It was not much.
But it was enough.
And it took the grains of salt with it. That tiny crack in the thin circle was all I needed.
I flung my hands forward, unspent power surging from my fingertips. Two columns of frost shot from my hands, wrapping around each of the men. The swirling torrent of snow and ice and frigid air started at the ground, then climbed up around their calves to their knees. The smaller one threw himself backward, trying to run, just as he had before. But the other bellowed with rage instead.
I curled my fingers into my palms, fisting my hands abruptly, closing off the torrent. Only the silence of the deserted street allowed me such control. The power inside of me screamed inprotest, clambering to escape after all of those torturous minutes of confinement. But I held it, used it to lift the corners of my mouth in a smile that wiped any remnants of the smirk off my attacker’s face.
He fought against the restraint, but the wall of ice and snow held him to the waist, keeping his hands pinned at his sides.
I watched in appreciation as the ice encasing the smaller one turned translucent, temporarily warming as he pissed himself.
The crow that had watched the entire spectacle cawed again in the distance. A chorus of sound leaked from inside the tavern. A brawl, probably. Both heads turned hopefully toward the closed door.
I clucked my tongue. “They cannot save you.” As I spoke, tendrils of frost climbed their bodies, like hands stretching out their fingers, up over their cheeks, curling around their eyes. The smaller one cried out again, shivering violently as the intruding cold entered his nostrils and ears.
The other sputtered, shaking his head, choking as he tried uselessly to dispel the cold that infiltrated his body, freezing him from the inside out.
“You bitch,” he managed, spit dribbling down his stubbled chin.
I allowed myself the space of one breath to savor the horror on their faces, illuminated by the glowing blue light of my coven mark.
Then I lifted my hand and uncurled my fingers, releasing the full torrent of repressed power. “I think you meanwitch.”
Whatever unclever retort rose to his lips, the man did not get the chance to say it. The muscles of his face froze in place a second before the rest of him. I watched as the glint of life drained from his eyes.
A sharp pain cleaved into my chest, ripping me from the trance of rage and power.
He was dead.
My power collapsed, the ice that held the two men in place shattering. They both fell. The smaller one tried to catch himself. The other could not.
I lifted my hands from my sides, expecting to see them thick with blood or coated in frost. But my palms were smooth and unremarkable. There was no indication of the power that lurked beneath my skin, the power I’d just used to kill a man.
A man who’d wanted to burn me alive. I’d killed him for protection. I’d killed for less. But the ache in my chest did not particularly care. Three hundred and seventy-seven years, and I’d never gotten better at it.
The accomplice whimpered on the ground.
He’d been just as keen as his companion. I should have killed him, too.
But instead, a single word fell from my lips. “Run.”
He could not. He crawled, and then limped, the lower two-thirds of his body still half-frozen from the pillar I’d made him into.
I stayed until he disappeared, until my sharpened senses told me that he was nowhere to be seen or heard or smelled. I fought through the unwelcome torrent of emotions that pulsed through me in waves, trying to focus on what came next.
Three nights had been too long.
From now on, I would not linger longer than two. Maybe it was time to desert Canmar altogether. I’d lingered here out of a sense of familiarity I did not want to acknowledge, moving from one ragged hovel to another. Once, I could have hidden in the city of thousands indefinitely. But now, the population was too greatly reduced.
I already carried all of my possessions on my body, but I sighed as I resigned myself to the fact that I could not return tothe deserted attic where I’d lodged the last few weeks. I would spend the night in the cold.
I dragged my boot through the surrounding snow, destroying what remained of the salt circle. I did not let myself look back at the remains of the man on the ground. I could not avoid what I’d done. I could only add it to the litany of crimes I kept in my conscience. The wounds I’d done to the world. I’d avoid them for now, because I had to keep moving forward. I had to get out of Velora.
But there was no avoiding the witch who stepped out of the shadows.
CHAPTER 3
