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A black cat with wide yellow eyes skirted into the room and meowed. “Keep an eye on him, Jinxy,” the witch ordered. The cat shifted its attention to the lump of a paladin now lying on the floor.
The witch’s sharp dark brown eyes locked onto Sirus the moment she stepped into the room. She unabashedly scanned him from toe to head until their eyes met again. There was apprehension in her face, as if she was debating whether she could trust him. Sirus held her gaze without qualm. The witch knew what he was. It would be up to her to decide if she trusted him or not.
Gwendolyn made a high-pitched squealing sound from behind the chair where she’d been hiding, drawing the witch’s immediate attention. The elder woman’s face softened, her expression shifting to one of pained worry. “Oh good. You kept your shoes on,” the witch observed with a touch of relief as she came up to her. “I forgot to remind you earlier.”
Something within him tightened at the words, the unease in the pit of his stomach only growing.
Gwendolyn peeled herself up from her crouch, her eyes still wide as saucers. Sirus watched their interaction intently. “What’s—what’s happening?” she muttered, taking the witch’s offered hands.
They didn’t have time for this. “You know why we’re here,” he said sharply.
The witch cut him a withering look for interrupting. “Of course I know why you’re here,” she snapped, then turned back to the woman. “If you hadn’t been late, this wouldn’t have happened.”
It was a sharp setdown that grated to his core. For two weeks, he’d been searching the city high and low. He’d grown agitated that it had taken this long to find the woman who possessed this unknown powerful object Marcus so feared would fall into Nestra’s hands. He’d been hunting a needle in a haystack, but he’d felt himself growing closer. As he looked upon the witch, his instincts told him he’d found what he’d been looking for.
“If you know why we’re here, then you know what we seek.”
The witch let out a dramatic, irritated huff as she gently wrapped an arm around Gwendolyn’s shoulders to comfort her. “Yes,” she snapped. “I know what you seek. I’m the one who had Lucy send you to me.”
“Lucy? From the bar?” Barith cut in. There was a touch of surprise in his voice at the insinuation that he was the one being manipulated for once.
“What—what’s going on?” Gwendolyn muttered again, her eyes darting around the room. The witch pulled her closer to her side.
“It’s okay, peaches,” the witch assured her. “Everything will be alright.”
It was clear the two women were close, but Sirus had no interest in tarrying longer than necessary. “If you brought us here and know what we seek, then I assume you are willing to entertain an agreement?” he pressed. Whatever this object of magick was, it was clear the witch was willing to bargain for it. Otherwise she wouldn’t have bothered to draw them here.
The witch’s eyes darkened, and she narrowed them on him. He felt her magicks coiling around him. Felt them pushing and crackling. Witch’s magick, craft magick, was drawn from the elements. From the very substance of all things. There was a rawness to it, unlike the sleek magick of the mage.
Sirus held firm. Her magick would not work on him the way it worked on others, and they both knew it.
“I know what you’ve come for, vampire,” she declared. “Do you?”
His jaw tightened.
“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Barith cut in, trying to keep the peace and cut the lingering tension. “You told me yourself you knew we would come, and that you’d have to give it to us.”
The witch’s gaze didn’t shift from Sirus. Her eyes narrowed further.
“What the hell is going on?” Gwendolyn bellowed, her hollow shock shifting to panic.
The witch turned to face her. “There’s not much time to explain now. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t think you were ready. I thought it would only trouble you,” she explained with unease.
Gwendolyn blinked in confusion, shaking her head. “Tell me? Tell me what?”
A heaviness settled in Sirus’s stomach, and he met Barith’s eyes for only a second.
“She has what we’re after?” Barith asked, looking around the apartment, a little befuddled.
“It’s too much to explain here and now, peaches,” the witch told Gwendolyn, ignoring the dragon. “The short of it? Magick. The long of it? Folk politics, which you seem to be caught in the middle of.”
Sirus took the woman in. Her small frame trembled, and those green eyes were still dilated and adrift with shock. He’d felt the lick of her magick run over him. Had sensed power. Like a shot of warm energy filling his cold bones, but only for a moment.
Gwendolyn twisted her face in frustration. “Magick?” she repeated in clear disbelief. The witch gingerly wrapped her into a hug as she stood frozen to her spot on the floor.
Sirus sheathed his swords, no longer worried the witch meant to stand in their way. A wave of frustrations washed over him. This contract had already proven more bothersome than he cared for, and apparently it was only to get worse.
“Is she bewitched?” he asked the witch flatly.
