Page 13 of The Witch and His Crow
Let them be scared, let them send witches to pace outside my door like I was some common criminal.
‘You’ve left a trail of dead Hunters in your wake,’ Caym reminded me, filtering down my conscience from his perch on some flagpole far outside the four stone walls of my prison. My familiar’s anxiety seeped into me, and I didn’t bother trying to combat it. Mine was a thrashing wave in comparison, prepared to swallow his panic whole.
‘Let’s not pretend this tower isn’t built using Hunter’s blood for mortar, Caym.’
‘Which is exactly why I think the prison suits you, Master.”
‘I preferred when I didn’t permit you a voice to speak with.’ I cringed at the title Caym used, knowing with no doubt that Caym used it for that exact reason. ‘Do me a favour and leave me for some peace. Your company is grating.’
‘My company is all you are used to.’
I raised my middle finger and pointed it at the stone wall of my cell. ‘Then you don’t need reminding how lucky you are.’
Although Caym couldn’t see me, he certainly couldfeelmy emotions.‘It is unbecoming of a Briar to swear.’
‘It is unbecoming of my familiar to tell me what to do.’
‘Point duly noted.’
Caym hadn’t left the White Tower’s exterior in the three days I’d been kept locked up. Given the chance we could reach each other, and Caym could wrap his darkness around me, helping me escape. I’d be like a worm slipping through the Coven’s net.
‘We failed her, Caym.’ What I really meant to say was,Ifailed her.
‘I retract my earlier point of not telling you what to do, by reminding you that blame is the sin of pride. What is done is done. Dwelling on what has been is a waste of time. Focus on what will be instead, Master.’
‘Then tell me why my mother wanted to stop The Witch Trials. Help me understand.’
Caym’s shiver shared down our bound.‘If I could, I would. But Heather prevented me from sharing certain information, in the hopes of protecting you.’
‘From what?’
Caym’s answer was always the same. ‘Corruption.’
I knew it was tied to the Witch Trials—preventing it from ever happening again. My subconscious told me that I remembered conversations between my parents, heated arguments about plans my little mind couldn’t begin to understand.
All my attempts at remembering did was cause me a headache. ‘So much help you are. What good is being your Master if you don’t do as I say?’
‘I do as I do to protect you.’
I scoffed at that remark. ‘Consider starting poetry, Caym. You have a knack for it.’
My back ached from the thin mattress, which was all that topped the metal podium my captor would call a bed. I kicked up, swinging my legs over the edge, grounding myself. I was given slim black trousers and a long-sleeved top to match when I arrived. Three days later and I stank. The military boots fit my feet perfectly, but didn’t offer the comfort a good old pair of Docs would. Clearly, the Coven was following a strict budget.
There was no mirror in the room, nothing that could be used to cause harm. No windows to offer any light beside the florescent bulb hanging above me. I only knew the days passed when the light was turned off.
The few furnishings that were around me had either been glued or nailed to the concrete ground. Regardless of its monotone aesthetic, it was nicer than what I had been made to leave back in Oxford. The basement studio flat with mould-ridden walls, shit water pressure, and not to mention paper-thin walls made this cell look like pure luxury. Shame I didn’t plan on staying here.
In a matter of hours, when dawn rose over London, I’ll be shipped off to partake in the Witch Trials—where you either died trying to claw for the mantle of Grand High, left having gone mad, or won.
No wonder my mother wanted me to keep away from the Coven. Correction, keep mybloodaway. She was never one for senseless killings. If she had been, she would’ve stopped the Hunters that killed her.
Why didn’t she stop it? It was a question that had haunted me for years. She had all the power of Grand High, and she did nothing to save herself.
Why?Thud. Why?Thud.Why?Thud.
Before I succumbed to madness before the Witch Trials even began, three gentle raps sounded against the door. They were so quiet I didn’t hear them at first. It wasn’t until they came again that I heard, but that time I chose to ignore them on purpose.
The door opened anyway, a familiar head of brown curls popping into view.
