Page 51 of Traitor Witch
I duck into the first unoccupied alley and draw a little magic from Opal. The white robes transform into loose, neutral men’s clothes at the flick of my fingers, and the white cloak turns a dull grey. The new outfit still covers me from head to toe, hiding my femininity from men who might make the mistake of trying to take advantage, and the new colours blend much better.
Opal waits for me to change, then continues walking, her delicate nose sniffing out the traces of magic that lead us to one plain, unremarkable door in the middle of a row of shambling houses.
“This doesn’t look like a shop,” I hiss at her. “Are you sure?”
She gives me a look.
I hesitate, then knock once.
The door flies open, and a hand drags me inside before I can say anything.
“You’re late!”
I barely catch a glimpse of Alletta’s black hair before she disappears down the gloomy hallway that she’s dragged me into.
“Come on!” Her voice echoes through the only door. “We’ve been waiting!”
“We?” I resist the urge to go for Glenna’s athame in my boot as I trail after her.
I emerge into the most cluttered shop I’ve ever seen. Shelves cover every inch of floor space, forcing anyone who wanted to browse to squeeze themselves in between. It’s a murky place, with no windows to let in light, and only three, dim crystal lamps to illuminate the dusty stock.
Alletta’s wares would seem random to a non-witch, but to me this is a power storehouse. Amulets, poisons, potions, dried herbs, crystals, books, ribbons, dried insects, bottles, cauldrons. Everything a witch could ever need is on these shelves.
I want to linger. My eyes catch on the umbrella stand, overstuffed with a collection of dusty brooms in the corner. But Alletta is still on the move, already starting up a stairwell on the opposite corner of the room.
I struggle to weave my way between shelves.
“Sister, please wait!”
Her laughter echoes down the stairs as I finally squeeze through and scramble up them after her. Opal is ahead of me, bounding up two at a time, but the stairs keep going and going, and eventually she gets tired and leaps back onto my shoulders.
When we finally reach the top, past several locked doors, I’m out of breath and panting. I almost fall through the open door to the roof garden but catch myself at the last second.
Alletta just laughs again. She stands in front of a huge bowl of water on the ground, illuminated by the light of the setting sun.
She… isn’t what I expected.
Her beauty is undeniable but her madness touches every aspect of it. Her hair is split perfectly down the middle, onehalf is cut at chin-length while the other hangs down past her shoulders. Tiny braids decorated with charms and beads hang from each side, chiming in the wind.
Her dress is made of huge panels of intersecting black and white, each embroidered with the opposite colour. It covers all of her, like a Solar’s robe would, but caresses her every curve like a Lunar. It might have been beautiful once, but age and use have soiled it. Stains from unnamed potions blight the material and the hem and sleeves are ripped.
Then there are her sigils. Glenna had had the most I’d ever seen until now. There’s barely an inch of Alletta’s golden skin that isn’t inked. Lines of sigils run from under her eyes to her jaw like tears. They fan out across her cheekbones and line the edges of her lips. Even her fingers are each decorated with a single line.
I barely recognise a quarter of them.
Alletta catches my gaze and winks. Her dark eyes are lit from within with a spark of insanity that’s hard to stare at, but harder to look away from. Without meaning to, I draw closer until we stand on opposite sides of the stone bowl.
Covenless, my mind whispers. This is the madness that awaits a lone witch. The reason even Solars band together.
We aren’t meant to live like this.
She's worse than I anticipated.
She grabs a handful of bay leaves from the bush by her side, then swoops down and snatches a sprig from a tiny thyme plant at her feet. She scatters both in the water, then draws her athame and pricks her finger with the tip until blood wells and falls into the bowl.
“Sacred Ladies of Night and Day…” her prayer turns to a whisper and I involuntarily take a step back.
No witch invokes both Goddesses at once. That’s suicide.
