Page 115 of Night of the Witch
Rochus sighs heavily. Behind him, Philomena has gone back to furiously grinding something in a mortar, her attention flitting from a scroll to us and back in simmering distaste.
“Her frustration is earned,” says Cornelia. She puts a finger on one of the two unlit candles, follows the string between them with the lightest touch. “I think they’re deserving of a fullexplanation, Rochus, before you jump right to using them.”
Philomena glares at Cornelia. “You have felt Dieter’s movements on us, and you wish to delay even more?”
Cornelia smiles icily. “Yes. I do. Because the goddesses chose them, didn’t they? And so our champions are worthy of respect.”
I don’t like how they’re talking about us. I don’t like the way Philomena dumps more herbs into her mortar and grinds harder, her nostrils flaring at me like I’m the one who argued with her. Not that I wouldn’t be arguing, if I knew what was going on.
“You want our help stopping Dieter,” I say. “That’s what we want, too.”
“It is far more than stopping Dieter, I am afraid,” Rochus says. “If he were to breach the Well and harm the Origin Tree, he could eradicate not just the magic witches draw from, but the very connection we have to the goddesses. And so”—he takes a breath—“for the protection of the Well, our goddesses, and magic’s very future, you have come to help us.”
“By running,” Cornelia says. She waves at the table before her. “By taking the coward’s way.”
My eyes go to the magic supplies again. I spot other things this time—belladonna. Henbane.
A rock lands in my gut, a heavy weight of dread. A bonding potion?
There are other things they might use those herbs for than a bonding potion, though. I try to breathe.
Philomena shakes the pestle at Cornelia. “You would have us fight? We are not warriors!”
“We used to be.” Cornelia’s voice is low and controlled, a purr of fury, and I drop down one of the steps into the central seating area.
“Warriors,” I echo. “They reacted to that word when”—I don’t want to mention Otto, not yet—“when it was used, after we arrived.”
“That was how we used to walk this world,” Cornelia says, her fuming gaze still fixed on Philomena. “Warriors and champions on the outside of the barrier; priests on the inside. The old ways have been forgotten for too long.”
“I knew this would turn into yet another fruitless argument with you!” Philomena cries. “Our decision has been made. Champions or no, we are not—”
“Warriors and witches,” Cornelia snaps her gaze to mine. I go cold, frozen beneath the intensity in her eyes. “Pairs selected for their prowess, for their heart. Sometimes a mortal and a witch, sometimes two with magic in their blood. They took the bonding potion to connect their power, to share magic, but it was beyond that. Souls mingled. The apex of our powers.”
My eyes go fully round. The rock of dread in my belly grows heavier. The ingredients on the table, this mention of the bonding potion—it can’t be coincidence.
What do they want us to do?
“Creating bonding potions and performing the ritual used to be an honored calling for us,” Cornelia says. She shoots a pointed, accusatory look at Philomena. “Bonded witches could save us more than any other plan. That combination of power could stand against Dieter.”
“We agree,” Philomena says, but it’s biting. “A bonded witch pair will save us.”
“Not as you intend,” Cornelia snaps. “You would have us hide here, behind our barrier!”
“What do you want us to do?” My question yanks silence over the room.
“We’re making the barrier around the Well impassable,” Cornelia says. Her bluntness earns a hiss of warning from Philomena and Rochus both, but I’m staring at only her, fixated with horror as her words sink in. “We’re blocking off the Well, the Origin Tree, all of it from the rest of the world. And the goddesses broughtyou twobecause one of us needs to be bonded with a champion to finalize a spell this large.”
“What?” I rock forward. “What would that do to magic in this world?”
“The Well’s magic will remain inside the barrier,” Rochus says. “Wild magic will remain outside.”
All the anger I’d been feeling drops alongside my dread, a toxic mix of fear and fury and concern and rage.
The Well and its witches have sat here, letting horrors unimagined pick us off in the real world, and now, when they have all these resources, when they could march out andstop Dieter, they would retreat even more. Permanently. As though we are not the same, as though we are not connected by the same magic, the same goddesses. As though this meansnothing.
“Dieter would still have access to wild magic,” I say. “The witch hunts will continue. And those accused now won’t be witches at all—you’d leave innocents to suffer and die from prejudices started over us? You abandoned us already to die under the hexenjägers, so you’re just lighting the remaining pyres yourselves!”
Philomena rolls her eyes. “I should have known Holda’s champion would side with this prideful nonsense. Now is not the time to be haughty—it is the time to preserve what we have left. Your brother”—she cuts me a sharp, accusing look—“has managed toweakenour borders with wild magic. Our borders! If he is capable of that, what havoc will he wreak if he enters here?”
