WILLOW
I stumbled back from her touch, shaking my head. “I’m not pregnant,” I said, pursing my lips together. The thought that all
choice might have been taken from me, when I’d already decided that I could want it…someday…seemed impossible. Coming to terms with the future didn’t mean coming to terms with it now.
“No, you’re not,” she said, and my lungs heaved with relief. I wasn’t ready.
No matter what decision I’d made earlier, given this warning, I wasn’t sure I ever would be.
“The Maiden will come,” Charlotte said, her voice sympathetic. “You’ve already decided you might want children one day. This changes nothing.” Those words were spoken so in tune with the thoughts I’d already had in my reflections.
Always with me, even in my head, it seemed at times.
“Does he know?” I asked. The thought that this all came so quickly after our discussion about children didn’t sit right with me, but the Source wrapped itself around me, the touch distinctly soothing as I stared at the springlike path of the Maiden.
The path my daughter would one day walk when she submitted herself and her body to the Source.
“No. Even Lucifer does not know the price the Source will ask of him,” Charlotte said, taking my hand in hers.
“The price?” I asked, my confusion making my brow tense. The maze trembled around us as Charlotte directed me away from the triple goddess.
Her worry was unmistakable as she looked back along my path. The Source’s warm, comforting presence shifted, an undercurrent of fear beginning to tingle across my skin.
“Your daughter will one day lead the fight. She’ll be the weapon we need to restore the world to its true form,” she said, nudging me back toward my path.
“I’m not ready to be a mother,” I replied, watching her drift toward her own path. She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze knowing.
“I understand. The Source has waited for centuries; it will wait a thousand more if it has to,” Charlotte said as she stepped into her path’s shadowed entrance. “Time is nothing to something older than existence itself.” Without a farewell, she vanished, taking the path meant solely for her escape.
I bolted down mine, racing as the walls quaked around me. It felt as if the Source itself was under siege, someone hammering at its barriers, demanding entry. I didn’t pause to consider what could be causing this disturbance.
Breath ragged, I ran, desperate to escape before whatever force lay behind that tremor could catch up. My feet flew as fast as they could, rounding a corner toward the exit that beckoned me. The space beyond was hazy, yet I sprinted for it.
I threw myself from the maze as it crumbled around me, tumbling through the air and landing on ground that seemed forever just out of reach. My arms flailed, the rush of my descent whipping my hair behind me.
Falling. Falling.
I landed back in my own body, seated as I had been before the maze materialized, staring at the quiet cemetery where it had stood. There were no pillars left by the Cursed, no severed heads on hedges. Only level soil before me, dotted with wildflowers and grass, covering the resting places of past generations of Brays and Madizzas.
As if the maze had only existed inside my head.
I pulled my hands off the ground, recoiling back from the severing of the magic I’d immersed myself in. Staring down at my palms in shock, I never saw the branch swinging towards the side of my head.
I felt the pain, my temple exploding into agony the moment it struck. The stick cracked in half as I tumbled to the side, forcing myself to roll onto
my feet as I turned to face the person responsible. The witch who stood before me was young, a member of my legacy class.
A group of six stood behind her, each having gathered their own branches. My body felt battered as I came back into it, my arms covered in bruises and scratches I hadn’t felt at first.
How long had they stood there, beating me as I dreamt of the Source?
It hadn’t been the Source under attack in the vision I’d thought was reality.
It had been me.
I stood as straight as I could manage, glaring at them with disdain. My body swayed to the side, feeling like I might fall over. The Source reached up to grab me, a gentle cradle supporting my weight as my vision swam.
The first witch swallowed as she tossed her cracked branch to the ground, and I turned my attention to the others.
I blinked, sending out the call with my magic. The Source skittered along the ground, crawling like insects until it touched those branches. Twisting them into knots, they turned on those who wielded them and jabbed toward their hearts.
One witch squealed as she dropped hers, the others following suit as they looked at me.
“Fine,” the male witch said, cracking his head to the side. He wore the white robes of the crystal witches, his muscles bulging from them and hard as stone. “No magic then.”
He surged forward, sprinting to close the distance between us. My body snapped into that place of muscle memory and adrenaline, moving to the side to avoid his attack. I cracked my elbow against his spine, sending him crashing toward the ground as I turned and caught the next witch with the heel of my palm in her throat.
Her hands grappled for purchase, her nails scratching the surface of my skin before she collapsed to her knees and sputtered for breath.
I stepped past her, gliding forward on sure feet. The magic in my veins fueled my body, making me feel invincible despite my injuries. In all my years fighting in the cages my father put me in, I’d never felt such rage.
I slammed my fist into the next witch’s spleen, driving my knee into her nose when she bent over in pain.
Two of the others turned to retreat back to the school, even as I committed their faces to memory. It would not be Gray who meted out their
punishment this time.
It would be me.
“How pathetic,” I mumbled, turning back to face the first male witch who got to his feet. He looked to the other one who had yet to attack, waiting as they glanced between each other. “Beating on a woman when she’s daydreaming.” The disgust in my tone was evident, leaving little doubt as to what I thought of them and their bravery in attacking me.
I took them by surprise, running toward the big one. He reached out as he spun away in an attempt to escape, giving me his back. I hooked my arm around his stomach, grasping and using him to shift my weight. He stumbled as I got my legs around his neck, clasping him tightly and switching my weight to his other side to throw him off balance. Holding his head firmly between my knees, I used my legs to pull him forward and flip him over, slamming his back to the ground beneath me.
He groaned as I vaulted to my feet, stalking forward to go for the other male witch who held up both hands as if he wasn’t a threat. As if he hadn’t seen a woman in a moment of weakness and decided to use it against her.
I had no tolerance for bullies.
I crept forward, crossing over the discarded witches I’d left on the ground before me. Summoning the magic that existed just at the edge of my fingertips, I called to the dead within the soil below us.
The earth shook, the ground splitting as the witches who had dared to lay their hands upon me scrambled for their feet. The boned hands of the Madizza and Bray witches emerged from the earth, crawling out of the dirt and righting their bones to stand tall.
Making my way back to the school, I didn’t speak a word as the dead descended on those who had wronged me, and I certainly didn’t watch as they tore them into pieces.
The sounds were detailed enough.
