Page 143 of The Witch and The Blood Oath

As I drifted closer to Cordelia’s bedroom, I silenced my footsteps with a quick spell. Perfume, powders, and jewelry were strewn across her vanity. I couldn’t help but smirk—the almighty High Witch was messy.

There was nothing suspicious about her mirror or her ornate chest of drawers. I faltered at the door to her closet. Last time I had approached a ripple, I’d been yanked into it againstmy will, but I wassoclose to an escape. Knowing exactly where to run when everything undoubtedly went to shit could mean the difference between survival and death. Sucking a breath in through my teeth, I yanked the door open.

Only rows and shelves of creamy fabric and fancy shoes loomed inside. Feeling silly, I sighed and closed the door.

Arion’s magic surged, and my heart tugged. This was taking too long. By the time I found the ripple, there might not be anything left to save. Resigned, I turned to save my familiar, but a painting caught my eye.

Hanging over Cordelia’s monstrously large bed, the painting depicted a drop of water hitting a serene pond. The blues of the water and the orangeness of dawn were extraordinarily rich. My fingers curled toward the painting against my will, and my magic hummed in my veins.

A ripple,I realized.It’s a painting of a ripple.

Arion bellowed, and his anguish unlocked me from the ripple’s thrall. Foregoing stealth in favor of speed, I raced across Cordelia’s chamber and threw open the double doors. In a matching chamber, three Handmaidens ran toward me with vicious smiles. Two of them—the air wielder and the master of ice—stood among them, wet and bloody and enraged.

With a blast of power that shook my bones, I pointed my palm to the ceiling and used air to punch a hole through it. As debris showered on us, I squinted against it. The Handmaidens coughed and sputtered, and I launched myself through the opening I had created.

Any satisfaction over my small victory shattered when I realized what I faced.

In his saber-toothed tiger form, Arion stood surrounded by Handmaidens and contained by a collar that emanated soul-sucking magic. The runes on the collar blazed with power, but I homed in on my familiar’s fear-filled, amber eyes, and thepurple blood that stained his sides. He whimpered, and I had never heard such a broken outcry.

“I’m sorry, friend,” I whispered.

Too late, I realized he hadn’t been whining for himself, but for me.

Someone wrenched my shoulders back and clasped cuffs over my wrists. Immediately, cold emptiness stole my breath, and my magic was snuffed out. I couldn’t even sense it past the numbing power of the cuffs. Tears burned my eyes.

Since Mom had left the coven to me, I thought leadership was my heaviest burden to bear, but I was wrong. Failure was a much weightier thing to face.

“All that running,” a Handmaiden taunted in my ear. Her wet body pressed against mine. “And look where it got you.”

Cursing myself for letting my emotions distract me from saving my familiar, I lifted my chin and promised myself that given another chance, I would get my friends out of here.

I stood in a spacious hall. The gold-plated ceiling arched high above the white-stoned floors. A monument of a golden throne perched on a dais. Birds and elements and an ancient language were etched across the golden chair. Beyond it, the purple, pink, and blue sky stretched across enormous windows.

Something surged behind me, and four more Handmaidens from downstairs jumped through the hole I had created. Plaster dusted their once immaculately blue cloaks, and I couldn’t help but smile at the mess I had made of them.

“Think this is funny?” one of them snapped. She pushed her dark braid over her shoulder and glared at Arion. As I realized her intent, I shivered.

“No—”

Purple flames struck Arion’s mangled side, and he whined. Anguish blossomed in my chest, and I choked on a breath.

“That’s what you get for burning one of ours,” another Handmaiden sniped.

Arion’s side bubbled. He was burned down to his white ribs, and he wouldn’t heal with those goddessdamned cuffs on.

“Let him go,” I said, “and I’ll do whatever you want.”

No matter what a wretch it made me, I meant it, but the Handmaidens tittered. Though they varied in age, magical specialty, and appearance, their laughter rang with identical cruelty.

“You’ll do whatever High Witch Cordelia wants anyway,” the dark-haired one promised.

Opposite from the grand throne, doors swung open, and footsteps echoed across the marble floor. Walking amid the various sculptures and ornate furniture were the magical, masked guards who had attacked us in the armory. As they neared, I noticed a pair of boots and pink sneakers poking through the haze of black.

I tried to hide my panic, but judging by the nearest Handmaiden’s smug smile, I failed. As the strange guards peeled apart, Walker and Cady came fully into view. Blood stained Walker’s leather fighting vest, and my magic heated my veins without an outlet. The nearest guard snatched the black sacks covering their faces off, but their magic-binding cuffs remained on.

At least Ryder isn’t captured.

As I met Walker’s electric gaze, magic crackled—light as an ant—across my skin. I swallowed my surprise and looked away.

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