“I say we give it a try.”
Maybe it would damn her. But if it killed the witch, it would be worth it, wouldn’t it? If it gave Asher a chance to return to his daughter, she had to try.
Who was to say this wasn’t an answer to their prayer?
“Do you hear that?”Rowan whispered, her voice cracking like dry leaves.
It had been the faintest of sounds, like a breath against her cheek. Nothing, now. Just that heavy muffling silence.
Then, faint, the soft scrape of a footstep on stone.
From across the cell, Asher murmured, “She’s coming.”
His distance was necessary for their plan to work, but she wished he was closer. Her eyes strained, but she couldn’t see anything. Not when the shuffling footsteps paused outside their cell. Not when the lock fell and the heavy door scraped open.
Silence fell, vast and suffocating.
It was broken by a soft voice. “Good evening, Asher.”
“Witch,” Asher growled back. “Or is the witch even in there anymore?”
A warm laugh, low and smoky. “Believe whatever you wish. I trust you’re enjoying your stay more now that I’ve brought you a friend. Witch hunters do so poorly alone. You’re pack creatures at heart.”
Rowan searched the cell. It was large, made to hold many prisoners. She thought the witch was to her right, but it was hard to track the sound with the way it echoed off the walls. The charm was clasped in her sweaty palm.
“Rowan,” she said. “It’s so nice when an old neighbor drops by to say hello. You left so quickly last time you were here.”
A chill ran down her spine. “That was years ago. You were here then?”
Already?
“It was before I’d claimed this body, but I was aware even then. Witch hunters think we can only exist on this plane through an intermediary but there are thin places between our worlds. I was so glad when you came. It was rude of you to run.”
Oh, God.
Therehadbeen something down here when she and Toby had come all those years ago. Waiting, watching in the dark.
“What do you want from me?”
“We’re connected, you and I.” The voice was moving again, coming closer, she thought. “Practically sisters.”
She stood up slowly, keeping her back to the wall. “I am nothing like you.”
“No? I can smell it in your blood.”
“Lots of people have fae blood.”
“I can feel your magic. Blood and thorn. Oak and iron. So delicious.”
Her stomach turned.
“I’m not like you,” she said again.
“You’re not like other people though, are you?” the witch continued calmly. “That’s why you live in the woods. Foraging mushrooms. Snaring squirrels. Hiding away like a timid, wild thing.”
“The woods were actually quite nice before you came along.”
The witch laughed. “Is it by choice that you live in that dirty shack? That you go without food so your mother can eat? That the good people of Sulen mock you whenever you go into town with your ratty clothes and backward manners? That’s the life you choose?”
