Page 59 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
"Something that's going to either solve our transportationproblem or create an entirely new set of issues," I replied, extending my magic toward our unconscious conspirators. "But honestly, at this point, I'm willing to embrace chaos."
The transformation spell I wove was one I'd perfected during childhood, refined through years of practice on various irritating classmates and perfected during a particularly memorable incident involving Tommy himself. Dark magic flowed from my fingertips like liquid starlight, wrapping around both prone figures with inexorable purpose.
"Wait," Callum said as realization dawned. "You're not actually going to?—"
"Turn them into frogs?" I finished sweetly. "Again? Oh, but I absolutely am."
The spell completed with a soft pop that was deeply satisfying on multiple levels. Where Tommy and Cate had been lying moments before, two very confused amphibians now sat on the stone floor, croaking indignantly as they tried to process their sudden change in perspective.
"This time," I said, scooping them up by their slick legs despite my personal distaste for amphibian texture, "you're not getting away." I dragged a wooden box from a nearby shelf and deposited them inside with perhaps more force than strictly necessary. "This is for Beverly, and Ashlynn, and every other girl you hurt."
I slammed the lid shut and tucked the box securely under my arm, ignoring the muffled croaking and what sounded distinctly like angry amphibian cursing emanating from within.
"Well," Callum said with the carefully neutral tone ofsomeone trying not to laugh, "that's one way to solve the prisoner transport problem."
"I hate frogs," I muttered, wiping my hands on my dress and trying not to gag at the lingering slime. "But I hate murderous conspiracy participants more."
Extracting the four survivors required delicate handling. Their magical cores were destabilized from the prolonged drainage, and the sudden influx of returned power had left them in a fragile state.
Chrysanthemum collapsed the moment we tried to move her, her siren heritage having made her particularly vulnerable to the extraction process. Ashlynn's fairy wings were damaged beyond immediate repair, dragging uselessly behind her as Callum helped support her weight. Periwinkle's giant ancestry was causing problems in the narrow tunnel passages, her magic fluctuating wildly between normal height and nearly seven feet tall.
"The magical pathways are severely damaged," I explained grimly as we worked our way slowly through the underground maze. "It's going to take considerable time for their bodies to remember how to regulate their own power."
The fourth girl, who I learned was named Luna and whose werewolf heritage had been forcibly triggered, remained partially transformed and in obvious pain. Someone had been experimenting with forced shapeshifting, something that should have been impossible outside the full moon's influence.
"How long will the frog transformation last?" Callum asked as we paused to let the girls rest, more out of professional curiosity than concern for our prisoners' wellbeing.
"Until I decide to change them back," I replied with cold satisfaction. "Which won't be until after they've answered every question the High Council investigators want to ask."
"And how long have you been able to perform transformations of that complexity?" he pressed.
I considered the question seriously. "The basic spell I learned as a child, but the binding elements and the conscious retention of human memory? That's new. I think channeling Maud Blackstone's pact magic expanded my capabilities in ways I'm only beginning to understand."
When we finally emerged from the tunnel system near the outskirts of town, dawn was breaking over Old Hollows with the kind of crisp autumn beauty that made recent events feel surreal by comparison. The mob that had gathered to burn down my hut had long since dispersed, leaving behind only smoldering ruins and the acrid smell of smoke.
"My house," I said quietly, staring at the blackened remains of my carefully constructed refuge.
"We'll rebuild," Callum promised, though even as he said it, I wondered if that would be possible. The events of the night had changed everything, not just for us, but for the entire community.
"Where do we take them?" Paige asked, having regained consciousness during our underground journey but still leaning heavily on Callum for support. She gestured weakly toward the four rescued girls who were now sitting in the grass, too exhausted to continue.
That was the question I'd been dreading. Normally,we'd take them to the town's medical center, but given that at least some of the conspiracy reached into the local government, we couldn't be sure who else might be involved.
"Gran's house," I decided after a moment's consideration. "It's warded against intrusion, and if there are any other conspirators in town, they'll think twice before attacking the former head of the council."
The journey to Bertie Blackstone's cottage on the other side of town took considerably longer than usual, but we eventually arrived to find the elderly witch waiting for us at her front door, her expression grim but unsurprised.
"I felt the disturbance," she said without preamble, her keen eyes taking in the condition of the rescued girls and the wooden box tucked under my arm. "The magical balance of the entire town shifted when you broke those binding runes. Also, I assume those are prisoners in the box, not a new hobby."
"Long story," I said wearily.
"Explanations can wait," Gran replied practically. "These children need healing, and you both look like you're about to collapse from magical exhaustion. I've already sent word to the High Council. They'll want a full report, but for now, rest."
The next few hours passed in a blur of careful magical restoration work. Gran moved with the precision of someone who had seen more than her share of magical trauma, examining each girl and beginning the delicate process of helping their damaged pathways heal. I found myself relegated to a chair by thefireplace, the enormous strain of the night finally catching up with me in waves of bone-deep exhaustion.
"The Pure Blood Society," Callum said quietly during a brief respite, not wanting to disturb the healing work but knowing we needed to discuss what we'd learned. "Cate mentioned they have members throughout the magical community."
Gran's expression darkened as she looked up from where she was working on Luna's forced transformation injuries. "I've been fighting that poison for decades," she said with weary frustration. "Every time we think we've eliminated it, it resurfaces somewhere else. They're like a particularly resilient form of magical cancer."
