Not the fucking cats...
“I do not like the sound of that.” Carver shivers, dragging Cameron forward at his side. She digs her heels in at every step as if she knows what we’re about to see.
Death. Obviously.
But we didn’t come here to collect on the nine lives of Birkin’s cats. It looks like the odds aren’t in the Warlock’s favor.
Heat from the fire that consumes a nearby wall presses into every bit of my exposed skin. Sweat starts to build under the gown. In minutes, whatever beautiful makeup Prince Dalziel’s servants had placed on me will likely be dripping off my face. I rub a hand against my cheek to encourage the idea.
A beam from the ceiling hangs low, only held up by one end and a wall that’s begun to cave in on the other side. I reach a hand up and straighten the sign nailed to it that reads “Home is where my cats are.” The haze has grown so thick here, I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me. My eyes sting, and water wells up at the corners threatening to spill down my cheeks.
One more step—
Magic passes through me, over me, around me in a sheet as cold as ice. The room is clear of any and all smoke. My cough is caught in my throat. The copper scent of blood is thick on every surface.
A room that was once cute and quaint has been brought to near rubble. Three men in auburn armor linger. These are not soldiers that belong to the Court of Darkness. A branding of two overlapping suns in orange and yellow on their sleeve mark them for where they truly belong. The Court of Light.
Two of the soldiers lazily lean against one wall, one gripping a cat that violently tries to escape his hold. The last of the three hovers over a cowering Birkin. There is a trickle of crimson that runs down the Warlock’s face. His lip is swollen and split in several places. Cats of several colors and sizes linger at his sides, hissing with every movement the strangers make toward their master.
What cats are left...
A wave of nausea runs its course through my body. I have to stifle my gag with a hand over my mouth. Thank the goddess they can’t hear us while we hide in the veil. Limp feline bodies are piled in the corner. Dozens. As if these men are working their way through Birkin’s collection of animals until they get what they want.
Similar signs of horror pass over the rest of the group as they pass through whatever magic has kept this room safe. Carver and Nollix hiss through their teeth at the sight. Jeriko’s ever-present scowl only deepens before Cameron retches and buries her face into Carver. Her red hair is bright against his navy shirt. His violent lavender eyes get wide before his lips curl, but he makes no move to shove her away.
“Weak stomach, Witchling?” Carver asks.
“Shut up, or I’ll vomit on you, I swear.” Her words are muffled but clear enough.
“Where is the book?” Fingers curl into Birkin’s tattered shirt, a soldier shaking him violently. “Where is theFUCKINGbook?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Birkin wails. Stubble has grown upon his cheeks, dotting his face with salt-and-pepper gray. His face twists, and wrinkles appear, making him look years older.
“Let’s just kill him and get it over with,” the man with the cat says, a hand digging into the cat’s fur until the animal lets out a cry similar to the Warlock’s.
Nollix moves until his warmth is at my back. His rough fingers trail along my arm until he reaches my hand and interlaces them with mine. I turn my head away at the sound of a sword pulled from a belt.
“Wait!” Birkin holds his hands up between them. “Wait, I can tell you who might have it.”
I lean into Nollix. Time ticks away, seconds stretching and racing by all at the same time. All while the Court of Light soldier examines the Warlock. The sword is lowered. Birkin lets out a sigh of relief. In fact, I think we all do.
“Speak.” One word. A quiet but firm command.
“Ah, Ah, Cameron. Cameron Crows,” Birkin stutters.
The Hunt turns to look at the Witch who is still face-first in Carver’s chest. Carver is rigid all over as if every touch between them makes him wildly uncomfortable. She peeks over her shoulder at the mention of her name, lips pulled taunt across her face.
“Who the fuck is that?”
“I say we give the Witch over to them now.” Jeriko snickers.
“Yeah, so they can torture her until she leads them right to the front door of Daddy Big and Bad. I don’t think so.” Carver pulls Cameron’s chin up to him. “Maybe Nollix is rubbing off on me, because perhaps we should be torturing her ourselves.”
Nollix grins. “I am rubbing off on you. I’m pro keeping the Witch to ourselves. See if she can remove their little bond.”
“Good luck,” I purr, though no piece of me wishes to have anything so terrible done to Cameron. There is no doubt that Nollix and Carver are good for their word—
“A Witch. The most powerful Witch in our court. The book belongs to her family.”
