by Jane Hinchey
Heading back upstairs, he lay down on top of the covers. Georgia lay tucked beneath the blankets. Her body was like ice now. It hurt to touch her. Her face was white, like porcelain, and he wondered if she was actually frozen.
Closing his eyes, he let the exhaustion that was still dogging his every step claim him.
"Hi there." Her glorious voice welcomed him. He opened his eyes to see they were in the same meadow as before. She was sitting by his side, knees drawn up, arms loosely wrapped around them, a yellow daisy dangling from her fingers.
"Hi." He sat up, reached over and brushed her hair back from her shoulder, needing to touch her to assure himself she was real.
"I'm getting weaker." Her eyes were sad and his heart clenched. As much as he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until neither one of them could breathe, there was no time for that.
"Tell me what to look for. In the grimoires." He settled on holding her hand.
"From what I've seen and know about the coven, you won't find what you're looking for in one grimoire. The witches are good at hiding stuff. I'm not even sure you're looking for a spell per-se, because I've been through Aunt Melissa's grimoires a dozen times and nothing stood out."
"We've got the symbols that were on the leather wrapped around your dagger. We think they might give us some answers."
"The candles..." She shimmered in and out of view. She was fading— already.
"What?" He rose to his knees facing her.
"The candles from the ceremony the night I died. They all had different symbols. Symbols I'd never—"
"Symbols she'd never seen before," he muttered, sitting up. Zak had left everything in place when he'd removed the witch's bodies, hadn't thought any of their paraphernalia was important. The symbols were key; they were basically the witches’ language.
Standing, he closed his eyes and transported back to the rooftop in Azure Falls. It was deserted; the wards still held. Crossing to the pentagram, he stopped, eyeing the blood stains all around it. The witches had got more than they bargained for this time.
He started to gather the candles that still sat in ten spots around the pentagram. Five red, five black. Georgia was right—the symbols printed on them were all different. Arms laden with candles, he teleported back to the conference room, startling his warriors.
"What you got there, boss?" Kyan asked, nodding at the candles Zak had dropped onto the table.
"Candles from the ceremony. Georgia said the symbols were something she hadn't seen before."
"Let me see." Aston came over with a digital camera and began snapping photos of each symbol.
"I'll run them through my database, see if anything turns up."
"She also said that the witches were good at hiding stuff, that the answers we seek are probably split between the grimoires. And that it might not be a spell."
"It would make sense that the witches split the information we're looking for." Skye nodded. "But if it isn't a spell, what is it?"
"She doesn't know. She can't hold the dream walk for long." Zak pulled a grimoire in front of him and began flicking through the pages. They had to find a match for the symbols; he was convinced that was the key.
An hour passed in silence, the only sound in the room pages being turned and Aston's fingers clicking on the keyboard.
"Check. This. Out." Jumping to his feet, Aston faced the room, excitement lighting up his face.
"You've found something?" Zak was by his side in an instant.
"Fuck yeah! The symbols on the candles? They're a match for the cloth the dagger was wrapped in. Three of the symbols are upside down. I'm not sure what that means, or if it was an error on the witches’ behalf when they were creating them, but look!"
On his screen were the individual symbols from each candle, overlaid onto the ancient text from the dagger.
"These tell us something. A story. A spell. I don't know yet, but they're telling us something. Now we need to find out what."
"We need to find the meaning behind each symbol."
"Babe." Zak wrapped Georgia in his arms, breathing in her scent.
"You've found something?" she murmured into his chest, her arms wrapped tight around him.
"Yes. It's taken five long days, but we've got it. You're right, the witches hid it, but Aston is a fucking whizz at decrypting puzzles."
"Tell me quick. I don't have much time." She pulled away, her eyes searching his face. Settling his hands on her shoulders, he spoke slowly and clearly. "You need to repeat these words—they will take you to the hunter."
"To the hunter?"
"He's the key."
"I must destroy him? But how?"
