I cling to the feeling of the Warlock’s hand in mine. Solid. Solid.Solid.
Then in half a breath, we’re standing on a stony and uneven surface.
Unmoving. Gravity returns. I remember to breathe. Open my eyes. A damp darkness envelops us completely.
“Did we just fall through the earth?”
Give a girl some warning. I hope my nails leave vicious little impressions in his palm. This kind of magic is way beyond Farewitch territory.
“Yes and no. That creek is a window. I just had to find the right place to open it.”
My eyes adjust. Around us, boulders and sharp rock formations stick out like the canines of some giant creature. Nooks and gaps hide shadows blacker than my cast iron. A gaping dark hole yawns open up ahead.
“Welcome to the path to the Widow Witch’s holler.”
We have just days until the summer solstice, or Litha, when Witches normally prepare feasts to celebrate the longest day of the year and welcome the extra hours of sunlight. And we’re in—
“Caves?” I groan.
“Not a spelunking fan?”
“I was just envisioning something less… Batman.” I blink away water from my bangs. “Are we supposed to bewet?”
“Ah, no.” He shifts on his feet. “This portal operates with its own magic, but having mine would have made the transition… smoother.” He clicks on a flashlight from his pack. “Shall we?”
As we hike through the cave system, soggy darkness sucks any warmth from my core. Ironically, the Frosts are not intended for the cold. Bread does not rise in icy air. I cling to the thought of fresh steaming bread as we trek through the dark, like some hapless couple in a fairy tale. Except we’re not a couple. And if this is a fairy tale, the villain is just around the corner.
After endless near tumbles on loose rocks, I feel myself growing less intimidated and more irked. The Widow Witch doesn’t have a side porch entrance? “If electricity and batteries don’t work inside her holler, we’re going to lose our light at some point, won’t we?”
The Warlock’s eyes glint in the flashlight. “Yes. She allows some power and magic to flow within her own home, but not in the territory around it. To ensure another magical being can’t sneak up on her. In a sense, she’s created a massive electric fence. My magic always itched up against the buzz as I got closer.”
How often has he done this? Did he come back at all before now to try to fix things? I haven’t felt any static pushback yet, but my Farewitch magic isn’t constantlyonlike his would have been.
“You know, when Lazlo disappeared during the tornado, I thought maybe he was showing early signs of being a Warlock, too. That his magic was peeking through enough for him to portal somewhere.”
The Warlock takes a long time to answer. “He’s too young to know. But when it’s time, our power does often manifest with heightened emotion or stress. The transition for a new Warlock can be unpredictable. It’s easy to lose control.” He peers into the darkness ahead of us. “Look out for anything that moves. The Witch has her own beasts roaming around.”
I don’t ask for clarification. When death comes for me, at least it’ll be too dark to see it. Gotta think positive.
My eyes adjust hour by hour. The piercing teeth in the caverns are only stalactites and stalagmites; the wide mouths opening to consume us are just branching tunnels. Mazes like this riddle Appalachia, stretching for miles underground, across state lines. An endless, connected root system, most parts hidden and unexplored. For good reason. If the Widow Witch isn’t our biggest threat, getting lost will be.
My boots slip on the moist limestone rock, losing traction, and I keep sliding right into the Warlock, who’s annoyingly balanced. The farther we go, the wetter it gets. Underground streams snake around us, pools of water collecting like mirrors across the ground.
“Not mirrors,” the Warlock says when I make the observation.
No—morewindows. Much to the horror of my stomach. Arna Jean was right: The older Witches love their portals.
For what feels like hours, the Warlock proceeds to guide usthroughthe cave pools, in no discernible pattern. One minute, we’re on an uneven tunnel path, and then he steps right into a pool like he’s simply changing lanes on a highway, pulling me with him.
“Shortcuts,” he explains between jumps.
Men and shortcuts, honestly.
Each blind jump into a cave lake feels like that first steep drop on a rickety state fair coaster. At least it’s too dim for him to see the green color of my face. At last, we finally stop to rest in a vast, echoing chamber.
It has to be night by now. Hell, I can’t tell. In a cave, it’s always midnight. I’m too exhausted to care. I go horizontal fast, reclining on one of the two sleeping mats we brought. We switch from flashlight to stationary battery lantern.
Stark shadows dance across the Warlock’s face, so I can’t get a grasp of his expression when I catch him staring at me.
