this? God, you only needed one look at his face, and it would be obvious to anyone he was getting ready to kill a man.

  Though Max still wobbled, with every step he took, his movements became stronger until he pushed off into a run.

  His trademark camel-leather boots skidded over the gravel, churning up chunks of stone and sending them scattering behind him.

  “Max, wait up,” I screamed. “You’re in no condition to fight. Plus, it doesn’t matter. There’s only one way to defeat McCain.”

  “No, Chi. There’s two. Now, get out of here.”

  I was in no mood whatsoever to follow Max’s order. Hello, I hadn’t just gone through Hell on Earth to be pushed back by his misguided manly attempt to save me from himself.

  As soon as he reached the bottom of the incline, he pushed off into a hearty run. I don’t know where he found the power, but within a few steps, his stride was just as balanced and strong and fast as usual.

  I would have no hope of keeping up. “Max,” I shrieked at the top of my lungs. “Just stop. Please. Listen.”

  It was a plaintive cry, and though I screamed it at the top of my lungs, there were plenty of other chaotic, crazy loud noises to compete with it.

  And yet, Max heard. More than that. He stopped. He hesitated.

  It gave me the time I needed to reach him.

  Considering this breakneck adventure, when I came to a stop, I collapsed down, locked my hands on my knees, and battled to suck in enough air. I turned my head up and faced him. “Max… there’s more to this situation. More I haven’t told you. I don’t know what you’re planning to do, but it won’t work. McCain’s too smart. Too strong. He’s been planning this for hundreds of years.”

  “Chi, I know all of that. I know what that monster is. Now let me destroy him. I’m the only one who can.”

  Max pressed forward and pushed into another run.

  Just before he could shoot out of sight, I rocked forward, wrapped my arms around his, and held him in place. To be honest, considering how weak I was after my combined fights with McCain, the Lonely King, and this very dump, I couldn’t hold a fly, let alone Max.

  It didn’t matter.

  He stopped. He angled his head down to me. “Let me go, Chi. This is the only way.”

  “No. You’re going to kill yourself. If McCain dies, so do you.”

  There was a protracted pause. It brought my attention to how stiffly Max stood there. As my arms were wrapped around his elbow, I swore it felt as if I were holding a marble statue in place. His muscles were so pronounced as they pressed against mine, it was a surprise they didn’t twang.

  “This is what I deserve, Chi. It’s what we’ve always deserved. It finally took you to free me. And thank you.” With that, he pulled free.

  “No,” I shrieked. “Max, please. Come back. Max.” But this time, there was no stopping him. He shot off through the dump, and soon I lost him in the mess of metal and floating trash.

  I sunk down to my knees as the futility of the situation struck me. Though McCain was in full swing, and not even the combined efforts of the witches could hold him back, I instinctively knew that Max would be different. As a scrap of his soul, h
e’d have a direct way to fight McCain.

  And if I couldn’t get there in time….

  Chapter 9

  Though it was futile, and I had absolutely no hope to run Max down, I ran full pelt toward him.

  The sacred knife was still clutched in my hand. I fancied it had lost a little of its power ever since I’d used it to destroy McCain’s sword.

  In fact, as I ran, the unmistakable crackle that had once shot through my palms as I clutched it started to wane.

  Great. It was my only weapon. My only hope.

  No, a voice rose unbidden from my mind. It had the same strong tones as Mary, the same unflappable determination.

  No, there was another way.

  It was time for me to come to a new understanding of my power.

  But that was a rather big ask while I was still running full pelt through this crazy magical dump toward an enraged sorcerer king.

  Still, as my boots skidded over the gravel and I kept dodging whatever magical junk sailed overhead, I pressed my mind into the task.

  Because there had to be away. Had to be some balance I alone could find.

  Yes, strong magic cost, but I’d seen Mary use her abilities to fend McCain off. So there had to be some balance.

  As I shifted through the dump, I saw there were barely any witches left to fight off McCain. Though I’d managed to steal his sword from him, apparently that didn’t matter. His rage counted for everything as stray charges of some of the most powerful magic I’d ever seen kept circling overhead. It was honestly like this was the end of the freaking world.

  It didn’t take long to find McCain. All I had to do was follow the bellows of rage.

  But for the first time, the pitch of those bellows changed, and I heard a note of unmistakable surprise shake through McCain’s voice.

  Max would have appeared, then.

  I could hear the two of them just up the rise of a hill. Throwing myself up it was absolute murder. The junk twisted around me like a frigging cyclone. I brought my arms up, protected my face, and plowed forward, not caring as metal and plastic snagged my clothes and hands and arms, tearing at fabric and flesh.