Page 103 of The Witch and His Crow

I looked back to the pavilion, taking in its importance. I knew it had to be crucial to the Trial because it was so misplaced here. It was the type of structure you’d find whilst walking througha park, but instead of holding a band playing music there was a bundle of weapons. Swords, knives, bows, maces. Weapons better belonging in medieval times—which was rather apt for how this felt. I shifted my eyes from the pavilion to the circle of witches standing around it. Like me, they stood on round stepping stones.

I drank them in, Caym’s warning ringing in my mind.

Directly opposite me, through the slats of the pavilion, was the witch who’d shielded me when I’d killed Jaz and her coven. Fear was etched into his expression. Directly to my left was Salem, with his striking jade-green eyes and scarred face. He was smiling, flashing brilliant white teeth as though this was enjoyable for him.

My instinct was to move from the stepping stone and kill him. But as my body shifted its weight, the blades of grass beside the stone rippled and sharpened to deadly-looking spikes. Whoever or whatever ruled this place kept me from him.

‘I’ve missed you,’ Salem said, grinning knowingly.

My lips drew back over my teeth as a feral hiss broke out of me.

In the dark of my mind I heard Arwyn’s voice.‘Steady now, little kitty.’

I tore my eyes from Salem, searching for Arwyn. I continued drinking in every detail, knowing the important of it to my survival. I sagged in relief when I saw Arwyn at a distance. His eyes were pinned to Salem, likely knowing the same thing I did—Salem’s clear desire to cause pain.

Then Arwyn lifted his eyes to me expectantly, the panic in them potent. He attempted to step off his stone podium.

‘Don’t!’ I screamed out, warning him just as his boots grazed the blade-like grass.

Arwyn drew back, fists balled at his sides. As much as I longed to continue holding his stare, I didn’t.

I had to work out what was happening. Ihadto find Romy.

I swept my eyes over the witches, counting nine in total, including me. Out of the hundreds that started the Witch Trials, we were all that was left. I almost passed over one witch, not taking in just how impossible her presence was. It took my mind a moment to catch up with reality to recognise who it was.

Jaz. She was alive and glaring at me with a vehement expression. She lifted a hand, except it was missing three fingers. In their place were stumps, hardly healed. Even her face bore the reminder of wounds left from shattered glass.

She waved at me, waggling her remaining fingers in something vaguely resembling a middle finger.

That would’ve been it for me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, knowing the promise of pain that lingered in her stare. A stare fixed onme. And in truth, I didn’t think I would’ve looked away at all, until a small voice chirped out my name.

‘Hector…’ It was muffled, as though spoken from behind glass.

I snapped to the last witch, the one directly to my right. They were last in this circular line.

‘Romy.’

She was here. And just like the glance I got at her in the bedroom window, she looked fucking terrible. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes. Her hair was lifeless and thick with grease. Even her skin had lost its vitality, giving her an almost grey tinge. My body moved without thought, but it was Arwyn’s warning shout which kept me from moving.

I knew, without a doubt, that Romy hadn’t left me as I’d first believed. ‘What happened, Romy?’

Before she could answer, a rush of violent winds crested over the thorn-coated walls, sweeping leaves in its wake. Caym returned to my mind with another warning.‘The third Trial is about to begin.’

It was as if the atmosphere shifted. Peace lasted but a second before the grass around me withered and flattened.

I stumbled off the podium. All nine of us looked around in confusion, but that soon broke as witches started to run towards the pavilion. A chaos of shouts began, followed by the scent of blood caught on the breeze. It hadn’t been a minute, and someone was already dead.

The shield-conjuring witch lay on the floor, an arrow buried deep between his eyes. An arrow loosed by the bow held in Jaz’s hand.

‘The Witch Hunter…’ Romy said, snapping me out of my trance. She was before me, grasping my arms with a trembling hand. Between her shout, and the way Jaz turned around, cocked another arrow, and lifted the bow towards me, I couldn’t focus.

My Gift responded as I thrust a hand upwards. The arrow which cut through the air towards me was sent off-kilter. I watched it sail past me, disappearing into the wall of thorns and leaves.

‘It’s him, Hector.He’sthe Witch Hunter!’

That stopped me. I looked to Romy, who didn’t notice the arrow or even care about the danger. She was looking over my shoulder, a finger pointed. Dread sunk deep in my stomach as I turned around to face Salem.

In a way, I prepared for a dagger to be stabbed into my back. But not like this. Because I knew that the direction Romy was pointing was not where Salem had been.

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