Blood Of The Witch E-Book

Helen T. Norwood

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Recovering from betrayal and loss, Jack and Kiera have found a safe haven to recuperate and train until they are ready to make their move.

But nowhere is safe for long, not when you are up against the most powerful witch who ever lived, and a pair of ancient Witch Hunters, awakened from their five-hundred-year slumber to track you down.

It will take all their strength and training to protect the return of witchcraft, and each other. 

With fresh danger and new allies, set against a stunning Cornish backdrop, book two of the Nature of the Witch trilogy continues Jack and Kiera's quest to rebuild a world that has long since been forgotten.

One where magic can flourish.

Leseprobe

Blood of the Witch

Nature of the Witch Book 2

Helen Norwood

Copyright (C) 2020 Helen Norwood

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Edited by Lorna Read

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

For my husband Andy

Part One

On the open moors,

The wind blew,

The cobwebs,

And the screams,

It blew away everything,

Piece by piece,

Leaving only us.

Prologue

15th Century

Caden watched his brother cleaning the sword. They both knew the routine by now. Hedrek would sit for at least another hour or so wiping the blade, long after the sword was clean. This was what he always did after a kill.

The fire Caden had lit was starting to crackle. Soon, the flames would take hold and Hedrek would sit until he was finally finished, and then they would leave. It wasn’t their fire, but they sat by it all the same. The owner of the fire lay dead in the corner of the room so he guessed she wouldn’t mind.

He glanced over to where she lay. Her blood was filling the ceramic bowl they had placed beneath her neck. It wouldn’t get all of it; they would take her with them and drain her properly for that, but it would give them enough to keep their immediate supplies topped up.

She was still dead. When you slit someone’s throat they usually are, but then witches are sneaky. He always liked to check. He would feel better once they finished with her and she could be burnt.

Caden turned away from the rhythmic wiping up and down of the blade and watched the fire. It was a cold night and the fire wasn’t giving out much warmth yet, but it would. His mind played over the evening’s kill. Something about it didn’t sit right with him.

The cottage was in an isolated location, deep in the forest, surrounded on every side by tall trees. They had moved quickly and silently through the darkness and into the witch’s cottage; Hedrek had come from the front and he from the back. A light mist had formed and hung ominously between the trees around them. She hadn’t heard them coming. They were well prepared for her feeble protection spells, in fact they’d expected something stronger; there was no way those weak charms would keep them out and very doubtful they would ward off a Kasadow, either. Perhaps the witch had become complacent, or perhaps she just wasn’t a very good witch.

They had taken her by surprise and yet she hadn’t seemed surprised. There had been a look in her eye as though she’d been expecting them, which was impossible. No-one ever saw them coming.

He glanced at his brother. Hedrek was looking relaxed. He was still cleaning the sword, but his eyes were now watching the flames.

Caden rose and began to move about the room. Dry plants hung from the beams on the ceiling and there were various jars and concoctions dotted about. It was a typical witch’s kitchen.

He left his brother sitting by the fire and began to make his way around the house. It was up to Caden to search for anything of value, anything that could make them money. They would even sell some of her potions. They despised witches and the idea of profiting from their unnatural ways sometimes balked him, but they had to make money somehow, now the Kevrinek Hus was no longer paying them for their services.

In the bedroom, he found a trunk full of papers and began to rifle through them. He scowled when he thought of the Kevrinek Hus. Had they not hired them to kill witches? And now suddenly their work was distasteful? He wouldn’t rest until all the witches were slain and he didn’t mind killing those that stood in his way. Anyone who protected witches deserved to die.

There weren’t many people who could better a witch. When the Kevrinek Hus had a witch problem, he and his brother were the only people they could call on. Who else could break a witch’s protection spells, immobilise her powers and slit her throat? The Kevrinek Hus would come crawling back to them at some point. They always did.

A bunch of papers caught his eye. It appeared to be a diary. On one of the pages she had written:

I am prepared to die. My coven are gone and I am ready to join them. If the Creature doesn’t find me, I know the Hunters will.

