Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Surging forward, my hands latched around the hilts of my swords, drawing the weapons out on a low humming whine. Exhaustion limned every muscle in my body, staved off with the adrenaline that jacked up my heartbeat.
As I raced across the lawn, thick waves of silvery threads swarmed between the gaps of the forest's tree line like a low-lying tempest blustering its might through the dense foliage.
Two figures emerged from the Hemmlok Forest.
Sirro was accompanied by a Horned God and I couldn't make them out. Whomever it was, was covered in fine lace, layers and layers of draping lace that concealed their body.
Sirro held their hand—human-looking.
There were very few witches known to us. Jurgana and six other sisters slumbered in the Hemmlok Forest, Sigrune being one of them, and this perhaps was another one of her siblings, but which one I wasn't sure.
The Witch unlinked her hand from Sirro's and took a few footsteps closer to the mansion. In her wake, musical notes, that ancient language infused with magic, spun through the air and the delicate lace covering the witch began to billow like gusts of wind pouring through an open window teasing sheer curtains. Perhaps the lace held some other property, much like Jurgana's pouches of strange and deadly items, because patches of fabric exploded around the witch like dust and transformed into a thick airy cloud that shimmered with iridescent gem-like tones.
The white cloud-like substance surrounding the witch grew unnaturally abundant and it raced from the spot where she once stood, churning across the lawn, fast, rolling like a bank of fog across a bleak moor. It devoured everything in its path—debris, the dead and wounded, and those still living. It spread across the gardens, and up the stone porch to enter the mansion. It blanketed the world in white as it swept upward and outward. I stumbled to a halt, swiftly bringing a forearm up in front of my face and rearing back as I was swallowed up in its depth.
The cloud was so dense I could barely see right in front of me. It was as if I'd been caught out in a severe blizzard. As I gingerly pushed through, it dusted my skin like powder, yet was moist too. And every breath I sucked into my lungs left me feeling more and more refreshed.
Muffled sounds could only be heard—the wounded, the dying, the startled cries of servants. Slowly those disorientating sounds faded away, and I lost my sense of time and direction. It was hard, so hard to keep my eyes open. With every inhale the tension in my body unknotted and my limbs grew lax and heavy, my eyelids too as if a gentle lullaby was softly sung to ease me into slumber. With great effort, I managed to resist the temptation to simply lie down on the trampled grass and rest my body.
For how long I was trapped within the colorless void I didn't know, but when the white clouds finally rolled away, I found I was standing near Sirro at the Hemmlok Forest's tree line.
