Page 78 of Pirate Witch
The tempo grows and grows until the Lunars are skipping across the cobbles so fast their feet almost don’t touch the floor. They dance like they’ll die if they stop.
The drums go silent.
As one, they drop to the floor. Several of the waiting harems reach out as if to catch their witch, only to remember themselves at the last second and stop. I’m one of them. My arms are still outstretched as I watch Nilsa fall perfectly into the gap created by the lines of the herb web. Our witch is on her back in the middle, her body twisted so that the tip of her athame is crossed with several others, forming the knot at the centre of the web. Around her, other Lunars lie in perfect circles, spiralling out, all with one hand—or athame—pointed towards the middle, and the other resting over their heart.
Those with torches dropped them in their haste to lay on the floor, but that must have been the plan all along. For the fire ignites the lines of herbs. Flames lick between the witches, not touching them. They’re not the warm familiar yellow of a hearth fire. No, they’re the same white flames Nilsa called to destroy the Claw, and now they’re racing toward the middle of the web.
The moment that fire comes into contact with the athames at the centre, the witches gasp, bodies arching like they’re possessed. The flames die down until they’re almost extinguished. Then roar upwards until the witches themselves are obscured behind them.
A shock wave ripples through the circle. The power seems to draw upwards from the outside in, until it manifests as a beam of moonlight so powerful it’s almost solid. The energy soars into the sky from the place where the athames meet, like it’s shooting for the Moon herself before twirling in the air and heading south.
As suddenly as it starts, it stops.
The flames die. Even the witches freeze in place.
The only movement they make is the rapid darting motion of their eyes beneath their lids. This is the part where they’re the most defenceless. Nilsa explained to us that in order to direct the power to Fort Sole, the Lunars have to go into a trance. Something which may take several hours.
The drums start up again. This time, it’s measured and even, like a heartbeat. A solid, rich sound that muffles the eeriness of the scene before us. Something to guide them home when the task is finished.
I barely have enough time to check that Nilsa is still breathing before the first shouts cut through the air.
As much as it pains me to leave my mate, I join the rest of the crew in pushing through the ring of onlookers until we’re facing the golden shield that the Solars have made.
The first thing we notice is the yelling, followed by screams and the loud crack of gunfire. A decidedly feline yowl splits the chaos a second before an enormous clowder turns the corner. The witches’ familiars are covered in blood, and there must be hundreds of them racing for the shield. The group of them is so densely packed together that they look like rats scurrying from danger.
A single Solar holds her iron spear high for just long enough to let the furballs in, before slamming it back onto the cobbles, sealing the shield once more. The simple act of standing suddenly becomes hazardous as hundreds of felines start milling about beneath us. One misstep, and I might stand on a tail.
Given that these cats can shift into giant, lion-size beasts, I don’t want to risk it.
Evidently, neither does anyone else, because all the gathered people stand stock still.
A familiar grey ball of fur leaps into my arms, and I only just stop myself from stepping back in shock. Opal, of course.
Nilsa’s little cat promptly nips me on the arm, licking the blood with her rough little tongue, before settling in to clean herself.
“…do they even appreciate what my fur has gone through for them? No, they donot.”She appears to be mid-rant, and the sound of her voice—ripe with indignation—makes me want to laugh.“I organised the ambush, and what do I get in return? Blood in myfur.”
“You did good,” I murmur, pacifying her. “And when we’re finished, there will be more tuna waiting for you.”
Opal releases a loud purr and starts kneading her claws into my arm.“You’re a good vampire. I’ve trained you well.”
“I take it they’ve made land? Or did the furballs just go on a rat hunting spree?” Val grumbles, completely unaware of the danger he’s putting himself in.
Opal’s head snaps up, her big blue eyes snapping to where the mage is staring out at the still empty square, shoulders tense.
“As if we would lower ourselves to the work of farm cats!”she screeches, launching herself from my arms and onto his face.“I am a noble spirit guide! Sent from the Moon Goddess—”
“The fucking cat’s gone psycho,” Val growls, ripping her from his skin and holding her at arm’s length as she proceeds to struggle. “Someone get rid of it before it claws me to death.”
The scent of his blood perfumes the air, tiny cuts opening up on his arms and face from Opal’s rage-filled squirming.
Without waiting to see how much pain the captain could take before he tossed her out of the protective circle all together, I scoop Opal out of his hold and back into mine.
“Revenge is best served cold,” I remind her jokingly.
Unfortunately, the cat doesn’t understand that I’m kidding.
“Of course, you’re right. Weeks of trying to get the scent of cat piss out of his sails will put him in his place.”