Perhaps that explained the weak protection spells cast over the house. The witch had wanted to die. He frowned as he read the top line on the next page.

My death shall be for a greater good. By my death more witches shall live.

He continued to read and his frown turned into a look of horror. He jumped to his feet and, as he did so, his head began to spin. They had underestimated the witch.

He tried to run to his brother, but suddenly, his vision was full of shadows and the walls seemed to be closing in on him. When he reached the stairs, his legs gave way, and he went crashing down to the hallway below.

From there, he managed to drag himself towards the kitchen. “We need to get out, Hedrek! There is a spell on the house!”

There was no answer and he found his brother lying motionless on the stone floor. Caden struggled furiously against the encroaching darkness, before succumbing and closing his eyes.

They would not open again for five hundred years.

Chapter One

The early morning frost had melted, and the sun sat high in the sky; strong enough to pierce through the light cloud cover although there was still a chill in the air. It had rained the night before, so the benches were wet, but Jack and Kiera picked a seat outside anyway.

They sat in silence at first, sipping their coffees and enjoying the view. After the turbulence of their lives over the past month, the simple act of going out together for coffee was a balm to the soul.

Jack thought about Kitto as he looked out across the cliffs to the expanse of blue beyond. He closed his eyes and listened to the steady roar of the waves, until he felt Kiera’s hand on top of his.

“Kitto would’ve liked it here,” she said, as though she could read his mind.

Jack opened his eyes and nodded. Then he smiled. “Yes, but he’d have had a slice of cake with his coffee. That guy knew how to live.”

“Well, let’s not go too wild,” Kiera rolled her eyes, “not until we can figure out a source of income, anyway.”

They lapsed back into a comfortable silence. They couldn’t see the beach from their table, but they had already walked along it earlier that morning. Kiera had slipped off her shoes and dipped her toes in the icy water before hurriedly pulling her warm socks back on and they had wandered amongst the Bedruthan Steps, running their fingers along the jagged rocks.

Witches had been at Carnewas before. Kiera wasn’t sure who or when, and neither was she sure how she even knew this, but as she traced along the rough surface of the rocks, she knew it with a certainty. It was as if the rocks themselves told her.

“Do you know the story behind the Bedruthan Steps?” Jack asked.

Kiera shook her head and leaned in closer.

“It’s said that a giant called Bedruthan lived here,” Jack told her, “and he piled the rocks up on the beach to make himself stepping stones for when the tide was in.”

Kiera loved it when Jack spoke that way. He sounded like Kitto or Mags, or at least the Mags that Kiera had thought she knew, before she found out it was all a lie.

“The stacks have different names,” Jack continued, “but one is called Samaritan Island because a ship called the Good Samaritan was wrecked here…I think in the 1840s or something.”

“Do you think it’s true?” Kiera asked him.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “There was definitely a shipwreck.”

“No, I mean the stuff about the giant.” Kiera gave him a gentle shove, then she wrapped her hands around her mug to warm them.

“No, it’s just a story.”

“Wouldn’t you have once said tree-spirits were just stories?” Kiera pointed out. “Giants wouldn’t exactly be the craziest thing to happen to us.”

Jack thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I guess.”

After another short pause, Kiera cleared her throat. “So, what next? I mean, should we look for Bersaba? Do you want to try and find Kitto’s body?”

These were questions they needed to discuss, but it had never felt like the right time to talk to him about it. Where did they go from here? The last month had been hard on both of them. They had been left reeling by recent events; discovering Kiera’s mentor was not a sweet old lady called Mags but was in fact an ancient, powerful and unfortunately evil witch called Bersaba; coming face-to-face with the savage (and apparently not so extinct as previously assumed) Kasadow; and then losing Kitto had been to lose family. He was the man who had initiated Jack into the brotherhood of the Gwithiaz, taught Jack their ways and how to respect their ancient traditions.

Kitto taught him that, above all else, witches must be protected. And, just as importantly as the teachings, he had given Jack a home and a connection, which, to an orphan who had grown up in various foster homes, had been everything. She knew how painful it was for Jack to return to the cave and discover Kitto’s body was missing, although he’d been relieved to find his own staff where he’d left it. A staff was a part of a Gwithiaz; it was his main weapon and to be without it was like losing a limb.

