Page 68

Sitri nudges me awake and I groan, eyelids opening into thin slits.

“Hey,” he says softly, bent over me. “I need you to get ready.”

I jerk my head up to find him cloaked and booted. “Why?”

“I have an idea. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice still thick with sleep as I rub at my face.

“I have a friend,” he says carefully. “That I think might be more helpful about your….situation than I am.”

“Thought you didn’t have any friends,” I mumble.

He shrugs. “I guess I do have this one.”

“Who is it?”

“She’s…” he trails off, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Kind of hard to explain. She’s a genius, really. You’ll see. Come on.”

She? That slices a pang of irritation in my gut, and I frown.

“Come on,” he demands. His magic presses against my back, scooting me toward the edge of the couch.

“Alright, cut it out,” I snipe, hauling myself off the couch with another groan. I clamber off toward the bathroom, pointing him with an annoyed look before I go. It’s been ages since I’ve had to get up early. Ages since I’ve had to get up for anything at all. The mirror dresses me and twines my hair into a quick braid.

I’m still half asleep as we descend the spiral stairs. The outside world feels too bright, too exposing.

“I’m going to show you an alternate way of traveling I have today. It is one of the reasons I gave you the Mark of the Goddess so that it will be accessible to you too.”

That gropes me from my groggy haze. “What?”

“It’ll be easier if I just show you.”

That puts a little more pep in my step as my curiosity blooms. We stalk forward in the direction of the Murmuring Wood, and Sitri periodically turns circles mid-walk, presumably to make sure no one is watching as his hands draw a flurry of symbols.

“What are you doing?”

“Screening us so that we’re not seen. Hopefully.”

He’s quiet as we traipse through the woods, and I sneak glimpses of him when he’s not looking. There’s no acknowledgment to what occurred between us last night. Are we going to pretend like that didn’t happen? As if it was something I dreamed up.

I watch him from behind. The way he moves. Always so confidently. Where does it come from? Probably because he’s so tall and large. Maybe if I was that size, I’d be that self-assured too. He has so much power. He gets to decide everything!

The black of his cloak floats behind him, black hair curling against the nape of his tanned neck. I want to lick it.

I bare my teeth.

I hate him.

No, I’m obsessed with him.

I don’t even notice he’s suddenly stopped walking and slam straight into his back. It doesn’t budge him at all, just manages to knock me completely off balance which just…really was the nature of things, wasn’t it?

“Pet, what are you doing?” He whips around and steadies me. He must sense the irritation coming off of me in fumes because he looks slightly affronted. His large brows furrow down over his stupid flummoxed face. “Come here, pet. Stand right here.”

I march where he wants me and cross my arms. He cocks his head with another puzzled expression before turning to the large knotted tree in front of us. It’s not vastly larger than the neighboring trees but it seems to stand out among them. “She moves, so we might have to try a few locations. Ready?”

I raise my brows, wondering what exactly it is I should be ready for. He turns to face the tree, speaking a short phrase that’s completely unintelligible to me. My mouth falls open as a face emerges from amidst the gnarled bark. A wide nose and wide eyes crowned by a tangle of leaves appear on the tree as if they’ve been carved there. The face blinks, and I swear I can hear the creaking of wood against wood.

The eyes come to rest on me with a countenance of mild interest, and I shuffle on my feet, looking away and back again, wondering what the etiquette of this situation requires. Should I…call out a greeting? I scratch at my nose. I’m not entirely sure if this tree is sentient or not.

I’m still trying to decide that, when a groaning sound garners my attention. It seems to be coming from the ground below my feet. The soil is shifting. I’m certain of it. I throw a startled look at Sitri. “This might feel strange, but don’t be frightened.”

I soon realize the reason the soil is shifting is because the tangle of roots half buried beneath the ground is rising, displacing the soil around them. A tendril near me roots up and slowly snakes around my ankles and then my legs. The roots tug, and I sink into the soil.

I suck in a gasp, trying to free myself, but the binds are firm. A startled cry slips from my lips, and the dāemon pangs faster and harder with my quickening breaths as the roots slither further up my body. I’m pulled deeper into the soil, and the dāemon lashes out of me, tearing chunks from the roots around my legs.

