Page 8 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts (Hospital for Immortal Creatures #3)

Zacharia

There wasn’t much in this world capable of making Zacharia stop in his tracks, spellbound. Yet the sight before him did not just leave him dizzy – it transformed him into a sentimental poet.

Perfectly crafted, as if by a surgeon’s hand, the rounded slopes stirred a yearning in him to reach out, to feel the stone beneath his palms. Their greenish hues exuded tranquillity.

As inspiring as they were dangerous, they demanded not to be underestimated.

Between them lay an endless chasm, a trap for anyone daring to cross the boundary.

A boundary as perilous as the claws of a Siamese cat…

Zacharia would never commit his musings to paper, but he enjoyed making comparisons in his mind. He could be romantic, too. It didn’t matter that the last woman in his life had compared his emotional depth to that of a chocolate egg – sweet on the outside, hollow inside.

“The chocolate egg isn’t empty, Tina. There’s a toy inside,” he would retort.

“Yes,” she’d say, “a toy. A game, but not a heart.”

It seemed no one but she found Zacharia sweet, even if only on the surface.

His ice-blue eyes landed on the young woman observing him as if he were a pest in her garden. She was the daughter of the witch he’d come to find, but saying he was unwelcome would be an understatement.

He compared her scowling face to a mosquito net designed to protect her from the world’s dangers – dangers like Zacharia himself.

But he could see through the mask – beneath it was a vulnerable, kind heart.

Perhaps the girl merely seemed to be a tough and ready type, brought up in a mountain village with barely a hundred residents during its ‘busy season.’ Maybe, when the house fell silent at night, she took out a secret diary and composed enchanting rhymes with such richness of language that even Shakespeare would envy her.

“What’re you gawking at?” she snapped.

He leaned against his SUV and surveyed the witch’s house. “Admiring the view.”

The typical village architecture gave no indication that it housed immortal beings. Such rare modesty for witches – they loved flamboyance. A broomstick stuck in the doorframe or a skeleton in the garden was not uncommon.

Byala Voda was a small village nestled amidst the mysteries of the Strandzha Mountains.

It was reachable via a narrow forest path that few would dare to travel without knowing what awaited at the end.

The witch’s house sat at the very summit of the hill, flanked by empty meadows.

Behind it stretched the boundless expanse of the mountain range.

“When will your mother be back?” Zacharia broke the silence as the girl resumed her work in the makeshift orchard.

She shot him a withering glare and flicked a coal-black lock away from her sun-kissed forehead. She plucked a tomato and held it in her hand for a moment, as though debating whether to hurl it at him. Apparently, she decided it wasn’t worth wasting her hard-earned harvest on punishing an intruder.

“It’s Sunday,” she said.

“Bath day?”

She whirled on him with an exasperated sigh. “That’s when the shop gets bread deliveries. The entire village is there. Queuing.”

“I see… Do the locals know what you are?”

The irritated grimace she showed in response to each of his questions amused him somehow. “ No . And it’s better that way.”

“An old man told me your mother is the village midwife.”

She straightened up. “There hasn’t been a birth here in years. If you’re so desperate to see her, wait! She’ll be back soon.”

The witch spun on her heel and strode towards the door, done with her social interaction quota for the day.

“Hey, I’m not here to disrupt your peace!” Zacharia called after her.

She turned and, for the first time, smiled at him – albeit mockingly. “You smell like trouble to me, but let’s see what Mum decides.” She shrugged and disappeared through the front door.

Over the past few days, this was the third witch’s house Zacharia had visited.

The previous two encounters had proved fruitless, but he hoped this trip to Byala Voda would justify his efforts.

He prayed that, at last, he had found a traditional witch – one who still practised the old, elaborate rituals rather than the simplified charms favoured by most modern witches – skilled enough to perform a seeking spell.

In modern times, such mastery was rare, making it a challenge to find a genuine practitioner of the craft.

If today’s visit ended in failure, Zacharia planned to travel to Turkey and infiltrate one of the largest witch gatherings in Istanbul until he found someone capable of doing what he needed.

Ten minutes later, the witch appeared, walking along the path, shrouded in a black burqa and carrying a bag that smelt of fresh bread.

Zacharia recognised her immediately. Witches who practised traditional magic for many years had a distinctive look in their gaze.

It said, ‘I’ve travelled the world several times over and carry the weight of its burdens on my shoulders’ .

He was certain the face beneath the burqa bore even harsher marks.

She walked past Zacharia as if he didn’t exist. Upon entering the yard, she left the gate ajar behind her. He followed in silence.

Only when they reached the doorstep did she speak to him. “I need a bit of help around the house. If you’re useless with your hands, don’t bother coming inside.”

He stepped into the narrow corridor. “There’s nothing I’m better at.”

The aroma of bread from her bag mixed with the scents of lavender and cat urine.

A moment later, the source of the latter appeared from around the corner – a massive black cat, hissing at Zacharia before rubbing itself against its mistress’ legs.

She gestured towards the open door on the left and disappeared down the corridor.

He went to the room the witch had indicated, provoking another threatening hiss from the cat.

“Care to show me around, friend?” he said over his shoulder to the animal.

It slinked past Zacharia’s legs into the dimly lit room. It was a small space with a round table at its centre. A deck of cards and a human skull lay upon it. Thick black curtains hung over the windows.

His eyes fixed on a large stuffed raven perched on a rod against the wall. The cat had settled in the middle of a patterned rug, its glowing irises challenging him: Will you dare?

“Of course, my friend…” He treaded inside.

The witch’s voice called from behind him. “The roof needs repairs.”

He turned as she entered the room. Still cloaked in her burqa, she moved with an air of authority. The black cat leapt gracefully onto her lap when she sat at the round table. “Well, why are you standing there? Sit down, so I can see what fate has in store for you.”

Zacharia glanced at the bird on the wall. “Stuffed animals unsettle me… Besides, I’m not here for a reading.”

She smirked, shuffling a deck of cards in her hands. “Don’t you want to know your future?”

“Not in the slightest.” He took a seat opposite her. “I’m here because I need help to find someone. A friend. He’s been taken. The witches I’ve visited before said he’s not dead, but they couldn’t locate him anywhere on Earth. They mentioned something about a ‘veil’ blocking the seeking spell.”

The witch placed the deck on the table, her movements deliberate. “Ah, you hybrids. Cast out for a supposed prophecy, yet there are none more loyal than you.”

Zacharia frowned. “What prophecy?”

She sat back, studying him. “They say an army of hybrids will rise and conquer the Earth.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it. Though I’d be offended if such an army existed and I wasn’t invited to join.”

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 for can’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. “What the hell is 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 my lokio ,” 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, where three 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.