As Kiera had predicted, there’d been no sign of Bersaba. Any idea that a few crumbling rocks could kill her was fanciful. She was out there somewhere. However, it seemed unnecessarily cruel for Bersaba to steal Kitto’s body, leaving them unable to bury him. It felt as though they’d been unable to say goodbye.

They’d moved quickly out of their house, even though they had nowhere to go. Jack had worn a heavy expression as he closed the door behind them; it had been his home for so long. He had stopped and taken one last look at the house before it disappeared from view. She was sure he was remembering the dilapidated old dump he’d first moved into, and the time he and Kitto had spent turning it into their home.

It was with grim determination that they’d set off with their belongings piled into the back of the Land Rover. They’d left the BMW behind, along with most of their other things; and yet that was why they were left behind, they were just 'things’ and they needed to travel light.

For almost two weeks they’d lived in the Land Rover. It had been cramped and uncomfortable. They’d bedded down, fully clothed against the cold, between stacks of books (they may have left behind most of their clothes and other creature comforts, but some belongings they couldn’t do without). Kiera knew that if she ever wanted to stand a chance of defeating Bersaba, she had to keep learning. And, with the knowledge that the Magic Council wanted Kiera dead and that somewhere out there looking for them was Bersaba, Jack had insisted he needed all his weapons, so between the books were his guns and knives. If they had been pulled over by the police, they would’ve wondered what on earth they were into, suspecting them of the heavily-armed robbery of a library.

They had lived in their car whilst searching for somewhere safe. The trouble was that nowhere was safe anymore. Bersaba’s reach felt endless and they would never be safe as long as she was alive. Add to that the possibility that the Magic Council were looking for them and it made for some sleepless nights.

At least they now had a roof over their heads. An abandoned building in a remote location was perfect for their situation and working on the house for the last two weeks had kept them busy.

Jack focused his gaze on a patch of grass on the clifftop as he thought about Kiera’s questions. These were the same questions he had been endlessly pondering.

“We both know what Bersaba is capable of,” he said at length. “She must be stopped.”

Kiera nodded in agreement but frowned when Jack added, “I’ll stop her.”

“You mean we will stop her.”

Jack looked away from her. “I think it’s best for you to stay hidden for now. It’s likely the Magic Council are after you and we don’t really know what we’re up against with them. Plus, you’re the one Bersaba wants. I should go after her alone.”

Kiera sat up straight and folded her arms. Jack was expecting a lengthy argument and had been preparing his responses. He thought she would be horrified, maybe she’d shout at him. Instead, she simply said two words: “Not happening.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair before holding out his hand to Kiera. It was a moment before she grudgingly took it.

“This is important to me, Kiera.” His voice had a beseeching tone that she’d never heard before. He was pleading with her. He continued sheepishly, “You are important to me. I need you to be safe. Also… also this is what Kitto trained me for, what he would’ve wanted, he’d want me to keep you safe.”

Kiera’s expression softened and she leant forwards and kissed Jack’s hand. “I understand, Jack.”

For a split-second Jack thought she was relenting, but then she added, “It’s still not happening. We are in this together. This isn’t about you protecting me. We’re a team and we protect each other. I really need you to accept that.”

Jack released her hand and looked exasperated, but eventually he nodded. “Okay, we’ll do it together.”

Kiera smiled triumphantly, and they finished their coffee and began to walk back to the car.

“Promise?” she asked him tentatively as they walked. “Promise you won’t shut me out, or go off by yourself or anything?”

Jack put on an American accent. “Go, team!”

Kiera chuckled, slipping her arm through his. They reached the car and Jack grabbed her shoulder. She turned to him in surprise and saw that his expression was serious.

“I want to make Bersaba pay for what she did to Kitto and to my parents,” he said quietly.

