Page 74 of Will It Hurt?

Aisla

I thought the spell had failed. Despite the buzzing, despite my heartbeat, despite the weird sense of floating, nothing really happened.

The circle looked the same—familiar dim candlelight and worn symbols carved into the grimy floor.

But something was off. The air felt thinner, like I was breathing in lungfuls of chilly mist. A strange silence pressed in around me, making my ears ring from the intense quiet.

My pulse thundered, but even that sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.

The candle flames… They weren’t flickering anymore. They stood perfectly still, frozen mid-motion, reaching for the moonlight in a rigid, tapered flame.

Realization crawled over my skin like ice. I turned, slowly, my stomach twisting, my instincts already screaming what my mind refused to accept.

The world beyond the circle was wrong . Faded, translucent, as though reality had been stretched too thin. The edges of objects blurred like smudged ink. And the shadows— they moved , not cast by light but shifting of their own accord, stretching in unnatural ways.

The spell had worked.

But I hadn't pulled the dead to me.

I had crossed over to the other side .

As I took one step, then another, the portal came into view—a silvery oval line that separated the living from the dead.

I glanced down at myself, expecting to be draped in a white sheet perfect for haunting the fuck out of some livings. But instead…

Gold dust fluttered around me. I reached out experimentally, watching the mist swirl and stretch, tendrils seeking, searching.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that I could see my magick in this realm.

It moved, drifted, breathed like a living thing, curling from my fingertips in slow, glowing tendrils. It shimmered and flowed as I flexed my fingers.

If I hadn’t also felt the power gathered in my core, I would’ve thought this was nothing more than a trick. A gimmick. But as the gold tendrils moved, so did something in my chest, tugging, releasing, contracting .

Curse the moon! The plan was to get Belle back to the land of the living, not get me to the other side.

Maybe this was how the spell worked. Maybe I’d need to find Belle in this infinite space of in-between nothingness and tell her that her dear mother was looking for her…

It seemed like an impossible task, but it was worth trying. It was several years’ salary worth trying.

“Belle,” I said aloud, the words echoing with a strange resonance. “If you’re here, I’d like to speak with you.”

The words rang like a hollow gong.

“Um. Please?” I added, hoping that it would be the magick word that made Belle appear. “I heard your voice last night. Were you trying to speak to me?”

I waited for something to happen. For a sound, a shift— anything to tell me I wasn’t alone in this place. Or for Belle to walk by, take my hand, and follow me peacefully across the silver-lined portal.

“Well, hello, darling.”

I froze, turning to meet a pair of eyes that were darker than soot.

There was something familiar about this person—features that curved the same way as mine and skin as dark as my own. But her clothes… They were from a different century, one where people like her and I were burnt at a stake or drowned in a mucky loch.

Black and silken, the ends of her dress brushed the floor as she moved, taking several steps toward me in an easy stride. On her feet, polished leather shone starkly, almost as eye-catching as the onyx that glittered on her neck and ears.

The only thing missing was a cheap Halloween prop that sat on her head screaming WYTCH.

But above all, it was her magick that struck true fear in my heart. It shimmered around, restless and untamed. It crackled in the air making the space us feel heavier, like the air itself was waiting for her command.

Red, wispy tendrils gathered in twisting currents, shifting between visible and invisible—a shimmer of power one moment, a pulse of raw energy the next.

Back down, her magick said. You’re nothing compared to me.

I glanced at my own fingers to confirm my magick was still there, still rising around me like a halo of gold. A part of me thought perhaps it had been scared away by her superiority.

“Do I know you?” I asked, taking a step back cautiously.

Familiar features or not, I wasn’t taking any chances in the realm of in-between. The more space between me and this stranger, the better.

She spoke with a crisp English accent, the ah in darling taking a new iteration with multiple vowels.

“I am your moon-given warning.” Her smile was altogether un pleasant. “This is not your battle, young one.”

I felt a furrow twitch in my brow. “What isn’t?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Her fingers formed a dismissive wave. “Return to your body. I’ll handle everything else.”

“Excuse me?” I slipped the necklace into my pocket. “I think you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know you. So if you’ll step aside, I’ll—”

“You’re the little wytch that Jinn hired.”

There was a familiarity in the way she said Jinn’s name, like she’d uttered it countless times before… Like it belonged to her as much as it did Jinn.

I met her gaze, realization dawning like the slow roll of honey down the side of a jar. “And you’re the wytch who refused to help her.”

A smirk—eerily similar to Jinn’s—lifted her lips .

“You catch on quickly. I’m her mother.”

Mother?

That made little sense. She was a wytch, wasn’t she? Like me. I took another step back as she attempted to close the distance between us.

“I have no quarrel with you,” I said. “Just let me do my job. That’s all I ask.”

“But doing your job inconveniences me. ”

The words were a silken purr.

“Well, then, that’s too bad, isn’t it?”

Each step we took turned into a dance of sorts.

“Besides,” she said. “There’s no need for your services any longer. I’ve got Belle.”

Her fingers rose absently to stroke the silver vial hanging from her throat. On first glance, I’d assumed it was a ward of some kind, or maybe a spell meant to disguise any matter of things—age, beauty, height, a disability even. But now, I saw it for what it truly was.

A hexhold.

It flashed red and silver. She had clearly spelled someone into the glass, and I was willing to bet every penny Jinn was paying me that it was Belle.

But why? Why go through such great lengths to ensure they were never reunited?

