Page 60 of Savage Hope

How can they promise so much yet dangle it like a carrot before me?

What if I’m not who they’re in search of?

What did they call it?

An elemental witch?

How am I supposed to know that?

“So, are you ready?” The woman asks, the four other witches standing in unison behind her. She doesn’t seem to need an answer as she steps toward me, and I swiftly shake my head, instinctively rearing back as she draws closer.

“I’m going to need more information than that before I decide I’m ready,” I blurt, halting her in her tracks as I sense the four spectators shift with uncertainty. “You want me to be a what witch?” I add for clarity, but the elongated silence that wraps around the room threatens to steal my breath.

Nobody moves, but I sense irritation flooding from the woman hiding beneath the hood in front of me as she clears her throat, sweeping her hands out at her sides.

“I am a mind witch, specializing in tarot. I stand as the central piece to the Renegade coven. I’m the focal point, if you will—like a wolf’s Alpha. Every coven is made up of the same key elements. We currently have two elemental witches, a potions witch, and a charms witch. We need the third and final elemental witch to complete our coven. If you prove to be the elemental witch we’re looking for, you have a home with us forever.”

The room goes silent and I long for the sound of the dripping water to return, but it’s lost to the flickering flames that heat the room.

All of this rests on an…if?

What if I’m not an elemental witch? And more than that, how am I supposed to know?

“I don't know what I am,” I state feebly, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, nerves getting the better of me as my fingers twist together in my lap.

“That's not a problem. We can find out regardless.”

My spine stiffens at the flippant way her words fall from her mouth, and the panic burning a trail up my spine makes its presence known.

“How?”

My fingers curl around the arms of the chair, nausea churning in my gut. I don’t even know the answer yet, but something shifts inside of me.

Something is not right. I can feel it deep in my gut.

The hood moves slightly as the person beneath shakes their head. “It won't hurt…much.”

There’s almost a lingering hint of amusement to their tone, and it’s the wisp that I need to seal my fate.

“No.”

I move to stand, but two witches step from behind the woman before me, knocking me back down into my chair with enough force that I feel the front two legs lift and my body tilts backward just enough that I brace for an impact that never comes.

“You can't find out my magic. I haven't released my sigil,” I rush, panic clawing at me as I try to fight out of their hold, but it’s futile. “My bangles are still in place,” I insist, feeling the metal bite into my skin as they force my arms down on the chair.

“I told you, it won't take long. Just hold still,” she orders, and the panic intensifies.

I glare at the witches holding me in place, panic turning to anger and hysteria as I try to tug my arms free from their hold, but I’m locked in place against my will.

“No. No! No,” I plead, but it’s as if the words go unheard as another witch steps forward, but the fifth witch, remaining at the back to my right, with one foot in front of the other, seems to falter at my terror.

They don’t leap to my defense, though; they watch on in silence as fear consumes me, unraveling inside of me.

The apparent leader edges closer, her hand extended toward my face. Her fingers are curled and a glimmer seems to shift along her palm.

“I said no. Don't come near me,” I shout, horror laced into every syllable as she ignores me.

If this is what it’s like now, with them wondering if I fit their mold, what would it be like if I were indeed what they needed?

---