Page 121 of Keeper of the Word
“Aye, m’lady,” one said, her tone meek. They fled as Hux exited the pub.
“It appears as though I missed some excitement.”
Chapter
Forty-Five
ELANNA
The last blocks Hux had led them through turned Elanna cold. The darkness she’d professed to appreciate wrapped around them as they marched through the twisted alleys.
Cracks.The word cycled through her mind.
’Twas at a wooden door, worn and shoulder level with Elanna, that Hux finally halted. Joss held up the torch she carried. The door was stained a dark color, or had been at one time. Chipped coats layering over chipped coats ran across the splintered wood. But one element gave away whose domicile this was. A singular grey circle painted in the middle.
Tara and Elanna exchanged glances.
Knock, knock.
No answer. No sound from within.
It had to be tonight. She’d Seen the witch. ’Twas their fortune to meetthiseve.
They knocked again. Nothing.
“She’s not there,” a voice came from behind them.
At the end of the alleyway, a squat figure stood in a black cloak.
“And looking at you lot, ’tis probably for the best.”
“We need to find her immediately,” Tara said, her voice already raised.
The woman pointed a finger at them. “You do not belong here. You should leave before something terrible happens.”
“Mayhap you should help us before something terrible happens,” Joss said.
Crack.This time ’twas not Elanna’s thought, nor was it in her ears. The sound reverberated through her. They needed to find that witch.
“Joss!” Elanna exclaimed before sighing and turning back to the stranger. “When will she return? ’Tis the utmost importance that we find her this night.”
“Why this night?” Then the figure laughed before seizing into a fit of coughs. “’Tis the half-moon. You must be indeed desperate.”
Elanna stepped forward; the woman retreated like a skittish hoshefer. “Do not come near me, StarSeer. We aren’t meant to meet.”
Elanna paused. “How do you know who I am?”
“You think there would be only one?” She pointed toward the door.
Elanna took a breath, searching the sky for help. “You are a scryer?” ’Twas a term that had been used in another age. Long ago, before the banishment of the witches.
The woman was a great deal shorter than Elanna. Closer, her pale skin emulated weathered parchment. Her sharp chin jutted out from the shadow of her hood. It tilted upward at Elanna’s words.
“No one uses that word anymore. We’re scorned. Or worse. My sister was hanged a fortnight ago.”
“Where?”
“Here, of course. In this pristine, shimmering place.” Her laughter broke into a cough again.
