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Reaching for the satchel, I pull out an empty vial bottle and drop the tooth in with a clink. It rattles slightly as I twist a strip of cloth around it. Once I’m back on my feet, I sheathe the dagger and half-heartedly brush the loose dirt from my clothes.
I pace to help myself work through the next problem. The flower was easy, the saaer… less deadly than expected thanks to the night bloom’s poison. All that is left is figuring outhowto take the eye of a witch. Just the thought of it makes my stomach roil.
Closing my eyes, I focus on the soft sounds of the forest. slow moving water, insects… and in the far distance a song drifts through the strange warm air, lulling me with the beautiful voice.
Voice. The word repeats loudly inside my mind, and my eyes snap open. The song is still there, but the light hold of the spell is broken. My thoughts race. Ophelia said the witch will see me if I harm others to get to her. Which means I need a plan that might get me through this alive before I attempt anything.
Hiding will allow me to observe the seer witch long enough to make sure she’s alone. If not, then I will wait until she is. That will also give me a chance to learn if she possesses other abilities on top of her sight.
The song gradually grows louder as the witch approaches.
I sprint away from the voice to the edge of the murky swamp. Smearing some of the mud on my exposed skin, I nearly gag. It smells of rotting flesh and stagnant water. The sound of singing continues to close in.
Quickly climbing the nearest tree, I crouch on a sturdy branch with enough leaves to hide me and clap a hand over my mouth.
Slow breath in. Slow breath out.
Forcing my aching lungs to relax, I keep the sounds of my breath near silent, gradually slowing my thundering heartbeat.
There is something peculiar about this quest. The saaer appeared almost immediately after I had the flower secured in my bag. And now, minutes after securing the tooth, a woman I can only assume is the witch I seek draws close.
This cannot be a coincidence.
I don’t have to wait long for her. She steps out from between trees, dressed in a long white gown that flows around her in an ethereal wind. Long, red hair hangs loose down her back in a mixture of wild curls.
She stops at the water’s edge, her song breaking off. The silence that surrounds us is harsh and cutting. It feels cold.
Kneeling, she dips a finger into the water then traces lines across the surface as if writing or drawing—it’s impossible to tell from my vantage point. I should have thought to gather another night bloom. Then again, if she is a skilled fighter, she could take the dagger and use it against me.
The witch’s hand freezes in mid-motion, head snapping up, slowly scanning the area. Then she’s on her feet, and a single note reverberates through the forest.
I no longer have the element of surprise, because along the water’s edge, is a single partial footprint from my boot.
Chapter Eighteen
Clara
As the witch’shum increases, the dagger warms uncomfortably along my forearm through the sheath. Searing heat lances across my skin. I want to rip it off and fling it as far away as possible, but that would give away my position. Even if she doesn’t know my exact location, the witch knows I’m here.
I clutch my wrist and dig my fingers into the straps, as I grit my teeth against the blinding pain. Tears spill down my cheeks.
It’s too much.
Drawing the dagger, I grip the leather wrapped hilt with white knuckles. My palm feels as though my hand is too close to an open flame.
I leap down and land in a crouch in front of her, then straighten. The burning spell dissipates as her bright orange eyes land on me.
She grins wickedly. “It’s about time you’ve come out of hiding, filthy human.”
The bag slides from my hand as I pull my other arm back and bring the dagger forward. She lifts her hand and splays her fingers simultaneously. Power gathers in her palm and shoots out, throwing me back.
Landing in the shallow edge of the swamp, murky water splashes in every direction, swallowing me as it comes back down. I push up, gasping for air.
“Who sent you?” the seer hisses. She reaches out and tangles her long fingers into the front of my shirt, dragging me toward her. She is nearly as strong as a vampire.
Pushing at her hand with little effect, I bite out, “No one sent me. I’m here on my own.”
Slowly, I bring my other hand forward while I continue to struggle against her grip.Divert her attention.