More roots slide up to replace them, binding even tighter with the dāemon blasting out of me. “It’s okay!” Sitri reassures me. That’s the last thing I hear before we’re both sucked under the earth. Everything goes black as night, and my cries become muffled under the soil. My limbs flail, and the dāemon sends jolt after jolt at the compacted and loosening dirt around me.

It’s like being in the Pits all over again, stuck in the ground, clawing at the soil. I’m going to die, buried beneath the earth like I always thought I would. Suddenly, I’m catapulted upward. I break through the surface, gasping in strangled breaths. I land on my side, spitting dirt out of my mouth as the dāemon crashes over me in thick waves.

Sitri lands upright beside me. A strange wailing siren fills the air as I scramble to my feet and turn on him, breathing ragged.

“What. The. Fuck!”

“Calm down,” Sitri coaxes.

The dāemon folds me in half and expels with my anger. Sitri attempts to dodge it, but he’s too slow, and the dāemon pelts him in the left shoulder, sending him hurtling. I stumble back, clapping a hand over my mouth. He rolls a couple of times, catches himself on his palms, and shoots back to his feet with a grunt.

“Gods,” he groans, massaging his left shoulder. “How did you manage to get me in the exact same spot as last time?”

“Sorry!” I gasp out, taking several more paces back.

“Calm. Down.” Sitri demands, holding up his palms in surrender.

I brace my hands against my knees as I gulp in air and urge the dāemon to settle. “I’m…trying…why didn’t you block me?”

“I don’t want to be tracked here.” He takes a few careful steps forward, watching me warily. “I told you not to be frightened.”

“You forgot to mention the fucking earth was going to swallow me!”

“Apologies,” he murmurs as he approaches, eyes tentative as if anticipating another blow.

I straighten and survey our surroundings. There are no signs we emerged from the ground below our feet and the strange sound had cut off as quickly as it came on. The tree is different here, but the same face is carved into the bark. Sitri utters something else that sounds like mangled gibberish to my ears, and the face sinks back into the weathered bark. This Wood is different. The trees are spaced further apart, more spindly, a deeper shade of brown, and the leaves are more vibrant. “What is that?”

“The Green Man. Planted by the Horned God around the Ouroboros. Only his descendants are able to utilize it. Or those given the Mark of the goddess,” he says, nodding his head in my direction.

“Is that why you gave it to me?”

“One of the reasons.” He spins. “Thankfully, she’s here, and we won’t have to do that again.” He waves a hand at something behind me.

Not something. Someone.

Not twenty yards in front of us, settled on stilts that propel it among the treetops, is a house. At least, I think it’s a house, though the strangest-looking house I've ever laid eyes on. It appears to be haphazardly arranged with an array of materials, wooden planks, red bricks, and patterned thatching, all of it weathered and worn.

The roofs come up in three pointed peaks at varying levels. Smoke curdles out of the multiple chimneys. When I narrow my focus on the beams holding this hovel off the ground, I realize they’re in the shape of wiry bird’s legs, the large black claws spearing the ground.

A planked porch wraps the front of the house, covered in shrubbery and plants, vines twirling the rail, threatening to overtake the house completely. Teetering, spindly stairs jut down to the ground. A woman’s there leaning against the wooden rail staring at us. From this distance, I can only make out the wild disarray of her silver hair.

She watches us silently for a moment, turns on her heel, and slips inside. The door slams shut behind her with a loud clack.

That didn’t seem exactly welcoming.

Sitri starts forward, seemingly unaffected by her uninviting demeanor. “Are you sure she wants us here?” I whisper.

“Psh, don’t worry, she loves me,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.

“What exactly are we doing here?”

“I’m going to ask her to train you.”

I halt in my path. “What?”

“Come on.” He ushers me forward eagerly. “I know she’ll agree. Has to.”

“Wait, Sitri what if—what if I don’t want to be trained by her? I don’t even know this woman.”

