Page 50 of Witch's Fate

“Sofia.” His voice was warm. “It’s been centuries.”

“It has.” Warmth was buried beneath the hint of wariness in Sofia’s voice.

Corrier looked at Malcolm. “The same goes for you.”

His voice had chilled slightly, but Malcolm understood. Unlike Sofia, he’d completed his training. It was understood when a failed apprentice didn’t return to see the mentor. There was no reason to. But warlocks didn’t often stay away from their mentors for as long as Malcolm had. And three hundred years was a long time.

“I’m sorry, Corrier. But it’s good to see you.” He meant it. With Sofia now at his side, some of his bitterness had waned.

“Come, let’s have a drink. When someone who’s been away as long as you shows up, they normally want something. I’d like a drink for that.”

They followed him down the hall to his study. It was so familiar. He could recall stolen moments with Sofia in this very hall. He clenched a fist, pushing the memories away.They only served to confuse him. Make him regret his actions. Regret was weakness. He just had to go forward with the tools he had. He’d find a way to be with Sofia.

“Take a seat,” Corrier said once they entered his cluttered study.

The room was large, but the number of bookshelves and tables made it feel much smaller. Leather-bound tomes and magical instruments littered the surfaces. The fire blazed in the hearth, sending a warm glow into the room.

“Tea?” Corrier asked.

They both nodded.

Corrier went to a table laid out with implements for making tea and waved his hand, producing three steaming mugs. He turned to them and held up a bottle of whisky.

“Absolutely,” Sofia said.

“Thanks,” Malcolm said.

Corrier poured, then brought them their drinks. Three mugs for them, a saucer for the cat. They sat in chairs in front of the fire. Kitty took up a position in front of the hearth. Malcolm’s mind could so easily travel back in time to when they’d all sat here the first time. Even after Corrier had come into the room, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of Sofia. When he’d seen her commitment and intelligence, he’d been lost.

“What is it that you need? After three hundred years, people don’t visit just to say hello.” His tone was kind.

“I’m sorry, Corrier. I never thought to visit,” Sofia said. “Though I valued what you taught me, the cost was too high.”

“I understand.” His gaze moved to Malcolm. “Can you say the same?”

Malcolm sighed. “Honestly, I can. The loss of Sofia proved to be too great.”

He felt her gaze on him, but didn’t look at her. Admitting these things… wasn’t easy. But he had to learn to do so if he wanted to win her.

“That is the nature of the warlock. Sacrifice in all things. Such great power comes at a price.”

“I now realize how great,” Malcolm said.

“Then how can I be of service?” Corrier asked.

“We are potentially—likely—in some trouble,” Malcolm said. He explained the problem with the witches. “So you can see, we need help.”

Corrier sat back and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Hmm. That is not good. It’s not possible to defeat the High Witches. Not when they fight as a group. Will they?”

“Yes,” Malcolm said.

“And your best hope is retrieving the Salem Coven’s Grimoire, but you’ll have to enter their house to do so. If you fail, you will have to disband your village.”

“Yes,” Sofia said, her eyes dark with pain.

Corrier leaned forward. “Though I do not become involved in the affairs of my apprentices, I can make Sofia stronger. She is the weaker link—” his gaze met hers “—no offense intended my dear, but you didn’t finish the training.”

“I know. But become a warlock?” There was dread in her voice.

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