Page 49 of The Unbound Witch
Grey dipped his chin. “I have. Where can we talk?”
For the first time he looked beyond the Dark King directly at me. In one motion, he'd drawn the sword from his back. Without thinking, on instinct alone, I drew an infinite amount of power, shaking the ground below our feet. He paled, stepping backward.
I relented, closing my eyes to stay the magic. “Sorry. I didn't mean—”
“No.” Grey moved in front of me, lifting my chin with his fingers. “Someone pulls a weapon on you, you don’t stop to ask questions. You fucking defend yourself. And you never, ever apologize for being the most powerful witch around.”
Something in the way he lifted my chin, those fingers pressing into my skin, commanding me as he had that first meeting, twisted my chest. The most formidable man in the world, ordering me to attack his own if it meant my survival.
Torryn took one step until he nearly concealed me with his giant body. He rested his hand on the blade at his back, daring the king’s guard to make a single move toward me. My world felt infinitely safer with him in it.
The Old Barren cleared his throat. “It seems we both have some catching up to do.”
“Indeed,” Atlas said, stepping closer to me. “Barry, good to see you.”
“Wolf,” the Old Barren sneered, clearly not a fan of Atlas' antics. He dipped a chin to Torryn before turning and walking away.
We followed him through the bustling town of witches—but not just witches. Shifters too, living in harmony, sharing breakfasts at tables outside of small stores. Carrying on as if it made no difference to them that the world had shattered. I couldn't help my envy. Kirsi was not amused, though. She kept visible, eyes lingering on a few wraiths gathered in a narrow alleyway, watching the witches come and go.
We hadn't made it more than thirty paces before an ear-piercing scream broke the joy in the air. The entire town fell silent as a young woman, no older than eighteen, stood in the middle of the street, ears leaking blood. Tears of red pouring down her pale cheeks. Her dark hair fell like a curtain down her back as her head tilted up. I'd know that condition anywhere. Atlas had frozen in his footsteps, staring, unblinking as he watched her lift into the air, her arms outstretched.
“Please,” a woman screamed. “Help her.”
In a single motion, the witches of the Fire Coven poured into the square. Those with healing magic surrounded the young woman. Atlas remained frozen, eyes locked on the witch, reliving the horror of his lost lover. A memory that seemed to haunt him. Bastian ran for her, and I followed quickly behind. It wouldn’t be enough, and I knew it. Even with his power, if we didn't have witches from every coven here to save her, powerful ones... it wouldn't be enough. The Harrowing was absolute.
Still, we tried, pushing magic to the brim toward the young witch, pleading with the goddess to show mercy. But as she dropped to the ground, her lifeless body drained of color and paler than should have ever been possible, the only sounds were the sobs of her mother. Until a static filled the air, nearly suffocating everyone in view. Even the mother paused her mourning to look around, making eye contact with the witches in the gathering. Something was different. And then time stopped. Or so it seemed as every Fire Coven witch froze in place, their eyes glossing over, even Bastian in Grey's form. One second. Two seconds.
“What's happening?” Kirsi asked from beside me.
“I have no idea,” I whispered, turning in a slow circle to look at the faces of the crowd. “I don't think it's good, though.”
“Could they all be having a receiving at the same time?”
“I don't think so.”
As if on cue, the world began to move again, the witches leaving their trance only to stare wordlessly at one another.
“We need to get to someplace safe. The library. Now,” Bastian demanded, giving no explanation as he urged the Old Barren onward.
And so we ran. Past flower shops and bakeries, galleries and more storefronts. Until we came to a building taller than most of the others, still brick, but circled with a wrought iron fence.
“This will do,” Bastian said, passing our guide to lead us into the Fire Coven library. He knew exactly where he was headed as he surged to the back of the building, past the stacks and cases of old tomes, until he flung an old wooden door open and ushered us inside to be seated at a long table. Once in place, he dipped a chin to his councilman, the Old Barren.
“Wait,” Kirsi said before the leather clad soldier could begin. “What just happened in the square? We are not dismissing that.”
“The Fire Coven was gifted with more power. Each of us stood together in another realm as the depth of our magic multiplied. That girl was the final victim in our territory. The thirteenth witch born of power in each family line has died. Remember Eden said the Harrowing was to recycle a full generation of power, believing it would give them enough of an advantage to overthrow the shifters once and for all? Well, it fucking worked.”
“How much power?” the Old Barren asked.
He placed his hands on the table bowing his head as he shifted back into Bastian. “A third, minimum.”
The room collectively gasped.
“Holy fuck.” Kirsi said. “How is that even possible?”
“An entire generation of power. Which means two things. I thought maybe the Harrowing had stopped with Raven. But now,” his eyes flashed to me. “Either the entire Moon Coven is going to want you dead if word gets out, or maybe the Harrowing isn't done with you. Even if you aren’t the last.”
I swallowed, remembering the headache I'd suffered until the goddess blessed me. Could it have been the Harrowing lingering?