Page 4 of The Rat King
When I glanced back at my escort, his eyes were distant and his hands were moving in a set of tight gestures which reminded me of American Sign Language, but within a more restricted space about the size of a basketball.
He placed his hands in his lap as the carriage lurched forward. Then the trees were zipping past so quickly my head spun, and I had to grip the bench to keep ahold of my bearings.
“How?” I asked.
“Magic.” He looked down at me from his side of the bench before flicking his gaze toward the sky.
“Going this fast doesn’t exhaust your power?” I was genuinely curious. If my aunt used as much power as I imagined it took to make this carriage go this quick, she’d need days if not weeks to recover.
He kept his eyes forward. “The witch who cursed us was able to keep us from our power with the exception of a few hours during the full moon, so I have plenty.”
“And the rest of the time?” I asked, urging him to continue.
He shrugged. “You’ll soon see. When we don’t have our power, things aredifferent.”
“How different?” A foreboding tug pulled at my thoughts.
“It’s best if you see for yourself.”
“At least, tell me something. You told my aunt it was best if I learned it from you.”
Nighval sighed, resigned. “The witches molded seamlessly into the modern world from what I understand. Your people’s power differs from a warlock’s. It comes from the earth, the moon, and external forces. Warlocks’ power comes from within, gifted to us by the Goddess, so it is more dependent on the strength of the man and his connection to the higher planes. Warlocks used that strength, before the curse, to run our world.”
“And since the curse?”
“As I said, things are different. There hasn’t been enough time to advance our society on this side of the plane so you may find things here…” Nighval searched for the word.
“Antiquated,” I supplied, which was the wrong thing to say, and I was graced with a sneer.
“They would not beantiquatedas you say had one of your kind not shut us off from our magic.” Nighval’s words were seething, and he was clearly pissed at whoever had cursed his people.
I’d never had magic, but based on how the witches in my coven who did loved their power, like it was one of their children, I knew it must be painful to be blocked from it. “So, about this witch curse. Are you going to tell me more about that, or shall I just let my imagination run wild?”
He chuckled, exposing a row of gleaming white teeth which brightened his face considerably. “Let’s just say you’ve been caught up in some family drama.”
“Is it bad?” I asked, knowing the answer to the question before he answered.
Nighval gave a dark chuckle. “It’s not good, but we have you now and Xavier is determined to give it a try this time. Who knows—maybe he’ll have beginner’s luck.”
I swallowed. “You’re not making me feel any better about this.” A lot worse, actually.
“Are you sure the witches prepared you, Ms. Plath? Because you don’t seem very knowledgeable about why you are here and the task you’re up against.” There was an antagonistic glint to his eye as he stared at me.
I did not like the condescending tone of his voice. I did not like the way he was looking at me like I was a lost little lamb, even if I was kind of coming across like one, a fact I’d stew on along with the reason later. And I certainly didn’t like him implying I wouldn’t be able to handle whatever I was about to encounter. Technically, I was a witch, even though the gene was latent, I wasn’t afraid of a witch’s curse.
“I assure you, warlock, I am perfectly prepared and capable of—” I waved my hand through the air. “—besting any challenge that comes my way. So don’t worry. I’ll be fine and if I’m meant to break this curse, it will only be a matter of time. All you need to do is sit back and watch.”
I gave him a smug smile, wondering about the details of this curse which restricted the magic from this plane to one night every moon cycle. And how somehow breaking this curse would save my people. No problem. I’d kiss the frog or outsmart a sea witch. I was a theater major and knew all the classic tales. Maybe there would be a few bumps along the way, but I had this.
Warm energy from Nighval’s gaze bore into me, and I glanced up at him to find him watching me intently, like he could read my thoughts. Warlocks couldn’t read your thoughts, right? I narrowed my eyes at him. His gaze skimmed over my face, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He appeared no more enlightened, so I guessed that answered that.
“You’re strong,” he said.
“I am,” I replied, struck by his observation. His unexpected vote of confidence sent a nervous flutter through me. I was strong, it was true. But still, something about the way he said it made me want to live up to the proclamation.
“That’s good because you’re going to need to be,” he said, and the carriage jolted, slowing.
It came to a stop in front of a massive white castle I took to be Ravsted based on the description the witches had given me. Like the fairytaleSleeping Beauty, it was a German countryside castle with spires reaching to the clouds and faded blue roof tiles covering their conical roofs. Larger rectangular shaped buildings sat in the center of the spires and long windows with pointed tops ran along their lengths. Stained glass in varying shades of blue rested inside each one, but some panels were busted or missing.