“You’ll get to know her,” he says as he bounds up the wooden planked stairs that creak and groan with each step.

I linger at the bottom of the stairs, pointing a single finger up at the shabby house. “Does she know about me?”

He turns back, brows pinching guiltily. “She knows,” he confirms.

“You told her!?”

“Only her,” he says quickly. “She’s completely trustworthy, pet, I swear. I’d never put you in danger.” With that, he’s bounding up the steps again.

I clamber after him with a groan, clinging tightly to the wooden rail. There’s a lot of give to these steps, and I don’t completely trust them to hold. Sitri’s already rapping on the door by the time I’m halfway up the stairs. When no one answers, he pounds harder. “Baga, open up.”

I’ve only just conquered the stairs when the door opens a sliver. I can barely see the woman beyond outside of her large, murky brown eyes.

“No,” she says simply.

“Wait—wait—“ Sitri calls. She attempts to slam the door shut, but Sitri catches it and pries it open, forcing himself in. “Wait, Baga.”

He leaves the door hanging open behind him. I stand there awkwardly, not entirely sure if I really want to go in there or not. One of the branches of a nearby plant shivers and stretches out one of its leafy limbs in my direction, and I dash in after him.

A potent array of smells wafts over me a I step in. Some herby and some of them not so pleasant. My eyes flick this way and that around the tightly packed room. Three large fireplaces make up the entire right side wall. Rusted cauldrons gurgle amidst the flickering flames, presumably emitting some of the strange smells that envelop the room.

The opposite wall has an assortment of jars, vials, and tins, so many it makes Sitri’s collection look measly in comparison. Tapestries, charts, and maps clutter the walls. One wall has a host of odd insects pinned to a board. A source of the unpleasant smell reveals itself. I marvel at the cages stacked upon cages of birds, rabbits, mice, and some creatures I don’t recognize. The woman named Baga shuffles around, her back turned to us. “Baga,” Sitri repeats.

If the atmosphere weren’t so ominous, her ignoring him would almost be comical.

“I’m busy,” she says, voice thickly accented.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

She turns around, finally revealing her face. Whatever weird jealousy that soured me this morning is quickly vanquished. She’s short, almost squat, silver bushy hair sticking out in every direction. Her skin has the texture of worn leather, her cheeks ruddy and sagging. “I know,” she says, large eyes landing on me. “I do not have time.” She waves a hand impatiently.

“She can help you,” Sitri offers.

I send him an incredulous look, but it lands on the side of his head.

“Pah!”

“She’s very smart.”

“She doesn’t know any magic,” Baga argues.

“You can teach her. She has a knack for potion-making. She brewed the leaf of moly three times without ever having brewed anything.”

Baga’s large eyes flicker over me again. She lets out another quiet hmph as she turns and clinks open the door of one of her rusted cages. The bird’s wings flutter frantically as she stills it under a firm grip and pulls it from the cage. “She is your firebrand, and she was desperate. People are capable of extraordinary things when they are desperate.”

Firebrand…what does it even mean? I’d never mustered up the courage to ask Sitri. I shift uncomfortably on my feet as embarrassment flames at my face. I’m not his anything.

“It’s still impressive, Baga.”

She ignores that, clicking her tongue as she strokes her fingers over the bird's head. Her age is hard to peg. She doesn’t look particularly old, probably just past middle age, but yet life does not appear to have been particularly kind to her, her skin withered, possibly hardened by smoke from years bent over a broiling cauldron. “You can teach her how to help you,” Sitri says.

“It’s more work than worth,” Baga spits, throwing up her hands, the bird with them. She looks at the bird clutched in her fist like she’s only just remembered it. “She is no use to me.” She suddenly snaps the bird’s neck with a sharp crack and I wince.

“If I had more time, you know I would do it myself…” Sitri continues, unfazed. He tosses a quick glance in my direction before lowering his voice. “And, if I knew what the hell I was doing.”

Baga meanders over to the middle fireplace, picks up a large spoon, and gives the bubbling cauldron a quick stir before she tosses the entire bird in. It hits the liquid with a quiet plop, and the potion simmers and steams in response. She works her way to the opposite wall to peruse her vials.

