Page 23 of The Witch's Pet

It must be the spell. It’s the reason she protected me too—she has to keep me safe in order to stay alive. That’s all it is.

7

Julia

TheFortLangleyIremember was rough timber and mud, with palisade walls weathered silver by rain. Wagon wheels carved deep ruts into the dirt streets, and the air was thick with the smell of sawdust, horses, and ash. Wisps of chimney smoke once rose from the trees at dusk, the only sign that witches lived in the forest. Now, we enter a town of painted storefronts, gleaming signage, and unnaturally smooth streets. Rather than men in wool coats and mud-caked boots bartering outside the general store, a smattering of people mill about in their strange modern attire, looking down at small glowing rectangles as if divining the future. The town and wilderness I knew are buried under a century of progress, along with any trace of the life I once had.

My throat tightens at the possibility that the place I knew has vanished forever. That I’m a relic in a world that no longer knows or respects me.

As we finally step off the bus, I exhale in relief. What an unpleasant conveyance. Between the lurching corners and the stench, my stomach was ready to revolt.

Hannah turns to face me, hugging herself in the blast of cold night air. “Where do we start looking?”

I glare at the town I once called home. “If my coven is still alive, there will be traces. Hidden signs, magical residue, even intentional clues to tell other witches they’re here.”

As I lead the way to the heart of Fort Langley, Hannah stays close to my side. Whether it’s the binding spell pulling her toward me or fear of whatever dangers we might find, I’m not sure.

I run my hand along a rough brick wall, searching. It’s unremarkable under my fingers—no familiar surge of energy, nothing but the mundane, shallow hum of ordinary life. I pull back when I reach a large window, which displays trinkets that are supposedly useful in the kitchen.

“Anything?” Hannah asks, hovering beside me with her arms wrapped around herself. The night air has turned bitter, and her breath mists.

I ignore her and walk onward.

What if Rebecca and my entire coven are dead? What if I can’t break this spell before the moon sets and end up trapped with this girl forever?

No. Rebecca willnotwin, even if she is dead.

We continue down the street, and I brush my fingers along every wall and window, feeling for the slightest hint of magic.

“Vestigia magica revela,” I say, the tracking incantation rolling off my tongue.

The spell sends a pulse of energy outward. But before it gains traction, it sputters and dies like a blown-out candle.

Dammit.Frustration twists my gut. I used what remnants of magic I had to compel that man away from Hannah. Was that foolish?

I try again, pouring more intention into it. Sharp pain shoots through my veins as my power fights to stay alive. Once again, the spell dies before gaining traction.

“What’s—” Hannahbegins.

“Quiet!”

Humiliation burns hotter than the hunger. I was once powerful enough to flatten houses and make men weep with fear. I could command the earth like an extension of my body. Now I can barely cast a simple tracking spell. I’m reduced to this pathetic half strength, dependent on an ordinary girl for survival.

What if I’m broken? What if a century of sleep has permanently damaged my connection to magic? If I can no longer manage a basic spell… The thought makes me want to scream, but I swallow it down. The girl cannot see me so weak.

Movement catches my eye—a man across the street walking in the other direction. He’s alone.

My hunger has become unbearable, making my hands shake and my vision blur at the edges. This weak spark of power I got from feeding on Hannah isn’t enough to sustain me.

To hell with her stubbornness. If she will not hold up her end of our agreement and let me feed again, then she forces me to do this.

“Wait here,” I tell her, already moving.

“Where are you—Julia!”

I walk faster, my body tingling in anticipation of the hunt. After hundreds of kills over decades, the routine is carved into my bones—following at a distance, letting them get comfortable, slowly creating isolation until it’s too late to run. This is perhaps the only thing since I awoke that still feels easy.

The man is looking down at his glowing device, his shoulders relaxed, his gait unhurried. Oblivious. His life force calls to me, rich and healthy. My muscles coil as I gain ground.