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“Most don’t,” he admits. “But I am not like most princes.”
Aw, he’s not like other ogres.
She takes a step and searches his face. His brow wrinkles ever so slightly, but otherwise he remains still until she releases a soft hum. Shifting that unsettling gaze to me, her eyes narrow into slits. Something brushes at the forefront of my mind. The touch is gentle but the presence is powerful, a force that makes me gasp. Orcus strokes the bond, distracting me from that sensation. The witch hums and moves on to Edgar. His forehead pinches but he doesn’t wake up.
“All right, then. You may wait for Callum in the village.” With that, she turns and heads down the path.
“What was that?” I whisper to Orcus.
He rises to his feet, searching my face. “She scoured our minds for ill intent.”
Scoured? That sounds like an invasion of privacy, but at least now she knows we mean no harm and we came to help Edgar. Right, so she’s not bad. Not exactly good. Neutral witch? Basic witch? Something like that.
* * *
The village is notwhat I expected. There are no broomsticks or bubbling cauldrons. Young children run around, laughing and playing while their parents chat among themselves. It’s a full-blown community with charming cottages, a market, and wooden swings attached to trees for the kids to play on.
We’re sitting outside of the basic witch Zyla’s home. It’s a quaint log-style cottage with a full garden. Herbs. Red, blue, purple, pink, and white flowers. Greenery. Everything is flourishing and the air is rich with different scents. Mint. Lavender. Hints of sweetness from the flowers. The cushioned lounge chair is so comfortable I may never want to get up again.
Once we explained the situation, Zyla was nice enough to give Edgar a bed to rest in. I’m starting to worry about him. He was never this tired on Earth, but after she scanned his body for anything serious, the witch assured me it was likely the portal travel and age that was causing the exhaustion and nothing serious.
“Callum will return soon, Daisy.” Zyla hands me another glass of what she calls Pinkle Berry and sits in the chair beside me.
I take a sip of the drink and hum in appreciation. Sweet with a hint of sour. A bit like lemonade. “Do you think the warlock will know how to help me find my way home?”
“He is the most powerful warlock in the land.” She doesn’t sound too happy about that. Her attention strays to Orcus and she studies him. “He’s strange,” she says, distracting me from demanding real answers.
“What do you mean?”
“Ogres generally don’t like magic users. They prefer enemies who can fight with brute force.” She rolls her wrist and magic coils around her palm and forearm before extinguishing. “I may not be a giant, but my magic is strong. As are all magical users.”
“Are you enemies?” Orcus is already worried about the furies. I really hope we don’t have to add the magic users to the list of potential enemies.
“There is a tenuous peace between our territories.” Zyla glances in my direction. “He’s the leader the monsters need.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t want to be king.”
She takes a sip of her drink, brushing a strand of her blonde hair off her shoulder. With her flower crown and gauzy dress, she’s like a boho goddess and everything I wish I could be but never had enough energy to become. “That is why he needs to be the king.”
Does she really believe that? I glance at Orcus. He’s sitting on the ground near the garden, too big to fit into her chairs without breaking them. A butterfly-looking insect is fluttering around his head and he keeps glaring at it. It’s kind of cute how annoyed he is. He could easily smash and kill it. The insect lands on his shoulder and Orcus scowls at it then turns away, studying the village instead of giving the creature more of his attention. It’s such a strange picture. The giant monster and the tiny butterfly.
“Zyla,” I lean closer, “can you tell me a bit about this world? Orcus mentioned some things, but I honestly don’t know much.”
Her brown eyes slide over me, assessing in a way that reaches beyond the surface. I suspect Zyla knows more about me than I know about myself. “There are many territories. You are in the magic territory. A land filled with witches, warlocks, or mages.”
I hum. “What’s the difference between a witch and a mage?”
“Mages don’t identify as a witch or warlock. Though, they’re magical all the same.”
“Got it. And do the furies hate you too?”
A group of children rush by, giggling and shouting. Small spurts of magic jump from each kid and the one with black hair stumbles when it lands on his head, splatting and seeping down his strands like a cracked egg.
“No fair!” he cries as all the other kids sprint away. He releases a growl of frustration and races to catch up.
Zyla releases a soft chuckle. “They’re dodging an orb,” she explains. “They run and try not to use magic to keep up or avoid being noticed. It’s a lesson in control. Now, what was it you asked?”
“Do the furies hate the magic users too?”