"The grimoires don't say, exactly. They do say you'll know what to do when you enter the Hunter's Lair."
She blew out a sigh. "Okay, what do I need to say?"
"Repeat after me: Goddess of light, guide me in this quest..."
"Goddess of light, guide me in this quest."
"Deliver me to my spirit, help me defeat the beast."
"Deliver me to my spirit, help me defeat the beast."
The field they were standing in began to spin, faster and faster. Zak was ripped away, sucked back to his body, she hoped. The wind tore and pulled at her; lights flashed and surrounded her in a riot of color. Her stomach churned as her legs were pulled out from under her and she was whipped up into the air, tumbling head over heels, arms and legs flailing. She screamed, the sound lost in the storm that spun her out of control.
Georgia cautiously opened her eyes. The storm that had pulled her through the spirit world had stopped and it was eerily silent. She was no longer in the field filled with flowers but in a dusty room. A single light bulb swung from the ceiling, its yellow light barely reaching the corners. What it did illuminate stole her breath. Three tall bookcases stood in the center of the room, each shelf lined with glowing jars in a rainbow of colors. They were beautiful.
Stepping forward she examined the jars, peering to see what was inside. The colors were like mist, and some of them sparkled as if they had glitter trapped inside. She took one down, blew the dust off the lid. It had a symbol on the lid, familiar. She bet Aston would know what it meant now that he'd gotten a handle on the witches’ language. Zak had told her she'd know what to do when she got here, and instinct was telling her she had to open the jars. Grabbing the lid, she twisted. Nothing. Damn. The symbol must be sealing it shut.
Tapping a finger to her lips, she prowled along the shelves, looking at all the jars. There had to be hundreds. Were these the spirits of the witches the hunter had killed? There were no labels, no convenient names or dates, just the swirling, colorful mists. On the last shelf stood a jar with no dust. Inside was not only mist, but glitter and what looked like fireworks, tiny, miniature fireworks. The mist was multi-colored, changing from red to purple to green to blue, constantly moving and changing. It was mesmerizing and beautiful. It was her. Holding the jar in her hand, she could feel the mist trying to break through the glass to get to her, to reconnect. She tried the lid, but of course, it didn't budge.
"Okay. This is going to be messy, but it's the most efficient way I can think of to do this."
Moving behind the last bookshelf, she braced her hands against it and pushed. Slowly it tipped forward. Jars slid off the shelves and shattered on the floor, the mists escaping and whirling around the room. The shelf hit the one in front and that too began to topple. More jars smashed and the final shelf toppled, coming to rest against the wall.
The floor was a mess of broken glass, but the room was a riot of colorful, glittering mists. Her spirit found her. She sucked in a deep breath as she felt it breach her skin and sink into her bones, flooding her body with power and energy. There was a loud clap, like thunder, knocking her off her feet and onto her ass. Ouch.
"Oh my God," she breathed, running her hands over her suddenly naked body. "I'm back. I'm back in my body. Jesus, Zak, you could have fucking dressed me!" A clatter at her feet h
ad her looking down. Her dagger. The first blade.
Scrambling back to her feet, she pulled a sliver of glass from the bottom of her foot, not feeling the sting but smiling in delight as her body instantly healed itself. Looking down she watched as the knife wound in the center of her chest closed. Oh yeah, she was back and ready to kick some hunter ass!
The door flung open, smacking into the wall with a crunch. Framed in the doorway was the hunter. This was the first time she'd seen him—in his own body. He was big, massive broad shoulders and chest, towering over six and a half foot. His body was muscled, built for battle and covered in dark tattoos. Tattoos that looked similar to the markings the witches had been using. His head was bald, as was his face, no signs of a five o'clock shadow. His green eyes were frowning and he was naked.
