Page 31 of The Unbound Witch

Something strange happened as I opened the cover. It hummed as if it was not an inanimate object, but a sentient being, aware that I sought its secrets. No one else seemed to notice the sound, or rather, not a sound but a subtle vibration as I flipped page after page, reading the witch’s names, running my finger down the list of spells they’d created, slipping Endora’s scattered notes between my fingers to read them.

There was nothing of significance, it seemed. Only names and spells. Everything from telepathy to necromancy graced the pages of the Moss Coven Grimoire. But Eden was right. For all the power Bastian had been afraid of them having, this was merely a book, a record.

Curiosity satisfied, I passed it back to Eden, and she slipped it into her bag before tying it closed. Only then did I realize that Kir had been peeking over my shoulder.

“Did you see anything?” I asked, shifting to look at her.

“Nothing more than you did.”

As Eden and Bastian moved into the kitchen, discussing the plans for our return, Kirsi settled in beside me, her glow beginning to show as the sun faded outside.

“Are you sure we can trust them?”

I nodded. “I’m sure. What use are we to them, honestly?”

“True,” she answered. “It's a miracle if I can touch things. But you, you could be valuable.”

I nodded. “If I am, then let me be. I’d rather fight whatever is to come with Bastian than against him. I’m hurt he lied, but how long can I blame him for trying to protect himself?”

She rolled her eyes. “Longer than two hours would have done it.”

I lifted a shoulder. “When someone you care about deeply dies, Kir, you wish on everything you’ve ever loved for them to come back to you. If his deception was the cost of his life, of having him here with me, I consider that a wish fulfilled. Besides, I’ve got enough to deal with without holding a grudge.”

“Like them when they find out you nearly killed their king.” She jutted her chin toward the door seconds before it swung open and three very large men stepped inside.

13

KIRSI

If I could have smelled anything at all, I was confident it would have been smothered by the stench of the drunken ass captain that stormed into the packed house, crossed the room in three strides, grabbed Eden by the waist and swung her around, before stumbling sideways and crashing into the wall, powerless witch in tow.

A burst of raspy laughter filled the space as the old friends righted themselves, sharing a look that said maybe they were more than that. Eden cleared her throat, adjusting herself before turning to the rest of us, though the captain, with his leather hat and heavy golden sword tied to his waist, had eyes for only her as his steady fingers unscrewed a flask.

“Captain Crowen Gold, these are my friends, King Bastian Firepool and Miss Raven Moonstone.”

He turned, tilting to the side only slightly until his eyes landed on me. Looking down to his flask and back to me, he chuckled. “Musta picked up the good stuff this time.”

He lifted the drink toward me in a gallant salute before taking a large swig. Then he swept his arm below, bending at the waist. The second he fell forward, Atlas lunged for him, saving him from smashing his face into the aloe plant resting on the cottage floor.

“King,” he slurred. “I think there’s a wee ghosty behind you.”

I twisted my mouth into a grimace. “This is the guy we’re trusting to sail through the storms at the border?”

“Don’t worry, Ghosty. Crow’s been sailing longer than you’ve been dead,” Atlas said, a lopsided smirk on his irritating face.

“I hate to break it to you, dog, but that’s not saying much.”

“Crow is the only shipmaster I’ve ever hired.” Eden walked forward, lifting her single bag from the couch. “He’s only lost one rotation of shifters.”

He pulled the hat from his head, revealing a mass of brown hair that fell into long matted twists in front of him as he looked at the floor. “The sea had a lesson to teach me that day.”

“And this one?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.

He stumbled forward, stopping before me. Without a second of hesitation, he balled a fist and shoved it through my torso. The tingling sensation of his arm was the only burst of feeling I would ever have. I doubled over, mocking him, and he gasped, stepping away.

“Did I hurt you?”

I rolled my eyes, floating up to the ceiling. “No, you prick, but remind me to return the favor one day.”