The journey home wasn’t long. Home. For both of them, it was a strange word to use. They had a house but it wasn’t their home yet. Home was the place they’d been forced to flee. The new house wasn’t a home, but they were working on it.

Jack felt a part of him relax when they reached the moor. Being out in public was a risk, but surrounded by the vast landscape of Bodmin Moor Jack felt safer. On the moors he could see them coming.

When they first reached the moor two weeks ago, they’d known it was the ideal spot. They sometimes bumped into a few ramblers and tourists—although not too many in the cold winter months—but generally there was a desolate atmosphere that they could lose themselves in.

Jack had instantly fallen for the old, grey, stone farmhouse. It was a bit ramshackle and draughty, having stood empty for goodness knew how long, but it had plenty of space and it was remote. It suited them perfectly.

They approached the farmhouse slowly. Brown Willy, the highest point in all of Cornwall, loomed in the background. The winter sun was still shining, but a cold wind was sweeping its way across the moors, banging at the side of the car and giving a faint whistle at the windows.

As they reached the broken-down gateway that led on to the overgrown, stony drive, Kiera took a sharp intake of breath. Jack had already seen. The front door of the house was swinging wildly in the wind.

They had visitors.

Chapter Two

The ritual was complete. The room stood in silence and watched as the blood trickled along the rock. The atmosphere in the dimly lit room was heavy with trepidation. A few people shifted nervously from foot to foot.

Stephen was standing at the front facing everyone. He, like the others in the room, wore a long, black robe with the hood raised so that only part of his dark features was visible to his audience. His black skin and robes gave the effect that he was at one with the darkness around him.

He held up his arms and spoke solemnly to them, “It is done.” He paused and seemed to be looking each of them in the eye before he continued, “We all wish this could have turned out differently. I, like you, had high hopes for the return of witchcraft and the good it could do. Bersaba has changed that and now we have no choice. We are left with one resort.”

His voice was confident and authoritative. He was a born leader. That was why the Council members elected him time and again. Just as they had done his father before him.

Council members lived between two worlds. One that was governed by logic, and the other was a world of secrets and magic. They were the guardians of a history others knew nothing about. Now, however, the time for simply waiting and watching was over, and action was required. It was not just their magical world that needed protecting; both worlds and countless lives were depending on them. History was repeating itself, and the witches had put them in an impossible position, but with Stephen guiding them, they could protect both.

Stephen gave a nod and everyone quietly dispersed; all except Lady Hammett, or Harriet to her friends, a more senior Council member. She came from one of the oldest families on the Council; generations of her family had had Council positions right from its inception. She owned one of the grandest houses in all of Cornwall, a building which contained a large portion of their treasured possessions and books, and a building which they now stood beneath. The basement had the same floor plan as the house above, which meant it was an immense space.

It had been agreed that they alone would wait. Stephen took a seat next to one of the stone sarcophagi and Harriet took a seat by the other. The witch’s blood had run its course along the rivulets in the top and had now begun to drip through a small gap, bringing life to the remains inside.

Stephen and Harriet sat and watched in silence. Neither had witnessed such a process in real life before so couldn’t be quite sure what would happen when the contents of the sarcophagi were awoken. However, they had both spent their lives studying, reading and preparing for the return of witchcraft, and for events such as this. They were ready. They sat back and waited patiently. Soon, the brothers would be awake.

Jack reached behind his seat and picked up his staff. Then he subconsciously brushed his hand over his knife, which sat in a leather sheath on his belt. He opened the car door and signalled to Kiera to wait in the car. He wasn’t surprised when she ignored him and opened her door, too.

“Perhaps we left the front door open?” Kiera suggested uncertainly as they moved closer towards the house.

Jack answered her with a frown as his eyes scanned all around, examining every shadow, every reflection, every glint off a window. There was no way they had left the door open.

Jack stepped silently into the house and listened. It creaked and groaned around him, but he wasn’t familiar enough with the house yet to recognise if a sound was out of place. In their old home, the one they had shared with Kitto, the house talked to him. He recognised every creak and rattle. But this one spoke in a foreign language he didn’t understand yet.

