A Touch of Magic

Chapter 23: Witch Way Now? (part 1)

"Minta!" Zara's voice called from somewhere.

"No, not my cat!" Edgar. My Edgar.

Torn in two, shattered to the bone, my legs gave way again, so that only the extra cords now being tied around my shins and shoulders held me up. The friction burn awoke me. 

Zara! I had to help her, and I couldn't afford to lose a moment. Get out now. Grieve later. Think. Think. Think.

"Get off me!" Two more hooded-figures held Zara's arms.

I struggled for breath, more than freedom. "Let go of me! Zara are you ok?"

"I think so. No!" Zara struggled to free herself from the bonds being tightened around her wrists. These were makeshift, pieces of torn fabric. They'd not expected Zara, unlike me. I was tied to a perfectly sized tree, which smelt sour and full of spell. Another someone rushed over and began winding a torn plastic bag around Zara's feet.

My eyes sufficiently adjusted; I searched the chaos of the woods once again for Darcy, hoping she'd got away. More figures in white, chanted, waving arms in rhythmic swirls.

"Make sure her bonds are tight." A voice spat out behind the large hood. The Irish tone was clear... "She can cast spells, remember that."

My stomach lurched again. How wrong could I have been about Iona?

"We took no chances." A man spoke dutifully towards the Irish voice.

Zara was thrown on the ground near my feet. She screamed, finally noticing the dead cat. "Oh, oh, Minta. Evil, so evil."

"A means to an end," a different female, a darker voice, spoke out clearly and controlled. She was in charge; I could tell from her stance and from the lack of excitement in her voice. Another voice I'd heard before, somewhere in the past.

"Your watcher had to be stopped Araminta, even after the feuding spell we put on the coin, he followed you. You've not made this easy for us. Surprising. I was reliably informed you were stupid."

Zara kicked out at the cloaked woman, who simply stepped out of the way and moved towards the centre of the circle of figures. A chalice and knife lay on a cloth-covered alter before her. Candles, hundreds of them, surrounded us all.

"Witchcraft?" I murmured. Edgar had muttered about mortals dabbling in the occult. These humans had gone too far. My eyes rested on Dawlish and tears sprung to my eyes. The emptiness was real. "I've lost him." And I ached.

I pushed my back into the tree and closed my eyes in an attempt to focus once more.

Zara didn't deserve this. She was already shivering on the ground still twisting to free her hands and feet. I searched once again for Iona, to appeal to her better nature. But in the meagre light of the dying fire, each figure looked the same, female or not.

One voice echoed in the night's air. "We came to you in your dreams, Araminta, using spells learnt from a beautiful and very old book. But you refused to let us in, to join and be one with us, to share your power with us. Enough." She turned to her supporters. "Let it be known that we gather here to stop this child of magic from cementing her power, so that she can never limit us in our practice. This is our offering."

"Let our coven be strong." The rest chanted over and over again.

"Minta, are we the offering?" Zara moaned quietly. She's managed to squirm up onto her bum and tuck herself behind my legs.

"No Zar. That's me. I don't think they planned on you."

The leading lady raised her hand and the voices stopped. "I will remove her power so that we can work in peace. I use magic of old, in times new."