Even the furniture is changed. The table is no longer made of chocolate—it’s a rotten plank of wood and the candy chandelier above is nothing but a smoky torch.
“Eat!” shrieks the witch—for she must be a witch, just like in a horrible fairytale. “Eat, my pretty one! Grow plump for me!”
“No! No!” I gasp, moving my head from side to side to avoid the fork, which is trying to feed me a piece of rotten meat. “No, leave me alone! Please—I just want to leave!”
“You’ll never leave—you owe me!” she cackles. “You owe me for the taste of my house you had!”
“I never tasted your house!” I protest. Looking around at the rotting structure where all the candy has changed to rot and ruin, I’m glad now I didn’t give in to the urge to lick or nibble anything. Everything is now ten times as disgusting as it was appealing just a few moments ago.
“You did! You licked your hand after you used my doorknob—I felt the magic leave me when you tasted the peppermint on your palm!” she screeches triumphantly. “And now you must pay!”
“And what do you expect her to pay you, crone?”
The deep, resonant voice makes us both whip our heads around. Standing in the arched doorway of the dining room, is Valen.
35
IRENA
He’s glowering at the witch and his eyes are already glowing red. His throat begins to glow too, and I know he’s about to breath fire.
Unfortunately, the witch seems to see that too.
“Stop!” she shouts and raises her hand. Clenching it into a fist, she makes a throwing motion, as though she’s hurling something at Valen. Suddenly the fire in his throat goes out.
He puts a hand to his throat, his eyes going wide.
“What the fuck?” he growls hoarsely.
“This is my domain, Drake,” she cackles. “Did you really think I’d let you burn down my house?”
“I’m not here to burn down your house as long as you let Irena go,” he snarls. “She’s mine to protect—you won’t touch her.”
“Hmm…and what is she doing with such a powerful protector?” the witch muses. “And what exactly are you willing to do to secure her freedom? Because by the rules of magic, you cannot simply take her from me—she is in my debt.”
“In your debt?” He glares at me. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” I protest. “She’s saying I tasted her house, but I didn’t! I only licked my palm to clean it off after I touched the sticky peppermint doorknob!”
Valen glowers at the witch.
“Sounds to me like you’re stretching your definition of ‘tasting’ pretty thin.”
“She tasted the essence of my house and now she has to pay for it with her own flesh!” the witch insists.
“No,” Valen says at once, taking a step towards her. He towers over her, a mountain of muscle. “She may pay, but not with flesh. I know something of magical laws. She hasn’t taken a bite of your house—she’s only licked it. So you won’t be taking any of her flesh.”
The witch’s face crumples into a mask of rage, but it seems that Valen has her dead to rights—she can’t demand a bite of me because I never took a bite of her house. Thank the Goddess.
Then her face smoothes out and a crafty expression takes the place of the rage.
“So Drake, let me try to understand. You serve her and protect her, do you not?”
Valen’s face is like stone.
“I do,” he says simply.
“So she’s in charge, is she?” She eyes the silver collar he wears and then her eyes dart down to the silver ring on my forefinger. A look of realization comes over her face. “Perhaps you even serve her unwillingly, no?”