He walked slowly down the hallway, making sure Kiera stayed behind him and keeping both hands on his staff, daring something to jump out at him. The hallway was long, with three doors branching off it before it reached the stairs. The first door led into the living room, then just opposite was a room that currently stood empty with only a few dusty old boxes and crates from previous occupants. Beyond that was a door to the kitchen. Jack made his way along the exposed wooden boards to the living room door and stopped. It was open and he instinctively knew someone was inside. He could feel their presence further in the room and, if he listened intently, he could hear quiet, calm breaths.

As he entered the room, he was surprised to see a digestive biscuit on a saucer with a cup of tea, wisps of steam drifting lightly from the cup towards the ceiling. Someone had broken into his house, made themselves a cup of tea and raided his biscuits? He wasn’t sure whether he was puzzled, annoyed or a combination of the two. The cheeky little beggar! What was even more baffling was that Jack and Kiera didn’t even own any saucers. They weren’t exactly a necessity when they were going on the run. So, who breaks into a house and brings their own saucer for their stolen tea?

Jack rounded the door aggressively with his staff raised; after all, someone had stolen his biscuits and that was a step too far. If he found they’d discovered his custard creams, then they were really going to be in trouble.

He stopped in his tracks. The staff fell to the floor with a clatter, but Jack didn’t even notice. He stood in the doorway in disbelief, not daring to move or even breathe in case he disturbed the image in front of him.

Kiera was startled by Jack’s reaction and afraid of what she would find as she followed him into the room. She squealed with a mixture of shock, disbelief and delight, and gripped Jack’s arm. She, too, found herself frozen to the spot as she processed what she was seeing in front of her.

Kitto glanced up at them from the newspaper he was reading and smiled amicably. Then he leant forward, picked up his biscuit and dunked it in his tea.

Jack retrieved his staff from the floor, his eyes fixed on Kitto. This had to be a trick. Kitto was dead. He raised the staff again and eyed the man on the settee suspiciously.

“You’re not Kitto,” he said quietly, “you can’t be.”

The man frowned and looked Jack straight in the eye. They were silent for a moment before Kitto asked pleasantly, “So, where have you stashed your custard creams?”

Jack blinked and his breath caught in his throat. Then he lowered his staff again and headed for the kitchen to retrieve the biscuits.

He would know him anywhere. It was Kitto.

Jack returned feeling numb, as though he was part of a dream. Kiera was just pulling away from Kitto’s embrace. She was wiping her eyes and beaming from ear to ear. Seeing her smile so broadly made him realise how little they’d smiled recently and how much it suited her. It lit her face up, giving her dark eyes a lost sparkle and bringing a flush to her smooth, soft cheeks.

Kitto was returning her smile. He almost looked the same. His grey hair was just as unruly. It found its own course from the top of his head down to his shoulders, sometimes curling, sometimes straight and sometimes sticking out randomly. It matched his grey-streaked, wispy beard. He was wearing a baggy jumper and dark trousers that were smeared with mud, and made Jack wonder where on earth he’d been. There was definitely something different about him although Jack couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Jack stood in the doorway watching them. He tried to process the fact that the two people he loved most in the world—actually the only people he loved in the world—were both together, standing in front of him. Seeing Kitto alive was something he’d thought of and dreamt of for the past month, but he’d never considered it could actually happen. None of it seemed real.

They both looked up at Jack in the doorway, and Kitto rose to his feet and opened his arms. At first they hugged awkwardly. In all the years they’d known each other, it was the first time they’d ever hugged, and Jack was sure he caught Kiera giving them an exasperated eye roll. But then Jack was hit with the enormity of what was happening. The man he loved like a father was alive. He had been struggling with the thought that he would never see him again, and now here he was. Kitto was alive. Jack found himself gripping the old man tighter, as though if he did let him go, he might disappear and Jack would find out it was all a dream after all. He realised that Kitto was gripping him just as tightly.

They eventually broke away and Jack returned to feeling awkward again. He patted Kitto’s back and cleared his throat. Then he held out the biscuit packet he was still holding in his hand. “Custard cream?”