"Surprise!" Georgia greeted in a singsong voice. Before he could take a step toward her, the mist swirling in the room picked up speed, creating a whirlwind. The colors were amazing and mesmerizing. Georgia watched, unable to drag her eyes away as they continued to pick up movement and drift toward her. Her body hummed, every cell firing, sparks sizzling through her veins, yet it wasn't painful. It was welcoming. Tipping back her head, she spread her arms wide and smiled. It was like bathing in a waterfall of magic. The mist enveloped her, hiding her from view, and then with another thunderclap, it was gone. This time she held her balance, the power of hundreds of witches running through her body—their spirits had moved on, having no bodies to return to, but they'd left her with their magic.
"Clever girl. You figured it out." He remained in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame, not embarrassed by his nudity.
"With a little help," Georgia acknowledged, tossing the dagger in her hand, twirling it through the air to expertly catch it again, all the while not taking her eyes off him. It was tempting to drop her eyes lower, to check out all of him, because, sweet mother of Mary, this guy was built. His thick muscly arms crossed over his chest and she gulped, dragging her eyes back up to his face, only to discover he was checking her out.
She could feel the blush heat her cheeks as his eyes devoured her. But she stood her ground, refusing to cover herself.
"You're beautiful."
"It's not anything you haven't seen before. You know, when you were stealing Zak’s memories, his body," she reminded him.
"But I'm not in his body and these aren't his memories. This is me. My eyes. My body." He uncrossed his arms and straightened in the doorway, drawing attention to the magnificent male specimen that he undoubtedly was.
"Your murderous heart." She caved, glancing away, focusing on the peeling paint on the wall instead.
"It's not by choice. I've told you before."
"You have," she agreed, then shrugged, "So now what?"
"Either I destroy you, or you destroy me." His eyes held a sadness that tugged at her heart. She didn't want these feelings, this reluctance to creep in. He'd killed her, for fuck’s sake. And he'd do it again. No matter that he hadn't wanted to, he'd done it anyway, had captured her spirit in a jar and left her on a dusty old shelf to rot for eternity. Righteous anger filled her voice.
"You killed me. Now it's my turn."
His lips twitched, trying to hide a smile. "Have at it, little witch."
"Don't call me that!" Anger flared through her and before she knew it the dagger had left her hand and was sailing through the air toward him. Oh crap. Why had she done that? Now he had her only weapon. Well, perhaps not her only weapon. Her fingers twitched and she could feel the energy gathering. She had her magic. Her very powerful magic.
She was the one who gasped when the dagger found its target, sinking into his chest. He stood perfectly still in the doorway, making no effort to evade the dagger, his eyes never leaving hers.
"What?" Her brows drew together in confusion. Why didn't he move? She knew him, knew he could have easily evaded the dagger, could have snatched it out of the air and thrown it back at her within a split second. Instead, he'd stood there and let her use him for target practice. Only she didn't need the practice. She'd mimicked the killing blow he'd delivered to her. Dead center in his chest.
He sank to his knees, eyes still on her. She rushed toward him, unable to help herself, ignoring the broken glass cutting into her bare feet.
"Why didn't you fight?" she whispered, reaching his side, kneeling in front of him.
"Because I'm tired. Tired of it all. This isn't what I wanted, none of this." His eyes left hers to glance around the room, coming back to her, dimmed. He was fading and, heaven help her, she felt torn. She could save him. She had the power. Uncertain, she bit her lip, jumping when his hand landed on her leg.
"No. I know what you're thinking. You're a good person, not a killer; you want to save me. I don't deserve saving, Georgia. For everything that I've done, I deserve this. Don't think of it as killing me, think of it as releasing me. Releasing me from the curse I've been under for eight hundred years. Do you think I never wanted to love and be loved in return? To have a home? A family? It's what I've always wanted, yet it was taken from me." Blood trickled from his lips, over his chin to mingle with the blood running down his chest.
His hand clasped hers and she let him, tears wetting her cheeks. He'd been cursed. Turned into a hunter, forced to kill. Maybe they could find a way to break the spell that had him bound?
He was shaking his head at her.
