“Small time?” The enraged bellow shook through the pit over and over. “I dinna ken that term, but I feel the meaning in yer tone.” A bolt of lightning exploded into the nearest pile of bones and sent them flying.
Calia grinned. She loved it when she hit a nerve and caused a reaction. “So you’re Bansys, then. Time’s up, witch. When Mathison gets here, you’re going to be sorry.”
“The only one who will be sorry is yerself and that wretch of a man who canna seem to accept when he is bested.” A harsh gust of wind hit Calia, peppering her with shards of ice. “What a fool he is. Binding himself to a mere mortal.”
“There is nothing mere about me, and you know it.” Calia licked the cut on her lip while swiping her hand across her face. The coppery tang of her blood not only pissed her off but strengthened her. “You know I am a shifter.”
The witch cackled. “A shifter who canna shift nor use her magic.”
“I lit this place up, didn’t I?” Calia refused to give an inch because every time Bansys spoke, the faintest hint of uncertainty and fear came through in her tone. Calia could almost smell it—like a sweet perfume, and she wasn’t about to give the witch the satisfaction of smelling that same scent on her. “I’m a quick study, and I have all kinds of guidance down here.”
A blinding light shot through the void, and another pile of bones exploded. “That is how ye light things up, ye insolent wretch.”
“There’s got to be something we can do to her,” Calia thought to Intuition. “Help me out here.”
“She is not here. It is merely her consciousness that she projects from wherever she hides.”
“Bansys the Gutless,” Calia called out, sneering upward as she walked in a circle and taunted. “Do the people of the Shadowmist Clan really fear you or just pity you?”
An enraged shriek split the air, followed by a white-hot bolt of energy that hit Calia square in the chest and shot her backwards, into the wall of the pit. Gulping and wheezing to replace the air that had been knocked out of her, furious that the cowardly crone had taken such a cheap shot, Calia stumbled forward, then instinctively threw her hands forward and unleashed the razor-sharp hair combs, using them to return the insulting burst of magic to its owner. “Back at you, hag!” She so wanted to call the witch a few colorful words, but wouldn’t break her promise to little Gillian.
Bansys screamed again, but this time it sounded as though she might be in pain. A harder shower of icicles pelted down, sending Calia back against the wall to cower under the narrow lip of a ledge.
“Ye will pay for yer insolence, mortal,” Bansys said in a low growl, but she sounded weaker than before. “If ye still live when the haughty one shows himself, ye will watch me end him before I end ye.”
“All I’m going to watch is when my wolf rips out your throat.” With her chest starting to throb and burn, Calia sagged back against the wall, scooped up a handful of ice, and held it against her sternum to ease the pain. “She’s got an old score to settle with you, witch. I’m sure it will be a happy reunion.”
“I dinna fear the pale alpha.” But the air reeked with Bansys’s leeriness.
“That’s not what I smell,” Calia said in a sing-song voice she knew would anger the crone.
Another shaft of energy exploded so close that she covered her head with both arms and spun about to face the wall, flinching as shards of something, ice, shale, or bone fragments, tore through her clothing and pierced her flesh. She really should have worn those clothes Kernia made. The layers of wool and linen would’ve protected her better. Next time, she’d listen and remember this lesson.
“She is gone,” Intuition said. “Ye weakened her.”
The witch wasn’t the only one weakened, but Calia wouldn’t admit that to Intuition or to Legion. With her shoulder butted against the wall, she concentrated on slow, steady breathing to get the pain under control. “I’ve got to get a handle on this shifter magic I’m supposed to have. The parlor trick of lighting up this hole isn’t enough. I need firepower.”
“Ye are bleeding,” whispered one of Legion’s softer voices.
She swallowed hard and hugged herself tighter, trying not to shiver. “It’ll stop soon enough. I don’t think anything serious is damaged.”
“Start a fire, mistress,” deep-voiced Legion advised. “Ye need warmth.”
“I don’t have any matches, nor do I have any wood.” She’d love to start a fire, but that was currently just a dream. A sense of hopelessness settled across her. She shook her head. No. She couldn’t give up. Mathison was coming.
“What are matches?” deep voice asked.
“Sticks of wood or sometimes cardboard that are dipped in chemicals that flare into a flame when you rub them against something rough.” Never in her life would she have imagined she’d be explaining the concept of matches to a ghost at the bottom of a pit.
“Like a tinderbox,” a softer-voiced Legion said. “Sounds like a tinderbox.”
“Something like that.” Calia closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm and, above all, strong. Bad guys always sensed weakness, and even though the witch might be slightly afraid, she was also very bad.
“Neither Carman nor Bansys stripped ye of yer magic, because they thought ye ignorant of yer powers,” soft voice said. “But ye could use it to start a fire. Incaendo is the simplest of spells used to teach our children how to control their energies.”
Doing her best to remain civil while trying to manage the nauseating pain radiating through her, Calia slid down to her knees and leaned against the wall. “There’s no wood down here. Only stone and ice.”
“Burn our bones, mistress,” deep voice said. “It would be our honor.”
