Page 70 of The Witch and His Crow

I turned, finger pointed towards Jaz, but she was gone. Where she had stood, screaming her accusations, there was now an empty spot. I scanned the raucous crowd, but the witch was nowhere to be seen.

I found another instead. Standing in the beyond the fighting crowd, Eleanor Letcombe waited. My breathing hitched, catching in the back of my throat, her name planted on my tongue.

Out the corner of my eye, I watched Arwyn be knocked to his knees. There were a few bodies scattered around him, groaning and rolling, clutching wounds or groins in agony.

‘Me!’ Eleanor screamed, answering my unanswered accusation. ‘I am the witch you seek.’

All eyes fell on her. Silence ensued. This would’ve been the moment that her neighbours denied the claim, knowing Eleanor was the only thing keeping them safe from the demons beyond the stone circle. But no one spoke up. No one stopped her. Not as Eleanor shrugged her shawl to the floor, raised her hands to her side and began chanting.

Storm clouds billowed in the sky at her back, gathering behind her like dark wings. Lighting flashed in the distance, as Eleanor encouraged the return of last night’s storm with a few words. This magic was strong. Winds ripped through the village,powerful enough to shove me back a step. And around her eyes, a circlet of blue spun.

I’d never felt magic like it. Until now, there had been a faint, strange humming to the air. Like a static charge captured in Eleanor’s stone circle. But this—this conjuring was horrifying and beautiful. The first wave of Witch Hunters who ran at her were knocked to their feet. Eleanor raised her hand towards them, holding it like a claw. The Witch Hunters she focused on writhed in pain, screaming for God or anyone else to help them.

Arwyn used the distraction to get up and run to my side. Every Witch Hunter ran towards Eleanor, leaving Romy unguarded.

‘Eleanor is giving us some time,’ Arwyn said, breathless, a dribble of blood running down the side of his mouth. ‘Let’s not waste it.’

I thrust the sword into his hands. ‘Cut her bindings.’

Arwyn didn’t need to be told twice. I tore the cloth from between Romy’s teeth, freeing her to speak.

‘Thanks,’ Romy said, bubbling with nervous energy.

‘Are you alright?’ I said, searching for signs of wounds or blood.

‘I’ll be fine once we get out of here.’

‘We’ve got you,’ I said to her, appreciating her smile but recognising that it must be hiding a tremendous amount of anxiety. ‘Coven, remember?’

The storm continued to rule the sky, the magic making the air feel thick as mud. Arwyn waded through it and used the sword to slice Romy’s bindings, freeing her.

Romy was looking out across the crowd, her brows pinched in fury. ‘Where is that bitch? Where’s Jaz?’

‘Gone,’ I said, ‘for now.’

Romy sagged forwards, her hands and feet free from the pyre.

‘And we need to do the same, and quick,’ Arwyn commanded, guiding us both away from the stake. If he didn’t wrap his arm around my waist, I would never have moved. I couldn’t take my eyes off Eleanor. She certainly had the power to save herself, but the way she looked at me, the sorrow weighing heavy in her brow, suggested otherwise.

I knew how her story ended, regardless of if I was ever a part of it. Seeing her then, surrounded by the Witch Hunters and their iron blades, made me long to scream at her to run. But Arwyn pulled me away before I got the chance.

We rounded to the edge of the nearest building, cowering behind it, just when my theory was proved right. Eleanor withdrew her magic, silencing the spell and severing the power in a second. The clouds dispersed and the winds simmered to a natural rhythm. Eleanor withdrew her hand, cutting off the power she held over the Witch Hunters.

Then, as one, they took her.

‘No!’ I screamed, but it was in vain. No one heard me over the roar of the crowd. Arwyn pulled me to his chest, clasping a hand over my mouth and another around my waist. I tried to fight free, but it was useless.

‘Save her, Caym,’ I pleaded through our bond. My familiar was circling the sky, his hesitation hot as fire. ‘Please, save her.’

‘The witch has put something against me,’ Caym squawked.‘I cannot assist. She is blocking me.’

Eleanor’s grimoire weighed heavy in my inner pocket. I felt its presence like a boulder against my skin. I clutched it, unable to understand what magic she had used. Not only did she conjure a storm, control human bodies like puppets, and now keep my familiar away, I felt as though she was protecting us. Because it was like we never existed to the Witch Hunters. None of them questioned the empty stake, or Romy being missing. Their focus was on tying Eleanor to it, binding her hands andfeet, stuffing rope between her teeth to prevent more hexes or curses.

‘Please,’ I muttered into Arwyn’s palm. He withdrew his hand enough that I could form words aloud. Hot, furious tears wetted my cheeks. ‘We need to help her, Arwyn. After everything she’s done for us.’

A new presence entered my mind. It was warm as summer sun, as soft as petals and sweet as nectar. Caym was banished from my mind, as though there was no room for him in my thoughts as the new voice entered it. It was Eleanor, her voice a guiding light.

‘I would’ve perished in time. This was always how my story ends. You mustendurethis, Hector Briar. For me, and for you. I swear, my death will be a price paid, to ensure all future witches are protected from those who wish to seek us harm.’

---