"I don't want to be saved." He coughed, his blood spraying across her chest. She ignored it. "You gave me a taste of what it means to care. When I took your life"—he paused, coughing more, sucking in a painful breath—"it hurt me. A pain I'd never experienced before. Here." He pressed a trembling hand to his heart.
"Oh God," Georgia whispered, "let me save you. Let me help you. We can break the curse!" She clutched his hands. These weren't the words of a heartless killer. These were words of remorse, of caring.
"Sweet Georgia," he whispered, his voice weaker. "No cure. Only death can release me. And only you can kill me. The first witch."
"The first witch? What does that mean?"
"Every spell has a loophole. You're mine. You were awakened by the first blade. Magic cast by angels. Unbreakable. You're a prophecy that was foretold eons ago. I knew you'd pop up eventually, and here you are."
"I wasn't awakened by the dagger. I awoke it. And what does Zak’s ring have to do with any of this?" She shook her head in confusion.
"The ring belongs to the protector. Whoever wears it is destined to be by your side, to protect you from harm...until you come into your powers. Until then you're vulnerable."
"I don't feel vulnerable now," she said. A ghost of a smile drifted across his pale face.
"You're not. You've got more power than you can ever imagine. You are a force to be reckoned with."
"I'm the first witch?" He nodded, coughing again, slumping toward her. "There's more..." His voice was so weak she could barely hear him. He collapsed into her arms, his weight driving them backward until he was a dead weight on top of her. She felt the handle of her dagger digging into her own chest and wriggled so he fell to her side. She lay on the floor next to him, eyes flooding as she watched the light fading from his.
"More..." he whispered, beckoning slightly with his head. She moved in close so her ear was next to his mouth and listened, jaw dropping open at his gurgled words. Pulling back, she frowned. Had she misheard?
"What? That can't be right!" She looked down at him, a gasp slipping from her throat. He'd gone. His open eyes were vacant, his jaw slack. Her tears fell on his face as she reached out and with trembling fingers closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. And she was. She wished with all her heart that it didn't have to be this way, that they'd had time to figure out how to save him, but he'd told her she was a prophecy that was coming true. There was no evading it. She was always meant to kill him. He'd known that she would escape the spirit world and come for him; she'd just surprised him with how quickly she'd done it.
Georgia rolled him onto his back and removed the dagger, shuddering as the blood dripped from the blade. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she sucked in a deep breath, letting it out on a squeal when a swirling mist rose from his body. His mist was a midnight navy with sparks of white lights, like a starlit night. As the mist rose and swirled around her she closed her eyes and welcomed it. She'd been right. He'd been a witch who'd been caught up in a battle he had no control over. The least she could do was accept his magic and let him live on with her, along with the witches whose lives he'd ended. A fleeting thought crossed her mind that maybe they'd reject him, not let his magic in, but she needn't have worried. The familiar hum and crackle intensified, the magic waterfall sensation flooded over her and then the midnight mist seeped into her skin, into her bones and very fibers of her being.
His magic was different. Soothing and quiet. She liked to think he was at peace, that in some way he felt he had made amends. The pain and sorrow she felt at his death were gone, replaced with a sense of destiny, of acceptance. It took a few minutes for the magic to settle. The other witches magic was hyper, excited to be free. It still raged through her body, exploring and getting to know her. His magic was already settled, and his calmness spread to the others and they slowly quieted too.
22
"Woman, you'll be the death of me." Zak sat on the end of the bed, watching her as she dried her hair, another towel precariously tied between her breasts. She'd nabbed one of the hunter’s T-shirts and let herself out of the apartment he'd been staying in, able to see the wards that were now visible to her. She’d managed to get a call through to Zak, borrowing a phone from a woman on the street, and he’d teleported to her, bringing her home within seconds of the call. He'd been grilling her for answers ever since, but she refused to talk until she'd cleaned off the blood and dust and was dressed. She was still a little pissed he'd left her naked to face the hunter.
"Been there, done that." She grinned at him beneath the towel before flipping it up to wrap around her head.