Page 53 of The Bone Witch
Fear rushes through me. I feel like cornered prey that needs to frantically look for a way out. Rogan and I aren’t completely defenseless, but in order to even the odds and level the playing field, we have to destroy the protective amulets the witches are wearing before our magic will have any kind of impact. When you’re being attacked from all sides, shit gets complicated and deadly, fast.
I want to ask who they are and why they’re doing this to us, but it doesn’t matter right now. Whether they’re linked to the kidnappings or a rogue coven that we just happened upon, who and why will be left to sort outafterwe survive.
Now, to keep them from getting into formation.
The starting beats of Beyonce’s “Formation” sound off in my mind, but I don’t have enough time to high-five my weird sense of humor; I need to come up with some kind of plan.
Rogan reaches over from where we’re both sitting in the dirt just outside of the mangled car. His breathing is labored as he places a warm hand on my forearm, and I know that his lung is messed up from the rib bone I pulled out and fixed before he woke up. The distinct tingling sensation of magic being pushed into me spreads throughout my body.
The blood magic seeps into my veins, swirls through my stomach, and clears my head. The throbbing in my temple and behind my eyes disappears, and I pull in a deep, grateful, pain-free breath. The bruises that peppered my body vanish, taking with them even more hurt and stiffness. The slow steady flow of blood that’s been trickling down the side of my face ceases. My cheek cools, and it’s as though I can feel Rogan putting a stopper in the drain I’ve been feeling on my energy.
He pulls his magic back when there’s nothing more it can do for me right now, our eyes trained on one another intensely as the weight of the situation we now find ourselves in settles heavy in the air all around us. I can practically smell the tang of angry foreign magic on the innocent breeze that’s now moving through the trees. I reach up and push some of Rogan’s black hair out of his face, reveling in the feel of its softness for a beat, before I push back and stand up.
“Fix yourself up,” I instruct, suddenly feeling numb. It’s as though I’ve activated some kind of battle mode I didn’t know I had. I assess what I have around me to work with, and try to feel for the attacking witches’ positions. They move silently. I can feel at least a dozen of them, and over half are in place, waiting for the others to close the circle around us.
“I’ll hold them off until you can help and we can figure out what the hell they want,” I whisper confidently.
Rogan studies me for a beat, his green gaze taking me in like he’s all at once seeing me differently. He blinks and just like that, the look is gone. Nodding his agreement to my plan, he then closes his eyes and gets to work healing what injuries on himself he can. I’m not sure if he can combat all the damage inside. I know between the two of us, our powers have pretty solid dominion over the inner workings of the body, but we’re not immortal or infinite. Things happen. Witches die. In the end, it doesn’t matter what kind of magic you have or just how powerful you are, there’s no stopping Death when it comes for you.
Trepidation taints my focus, and I do my best to shove it away. He’ll be fine, I reassure myself sternly. We’ll make it out of this. We’re going to be just fine.
A twig snaps in the distance, and the sound works to cement my resolve and stoke my outrage. I don’t know who these witches are, but it’s time to do everything I can to make them regret picking this fight.
I call the pointed pieces of caribou leg bones I used to wedge the car door open to me. They come flying into my palms, ready and waiting to be used as weapons. I splinter the wild boar bones I ordered into small sharp toothpick-like pieces and scatter them all around Rogan and me. Skeletons of squirrels, rabbits, and other forest creatures speckle the woods all around me, and I command them to crumble into powder.
The last of the witches are moving into place, and I need to act fast but discreetly. I know they’ll have protections on them, but they can’t protect themselves from all forms of magic in their entirety. Amulets have a tendency to weaken other amulets, and the more you wear, the weaker they all become. Maybe I can work around the outer protections though and buy us a little more time.
I carefully move the bone powder from the skeletons of long dead forest creatures and create a circular border about ten feet out from where Rogan and I are. When the witches try to close in on us, they’ll have to walk through the powder. I know there’s at least one powerful wind Circummancer, and if they do their thing like I’m hoping they will, I’ll make it work to my advantage.
