Page 21 of The Witch and His Crow

Romy must’ve noticed my trepidation and shared it, because she too stood dumfounded at my side. ‘It seems Hekate is offering you a gift, Hector.’

Strange fucking gift,I thought.

‘This hasn’t ever happened before, has it?’ My question wasn’t exactly for anyone in particular, but I spoke it aloud anyway.

‘Nope,’ Romy muttered. ‘Not ever.’

The castle. This was the second time it had materialised as the hosting ground.

Once during my mother’s time. And now, for me.

Tears pricked at my eyes, surprising me. I had never felt so close to my mother, not physically. It surprised me, grief sneaking up on me like an assassin with a knife poised to kill.

‘Is Dracula hosting the Witch Trials?’ I quipped instead, finally getting a proper look at the castle, swallowing down the urge to release my emotions and deflecting with humour instead. If this was Hekate attempt to disarm me, it was working.

‘I hardly think Dracula ever visited Scotland,’ she knocked her shoulder into me, noticing the sheen in my eyes. ‘Are you okay?’

I ignored her question, burying the emotion down where it belonged. ‘Scotland?’ I asked instead, aware that Romy had to know her uncle’s plans if she knew exactly where we were in the world. ‘You seem to have Hekate whispering into your ear.’

‘No, Hector.’ Romy lifted a finger and pointed towards the left wing of the expansive building. ‘I hardly think they hang tartan from castles in Transylvania.’

I narrowed my eyes, taking in the very detail I had missed. At the back of the left wing of the castle was a tower. It speared into the grey sky, revealing an opening at the top. A bell hung within, its brass dull. But it was the sheets of material draped from tower which gave away our location. Just as Romy had said—tartan.

‘Ever been to Scotland before?’ Romy asked, our feet moving from the hard grass to chipped stone walkway. I admired her attempt to steer me away from topics of conversation that unsettled me. She didn’t need to do it—hell, if she wanted to end me, my moment of emotional distraction would’ve been the perfect time. But her words were comforting instead as she diverted the conversation.

‘Never,’ I replied, ‘And I didn’t expect this would be what got me to visit.’

Nor did I think I’d be standing in the very place my mother had once been. This was the place my own story had begun. It was where she won the Witch Trials, became Grand High, and met my father.

Her memory was practically woven into the tapestry and stone walls.

Romy laughed, an honest laugh which took me back to her friendly approach the first time I had met her. ‘Well, if we see it through to the end, maybe you can visit the real thing.’

Because of course, we weren’tactuallyin Scotland. This place, the grounds of the Witch Trials, belonged in the in-between.

In-betweenwhat,exactly, had never been specifically documented, only suggested by past victors. But I wasn’t about to begin analysing the environment right now, not when I was starting to figure out how to stay alive.

‘Is thatmaybebecause you plan to kill me to win, so you’ll be coming back without me?’ I replied while scanning the hallway.

Romy shook her head, a strand of curls falling from the gathered braid at her back. ‘I don’t plan to kill anyone, Hector.’

‘But youdowant to win?’ I was asking generic questions whilst searching for the real answers lurking amid her reply, any bit of information she might divulge in a slip of the tongue.

‘It might be a surprise, but I don’t take pleasure in the idea of murdering fellow witches. We’re far and few between as it is. The vow of Grand High is to use the Source to protect our kind. Leaving a trail of bodies behind us to get to that Source doesn’t sounds like what Hekate would want.’

I didn’t want to believe her, but I did. It would have been easier to stay cautious of her. Allies weren’t necessarily a benefitduring the Trials. I was no empath, but truth was evident in everything she said. Despite myself, I was beginning to trust her.

‘And yet Hekate hosts these deadly games,’ I reminded Romy. ‘If she didn’t want us to fight each other, she would find another way to pick the next Grand High…like your father, for example.’

‘Fuck, no,’ Romy half laughed, half shouted. It caused the few witches left around us to turn to look. ‘Jonathan isn’t deserving of the title of Grand High.’

I almost choked on my breath. This was it. ‘Why so?’

Romy stopped, something dark passing behind her eyes. The silence that followed spoke of a thousand reasons, as though she was deciding which one to pick. When she spoke, her voice was colder than the air surrounding us. Sharper too. ‘He’s just… undeserving.’

There was a story there, one I was desperate to uncover. I mean,Iknew the prick was undeserving because he was working with the Witch Hunters.

But I was growing more and more confident Romy didn’t know, although what she was keeping from me was obviously as dark as what I’d already found out.

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