“The Wall has affected her. I’ve been trying to work with her, but I feel like I’m going about it in all the wrong ways.” He drags a hand over his face. “It’s almost as if her magic has disconnected from her somehow.”

Baga ignores him, pulling a few vials from the shelf before she makes her way back to the cauldrons. She seasons one, and when black acrid smoke emits from the concoction, she claps a hand over her mouth. “Sitri! That was wrong one. You are distracting me!” she accuses.

“Can’t you just look at her? And tell me what you think?” He asks, voice taking on a desperate like quality.

Baga utters a low growl before turning scrutinizing eyes on me. Muttering foreign words under her breath, she approaches, tugs one of my hands out from my side and drags a single finger over my palm. She makes a displeased noise as it drops back to my side before she pinches at my forearm and then my upper arm. “She’s weak!”

I bristle, teeth clamping together as the dāemon stirs. It hadn’t completely calmed since its display outside and it flickers a couple of sharp shocks in warning. I shoot Sitri a meaningful look. I’m not working with this woman whether she agrees or not. He ignores me, turning back to Baga.

“But she’s powerful. See for yourself,” he says, jerking a head in my direction.

“I saw when you arrived.”

They share a look. Baga closes the distance between us, lifting her callused hand over me. I quickly dart behind Sitri’s large form, and he pushes me back out in front of him. “Pan, hold still,” he says in warning.

I scowl at him as Baga lifts her hand over me once more. He returns it with a look of disdain that probably translates to grow up.

Sitri’s magic usually feels soft like a caress but Baga’s feels like an invasion, chilling me to the bone. She doesn’t linger or search. She finds the dāemon immediately, wraps it, and it expels.

She throws a hand up. “Ah!” She shouts abruptly as if she’s scolding a child from touching a stove as she blocks the magic back with her own. The stray pieces of my hair that have slipped from my braid are pushed back. I’m a little disappointed she’s blocked it successfully. I don’t miss the flash of surprise in her widening eyes as she lowers her hand.

“See,” Sitri says.

Her expression clears swiftly as she and Sitri share another look I can’t decipher. “Big power, weak vessel. Dangerous combination,” she says finally.

I cross my arms over my chest.

“She does have some control,” Sitri argues.

“She knocked you on your ass,” she cackles.

“She wanted to.”

“I did not!”

He turns to me. “You didn’t mean to.” He cocks his head to the side. “But you kind of wanted to.”

He looks so smug the dāemon pangs in response, and I want to do it all over again. Damn, he’s right. I quickly avert my gaze.

“You have ideas?”

Baga peers at me for a long moment that feels like an eternity, like she can see the dāemon lashing under my skin. She gives a single nod as she turns back to Sitri. “Ideas.”

Sitri flashes a wide grin, revealing those two slightly crooked teeth. “I knew you would.”

Baga clicks her tongue as she retreats back to tinker in her cauldrons. “But I cannot help her.”

“Baga,” Sitri groans. He stalks over to tower over her, straightening his shoulders. Suddenly, he looks much too large for this cluttered space. “Don’t make me remind you that you owe me.”

She whips around, her face aghast. Sitri’s intimidation tactics don’t seem to be doing much to sway her outside of irritating her. “I have paid you back a thousand times over.”

“It was a big favor. I say you owe me a thousand and one times over,” he says with another coy smile that has me rolling my eyes.

“Ah, but you will come to my door and say ‘Baga, please I need more, yes?’” She scolds, shaking her head and wagging a finger.

Sitri stiffens with a furtive glance in my direction.

“Tch.”

“You already have my protection.”

“And, what you will revoke that if I do not agree?”

He groans. “Don’t make me threaten that, come on. I need you.”

She turns her head to the side, pointing her nose stubbornly. “Sitri! You do not even know what it is, you ask. She is like obsidian and flinting powder. Should not be mixed.”

“That’s exactly why I need you,” he says with a pointed look. Baga closes her eyes with a breath. “Would you like me to beg? Because I’ll do it.”

