Page 14 of The Cursed and the Broken
An icy shiver spider-walked down my spine, those words sending my heart thumping to an erratic, discordant drum. But I had to see her. I shifted slowly on the spot and his fingers eased, letting me slip away. I missed the warmth as soon as his hands left my shoulders and I hated that I hadn’t listened a second later.
Hanna’s body lay sprawled over the forest floor—what remained of it. Her once golden skin was pallid, her flesh mottled and eyes wide with terror and shock. Animals had preyed upon her body, and bites and missing meat riddled her crumpled form. But it was the hollowness that made my stomach revolt, forcing me to swallow rising bile.
The body was deflated, as if someone had sucked her dry of blood and bone. The killer had cut her heart from her body—the precision matched by that of a small, serrated blade. I noticed raven feathers and black candles circling her body, along with the faint aroma of ash and smoke in the air. And, above it all, remained the waft of rot and ruin.
I gagged as the stench seemed to settle in my throat. My palms were cold and clammy and I wiped them on my pants. This was the work of someone with magic. A ritual.A monstrosity.
“Fuck.” The breath whooshed out of me as I stumbled away from the fallen witch. I hadn’t expected to find Hanna in good health or even alive, but this was so much worse than I could have ever imagined. I stared at her eyes, realising the once blue irises were now glazed and milky.
My troubles with Hanna seemed so far away now. So miniscule in the grand scheme of things. When had we ever started fighting? Would we have ever found a way to be friends again?
I could torment myself by asking these questions for an eternity, perhaps even punish myself for not being there for her when she needed me, but it didn’t matter now. She was dead, and her soul was in the gods’ hands.
Laszlo nudged my fingers, startling me from my daze. I looked to the táltos, only just remembering his presence. “Do you”—I swallowed—“do you have any idea who would do such a thing? You knew Hanna, don’t deny it. Who would want to hurt her like this?”
He shook his head, lips set in a grim line as his hand clutched at something around his neck, hidden beneath his tunic. I was sure it hadn’t been there when I had been with him earlier. “Magic can make monsters out of all of us.”
It was such a cryptic answer, laced with an undercurrent of emotion. But as he looked at Hanna’s body, I couldn’t help but notice it was clinical. Detached.
He certainly wasn’t sobbing over her death. Whatever connection they’d shared had obviously meant little to him and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. My skin prickled. Could he be the killer?
My hand itched to clasp my blade, but I suppressed the fear. Better to tread carefully until I knew more.
Clearing my throat, I studied Hanna’s body, trying and failing to smooth my face into a mask and ease my raging emotions. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Whoever did this can’t be a witch. Not an earth witch, anyway. This is dark, forbidden magic. The kind our elders don’t teach us, let alone speak of.”
“This wood, the creatures,” he said slowly, “I told you there is a sickness spreading, taking root and corrupting the forest. Even the wolves in our village grow restless.” He shook his head, eyes glued to Hanna’s lifeless form.
Though I’d never seen one, Mama had told me stories of the lupus—the black wolves of the Wolfblood Clan. They were giant, with golden eyes, fangs sharp as knives and paws as big as clubs. Their ancestors descended from the árnyalat bloodline, an ancient order of protectors who defended the old gods.
Unfortunately, Mama knew little of the old gods. Over the years, the historical texts were lost to us as humans warred over country and title. They forced witches and táltosok alike into hiding. Paganism was a dying religion and our tethers to the old world were crumbling to dust.
Invaders had infiltrated the Kingdom of Hungary so many times over the years it had been hard to keep track of, as were the religions of those who sought to conquer us. We caught snippets from the nearby human village, but it mattered little. Their religions were their own for, in the eyes of men, witches were ungodly creatures who deserved to burn at the stake.
Best we stay cautious, hidden behind our shrouded walls. It was said the banya was responsible for erecting magical wards to keep our village safe and our powers secret.
Still, I had always questioned what god would condone such a thing—condemning others for being different. For beingwrongin the eyes of the many. Our Mother God, Istenanya, had always blessed us with her love, and Isten, the father of all gods, watched over us fondly. Witches were not unholy or inherently evil, but I suppose I could say the same for humans.
I knew one thing, though. For the lupus to have survived this long and to have remained loyal to those chosen by the gods, that was a miracle. Supernatural beings were a dying breed and we had lost many to the ravages of time and a changing world. I refused to believe witches would do the same.
Swallowing, I glanced at the táltos beside me. “We need to leave this place before dusk falls. Better not to tempt the things that come out after dark.”
“First good idea you’ve had all day,” he grumbled.
I ignored his snide remark. “The witches will want to bury her. We can’t just leave her here.”
His brows scrunched deep in thought as he gazed at Hanna’s remains. His eyes darted to mine, a frown already marring his striking features. “I don’t have a horse, and it seems you’re not qualified to handle yours. We can’t take her.”
My own lips twisted and I balled my hands into fists. “So, you want to just leave her here? You are such an asshole.”
Amusement tilted the corner of his lips at my remark. “I’ve been called worse.”
I sighed, feeling exhausted from the ordeal and the shock of, well, everything. He was right. We had no means of carrying her home and, even if we did, Hanna’s mother would be distraught if she looked at the body.
Still, if it were my daughter, I would want to know what had happened to her. I would want tosee.
“Okay,” I breathed, scrunching my eyes shut. “She has a family heirloom—a necklace passed down by her mother. That will lend some truth to my story and ease her mother’s pain.”
As I stepped towards Hanna’s body, the man’s calloused palm hauled me back, his hand slipping into my own. He was warm and steadying and I looked into his dark brown eyes, the ring of gold almost glowing in the darkened light. He smelled of leather and wood and his gaze was intense, almost intimate, as his other hand reached for the necklace at his chest.
