Page 7 of The Witch and His Crow

‘There’s two of you, and three of us,’ the Hunter shouted. I deemed that she must’ve been the leader of this little flock. ‘The odds don’t seem to be in your favour.’

I glanced between her and the athame and smirked. ‘Pretty little knife. Looks virgin. Has it seen blood before?

The man laughed. ‘Oh come on, handsome. We only want a little fun.’

‘Perfect. As do I.’ My hand rested on my hip. ‘But there are actually three of us. So, I’d say ouroddsare even.’

Heads snapped around, searching shadows for the third I mentioned. But I never said a witch.

Caym dove down from the shadow, talons extended for the unsuspecting Hunter who had slapped the witch at my side. I was running then, adrenaline fuelling my muscles, as the symphony of torn flesh and pain-ridden screams echoed down the alleyway.

My familiar latched himself onto the Hunter’s face. She attempted to pull him free, blinded by feathers, panic, and pain. Two swift pecks and Caym plucked her eyes of her skull. Where he planted his claws into her face, she was left with jagged chunks of torn flesh. There was so much blood it looked like a scene from a horror film. Caym released her, flying skyward with his bounty. Then the Hunter tipped over onto the floor, clutching at the empty sockets as she screamed bloody murder.

One down. Two more to go.

The fire-witch was forgotten as the remaining two Hunters met me head on.

I ducked beneath the swing of the athame, moving beneath the Hunter’s arm with ease. Before he caught his balance I flicked my hand, casting a burst of energy to continue the Hunter’s momentum. The force sent him flying, landing on the street with the wind knocked out of him.

Caym, no longer interested in gouging deeper grooves into the first Hunter, flew into pace with me. We moved with practiced synchronicity, something that had come from being companions for eighteen years. I knew how he moved, as he did with me.

There was no need to focus. No need to plan and think. This was no different than dancing a routine I had perfected, over and over, until I could move without the need for music.

Granted, the Hunters put up a good fight. I could have ended it long ago, but there was something about the burn of my muscles and the way my lungs constricted for air that thrilled me.

But the dance found a new partner as the fire-witch called out, distracting me. One moment of confusion was all it took for me to miss a beat.

Crack.

Something hard was thrust into my nose. ‘Fuck!’ Bone shattered, blood bursting out, flooding over and into my mouth. I spat it out, right into the face of the Hunter, blinding her for a second.

‘Oops,’ the fire-witch called, cringing audibly. ‘Sorry.’

All my frustration was pinned to the Hunter. My words came out as a growl, which I silently warned Caym to never bring up. ‘Youreallyshouldn’t have done that.’

Anger inspired me. Reaching out with my power, I lifted each and every shard of shattered glass from the ground where I had left them. Although I couldn’t see them, I could certainlyfeelthem. All sharp edges, large and small. One thought, one guiding motion from my hand, and they speared forwards.

I wondered, as the shards of glass penetrated the Hunter, if more than twenty-seven puncture wounds were made. It was almost poetic, killing this one the same way the Hunter had murdered my mother.

Hell. I didn’t know who had done the most damage, me or Caym. I was vaguely aware of my stomach turning, bile rising in my throat, the taste bitter to swallow.

Yes, I'd killed Hunters. I’d brought many of them to their end. But death was as ugly and uncaring as it had been when it had come for my parents.

The Hunter’s skin was flayed apart, bathing her open mouth and wide eyes in blood. In the faint glow of nearby lights, I caught the glittering effect the embedded glass left across her face. It was like she had decorated herself for some grubby festival, when in fact it was a mask of torture and death.

I saw a flash of gold-rimmed eyes framed by a mane of brown curls. Then the fire-witch screamed at me again. ‘Get down!’

Not allowing the distraction, I did as she commanded. I dropped to the blood-soaked floor a second before a whistling passed my ear. The athame missed me by inches, smashing into the ground with such a force that it scarred the stone. Swinging my leg out, I turned quickly, my ankle smacking into the legs of the final Hunter, the one I had sent flying moments ago. This time, I didn’t knock him over. He reared back, bringing the blade with him, then dragged it down. Pain lanced across my upper arm as the metal sliced through knitted wool, then my flesh. It wasn’t enough to tell me the wound was deep, but the pain was blinding nevertheless.

This was why I worked alone.

Desperate, I flung out my uninjured arm, casting my power out, knocking him back a step. Right into the fire-witch’s waiting clutches.

Her hair moved with flair, curls obscuring her face whilst she reached for the Hunter between us. But nothing could conceal the flash of gold around her iris, or the snarl of a woman scorned by those who’d tried to trick her.

Caym tangled himself in the Hunter’s hands, distracting the swing of the athame, allowing time for the witch to clamp her hands on either side of the Hunter’s face. He stopped struggling instantly upon her touch, completely immobilised. His mouthdrooped in a widening gasp before the most guttural scream I’d ever heard escaped him.

Before my eyes, I watched as his face…melted. Not because of heat or fire, but because of this witch whose magic rolled off her in undulating waves. Her power made his skin peel, dripping like liquid, running over her fingers until I saw muscles, sinew, and bone. And yet she didn’t not stop. Not until his face—if you could call it that—was unrecognisable. A mess of mush.

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