“Ooooh!” Kitto took a biscuit in each hand and sat back down. He dipped one into his tea, but before he bit into it he asked, “What’s been happening?”

“What’s been happening?” Jack asked incredulously. “Shouldn’t we be asking you that?”

Kitto conceded the point and settled back into the cushion with his cup. They had picked up the settees free from a local pub that was closing down. They were a deep red colour, and were probably very smart when they were new, but now they were worn and smelt of alcohol no matter how much Kiera washed the covers. Nonetheless, Kitto looked content and comfortable as he snuggled down into them, like a man who was unfamiliar with such luxuries, and Jack wondered once more where his mentor had been all this time.

Kitto sipped his tea, smacked his lips and patted Kiera’s knee before finally beginning his story.

“There’s not much to tell,” he said, staring at the bare, wooden floor, “but I’ll tell you.”

Chapter Three

The lid on the stone sarcophagus in front of Stephen shifted. It only moved an inch, but it was loud in the cold, dark, underground room. Then silence fell again until Stephen wondered if he’d imagined the movement. After all, he had been sitting there for hours; without a watch there was no way to know what time it was, but he guessed that twelve hours at least had passed since the ritual had taken place.

Eventually, the rock moved again. Stephen jumped to his feet and began to push at the lid. Harriet joined him and the heavy rock slowly slid across, before crashing to the floor. The sound of the crash echoed around the chamber. Stephen and Harriet stood side by side with bated breath as a man rose from the tomb. When the man was seated upright, he stared at them with cold, hard eyes, and, for the first time, Stephen felt a pinprick of fear. He nodded at Harriet and she resumed her position at the neighbouring sarcophagus, a tremble to her movements that was only detectable to someone who knew her, someone who was trying to conceal his own trembling, although whether it was excitement or fear Stephen couldn’t be sure.

The man was alive, but his eyes were dead. Stephen had never seen eyes like them. They held no colour, no warmth, no feeling at all as they stared unblinkingly at him. Stephen used the term 'man’ loosely because he knew the being in front of him was very different to himself, endowed with immortality and skills no normal man possessed. His appearance meant he would always stand out in a crowd, with a gaunt face, skin stretched tight over his bones, and the spots of fresh witch’s blood round his mouth that were emphasised by his drastically pale skin, which seemed so white as to almost glow in the dark, underground room. His fair hair was covered in dust.

Gripped between his long fingers was his special sword, a curved blade glinting faintly in the dark room. He had been buried with it five hundred years earlier.

Stephen cleared his throat. “Hedrek?” The eldest brother had woken first.

“Kevrinek Hus?” The man’s voice was husky as he spoke for the first time in five hundred years.

It was an expression Stephen knew the meaning of but had never heard used before. It used to be a common expression for the Magic Council in Cornwall many years ago- directly translated from the Cornish it meant secret or mysterious magic. It was fitting. His job was all about keeping secrets.

“I’m the leader of the Magic Council,” Stephen confirmed. “You and your brother have been asleep for a long time. There is much to tell you.”

“I’ll kill you,” Hedrek hissed. His eyes had not moved from Stephen’s face and, despite the cold, Stephen felt his brow dampen with sweat. He tried not to think of the things he knew about the man in front of him, what he was capable of and the evil deeds he had done.

Stephen tried to regain his composure and nodded gravely. “You can do. However, it wasn’t I who put you in that tomb. I was not the one who put you to sleep, but I am the one who has woken you. You can kill me in some misplaced sense of revenge or… or, with my help, you can kill a witch.”

For the first time, the dark eyes seemed to soften slightly, as a flicker of something that could have been excitement or longing passed fleetingly across Hedrek’s features. He ran his tongue around his mouth and tasted some of the witch’s blood that was sitting there, blood the Council had fed him in the ritual from their limited stock.

Movement sounded from the other sarcophagus and they both glanced across. Caden was awakening.

“Where is the witch?” Hedrek growled and Stephen smiled.