Her eyes flash open with a hint of amusement and a sheen of gloating. “Fine, beg, Nightshade prince of the shade.”

He grins but grasps his hands together in a pleading motion. “Please, Baga? You’re the only one I can trust and the only one wise enough to figure her out. Just work with her. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

My eyes flicker back and forth between them. He’s working her. Charming her. Pulling out all of his stops like the manipulative bastard he is. And based on her expression of both annoyance and defeat, it’s working. I huff a breath out my nose in annoyance.

“Come on,” Sitri says, shoulders slumping. “Come onnn’”

But Baga shakes her head. “I cannot help he—“ Suddenly it’s not just her head shaking. It’s the floors, the walls. The entire house quavers with a groan, rattling vials on the shelves. The birds squawk in their cages. I dart back with a yelp, clinging to the wall for support. Half expecting the place to come down around me at any moment, I stare up at the quavering ceiling.

Baga calls out a noise of complaint. She picks up her large wooden spoon and beats at the wall. “Stop that! Settle down!”

The house shakes even more vigorously, and I begin propelling myself toward the door to escape. This is really too much for one day between this and the tree.

“Fine! She can come here!” she shouts but she’s not looking at Sitri as she says it, instead staring up at the ceiling.

The shaking ceases immediately.

“You always get your way!” she huffs. Sitri’s already leaning over to pull her into an embrace. “BUT—“ She holds up her index finger. “ You owe me favor. ”

“Done.”

“And she owes me favor,” Baga says, pointing in my direction. I suspect, based on the wicked gleam in her eye that this was her plan the entire time. “And she helps.”

Sitri turns back to me, and I widen my eyes at him in a silent warning. “She agrees,” Sitri says.

My eyes bulge. As soon as Baga turns to meddle in the cauldron, I shake my head vigorously, mouthing No. Are you fucking insane?

He ignores me as he turns back to Baga. “Make sure she is not seen.”

He starts toward the door with a parting glance. “Be good. Do as she asks. I’ll be back for you when I’m through for the day.”

No fucking way. You’re not leaving me here, I mouth silently, my gestures growing more rapid and panicked.

He clasps his hands on my shoulders with a sigh. “You’ll be fine.” He ignores my still frantic gesturing and slips toward the door in a hurry. I fly out after him.

I’m so worked up for several seconds I can only sputter. “You—I’m—No, No, Sitri! I’m not staying here!”

“Hate to break it to you, pet, but yes you are. If anyone can figure you out, Baga can.”

“I don’t want to be figured out!”

“Tough,” he says, resolution firm in his face.

“Sitri, that ,” I hiss, pointing at the door. “That’s what I thought witches looked like before I ever met any witches!”

He chuckles softly before trudging forward. The sly grin pulling across his mouth implies that I’m not going to like whatever it is he’s about to say. “You know what a witch looks like?”

I give him a bland look, already knowing what comes next.

He bops me on the nose. “Like this. ”

“Ugh,” I groan, brushing him off with a wave of my hand. “I don’t even know this woman! And, she’s mean ,” I hiss.

He snorts, eyes narrowing. “Pet. Can you imagine if I left you at the mercy of someone nice? You’d mow them over. No, you need someone to match your…tenacity. And she’s really not so bad once you get to know her.”

“She’s mad !”

“She’s a little eccentric. But we need someone that thinks outside the box for you. This is going to be good for you, pet. It’s not good for you to be cooped up in my chambers all the time. This way, you can…” He lifts a palm. “Get outside, get some fresh air.”

“Oh, now you suddenly care about keeping me locked up in your chambers?”

His shoulders sag. “I’ve always cared, Pandora. I just didn’t know what to do with you. Now we have another option.”

“How do you even know we can trust this woman?”

“I trust her with my life. And with yours, or I’d never leave you here.”

I glower at him, crossing my arms against my chest. “You’re not leaving me here.”