My gaze flickered to the hexhold again—ah fuck, it was so close. So close.

But taking in the red shimmer around her body, the likelihood of battling an older wytch and winning was… tenuous. Not impossible, because my ego was as fat as my arse, but it would be a difficult endeavor.

I looked back at the portal that ran in an oval loop.

“That’s right,” she said. “Run along now, sweetheart. There’s a good little wytch.”

The words set my teeth on edge .

“Run back to your safe little covenstead.”

The words sparked over me like a matchstick rasping against sandpaper.

“You know what?” I said, turning on my heel. “On second thought, I think I’ll stay. I was paid to do a job and I’m going to do it right.”

The wytch angled her magick outward, making the red tendrils flare like the first flick on a gas stove. It zapped my skin and returned to its owner.

“Oh, you don’t scare me.” I’d long ago accepted that I was a practiced liar. “What scares me is the prospect of not getting paid.”

“Does the High Coven know what you’re up to? Your Elders at the coven?”

“Yes.” Sarcasm could also be considered a weapon, right? “I made sure to write them a lovely little note to explain how I was casting a spell for a vamp so she can retrieve her undead daughter who has a habit of wanting to kill herself every now and again.”

“You are delightful.” I watched as her crimson-coated nails sharpened into needle-like claws. “It’s too bad, really. It would have been nice to share a bottle of wine under other circumstances.”

“You still have that chance,” I reminded her. “We have a lovely bottle of red in our cellar back at the coven.”

“I’ll pass, thank you. Besides, it would be awkward to show up at your covenstead and demand a glass of your finest wine with your blood splattered across my face.”

“True.” I rubbed the pads of my fingers together, trying to gauge the fullness of the tank. “But you could also choose not to kill me.”

Her laughter brushed against my skin like petrified velvet .

“Oh, but darling,” she cooed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Her eyes flickered over my face, something unreadable passing through them.

“You’re shaking,” she said, a perfectly sculpted brow rising high on her temple.

I was.

My hands trembled at my sides, my body a tight wire of restraint.

“Of course I am,” I said instead, refusing to let her see my weakness. “I am trembling with… Rage.”

“Of course, dear.”

She was enjoying this—that much was obvious. I was a younger wytch, a less experienced wytch. My magick was child’s play compared to hers.

“Just so I’m aware,” I said, attempting to distract her with conversation as I tried to formulate a strategic attack. I simply needed a straight line to the hexhold—which sounded simple enough—except for the fact that it was tethered to her neck.

“Why did you deny Jinn help? You’re clearly capable of casting this spell. It would be a walk in the park for someone of your experience.”

The question brought the slightest hint of a crease to her brow.

Good, I thought. Think about that question while I figure out a way to get out of here alive and get paid.

My gaze trailed over the aura of her magick—big and showy like a smattering of firecrackers.

If there was something I’d learned over the years by watching other wytches, it was that power was never just power. It had rules. And every wytch had a weakness.

I watched the way her magick moved, tracking the crimson coiling shadows that clung to her shoulders and created a halo over her head. When she took a step forward, the red stream trailed behind her like a long train of a wedding dress.

Shadows , I thought, my mind casting back to Jinn’s powers. Shadows meant she needed darkness for her magick. Could I use light against her?

My gaze flicked to the frozen candles at the edges of the circle and the dried herbs that littered the ground in the solarium. If I knocked the candle over, I could flood the room with fire. Would that weaken her?

Or… I wracked my head. Maybe her strength wasn’t in the elements at all. Maybe it was in her focus, her control. If I could break her concentration, disrupt the flow of her magic, I might have a chance.

I curled my fingers, testing my own magick, feeling it coil in my palms like a tightly wound spring.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Belle was never meant to be one of us,” she said, examining her nails. “She was weak and out of control… But Jinn didn’t listen. I never understood why she was soft on the girl. What a waste of time.”

“She told me that she’d watched Belle grow up,” I said, testing my magick again like I was flexing a muscle. Could I trust it? Trust myself? “Surely you can understand why she would want to help someone like that.”

A daintily curved shoulder rose and fell, followed by a dismissive sound.

Meh.

“She turned Belle without consulting me because she knew I’d say no. I’d make it clear that Belle wasn’t worthy. A junkie? In my nest?”

“Or maybe she turned Belle because she simply didn’t want to see her die. Maybe each time she looked at her, she only saw the little girl playing alone on the swings. ”

Her gaze morphed into something withering.

“Weakness,” she spat. “Humans die every day. It’s their folly.”

“ Their folly?” I echoed.

There was something about the way she said the word that made it seem like she wasn’t including herself amongst our ranks.

She was human, just like me. Wasn’t she?

The question made her pause, her chin tilting in the air as though she were studying a little insect under a microscope.

She spoke again, her words crisp. “You ask dangerous questions.”

“Dangerous how? You’re one of us, aren’t you? A wytch. Human. Mortal.”

Her fangs descended, gleaming sharply against her skin.

What the fuck?

“Not quite,” she said. “Tell me, my dear, why do you keep looking over your shoulder?”

“I’m not.” I absolutely was.

“Could it be that you’re waiting for someone to rescue you from my clutches? Jinn, perhaps?”

I wet my lips, trying to ease the dryness.

“No one is coming to save you,” she continued. “My daughter is an obedient child, after all, especially when she’s tied to a chair.”

A burst of honeysuckle slithered up my nose as she rushed forward, fangs bared, slamming into me with a force that left me no room to gasp.