Page 23 of The Witch and His Crow

A shadow, at least until he stepped into the light. The man was taller than the witch who had just tried to squash me beneath the chandelier. Bright blue eyes meet mine, shifting to a pale green as a circle of spirit-magic white encased his pupils.

I didn’t see what happened next, or hear what was said. I was frozen, watching as the spirit-witch thrust out his arms and toppled the water-witch over the balcony’s edge.

He barely had time to scream before his body landed in front of me. Glass penetrated the water-witches’ body, his left arm and leg bent at an ungodly angle. I stared down at the corpse, watching rivulets of blood seep from beneath it, staining the dark carpet with a patch of black gore.

And just like that, death welcomes itself into the Witch Trials.

Romy was trying to draw me away from the scene, but her words were muffled. My focus was not on the corpse—I couldn’t give a shit about him. It lifted back to the balcony where the spirit-witch watched me. He was still there, the planes of his sculptured face almost otherworldly.

I was confident he smiled down at me before slinking back into castle’s shadows as though he was born from them. It wasn’t until he was out of view that the world caught up with me and I could breathe freely again.

‘Did you see him?’ I asked, unable to take my eyes off the balcony.

‘See who?’ Romy replied, guiding me away from the gathering crowd around the dead witch. ‘Hell, Hector. You just killed the first witch. If you didn’t want eyes on you, you should have thought about that before you went and drew first blood.’

But I hadn’t killed the witch. It wasn’t me. One word was all I managed to say as we began to take the stairs away from the scene of the murder. ‘Him.’

CHAPTER SIX

The piercing cobalt eyes of the contestant who’d killed the water-witch haunted me in every shadow. It was usually Caym I would find in the dark corners of a place. But between almost dying and navigating the castle in search for a bedroom for us to share, I couldn’t put too much thought into where my familiar was. I had to trust that Caym was trying to get access into this place.

No matter how I tried to calm myself, it didn’t seem to work. My breath was ragged, and the tips of my fingers were tingling with anxiety.

Romy found us a room in the west wing of the castle. We had navigated up so many flights of stairs that my thighs practically begged for me to collapse. There was no ignoring the stinging of all the cuts across my face, but the few tarnished mirrors we passed proved that my wounds were superficial. If anything, it made me look dangerous, and I needed all the help with that that I could get.

Every other room we tried already had witches stationed inside. And just like the witch who tried to kill me, everyone wasequallyas welcoming—which was to say, they looked at us likethey wanted to eat us alive. Not even an hour into the Witch Trials and covens were forming.

As Romy threw incredibly filthy curses at the other witches, I searched every face I saw for those bright blue eyes. No pair I saw matched. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. I kept looking until we reached what had to be the attic space of the west wing, where we finally found what Romy calledour base.

‘It will do,’ Romy repeated for the third time, surveying the draughty room. ‘Yes, we can make it work.’

I admired her optimism. It was clear which one of us had a glass half full, as opposed to half empty.

I, for one, thought the space looked like shit.

There was a circular window at the far end of the room, but beside that there was no other source of light. Not that there was much to illuminate. Leaning ceilings left little room for furniture, let alone walking around freely.

‘I’ll take the couch,’ I nodded to the faded leather lump pushed against the right hand wall. I couldn’t tell if the patches on it were from cobwebs, dust, or worn areas mice had eaten away at.

Romy didn’t refuse my suggestion, at least not with words. She eyed the four-poster bed and the red material draped from the oak frame with trepidation. When she spoke, her words were muffled as if she held her breath.

She wasn’t wrong to either—there was a stale smell to the room, like a place in dire need of fresh air. ‘I would say there’s room for us both to share the bed, but who knows what creatures lurk beneath that duvet. I doubt you’d want to join me.’

‘That solves the debate of who’s little spoon and who’s big spoon.’ Looking at the bed again, Idefinitelypreferred the couch.

Romy brushed my sarcasm off with a shrug of her shoulder. ‘We passed communal shower rooms on the lower floor. I’d say we could both do with a wash, but best wait until after the first trial.’

‘Which could be in a day or a week,’ I added, knowing I wasn’t prepared to be sitting in these clothes for long. Surely there had to be others available here. Hekate wouldn’t strand us without supplies. So I got to looking.

Most of the furniture was covered in dust sheets—not that it mattered, because there was still dust everywhere. The mite-eaten carpet was grey with dust, the window seat and sill layered half an inch thick with it. Snatching the dust sheet off one of the groups of furniture, I revealed what turned out to be a desk and cabinet set. Opening the drawers I found exactly what I was expecting. Clothes—similar training leathers like what we arrived in, with a spare set for each of us.

Besides that I found ink, a quill, rope, bandages, and a pestle and mortar. Most importantly, I found a key, a large brass monstrosity which fit perfectly into the bedroom’s door.

‘A locked door won’t stop the killings, but at least it will slow them down,’ Romy said as she tugged off her black tank top and replaced it with the clean one in the drawer. I did the same, kicking off the older clothes and changing. It felt good to get a fresh set on, although what I needed was a shower. And a nap.

My jaw cracked with a yawn. I needed sleep, but that would be when I was by far the most vulnerable. ‘We’ll take watches when we need to rest,’ I said slowly, realising that that would give Romy the perfect opportunity to finish me off if she wanted to.

She noticed, shooting me a glare. ‘You still don’t trust me.’

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