Page 49 of Witch's Fate

“What? Now?” It was past ten, which wasn’t all that late, but she was beat.

“It should be now.”

“Where?”

“To get more help. In case we fail tomorrow.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s not likely, but it’s possible. We only have one of the coven on our side. There’s a chance the High Witches have sent us on a suicide mission. But we can get around that with help.”

“But who’s more powerful than you? A god?”

“Corrier.”

Sofia stepped back, surprised. “You’d take me to Corrier to ask for help? He must hate me. I left. I abandoned the opportunity he gave me.” She hadn’t even said goodbye that day when Malcolm had chosen becoming a warlock over her. She’d just run.

“You were his favorite pupil.” Malcolm grasped her shoulders and she didn’t move, desperate to hear what he had to say. “It broke his heart when you left. For a long time, he was angry. But he’s softened. He’ll help you.”

Sofia shuddered at the thought. Her throat had that raw, trembly feeling that comes with the need to cry. She’d always loved Corrier, but she’d blocked out thoughts of him when she’d left the apprenticeship. She’d been horrified when she’d learned what he’d sacrificed to become a warlock. What he wanted her to sacrifice.

But now she had a chance to see him again? And Malcolm said he’d forgiven her?

Not that she had anything to be forgiven for, she reminded herself. But it was so hard to separate the reality of a situation from the longing of a student to make a favored professor proud.

“Okay,” she said. “Take me there.”

She held out a hand and he took it.

Nerves made goosebumps pop up on her skin as she waited for Kitty to press against Malcolm’s legs and for him to transport them. She’d lost more than Malcolm when she’d turned away from becoming a warlock. Though Corrier hadn’t been as important to her as Malcolm had, he’d been her most valued mentor. She’d grown to idolize him as she studied under him.

Now she would see him again.

A moment later, Sofia stood in a familiar valley. An enormous cliff rose in front of her, waterfalls pouring down their faces. Cold wind whipped across her cheeks as her boots crunched the snow.

Norway. After leaving, she’d never returned. She turned left, to where she knew Corrier’s fortress would be. It grew out of the cliffside—gray stone, one with the mountain behind it.

“It hasn’t changed,” she said.

“No.”

“Do you come back often?” she asked as they walked to the great wooden doors.

“No,” Malcolm said. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally, he forced the words out. “I have complex feelings regarding Corrier. I wanted to be a warlock, but as a result, I lost you. I’ve been bitter.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I know.” They reached the huge door and he pounded on it.

They waited only a moment before it swung open. A tall woman stood at the threshold, her auburn hair gleaming in the golden light from the large foyer. An apprentice.

“We’re here for Corrier,” Malcolm said.

“May I ask who you are?” Her Irish accent was lilting.

“Step aside, Moira. I know who they are.”

Moira stepped aside to reveal a familiar figure coming down the stairs. Tall and slender, Corrier’s white hair stuck out at wild angles. His dark cloak fell back from his shoulders, revealing gray trousers and shirt beneath. The power that radiated off him made Malcolm’s skin tingle. Corrier was the most powerful warlock in the world.

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