Page 18 of The Witch and His Crow

Allies and enemies.

Whoever this champion was would leave a trail of dead witches behind them. I couldn’t let it happen. I wouldn’t. Everything was changing, my mind making decisions before I could even contemplate them.

All I could do was watch from the shadows as Jonathan sauntered away, his gait as proud as his rolled-back shoulders.

‘Prick,’ I shouted at his back, knowing full well he wouldn’t hear me, but wishing he could.

IknewI didn’t like him. Intuition was one thing, but I knew a bad man when I saw one. And Jonathan Bailey was the worst of all.

‘I made a vow to your mother that I would protect you, Hector. If you do this, I will not be able to help you.’

His words only irked me. Fuelled me. What good was that vow now that we had already failed? The Witch Trials were proceeding whether I escaped or not. My involvement would mean the difference between allowing the Witch Hunters a chance to finally get control over us, or stopping them once and for all.

The answer, in my mind, was simple.

I pulled against his hold, feeling the shadows stretch like wet paper. One by one, they ripped, offering me some freedom. ‘If the Witch Hunters gain access to our source of magic, how are you going to protect me then?’

That stumped Caym, just as I knew it would. He too couldn’t comprehend what we’d just overheard. ‘And what do you plan to do?’

The question simmered across my skull, bouncing between bone until it grew in volume. It was so noisy in my mind, so overwhelmingly loud, that I barely heard my answer beneath it.

‘I’m going to win the Witch Trials. Then I will destroy Jonathan Bailey, Tomin Hopkin and anyone else who stands against me.’

My guards returnedfor me only minutes after Caym got me back to my cell. I sat, waiting for them, on the edge of my bed, my mind a storm as Jonathan’s deceit repeated through my mind. I didn’t fight when asked to stand, and didn’t even speak when the guards put their hands on me, guiding me back out into the corridor.

To them, I’d never left the room.

I took my time, looking every witch in the eye, contemplating if they were also working against us. How many of Jonathan’s followers had been corrupted? And for how long had this been going on? Did my mother know of this alliance, and is that why she longed to keep me and my blood from them?

Questions swam violently through me, each one left unanswered.

Caym was uncharacteristically quiet. Or perhaps I had just shut everything off. He was lurking somewhere close, more shadow than crow. I knew he would stay by my side, even if he longed for me to turn my back on this whole situation and run.

I wouldn’t. I had to trust that my parents longed to keep me away for a reason. A purpose.

Failing my mother’s final wish was one thing, but actively ignoring her legacy was another.

As I was guided down into the belly of the White Tower, I wondered if this is how my parents felt as they prepared for the Witch Trials. Nerves, excitement, fear—a concoction ofemotions that battled with one another, leaving them as numb to the world as I felt right now?

Although my body and mind seemed to have separated since Jonathan, I was still aware of my surroundings. The air grew thicker, the scent of dust and age lingering like the aftermath of a storm with each inhale. Down we went, until the floor evened out and the hallway opened into a large chamber.

Countless people filled the space, each dressed no differently than me. They stood around pillars of stone that held up the low ceiling. The cellar was imposing, likely a place people hid from bombs during the Great Wars. Here, deep under the ground beneath the White Tower, it felt like we’d stepped foot directly into another world.

It seemed that every set of eyes turned to me as I entered.

Contestants. Witches—at least all of them but one. Father Tomin’s champion had to be amongst them, and they wouldn’t be a witch. Romy would be here too, likely noticing my arrival. I didn’t have the energy to care what she would think seeing me. Perhaps that I’d been caught running, and that was why I was the only one with guards escorting me.

My life was in danger, but that didn’t scare me. It thrilled me. I vowed to myself that I would keep up the pretence that I was powerless, until the moment my power was required. For all the participants the Witch Trials were a deadly set of games, but I was the only one walking in with a target already on my back. So I rolled my shoulders, straightened my spine, and made sure that whoever was watching knew I was prepared.

Jonathan Bailey stood in the centre of the room. The moment my eyes landed on him, my power itched beneath my skin again. I longed to release it, to gather him up in my Gift and fold his body in on itself.

‘Patience, Hector. Not yet.’

Jonathan grinned in my direction and I knew the nuances of why. It only made my anger burn hotter. I held his eyes, hoping he read the message I was sending his way.Traitorous prick.

Jonathan stood before a large arched stone formation. It looked like it was once a large doorway to some great castle, except it had been removed and brought all the way to the centre of London. Marks were worn into the ancient stone, each one glowing with light—not marks, then, but runes. Just as Romy had said.

The air beyond Jonathan’s back rippled like water was caught between the archways instead of empty space.

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