I search my memory banks for any other details about this branch of magic in hopes that it helps to come up with some backup plans, just in case things don’t go exactly like I hope. I know that Vicinal Witches are the most common of the magical community. Many have diluted abilities and can barely grasp one element let alone more.Thatdefinitely works in our favor. Then again, judging by the force of the wind that tried to take Rogan and me out, we’re not dealing with an entire untrained coven of Circummancers.
I put out my magical feelers to ensure there aren’t any more incoming surprises, but I don’t sense any varying tones of magic moving to surround us other than the power the Vicinal Witches are exuding. We’ll be up against the elements, which is bad enough, but it won’t be a magically multilayered attack. Thank fuck for that at least.
Subtle movement comes from behind me, and I spin ready to magically cut a bitch. Adrenaline hammers through my veins, but when I turn, I only find Rogan. He looks a million times better, but now I want to punch him for scaring the shit out of me. He steps up next to me, not an ounce of apology in his hard moss-green stare for practically sneaking up on a girl.
“You are in violation of the Engagement Act of 1847,” Rogan bellows out into the dark, and I jump, not at all prepared for his voice to rip through the stillness of the night. “You’ve attacked us without provocation or warning, which is a contravention of witch law and a punishable offense.”
I scan our surroundings watchfully as Rogan goes full lawyer and vocally objects to what’s happening. I’m not sure what good it’s going to do since we’re now officially surrounded and they obviously mean us harm, but what do I know? I personally thought guerrilla warfare was our best bet, but maybe we can talk this out. I roll my eyes at that thought. These people just shoved us off a road and down an embankment at sixty miles an hour. What is he expecting them to do, shoutmy badand be on their way?
“If you go straight up Karen and ask to speak to a manager, you’re on your own,” I irritably whisper to him as I wait for our attackers to ignore his efforts to shame them into giving up, and attack us already.
Surprisingly, nothing happens.
The night quiets once again, the crickets not even brave enough to send their song out into the tense silence. Anticipation thrums through my chest, each rapid beat of my heart like a war drum in my head. I hold my breath, the inhale and exhale feeling too loud and disruptive as I wait for what will come next.
“Punishable offense?” a smooth, confident voice calls back, and then all at once, a ring of witches in golden-yellow hooded cloaks steps out from the obscurity of the dark and into the dim light of the rising crescent moon. “Maybe, but I doubt anyone wouldreallytake issue with the removal of the Kendrick stain from the fabric of the magical community,” the witch declares matter-of-factly.
With a twitch of my hand, the splinters of bones I spread around us earlier slowly rise. I don’t attack, knowing that the small projectiles likely won’t make it past any protective amulets, but I have other plans for them. A robed figure lifts his hands and pushes back the hood obscuring his face.
Smooth dark skin, a shaved head, and a short tidy black beard dust the witch’s square jaw. His full lips tilt up in a taunting smile, his russet-brown eyes fixed on Rogan in a way that immediately tells me they know each other. It also tells me this isnota good thing. He reaches out and lazily swipes at nothing with his hand—a gust of powerful wind surges in around Rogan and me, sending my bone splinters crashing back down to the ground. It’s less a defensive move and more of ayou don’t want to fuck with useffort at intimidation.
Arrogance wafts off the Circummancer, his cold stare never leaving Rogan’s. With zero hesitation, I take advantage of the witch’s preoccupation and send a fine, almost imperceptible, mist of bone powder up into the air to join the dust, leaves, and evergreen needles that have been kicked up by the threatening breeze. None of the other surrounding witches speak up or do anything to stop me, and I revel silently in the success of my actions. That couldn’t have gone any better than I had hoped, but I don’t let the satisfaction or eagerness I feel show anywhere on my face or defensive stance.
“Prek,” Rogan grumbles out, and the hoodless Circummancer’s smile grows even wider. “When did they make your sniveling ass a commander?” he questions, and a spark of anger flashes in Prek’s steely gaze.
“It’s been a while,old friend,” Prek points out, but the bite in his tone and ice in his gaze betray the sentiment of his words.
“I think we both know who thestaintruly is,” Rogan states pointedly. “Still holding onto unfounded grudges, I see,” he adds with a dismissive wave, the tension in his body immediately dropping away as though this situation is no longer threatening and he can relax.