Kiera opened her eyes and lay still, letting them adjust to the darkness in the room. It was almost morning and she would rise with the sun to meditate. Her arm rested on top of the duvet and she quickly pulled the cover up and snuggled into Jack. They had worked wonders in the last couple of weeks, trying to turn the ramshackle old farmhouse into a home, but the heating was beyond their capabilities. And hiring a plumber to work on a house they were technically squatting in seemed too risky, as well as costly.

Jack stirred and she felt his arms tighten around her waist. She sighed with a contentment that she hadn’t felt for a while. Kitto was back and asleep in the room next door. She was happy for Jack because she knew of the bond that the two men shared. Kitto was the father Jack had grown up without and she knew what it was like to lose a father.

She turned her head into Jack’s neck and went to kiss him, but then quickly turned away. It seemed strange that they shared a bed every night but had not yet been intimate with each other. They’d spent the first two weeks cramped into the back of the Land Rover, while the last two weeks together had, at times, felt a little awkward. She felt a desire for Jack in a way that surprised and frightened her, a totally new experience. She had never been in love before. She knew their future was together, and yet, it didn’t feel right to take the next step with so much going on in their lives. They had been mourning Kitto and they had been working hard at turning the house into a home. She nestled her head into Jack’s shoulder instead and thought about the story Kitto had told them the previous day.

He had awoken alone in the cave next to the body of the Kasadow. Bersaba was nowhere to be seen. He was concerned when he saw Jack’s staff on the floor and had left to search for them. However, by the time he arrived back at the house they were gone, and four weeks and several failed tracing spells were used trying to track them down.

The whole thing was so puzzling. It wasn’t the first time Kitto had come back from the dead so perhaps they should be less surprised. The question that troubled her was what if it was Bersaba who had brought him back?

As far as she was aware, only a spell with Grim Seed could bring someone back from the dead and she knew the effect that Grim Seed had on souls, although, with the evil deeds she’d done, Bersaba’s soul was surely already lost. Bersaba was certainly powerful enough to perform a resurrection spell. But why would she? It would only be for a dark purpose; not out of any sense of loyalty or love because Bersaba was incapable of those feelings.

She frowned. Her sense of contentment was fading fast. It was frustrating not knowing where Bersaba was and what she was plotting. She wanted to continue to simply bask in the miracle of having Kitto returned to them, but it was hard not to worry.

She raised her head from the pillow and looked to the window. The sun would be rising soon. She resisted the temptation to remain wrapped in Jack’s arms, and forced herself out of bed. Her teeth began to chatter as she hurriedly pulled some clothes over her pyjamas.

Her morning and evening meditations had become vital to her over the last month and she wouldn’t dream of missing one. She needed to be at her best if she wanted to stand a chance of defeating Bersaba, who had hundreds of years of experience and was a master at her craft. Kiera had a lot of catching up to do.

In those moments at sunrise and sunset she could feel her magic growing. She was getting stronger. The lamp flicked on and Jack was dressing himself beside her. They didn’t speak until they were clothed in several layers and ready to head downstairs.

“Morning,” Kiera whispered and moved into his arms, resting her head against his chest.

“Morning.” Jack stroked her hair gently.

“I can’t believe Kitto is back,” she said, smiling.

“Yes, but did you… did you think there was something different about him?”

Kiera looked up. “Like what? I didn’t notice anything different about him, but I have been worrying about how he was brought back to life.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe I’m imagining it. I just thought…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, and they broke away from each other and headed downstairs. They found that Kitto was already up and pottering about in the kitchen.

Kiera hugged him tightly and closed her eyes. It was Kitto. With her eyes closed she could sense him, feel his presence and his energy. This was definitely the Kitto she knew and loved. And yet there was something else, too. She sensed something he was hiding from her, or was it just her imagination? Perhaps she was feeling that way simply because of her own concerns. Was something different about Kitto?

Chapter Four

Kiera sat perfectly still and kept her eyes closed. Her eyes remained closed even when she could feel the first rays of the sun on her face and knew that if she were to open her eyes, she would witness a glorious sunrise over Bodmin Moor. However, she wasn’t freezing her butt off for the views, so she resisted the temptation.

