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I am afraid, hungry, and freezing. I wish to be done with this flight and have my feet once more on the ground. I tilt my head to gaze at the blonde vampire effortlessly gliding upon the wind.

“I am cold!”

She takes no notice of my words for her focus is on a castle atop a hill, its many windows glowing a bright orange in the night.

My teeth chattering, I pull my cloak tighter around me with other hand.

A road meanders through the trees and ends at a secured gate set in heavily fortified walls. The guards on the walls do not even glance upward as we sail over their heads to alight on the battlements. I gape at the heavily armored men with fear, but they continue to stare outward at the darkened terrain.

The vampire guides us to an open doorway guarded by intimidating sentries, but they do not appear to observe us. I study the rugged face peering out from a heavy helmet and notice his eyes do not follow when we pass. I dare to touch his arm, but he does not detect me.

“They have no sense of your presence,” Dominique says with a smirk. “I am hiding us with my power. Impressed?”

“No,” I answer. “My mother was a witch and so is my sister.”

Ágota lifts her eyes toward the ceiling with annoyance. At me? Or the vampire? I am unsure.

Dominique laughs with delight at my answer.

“Do not mock me,” I say irritably.

The vampire ruffles my hair. “You are an amusing little thing, are you not? Come along.”

As I trail behind the vampire, I stare pointedly at my sister, my gaze demanding she defend me. Ágota observes my expression of frustration and lifts a finger to her lips. Frowning, I nod in acquiescence. If my sister insists I remain silent, I will obey. But it will be no easy task, for I am afraid and angry.

We are guided through narrow corridors and steep stone stairways until we pass through a door into a much more hospitable portion of the castle. Torches burn along the walls, chasing away the darkness, the flickering flames casting off elusive heat. The cold permeates the stone walls and floor, chilling me further.

For a brief moment, I witness the torches in the mausoleum bursting to life. The pain of the stake returns and my vision distorts.

“Who’s there?” I attempted to say, but I am swallowed by the past before there is an answer.

I press a small hand to my breast, but the pain is gone, and my awareness of my captivity within the mausoleum fades. I rejoin the continuing drama of my recollections, losing myself in the mind of the younger version of myself.

“Do not dawdle. Come along,” Dominique orders, gesturing for us to follow her.

Beneath her tunic, she wears a skirt that brushes over the top of her boots and her scabbard swings at her side. She is an unusual woman, appearing as formidable as the sentries on the wall. I reluctantly admire how she carries herself and speculate how she came about to gird herself like a warrior.

After descending a winding stairway, we

enter the great hall of the castle. One end of the room is dominated by an enormous fireplace and heavy ornate furniture is arranged before it. The ceiling is high and curved with banners hanging from the rafters. I have never seen such a place before, so I openly gape at my impressive surroundings.

“Wirich, I return,” Dominique announces, her voice echoing.

From a particularly large chair rises a very tall man. His black hair rests against his shoulders and his beard is streaked with gray. I find myself lifting my head to look at a face which appears to be carved from white granite that has been chipped away over time. Maybe he was handsome at one point, but now he reminds me of the trolls from stories.

“Dominique, did you feast well?” He smiles, surprisingly transforming his face from cruel to kind.

“They were delicious.” Dominique greets the man with a kiss on his scarred lips. “Such a small contingent was no threat to your power. Your enemies lack resources to adequately attack you.”

“They were flies in need of a spider,” he answers with a chuckle, his fingers flicking her chin. “Now, who are these young ladies?”

“Introduce yourselves,” Dominique instructs us.

Bristling slightly at being ordered about, Ágota steps forward and says, “I am Ágota, Archwitch of the Lost Witch World. This is my sister, Erzsébet. We ask for safe passage through your land. Who are you?”

The big man laughs. “I like you, Ágota, Archwitch of the Lost Witch World. I am Wirich, Count Dolingen of Gratz in Styria.” Turning to Dominique, he says, “An Archwitch? How did you ever discover such a treasure?”

“The White Woman of the Wood informed me that an Archwitch was traveling through your territory. I found the girls hiding in the meadow near the encampment of Rolf’s men. I killed your enemies before they discovered the girls.”