Page 121 of The Witch and His Crow

He smiled, closed his eyes, and replied without opening them again. ‘Remember the man you showed me I could be, not the monster who hid in his shadow.’

That was a goodbye. Goodbyes never came in the form of the word itself, but a feeling. Caym’s had proven that. It was a sense of severance and finality that came with the words provided, and Arwyn’s practically drowned with both of those tones.

‘No,’ I shouted at him, tears pooling, more tears falling. I took his shoulders and shook him. ‘You don’t get to just go. You don’t get to die and leave me like this. You owe me, Arwyn Hopkin. Don’t you fucking dare die. Not like this. I deserve… I deserve to ruin you too, to break you. Not this. This is too easy.’

Arwyn kept his mouth closed, his chest rising and falling slowly. I watched it, not daring to look away, as if my eye contact was the only thing keeping his lungs drawing in breath. Only when he spoke again, his voice a small whisper, did I dare return my gaze to his face.

I couldn’t hear him, so I lowered my ear closer to his mouth, begging him to say it again. ‘Please, Arwyn.’

It was my turn to beg, to try a different tactic at keeping him alive.

‘If you…can’t forgive me,’ Arwyn whispered, his lips so close to my ear they brushed my tacky skin. ‘At least forgive the child who had no choice. He doesn’t deserve your hate, but…I do.’

‘Stay alive and I will consider it.’

If Arwyn wasn’t a dead weight on my lap, I would’ve reached into my pocket and withdrawn Eleanor’s grimoire. But even a powerless witch knew that defying death was not a power in Hekate’s remit.

It was something darker.

My head snapped up, already knowing what I was looking for. There, in the corner of the room, bathed in shadows, was thebeast. I knew he’d be watching. And I knew now what I needed him for.

‘I failed. Arwyn won!’ I screamed, knowing my time was running out. ‘He’s your victor.’

The demon stepped into the dull light, revealing his form. Tall and imposing, the face of a goat with curling horns. He wore what looked to be a suit, with the gloved hands of a man but cloven hooves for feet. There was no denying the aura of darkness that clung to the demon like a cloak, which trailed behind him as he walked towards me.

‘I am aware of my own rules,’ the demon replied, burning eyes boring through me. ‘But my victor is dying, rendering him useless to me.’

Without taking my eyes of the demon, I pressed my fingers against Arwyn’s neck. If I focused hard enough, I knew his heart was still beating. The patter was faint, but undeniably there.

‘He still lives,’ I said, almost pleaded. ‘Your victor is not useless yet.’

The demon paced towards me, bringing with him the stench of rot beneath something…sweet. Like roses. ‘And what is it you wish for me to do, Hector?’

This demon had been inside my mother. He had…possessed her, making her the Grand High. The pungent scent of thistlebane followed me from the memory, proving to me what my mother did to the demon. She buried him.

‘Save him.’

A long, heavy breath exhaled, as if the darkness itself breathed. ‘Say my name and I will do it.’

Once again, the viper stirred. Like called to like.

Nine months I festered beside you.My mother had been pregnant, carrying me in her womb, when this beast possessed her body. Was that what drew me towards it? Had a part of the creature been left behind inside of me, after he was banished from her body?

Pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

My blood. The key. Her keeping me away.

The darkness inside of me unravelled, as though it enjoyed the truth I was working out.

I chewed down on my lip, knowing this was all a game to the demon. He sensed my hesitation, gazing between me and the limp body in my arms. There was so much blood now it was hard to discern where it ended and began.

‘Hurry now, child.’

I hissed in the face of evil, desperate but furious. ‘He won. Without Arwyn you’re stuck here. Without him, your freedom is stunted. Save. Him.’

‘All it takes is for you to say my name.’

‘Why!’ I shouted, clutching onto Arwyn so tightly, he would shatter like glass if he was as fragile as me. ‘What does it matter?’

---