Page 14 of Dark Desire
Beryl was in her living room, sitting in her floral armchair and watching the news, when I strolled in and hurried up the stairs to the attic. I grabbed the plastic bag with the fae’s head and zoomed back down. The old woman turned to give me her full attention.
“There you are, Zachary! Have you eaten? I saved you some carrot cake in the kitchen,” she shouted as I grabbed my rucksack and shoved the heavy plastic bag inside. “What’s in the bag?”
Veles, if this wasn’t the nosiest woman on the planet.
“A decapitated head,” I said, monotone.
She blinked at me once, her face blank of any emotion, then waved her hand dismissively in my direction, “Oh, you and that dry sense of humour of yours. Your mother was the same.”
Ignoring her as she began reminiscing about days with her cousins, I grabbed a slice of the carrot cake, took a bite and groaned. It was dry as fuck. Humans were freaks. What business did vegetables have being in a dessert?
“Get a plate, you animal!”
“Not staying,” I muttered, struggling to swallow. “Don’t wait up, Beryl. I won’t be home until morning.”
“I think we are getting to her, you know?” Beryl smirked, flicking through the channels on the TV absentmindedly as I approached the front door. I peered over my shoulder as she caught my eye. “The wicked witch. She’s starting to crack. I can tell.”
“Genius idea with the placards.” I winked at the little old woman, and she beamed. “And I think you’re right. Very soon, that witch won’t be a problem anymore.”
“Good boy, Zachary. About time someone made her leave town.” She nodded at me. Little did Beryl know I intended to make Darcelle Knightsbridge’s absence much more permanent than that. I stormed out of the house and headed for Evie’s.
The spinning sensation finally subsided, and I blinked my eyes against the pounding headache in my temple. Groaning, I sat up from my position on the forest floor, picked a twig out of my hair, and glanced around. I was in the same spot where I was nearly choked to death by Sexy Green Eyes just moments ago, except he was no longer there, and the forest seemed thicker and brighter than before.
So my magic kept me in St Wythren’s Cove? Well, I suppose that was a plus. But I was confused as to why I was still being used for this. After what happened three months ago, I hoped I’d never be forced to do The Fate’s bidding again.
I craned my neck and looked up at the sky. “Why? You don’t trust me anymore! You’re hellbent on sending your little assassins to kill me for what I did, so why? Is this a test? Is this how I earn your forgiveness?”
No. The Fates don’t forgive or forget, not after what I did. This was them interfering with my plans, forcing me to give up on my summoning spell so I couldn’t do any more damage. This was their ‘middle finger’ to me, to show that they were the higher power. Well, fuck them too.
Perhaps I should just refuse and sit here. What’s the worst they could do? Send more of their seekers to kill me? Or keep me here forever? A shiver ran down my spine at the thought. I folded my arms defiantly over my chest. My seeker flesh mark on my shoulder blade burned fiercely, reminding me of my oath. I reached behind my back for it and screamed.Assholes.
The unsettling murmur of distant voices drifted through the thick woodland. I hauled myself to my feet, slung my bag strap over my shoulder, and kept my knife tightly gripped in my injured hand as I crept towards them. It was crucial to remain unseen. I’d learned that the hard way in the past.
The trees thinned, and in the distance, the green rolling moors stretched as far as the eye could see. I stopped behind a tree, remaining slightly hidden when I saw them. There were five young women dressed in flowing, white cotton dresses with crowns of flowers and twigs on their heads. They were sitting in a circle, holding hands and in deep concentration as they chanted in Latin. My eyes widened. The fallen witches of St Wythren. Scrambling quickly to open my bag, I pulled out my camera and took a photo of them. It was something I had done since I was a teenager, capturing images of the places and times I visited, because otherwise, I thought I might have just dreamt the whole thing. I spun around, pressing my back against the tree trunk and tried to keep my breathing shallow.
Please, please, don’t be what I think it is.
Aggressive shouting and heavy footsteps echoed through the forest, and I could just make out the flames of torches dotting through the trees. Oh, holy shit. It was. I’d been sent back to the 16th century, the night the witches were burned.
'The Necklace of Vembrance.'
The name and image of the item I needed to retrieve echoed in my mind, and I sighed, lowering my head. This was clearly a punishment. That much was obvious. Darting further back between the trees to hide from the angry mob of villagers, my heart started pounding and sweat beaded on my forehead as my eyes returned to the circle of peaceful witches. There was no human sacrifice. They weren’t even using dark magic. It was a cleansing spell calling on nature’s powers. I pressed my lips together to resist the urge to warn them of the danger they were in. My gaze flicked between the bloodthirsty mob and the innocent witches. They were so absorbed in their spell. They couldn’t hear them approaching. I bent down and picked up a stone, squeezing it in my hand and accidentally reopening my cut. My body trembled with the need to hurl it through the air to alert them. If only one of them opened their eyes and glanced this way, they would see them coming. They would have time to escape or defend themselves.
But I knew I couldn’t. It was the only sacred rule for Time-Weavers: never interfere with fate’s course. The impact could be catastrophic. I had to let everything play out exactly how it would if I weren’t there. Because, in truth, I wasn’t. I didn’t belong here. I had one mission: to get the necklace.
I pressed my forehead against the rough bark of the tree as the furious men and women stormed towards the witches, their arms raised with pitchforks, shovels, and torches. I shut my eyelids tight when I heard the screams and then the sounds of the attacks. It was brutal, bloodthirsty, and so damn wrong.And I had to endure it all. After a few minutes, they headed back down towards the village. The witches had been knocked unconscious, tied with ropes, and thrown onto the back of a cart.
Hanging back from the crowd, I followed them, my stomach already twisting like a pretzel and bile rising in my throat at what I was about to witness. What I had to ignore because, no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t stop this. This was their fate. It was the death they were bound to from the moment they took their first breath. Their deaths were significant marks in the history of witches and played a part in understanding humanity in the future. It wasn’t my place to intervene. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to.
When we finally entered the town with its cobbled streets more uneven and battered than it was in the present and the village much less developed in architecture, I noticed a hooded cape thrown over a barrel near the fishing boats. I grabbed it, tying it around my neck and pulling up the hood. My black skirt and tight jumper clearly weren’t from this time and stood out drastically from the other women dressed in woollen gowns and linen coifs.
I moved through the crowds of spectators as I had earlier this evening, but this time, every face belonged to a stranger. It was a surreal experience to stand in the very same spot, but centuries ago. The smell of sewage, fish, and the sea was potent and I had to lift my hand to cover my nose. I made my way to the cart as it stopped beside the five wooden posts that had been erected on top of straw and logs.
Two men hauled one of the witches out of the cart, throwing her limp body over their shoulders and walking towards the first stake. They began tying her to it with chains, and my gaze quickly darted to her neck. No necklace. I pushed myself closer to the cart, standing on my tiptoes to get a better look at the other women. Then I saw it: the clear quartz crystal hungaround the woman’s neck by woven twine and shimmered with its healing power. Known as the Master Healer, it was clear why it was in The Fates' interest to protect this magical relic and keep it safe.
Leaning over the side of the cart, I tried to reach for it while everyone was distracted but was shoved back by a brute man. “Keep ee ’ands to yourself, miss.”
He grabbed the witch and threw her over his shoulder, causing her head to hang and her dirty blonde hair to swing down to the ground. The crystal knocked against her chin as he carried her up to the next post.Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkkk.
