Conclusion: Boring. Eliminated from the suspect list.
Kit, Mary, and their siblings met at the rendezvous just as they had discussed. It was about a mile out from where theywere to meet the Weavers, and about a half-hour early, just the way Kit had wanted. He wanted to see all of his foster siblings who’d volunteered, make sure that they were actually prepared for what was to come.
"Do we really need to bring so many?" he asked Mary, his voice low. He looked at the group of lined-up witches, all of whom he recognized. Little Liliana, whose cheeks used to be flush with freckles, now only had a few dusting her cheekbones. She gave him a smile. Simon, who shot up 3 inches taller than Kit, stood right beside her. Dustin, Camilla, Teresa, William, Tyler, Kevan. All witches whom he'd grown up with at Nona's orphanage, and all looking scared shitless despite standing in that line. "And they can fight?"
Mary gave him a look. "None of us had to fight like you did. We specialize in charms and we've had a few skirmishes, but not like a desert rat does."
Dustin stepped up. "We're all over 18 now, Kit. I wanna go help save our siblings."
"I already had to shove everybody who was underage back," Mary said. "Thisis the cut-down list."
Kit closed his eyes. Gentry had counted 12 witches at the hideout with the kids. Mercenary witches who'd been hired by the Nethertons. They'd be used to fighting, to dueling, to killing. And they had to be precise in timing for this to work in parallel with Gentry’s curse breaking. They couldn’t afford rookie mistakes.
Taking in a deep breath, Kit walked front-and-center of the line and pretended like he wasn’t looking at the kids he’d babysat for years. “This goes exactly how I say. Dustin and Teresa will back the Weavers up, and when I sayback up, I really mean you’ll be throwing a few support spells and staying the hell back. They take the damage for you, you run if one of them goes down”—he directed his attention to the rest—“and you’ll followme into a back entrance. Our job is to get the kids out. We bail if more than two enemies find us. A few kids are better than no kids. Understood?”
He watched as a few of them blanched, but didn’t continue until they all nodded. “Afterwards, Mary will lead you out while I look for Amelia.”
Kit glanced back at Mary, who he wasn’t surprised to see looking upset. She’d dedicated her life to keeping all the orphans safe. The idea of leaving one of their youngest siblings would be the hardest for her.
“Once the mission starts, everybody will refrain from making noise of any kind unless absolutely necessary,” he instructed, “we’re flying high and then walking to the base.”
All of that said, Kit showed them a few basic hand signals while Mary dished out lethal charms like candy. Then they were off, flying in formation to their final rendezvous with the Weavers.
He wasn’t the least bit surprised when they arrived at the spot first and then one of the fastest broom dives he’d ever seen rocketed to the ground. The dust cleared to show a chipper Clea. Luke joined a few moments later, his flying far less showy.
His siblings’ ooh’ing and aaah’ing did little to improve his already sour mood.
“Luke,” he greeted, readily ignoring Clea.
The big Weaver nodded his head in greeting and then they got to work. Kit introduced Dustin and Teresa to the Weavers, and was pleased when the former pair didn’t provide any of the fanfare that the others had. Rather, they fell in line, their faces pale and serious under the moonlight.
“Remember what I told you,” he reminded the pair, and they nodded. He ignored Clea’s mocking smile sent his way.
“We’ll keep them safe,” Luke said, his words solemn, and Kit felt some modicum of relief that Clea’s mismatched boyfriendwas on the raid. He hadn’t heard much about the big Weaver who was in put in charge of the tax collection in Skadra, but after spending only a little time, he could tell the clever, level-headed man was seriously underutilized.
Clea and Luke left first, flying markedly slower so that Dustin and Teresa could keep pace.
Kit then mounted his broom and made a fist, signaling for his group to rise. He then took off, knowing without looking that his siblings were right behind them. They flew for only a few miles before he made the signal for them all to descend and dismount, strapping their lightweight brooms to their backs.
Even from about a mile out, the lit torches from the Nethertons’ cliff-face lair were visible, but Kit led the group at an angle to where they’d be climbing up the cliff rather than approaching directly.
That was the Weavers’ job — to distract and eliminate the threats.
Normally, it’d be an ideal job for Kit and his talent for rapid spells, but he couldn’t be in two places at once. They needed at least one skilled combatant in case some enemies slipped through, and Kit much preferred himself over the two strange witches whose reasons for helping weren’t quite clear to him.
Kit tempered his pace once they reached the base of the cliff, his breath coming easily. A glance backward confirmed that everyone was with him. The walk up the cliff should’ve been a difficult one due to the deep sands, but Mary had already charmed all of their shoes to walk atop, their footsteps invisible. Kit couldn’t help but admire the ingenuity.
The further up the cliff they went, the better view they had of the various carved rooms on the cliff side. Only a few at the bottom were lit, but flickering hinted at the deeper tunnels Gentry had drawn out for them.
Once he reached the top of the cliff, Kit held his fist out once more. His brothers and sisters froze. He peeked over the edge. His trained eyes caught glimpses of Dustin and Teresa poised at either ends of the cliff system, no doubt preparing to provide cover fire. The Weavers were nowhere to be seen.
Kit checked his watch. 0159. They were right on time.
He tried to not think about the excision, that Gentry was likely having part of her soul ripped out at just this second. Everyone was depending on him not thinking about it.
She was going to be fine. She had to be.
The sounds of men and women shouting, screaming signaled that the minute had passed, and Kit took that as his signal, taking the one step necessary to go off the side of the cliff face into freefall. The wind rushed past him as he swung himself onto his broom, expertly whipping into one of the darkened crevices. His feet hit crumbled rock with a crunch. He heard the others follow, a few far clumsier than he would’ve liked.
