Page 66 of The Witch and The Blood Oath

She knew Mom, too?I thought.How much time did Mom spend in New Orleans?

I sighed and shuffled toward the grate. Though I refused to so much as slouch in front of the foreign witches, every part of my body ached. Part of me was desperate enough to enter the sewer for the mere chance of rest. Walker stood close enough for me to lean on, but I refused to accept his help and appear weak.

“I’ll go first,” he offered and lowered himself to the ladder. He took a few steps down then peered up at me.

He’s waiting to catch me in case I fall.

My heart squeezed in my chest, but I swallowed the lump of emotion and approached the opened grate. Though I would never admit it, I was grateful for the cowboy’s help.

As I climbed down, my shoulder and thumb burned. I barely held in my whimper and hurried down the last few steps. In the shadows of the sewer and out of sight of the others, Walker steadied me.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Walker nodded.

“Cady?” he called.

His sister appeared in the grate’s opening and hurried down, followed by Arion, who simply leaped to my side. As the others descended, I bit back bile from the stench and the pain. Rancid water trickled past the platform we stood on.

“This way,” Marie announced and walked deeper into the sewer.

With a wave of her hand, the blonde witch magically shifted the grate’s covering back into position. Along the grimy, concrete walls, floating balls of flame flickered to life and lit our path. The magic’s song blended with the constant rush of water.

“They couldn’t have spelled against the smell?” Ryder complained. I rolled my eyes, and the other witches did not deign to respond.

As we walked, time stretched. I leaned more and more heavily on Walker’s sturdy form. He brushed his hand against mine in silent comfort that I knew I shouldn’t accept but couldn’t shy away from.

Shadows danced on the walls. They reminded me of the chilling darkness that had settled over the mansion under Madame LaLaurie’s will. I had been trapped there, alone, without my friends or my familiar—

Walker squeezed my hand, and I realized my breath had grown ragged.

Ashamed, I quieted myself and focused on his touch. His callused palms were solid against mine, and his gentle grip tethered me to the present.

He came for you,I reminded myself.They all did.

It was a selfish thought. Walker never should have been in the vicinity of the cruel witch. She would have ripped him apart to try to replicate his power, but I couldn’t help but be grateful he had found me.

Finally, Marie stopped. I searched for an indication as to why, but the grimy, concrete walls were as dirty and ordinary as ever. The sewer water flowed past us. A dark realization struck me, and I tensed.

Had they really brought us down here to kill us?

Marie murmured a spell, and her coven members echoed it. Light trailed down the wall and shaped a rectangular outline. In the center of the shape, the intertwined lettersMLemblazoned. Marie’s coven members whispered under their breath, and the rectangle swung open like a door.

“Nifty,” Cady muttered.

Laughter and incense and languid magic poured from inside the hidden room. As we followed Marie inside, I blinked against the sudden but warm light. When my vision cleared, it was as if I had entered an entirely different world from the dank, smelly sewer.

Witches lounged on plush, velvet green and leather couches. Candles burned and spread the magic molded into the wax. The hardwood floors were adorned by brilliantly vivid rugs. Wooden figures and a wild array of photos sat on antique tables and dressers strewn across the expansive room. To the left was a kitchen and apothecary. Some of the herbs lining its shelves were familiar, but there were several salts, flowers, feathers, and bones I did not recognize

I took in my surroundings with a quick, but thorough sweep of my gaze and focused once more on the witches. There were more elder witches here than in my own larger coven. Their lined faces varied in skin tones, but the same eerie wisdomshone in their bright eyes. One of the particularly old witches, with wild, white curls, caught my stare.

“Dear Marie is credited as the Queen of Voodoo,” she croaked like a door swinging open for the first time in years, “but she is far from the first witch to learn the practice.”

“I,” I began and cleared my throat, “I didn’t mean to stare—"

“Freya needs healing,” Walker said without preamble. He reached out and tugged on his sister’s hair, who currently spun in a circle and basked.

I squared my shoulders. “I only request a place to rest.”

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