Page 62 of The Witch and The Blood Oath

It belonged to Walker.

I forced my eyes open, but I couldn’t see anything in the shadowy room. Though I wanted to thrash upright, I made myself pause—I couldn’t afford to succumb to my anguish again. I took stock of my wounds. My side ached from the crash into the stairs, but my shoulder was the biggest problem. Luckily, my shackles were not magic binding, which meant I could heal myself once I got them off.

But why are they immune to unlocking spells?

I wondered if in my panic, I had rushed through the spell and screwed it up. Blocking out the scent of rot and blood and death, I murmured the spell again.

Nothing happened.

I cursed under my breath and considered my options. Downstairs, voices rose. I could stumble toward them, but shackled, I was useless to my friends. The shackles didn’t bind my magic, but the dislocation of my shoulder made me too easy of a target. A memory came to mind and with it a solution.

Never let magic limit you, dearest. Some situations are so dire, they require ordinary solutions.

Though I wanted to convince myself the advice had come from my mother, the words that rang in my head were Josephine’s.

And she was right.

With a deep breath, I forced myself to sit up and tried to use my core to ease the burden on my shoulder. A whimper escaped my lips, but I gritted my teeth and bared the pain. It was the least of what I had to endure.

Dark magic clashed with Walker’s humming power. Buzzing earth magic and growling animals joined the fray, and I remembered my goal. As I focused on my friends’ struggle, I forced my pain into a small box in the back of my mind and grabbed my right thumb. I wedged my other thumb at the base of the appendage and called on the Goddess to strengthen my will. With my magic singing in my veins, I pressed down and popped my thumb out of socket.

As my joint ached in protest, I slipped the manacle off my bad thumb and clutched it to my chest. Cursing under my breath, I forced my thumb to straighten and jammed it back into place with my other hand. Stars danced in my eyes, but I breathed through the pain and stood. When I was certain I wouldn’t pass out, I grabbed the arm attached to my bad shoulder and raised it. Before I could second guess myself, I yanked on it.

A scream—filled with agony and victory alike—crawled out of my ravaged throat.

Bones crunched, but my shoulder slipped back into place. As I caught my ragged breath, I faced the larger problem at hand.

The witches were impervious to magic.

But they’re not just witches,I remembered.They’re ghosts.

I recalled how the shortest sister had recoiled upon the sight of my tears.

Ghosts don’t like salt.

The solution was so obvious, I wanted to curse myself for not thinking of it sooner. I was mere miles from the planet’s greatest well of the purifying substance—the ocean. I recalled how Walker had pried the very molecules of water apart in order to breathe. Surely, the same could be done with the salty sea breeze.

And I know just the young witch to help me do it.

Chapter Nineteen

Walker

As Freya’s scream pierced the silence, I lit the Sol Sword with my lightning and pushed Cadence behind me. Ryder growled, and Arion hissed. Five floating women appeared in front of me, each wearing extravagant petty coats and covetous smiles. Dark magic wailed, but amid it, Freya’s power flickered.

I studied my adversaries and moved farther into the mansion and closer to the source of Freya’s awful scream. I didn’t care that I faced some of the most infamously cruel and powerful witches to ever exist.

They were mere obstacles between me and my—

My Freya.

“Perfect,” the plump, older woman preened. “Let’s see what he can do, girls.”

The four younger witches—ghosts—whatever the hell they were descended upon us. With her yellow teeth bared, oneof them flew directly at me, and I swung. As my electric sword struck, the ghost-witch hissed and writhed then dissipated into nothing.

With horror marring their pale faces, the others paused and darted through the walls. They reappeared just as quickly and lunged at my friends.

Darkness plumed from the shortest one's hands—right at Cadence. She dipped out of its path, but the darkness grazed her arm, and she cried out. Red glazed over my vision. I drove the Sol Sword into the ghost-witch’s chest and just like her sister, she perished.

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