His brow quirks for a split second and then he’s bounding down the stairs two at a time. I fly down after him, completely disregarding my earlier wariness of them. He might be faster but I’m more desperate. I leap over the last five steps and throw myself at him, locking my arms around his waist. I dig my heels into the ground, trying to keep him put as he continues forward. “You’re…not…leaving me here,” I grunt out between heaving breaths.

He binds his hands around my wrists and peels me off of him, crossing my arms in his firm grip as he turns around. “You’re going to be fine, Pan. You’re being dramatic,” he heaves, exasperated.

“I’m not your child. You don’t get to just drop me off with the babysitter. This isn’t how you treat your—your—“

“My what?” He asks, looking slightly amused. “Say it.”

“You don’t get to control my life!” I snap, stomping a foot.

“You are acting like a child. ” He peels my fingers away. As soon as he frees one, I wrap my hand around his other arm, digging my nails in.

“I should be able to choose. I should have the choice!”

“I’m going to give you all the choices, pet. All of them. But first, you have to get your magic under control.”

My eyes narrow with suspicion. Div’s adamance that Sitri wants my magic for himself. “Why do you care about my magic so much?”

“You already know why I care,” he sighs.

“Please don’t leave me here,” I plead. “I’ll never go out again. I hardly go out anyway. You don’t have to worry I’ll accidentally kill someone.”

“I told you I’m not worried you’ll kill someone,” he snaps. “I’m worried you’ll kill yourself. Or worse reveal yourself.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather d—“ I break off. It’s too late. His face darkens, amusement fading.

“That’s not a choice you get to make.”

He pries off one of my hands and holds it firmly to my side, expression strained. I wonder, idly, why he isn’t just locking me with his magic. He said he doesn’t want to be tracked here. He can’t use magic. My face turns gleeful as I cling to him more tightly. “You can’t use magic. I won’t let you go.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, pet, you underestimate my skill.”

He lets my arm loose and I grab a hold of his tunic as he rummages down in the pocket of his pants. He pulls out a blade and unsheathes it. I let out a yelp, quickly hopping several paces back. I did underestimate him.

“I would never hurt you, Pandora,” he says, offended. Instead, he slides the blade over his own wrist.

“Don’t hurt yourself!” He rolls his eyes again. The blood dissipates as soon as it trickles out and then I feel it, the oppressive sensation of his magic, locking around my limbs and holding me to the ground.

“Blood magic can’t be tracked.” He takes a few paces back, smoothing the front of his shirt and straightening his cloak.

I rock futilely against the binds. “Sitri!”

He sighs.

“You said you wouldn’t use magic on me,” I pout.

“I never said that.”

“Please don’t do this to me.”

“Learn your magic, Pan and someday you’ll be able to break my hold.” He turns on his heel and makes for the tree from which we’d come.

Right, I have magic . I fight against the magical restraints, trying to call the dāemon up to lash against the back of his head. That violent energy pulses wildly but it doesn’t give to my demands.

“SITRI!”

“I’ll be back for you later,” he calls over his shoulder. “Behave.”

“I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS.”

He doesn’t turn back.

“I’LL RUN AWAY.”

“Watch out for the bogles, they’re not too far from here,” he calls casually.

“WHAT ARE THOSE?”

“Don’t think you want to find out.”

“AREN’T YOU WORRIED FOR MY SAFETY?”

He turns back at the tree and shrugs. “Not really. You’re a little more capable of defending yourself than I previously thought. But if I feel the Mark, I’ll be here,” he promises.

He’s really leaving me here. I take to gaping. The utter gall when last night he was stringing sentimental words against my lips.

The magic unlocks from around me and I sprint forward, watching in horror as the earth begins to swallow him. How can he abandon me here? He’s supposed to be my…my…friend? Lover? Husband? Firebrand? Captor? By the time I get there, the ground is flat and unparted, the tree’s face dissipating into the weathered bark.

I was so certain this was where I’d end up, a rotting corpse deteriorating beneath the earth. Instead, I’m on my knees, clawing at the soil, begging for it to take me too. He’s long gone, traveling through the dirt, clumps of stone, and muck-covered roots.

I sink back on my knees, right back where I started. In an unknown place, at the mercy of another witch who doesn’t want me.