Page 91 of Witch's Fate

Sofia nodded and managed to squeeze out a weak, “Thanks.” She turned away before they could answer and headed down the street. It was almost full dark now, the night animals waking up, screeching and howling. It felt hotter, unusually so, and the sweat dripped down her spine. Probably just misery. Her mind was miserable, her body too.

She just wanted to fall asleep. To forget all of this for a while.

Her house, at the far end of the village away from the river, hadn’t sustained any external damage that she could see. Just water and mud on the walls about three feet high. She pushed open the door and stepped into the same mud that covered the street.

It was quiet and dark inside—lonely—but she could make out the puddles and mud. The walls were wet all the way up to her waist, furniture and rugs soaked and dirty. It barely registered on her scale of bad things. At this point, she couldn’t care less about the damage to her home.

She reached out a hand for the light switch and flipped it.

Nothing.

She sighed. No surprise after the damage to the village. She drew her wand and lit the end, heading for the stairs.

All she really wanted was a shower. Didn’t even matter if it was hot. Her footsteps thudded heavily upward. Every bone in her body felt as old as her Crone form normally looked. A form she’d no longer be required to take every day, she realized. With the High Witch’s death, her job as Protector was over. Bruxa’s Eye was free. Though she’d be able to use the form when she needed the power, she’d no longer be expected to appear as the Crone in everyday life. Her job was done.

She had no idea how that made her feel and didn’t plan to explore it.

When she reached the top floor, she turned into the bedroom.

“Here you go, Kitty.” She set Kitty on the bed.

Kitty looked up at her with her good eye and her squinty one. Sofia reached out to scratch her head, then turned and went to the bathroom. A thudding sound indicated Kitty had hopped off the bed. Sofia glanced behind her to see Kitty following her.

Tears welled in her eyes. “Thanks, Kitty.”

In the small bathroom, she set her glowing wand on the sink and held her breath as she turned on the shower. It creaked, then water poured forth. Muddy at first, and then clear.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. It didn’t get hot after a minute like normal, but she didn’t care. It took only seconds to tear off her clothes, and then she was standing under the spray.

Immediately, tears started to roll down her face again.

Kitty meowed—more of a meep, really—then hopped in the shower with her. Water soaked her fur and her ears flattened. She looked like a fat, bedraggled rat and Sofia laughed pathetically.

Count on Kitty to try to make her feel better like this.

Kitty loved her.

Like Malcolm had clearly loved her. The tears came again, this time harder. She stood in the shower, weeping as Kitty rubbed her wet little body against her calf. Sobs wracked her as she leaned her head against the cold shower tile and curled her fists.

Malcolm had sacrificed himself for her village. For her.

He’d known what he was doing when he’d opened the channel to the aether. It’d been genius. Selfless. The High Witches were too powerful for other Mytheans to kill—as least as long as they’d been protected on the other side of the river behind their barrier.

Even outside of their barrier, it would have been almost impossible, given their numbers and the amount of power they’d already reaped from the destruction of Bruxa’s Eye.

But an aether blast… that would destroy anyone. The High Witches, the warlock who opened the portal and inevitably lost control. Malcolm.

But not her. Through a dumb stroke of luck, her ancestors had been there. Souls. Creatures of the aether—pretty much the only thing capable of protecting her.

And Malcolm had orchestrated it all, pulling the trigger on the bomb when the remote option hadn’t worked.

And now she was free of the High Witches. Her life was her own. She could look like herself when she walked thestreets of Bruxa’s Eye, take the Crone form only when necessary, and not have to spend her entire year searching for tributes and going through the hell of delivering them.

Malcolm had saved her from that. Set her free.

She knew she should be grateful, but as sobs tore themselves free of her throat, she realized that the only thing she cared about was Malcolm.

And he was gone.

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