Sorrow's Gift

Chapter Sixty-One: The Witch

"Zoe, sweetheart, I'm a friend of your sister's," the witch said. She knocked again, waiting for the girl to open the door.

She hated that the Dark One had sent her to do this task, but she was helpless to fight against the wishes of her mistress. She had strayed, and the Dark One had punished her, just as the witch knew she would.

She trembled, remembering the way her body had burned. At times, she wasn't sure she would survive it, but the Dark One wanted her to live. She wanted to make sure the witch would never forget the consequences of betrayal.

She lifted her hand to the door again, the silver bracelet jangling on her ruined arm. Her entire body was ruined and burned now, her beauty taken from her. She waited, hot tears falling against her cheek.

But the girl didn't come.

Frustrated, knowing this was her last chance to please the Dark One, the young witch placed her ear against the door. She listened for any sign of movement inside. There was no telling what that child had been through in the past few weeks. She could be comatose in a corner somewhere, barely able to hear what was going on outside the door.

If she had to, she would tear it down. One way or another, she was getting that little girl and taking her somewhere Parrish could never find her. She hated herself for this, but she would never risk being tortured again. She would rather die.

There were no sounds on the other side of the door. With the throngs of undead moving this time of night all around the city, this suite at the top of the Four Seasons was one of the quietest, most sheltered places there were. Zoe had been lucky.

"Zoe, please open the door. I'm here to help you." The worst kind of lie, but she had no choice. It was her life or the girl's, and the witch had plans for her life. She had chosen her side, and she intended to see this through.

When the child didn't answer, the witch turned to the beast of a man behind her and nodded.

She stepped out of the way just before the zombie ran, shoulder-first as hard as he could, toward the door. Wood splintered and cracked, but there was no scream inside.

She had expected a scream of horror.

The zombie moved, his eyes red and vacant. He had been a man once, but now he was nothing more than a vessel. A servant of the Dark One, like so many millions out there now. Like her. It was her only purpose now.

The guardians were strong. They had survived so much, but the war against them had only just begun.

And if they somehow managed to reunite with the fifth, this little girl would help defeat them. Where there was love, there was weakness. She had learned that lesson the hard way.

The witch crawled through the hole in the door and looked around. It was dark, but she sent a conjured orb of light along the edges of the room, searching every nook and cranny where the girl might be hiding. The suite had a large living area and a separate bedroom. So many places for a small child to hide.

Sheets and comforters were piled on the floor, creating a little nest where the child must have been sleeping at night. The room smelled of feces and urine.

There was no sign of the girl now, though. Where could she be hiding?

"Zoe?"

The door to the bedroom was blocked completely. Every piece of furniture light enough for a child to move on her own had been pushed in front of the door, and the smell of decay just beyond it told the story of what she had been protecting herself from.

Her father. Parrish had mentioned he was here with the girl. He had died and risen as one of the Dark One's servants. The witch could hear him in the next room, shuffling around.

She was about to instruct her two minions to clear the area in front of the door when something caught her eye near the window.

She moved quickly, increasing the power of her light.

Her orb moved around the edges of the room and the witch's eyes followed it, searching for the girl. She had to be here somewhere. Hiding like a smart little thing. Not trusting anyone who wasn't Parrish.

But when the light shone on the large window that took up most of the outer wall of the suite, the witch's heart stopped beating for a full five seconds. She couldn't breathe or move. All she could do was stand in the middle of the large room and stare at that window, her body trembling in fear.

There, across the entire center pane of glass, low enough a child could reach it, was a symbol drawn in blood. A spiral, the symbol for air.

The witch collapsed to her knees, unable to take her eyes off the glass. Tears rolled down her burned face. She had failed her mistress, and she would be punished again.

This was the symbol of the fifth guardian.

Somehow, he had gotten to her first.