Page 9 of To Hunt a Demon King

“But she admitted she was guilty,” I pushed. “She consorted with demons.”

Mama glanced at her open bedroom door before saying in a quiet voice, “Not everything you think you know about demons is true, my heart.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. She shushed me, standing and going to close the door, before returning to the table and sitting across from me again. A bird screeched outside the window and I almost jumped out of my skin, making Mama smile for the first time since the Coven meeting.

“Enough for now,” she said, returning to her normal volume. “I know you are almost a grown woman, and I will no longer be your keeper, but there are some truths I cannot tell you yet. Not until you are twenty-five.”

She stood, taking my mug and leaving it in the sink as she tidied away the breakfast things. I had barely eaten, the sound of the body hitting the floor still haunting me.

“I turn twenty-five tomorrow,” I pointed out, standing to my full height of five feet four inches. She sighed, kissing me on the cheek.

“Then I will tell you tomorrow, Elara,” she said, frowning at me as I braided my messy hair out of the way. Tendrils of red clung to my sleep-deprived face, and she brushed it back lovingly with her fingers. “I’m going to the village today. There’s a birthing mother who needs my assistance. Do you want to come? We can stop by the bakery and get those fluffy rolls you love.”

I tried to think over my plans for the day, which at that point involved absolutely nothing. Vera had found me after the meeting last night, pale faced and sweating. We hadn’t had time to really talk before I had to escape through the mirror, but she promised to visit as soon as she could.

Real baked goods and a day away from the house sounded like a wonderful idea. Much better than staying home and possibly destroying another pie, or imagining the dying witch, or worrying about all the things Mama wasn’t telling me.

“I’ll get my cloak.”

???

It took three hours to travel to the village by horse. It was a depressing place on the best of days, but today was not that. Spring rains had turned the paths muddy, and we would have been soaked through if not for Mama deflecting the rain with magic. I had grabbed the red cloak that Vera had brought me, feeling the need to have something of hers today, and I was a little worried the color would bleed through the soaked fabric and turn everything crimson.

The birthing mother, Marie, was indeed in need of assistance, and the shanty we arrived in looked like it had been in need of repairs for at least twenty years. Mama frowned, sending me to buy bread and cheese and fresh fruits and vegetables for the family with the money she had earned from her healing work. She insisted on spending her money in the mortal villages whenever possible, rather than in Ostara.

I was always impressed by her kindness, especially when most witches wouldn’t bother helping a mortal woman with her birth for any amount of money. Mortal midwives were hard to come by, and expensive, and I knew Mama truly believed it when she had told the Coven that all life was sacred to the Goddess.

“The mortals need the money far more than we do,” she said when I asked why we trekked the ten miles to the village to buy food instead of walking through the mirror to Ostara. “And exercise is good for the horses.”

I cast a shield against the rain and returned with enough food to feed ten families. I went to work cutting bread and cheese for Marie’s young children while Mama helped her, casting spells of health and protection around her tiny room as the woman cried out in pain. I managed to repair a few items around the house with quick-fix charms, using the supplies Mama had packed to set up a quick altar on the kitchen table from which to cast. I hoped the family wouldn’t mind chalk dust staining their table.

The hours dragged slowly, and Marie’s screams began to increase in intensity and frequency, to the point that I feared this was not a normal birth. After putting the children to bed, I had taken over the job of fetching hot water and finding clean towels.

“Mama?” I asked, peeking my head into the bedroom. I felt myself pale at the sight of the blood leaving Marie as she tried to deliver the child. Surely, this was not a normal amount of blood.

Mama smiled tiredly, squeezing Marie’s hand and the father’s tense shoulder before guiding me out to the kitchen, where she lit a candle for light. She looked exhausted, with dark smudges under her eyes. Somehow, I felt more awake than I had this morning, and I ached to help somehow.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, catching hold of Mama’s apron as I passed her clean linens. It must be well past midnight—my birthday, I realized—but Mama was too focused to notice the lateness of the hour. “How can I help?”

“The baby is stuck,” Mama whispered. “I am doing what I can to save Marie now.”

“Save…” realization struck me like a blow. “The baby won’t survive?” Mama shook her head sadly.

“I lost its pulse hours ago,” she whispered, looking so sad that I had to resist the urge to wrap my arms around her. The idea of losing a baby was hard for any witch.

Witchlings were rare. Because we were long-lived, the Goddess had seen fit to maintain balance by making it rare to bear a child. I had begged for a sister many times as a child, and Mama had always laughed, telling me one witchling was more than enough. As I grew older, I realized that most witches were only ever blessed with one.

“I want to try using my magic to get the baby out,” Mama continued. “Marie is too exhausted to push anymore, and if we don’t remove the child, she will die. I need you to deliver the baby while I work the magic. Just guide the body out with your hands, and wrap it up as quickly as you can.” I felt my stomach lurch, willing the nausea back down as I nodded.

“Does she know?” I asked. Mama nodded sadly.

“She has several children she must survive for,” Mama said. “We will not let her die.” She squeezed my arm again as she headed back into the bedroom, and I squared my shoulders in an attempt to be as brave as she was.

“I think another big push will be enough,” Mama said gently to Marie, who was sobbing through exhaustion and loss. ”I’m going to help you, and Elara is going to help pull the baby out.” She nodded toward me, and I sat positioned between the mother’s legs where I could see the baby’s head crowning. Childbirth was a horrifying business, and poor Marie would never even get to see her baby smile. It broke my heart.

“One big push, Marie,” Mama said, positioning her hands on the top of Marie’s stomach. “Ready, Elara?” I nodded, my hands tingling slightly as I sent my magic out toward the tiny body.

“And push!” said Mama, pushing her hands into Marie and whispering spells I couldn’t make out under her breath. The baby came slowly, a clammy, cold pale thing that I caught in my bare hands. I clutched it to my chest and grabbed a clean towel, trying to wrap the little creature up.

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