Page 140 of Soul of a Witch

“No, no, no.” I leaned desperately over the water. “Please! I need to go home, I need to know the way!” I focused all my concentration on what I could remember of the cavern: the large pool in the center, the craggy rock walls, dilapidated mining equipment.

And Callum. My demon, my love. I held his face in my mind, willing all my magic toward him.

The water swirled, and a new vision appeared. But it wasn’t the mine, and it wasn’t Callum. It wasme.

I was sitting in the garden behind the coven house, a paintbrush in my fingers. The scene was calm, serene. I turned my head, smiling as I opened my arms and a little blonde-haired child rushed toward me, embracing me. The girl lifted her head, smiling at me, and her pupils weregolden.

That…that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. I’d dutifully taken the tea my grandmother made every day, which was supposed to prevent…

But that night in the forest, when Callum and I came together to call to the fae king. I hadn’t drunk the tea that day, or the next morning, or any day since. I’d felt a little strange since then, but I’d been stressed, working myself hard.

A sudden sharp feeling in my abdomen made me gasp. It felt almost like…a kick? But that couldn’t be. Itcouldn’t. It had been only days. I was showing no physical signs at all.

But this wasn’t a human child. Not entirely.

My body shook violently. Why had I seen our child in that vision but not Callum? I searched the water, my eyes straining to see anything in the shadowy depths.

“I know you’re still out there,” I whispered. “It can’t be too late, please, it can’t.”

The water remained still. The shadows within stopped moving. In fury, I slammed my fist down, splashing cold water everywhere. “No! Show him to me! He’s still alive, Iknowhe’s still alive, he —” My words caught, shuddering on a sob. “He’s still fighting. I know he’s still fighting. Please, Callum.”

Shuddering, I doubled over until my forehead lay against the ground, my eyes burning with tears. Beneath me, the silver thread that bound my soul to my demon still shimmered faintly. Clutching it, I climbed to my feet. My limbs were numb with cold, but I forced myself to trudge forward, one painful step at a time.

“Keep fighting, Callum. Please. I’m coming back. I’ll find you again.”

The mist was so thick it was impossible to see my own hand in front of my face. Fog swirled around my feet, cold and damp on my skin as I trudged onward, following the shimmering trail of the thread.

My strength was fading. Despite my attempts to ignore it, that numb feeling was spreading up my legs and arms. When I looked closely at my fingers, I could see a blackness under my nails.

Death was taking me slowly, one piece at a time.

It was impossible to tell if I was walking in a straight line or going in circles. Everything looked the same. The same white mist, the same dull gray light, the same damp cold. The injury in my side was throbbing in time with my weakly-beating heart.

“We’re going to get back, little one,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to address the little spark of potential life inside me. I hadn’t even been aware of it an hour ago, or was it a day? How long had I been wandering in the mist?

Why was I wandering at all? I was so tired. Everything hurt. Perhaps I could lie down. Just for a little while. Just a little rest.

I stopped abruptly, shaking my head as if to cast off flies and cobwebs. Holding tight to the silver thread in my hands, I pulled it through my fingers as I kept walking. Clinging to that semi-solid reminder of what I was searching for helped my focus, but confusion still battered me. My thoughts were like startled birds, fluttering away from their roost with nowhere to land.

“We’re coming back, Callum,” I said. “We’re coming. Keep fighting. Please keep fighting. We’ll find you.”

I stopped again, staring down in disbelief. Because there, at my feet, vaguely visible through the mist, was long stalks of dry brown grass.

It was a vast field. The grass rippled slowly around me, a churning sea that rattled as the dry stalks brushed together. The thread’s silvery light was brighter now, and it felt heavier in my hands. Emboldened, I walked faster, then ran. Although I had no idea where I was, I felt like Callum was close. Far closer than he’d been before.

I nearly tripped face-first into a massive dark lump that appeared before me out of the mist. Stumbling, I caught myself with my hands planted against the massive thing, only to immediately recoil in horror.

It was a mass of quivering, rotting, blackened flesh. It was slashed open in places, revealing muscle that was pink and coiled, like the outside of a brain. The muscle seemed to be crawling, quivering, twitching. As if it were made up of thousands of squirming pink maggots. The body was the size of a whale, and smelled so repulsive I had to cover my mouth and nose with my shirt before I gagged.

But then, in the cold and confusion and the awful stench, I felt him. Callum was here.

He stepped out of the mist as I looked up. He was about fifty yards away from me, and the moment his eyes fell on me, he froze. His wings were limp, dragging on the ground. They were ripped and bleeding; his body bruised and torn.

“Callum!” I tried to call out to him, but my voice was so weak, my mouth so dry. It hurt to speak. “Help me…” The pain flared, sharper and deeper than before. “Help me, please!”

But he didn’t take a single step toward me. He stared at me as if I were a stranger, as if…as if I was an enemy.

Stepping around the massive dead thing, I stumbled toward him. “I don’t know what happened. Where are we? Where is the —”

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