Page 13 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts

The witch laughed. “What’s your name?”

“Zacharia.”

“Well, Zacharia, what you seek cannot be found.”

He leaned forward, his voice sharp. “And how do you know that without even trying?”

She picked up the cards again, shuffling them. “I spoke with a friend of mine. She said you visited her two days ago with the same request.”

“And didn’t she tell you she was the one who sent me to you?”

The witch assessed him. “I recently complained to her about having nobody to repair my roof. Perhaps she decided you’d be up to the task.”

Bloody, cursed witches!

Zacharia was about to stand when she added, “Or perhaps it’s more likely that my friend knows what you’re looking forcan’t be found with an ordinary seeking spell.”

“But it can with an extraordinary one?” he asked.

She lifted the edge of the tablecloth, revealing a hidden compartment underneath. From it, she pulled out a small hunting knife with a wooden handle. “Give me your hand.”

Reluctantly, Zacharia reached across the table. Many witchcraft spells required the client’s blood, so he didn’t flinch when the witch dragged the blade over his palm until blood flowed. She moved his hand above the skull, allowing the crimson droplets to fall into its gaping mouth.

At first, Zacharia watched with indifference as his blood seeped between the skull’s jaws. “Just don’t ask for a piece of my soul afterwards…”

The witch laughed again. “I’m not one of those.”

When faint blood vessels appeared beneath the skull’s bones, Zacharia pulled his hand back. “Whatthe hellis that?”

Without replying, the witch cut her own palm, letting her blood mingle with his in the skull’s mouth. She muttered an incantation so softly that Zacharia couldn’t make out the words, but the hairs on his nape stood up. Unlike him, the cat didn’t even flinch.

“We just fed mylokio,” the witch explained. “When it’s ready, it will find what you’re looking for.”

Zacharia cast a doubtful glance at the skull. “And how will it tell us?”

“With its mouth.” She patted the skull as one would a pet, then stood. “It’ll take a few days. Plenty of time for you to fix the roof.”

A few days seemed like a lot of wasted time, but the absence of an alternative forced him to accept it. And fix the bloody roof.

“Fair enough,” he said.

“Come, I’ll show you your room.”

They climbed a narrow staircase to the second floor, wherethree doors awaited.

“You’ll sleep here.” The witch pointed to the nearest room. “Do what you promised, and I’ll find your friend. And don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

“I never do.”

She reached for the black cloth that covered her face and hair. When she pulled it down, Zacharia’s breath caught. He’d expected shrivelled skin, sunken cheeks, and cruel scars from her dealings with dark magic. Instead, her features glowed with life and beauty. Coppery, wavy strands tumbled like waves over the black burqa covering her shoulders.

“You…” he stammered. “How is it possible for you to be so… beautiful?”

Perhaps not all witches who dabbled in black magic bore its marks?

“There you go, asking an unnecessary question. Don’t make me rethink our deal.” The witch descended the stairs, her unpleasant cat trailing behind, while Zacharia slipped into the room she’d offered. The smell of dampness and mould greeted him, and the plaster on the walls was peeling onto the floor.

He stared up at the hole in the ceiling, which she expected him to repair.