She spread her fingers into the damp grass and felt the faint warmth from the sun transform into something more tangible. She dug her fingers into the hard soil and felt a connection that, for a moment at least, blocked out everything else. She could no longer hear the steady bluster of the wind, or the call of a bird nesting in a tree a few metres away, or the crash of staffs as Jack and Kitto battled round the other side of the house.

The cold had also gone, forced away by an energy that enveloped her like a protective cloak. Her magic simmered within her before turning into a throbbing sensation. It was at times such as these that she could almost believe that she was powerful enough to beat Bersaba.

Inhaling deeply, she tried to draw in as much energy as she could. She smiled as the magic coursed through her veins, and with it she felt the presence of those who had gone before her, her fellow witches, the ones that called her sister. Those women understood her and her magical abilities, and she found it reassuring to feel that connection and know they were watching over her.

Eventually, the energy around her began to fade and Kiera knew the sun had risen. Magical energy was always at its highest during sunrise and sunset. Suddenly, she was aware of the world again. She could feel winter’s touch once more and shivered. She could hear the sound of the wind and the birds. She opened her eyes and slowly climbed to her feet.

She tried to carry the peace from the meditation with her to the house, but she was unable to, instantly feeling troubled. She’d received a message during meditation that something was wrong. She needed to speak to Jack and Kitto.

Kiera noticed that Jack was still smiling as he sat down for breakfast. With no heating, he was forced to have a cold shower and yet, even that wasn’t enough to dampen his spirits. Jack had started his day in his favourite way—being attacked with a large, wooden stick by his mentor.

Kiera returned his smile and they tucked into a hearty breakfast. Kitto had laid out an impressive spread of eggs, toast, fruit, natural yoghurt with nuts and seeds, fresh orange juice and tea and coffee.

“You went shopping?” Jack queried. Money had been tight since they’d been on the run. They had to buy cheap food and make it last.

“There was spare money at the house. The old house. I kept it hidden away in the library in case of emergencies such as this. Didn’t I tell you about it?” Kitto asked, dusting a sprinkling of toast crumbs off his beard onto the table.

Jack frowned. “No, you didn’t. It would’ve been helpful.”

“I also noticed you left behind some of the essentials so I brought them with me, figured you must’ve been in a hurry.” Kitto nodded at the delicate saucers the teacups were on.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Essentials, really? I can’t kill a Kasadow with a teacup and saucer.”

“No, but there’s no need to be uncivilised,” Kitto said, daintily cutting his fruit into mouth-sized chunks.

“Jack brings his gun with him to breakfast,” Kiera said dryly. “We’re way past civilised.”

Jack patted his chest holster and then drank from his teacup with his pinkie finger raised.

“I can do civilised,” he muttered and they all smirked.

“You know, Jack,” Kitto said thoughtfully, “I didn’t think it was possible, but I believe in the last month your skills with a staff are even sharper. Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve actually come face-to-face with a Creature now, or perhaps it’s because you’ve had to protect Kiera without me. Whatever the reason, you really are turning into a fine Gwithiaz—one of the finest I’ve ever met, I’d say.”

Jack nodded a thank you to Kitto and looked pleased as he continued eating. Kiera finished her mouthful and then drummed her fingers on the table lightly. “I think something is wrong.”

Jack turned to her in concern, and he and Kitto asked in unison, “Are you okay?”

Kiera rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean something is wrong with me. Something is wrong on the moor.”

“What?” Jack asked, putting down his food and giving her his full attention.

“Is it anything to do with Bersaba?” Kitto’s face darkened.

“Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure,” Kiera admitted. “I just know that there’s something we should investigate.”

Jack looked puzzled. “Can you narrow it down a bit? Bodmin Moor is a pretty large area.”

“The Hurlers,” Kiera replied and then shrugged at them helplessly. “That’s all I can say. Something is wrong and we should visit the Hurlers.”

“Well, it’s a nice day for a walk and a spot of sightseeing.” Kitto was stroking his beard. “We’ll head over after breakfast.”