Page 8 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

Adele had prepared haricots and cabbage sautéed in butter for us, a mouthwatering bed for the roast pork. Sitting around a small round table, I tucked the meat between my lips, licking molten honey off my fingertips as discreetly as I could, as Adele questioned her daughter about life at the palace. Then she turned to me.

“Tell me, Finn. How is Mrs. Cathers treating you these days?”

“Just fine, thank you,” I replied, emptying my brandy.

Niamh shot me a disbelieving glance.

“You be sure to tell her she’ll have to answer to me if that changes,” said Adele, patting my hand. She had always treated me like family, for which I would be forever grateful.

I gathered our plates, giving them a quick scrub in the washbasin over Adele’s repeated assertions that there was no need, she would take care of the cleaning later. It was the least I could do.

“It’s my pleasure,” I assured her, smoothing frothy water over the plate’s wooden surface.

“And you, dear?” Adele asked her daughter. “Seeing more of the apprentice these days?”

I disguised my giggle with a cough.

“I should be going,” I announced, drying my hands on a rag. I was already on exceedingly thin ice and I knew I should return to Maxence with his master’s items before the hour grew too late.

Niamh sidled up to me. “Are you sure you’re alright walking home alone? Remember what that vendor said.”

I nodded. Adele slept on a tiny cot in the corner of the room, which Niamh squeezed into on the rare occasions that she stayed the night, and I would prefer the scratchy bed in my own quarters to an evening on the cold floor.

I squeezed Niamh’s hand. “The Trade District is on the opposite end of the city. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” she conceded reluctantly. “See you tomorrow, then.”

My footsteps echoed on the cobblestones as I made my way back to the castle. The vendor’s warning echoed in my mind and I pulled my cloak tightly around myself, keeping my head down. My fingers flexed in my pockets. I wasn’t helpless, I reminded myself. Far from it, in fact.

There was a reason that I rarely used magic for anything beyond speeding up my daily chores. My power was manageable—dull, even, in short bursts. But it was also dangerous. An image roared to life in my mind, one of bright blue flames that lapped at my boots.

My toe snagged on a loose cobblestone, sending me tumbling forward. I swore as I righted myself, glancing upward. Distracted by my thoughts, I had unwittingly wound my way through the city’s labyrinthine network of alleyways. I shivered, my breath unfurling in a cloud of steam. I often traveled through this area when I was in a hurry, but not this late, and not when I was alone.

Vanished like that.

I could practically hear the snap of the girl’s fingers. A shiver ran down my spine.

I scanned the path ahead. My power pulsed at my fingertips, reminding me that I wasn’t completely defenseless, should it come to that.

I flinched at the pitter-patter of a street rat scurrying past my feet, dropping with a plunk into the sewer beside me. Steeling myself, I let my magic pool in my palms, blossoming into a ball of light that hovered just ahead of me. It cast a gentle glow across the cobblestones.

I jumped as a shadow flitted down the alley. The light I’d cast faded as I retreated through the puddled pathway, careful not to make any noise. My gut urged me to run, but before I had the chance, I came up against something solid.

I whirled around and came face to face with a cloaked figure. My satchel hit the ground with a thud and flew open, the items I had collected from across the city rattling across the cobblestones. My breath caught in my throat as our gazes collided.

“Ewan,” I said, clapping a hand to my brow. Relief flooded through me as I recognized the blacksmith’s apprentice, his sandy hair hidden by the cowl of his cloak. “You frightened me.”

I stooped to collect my wares, gently sweeping the bottles into my satchel. “I can only imagine the look on Maxence’s face if I let any of his master’s items spoil,” I said, my nerves bubbling into a laugh as my fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger. Remarkably, it had stayed put. I held the glass vial of coriander tincture up to the feeble light, inspecting it for cracks. Satisfied that nothing had been disastrously ruined, I straightened, tucking the vial into my satchel beside the rest of my items and looping the strap over my head.

“I am glad it’s you though. After what I’ve been hearing all day I did give myself a bit of a fright.” I looked up at Ewan who hadn’t yet said anything. His expression was blank, his eyes glassy, missing the usual gleam and cheeky edge. When I narrowed my eyes, I could discern a dark tinge in the air around him, as if he were shrouded by a storm cloud. My gaze slipped to a cut on his cheek that hadn’t been there when I’d last seen him only a few hours ago. And his skin now had a greenish pallor to it, as if he were fighting off an infection. The fine hairs on my arms stood on end. “Ewan? What happened to you?” I whispered, taking in the dark stains on his cloak. “Are you hurt?”

The prickle of foreboding was growing again, its roots digging uncomfortably into my chest. By now, all the relief that had flooded me when I first recognized him had faded into a pile of ash. I practically jumped out of my skin when he finally stirred, slipping a hand between the folds of his cloak.

“Ewan?” I repeated. “Are you alright?”

He withdrew his hand, his fingers curled around a small, pointed blade that I recognized from the shop. An awl that he used to punch holes in leather. He could jab it through with such ease that it might as well be a knife through warm butter.

I watched, frozen to the spot as he raised the blade in his fist. All of my instincts screamed at me to run.