Knowing that should have comforted me, but I’d learned that when magical objects made decisions on my behalf, I had very little control.
As we kept flying, the trees below thickened into the Wilds, crowding together until the moonlight barely reached the ground. From this vantage point, the branches looked too tangled, too pointed, like the woods had grown claws and forgotten how to soften them. Somewhere below, a howl rose and faded, answered by another from farther east.
It sounded like Caleb.
The shifters were moving.
They were down there, running through the underbrush and along the ridges, while the orcs held the lower passes and goblins threaded through every route that might possibly matter. The sky was ours, the ground was theirs, and for once, Stonewick wasn’t stumbling after the Priestess.
But the most important thing was that we were moving as one.
The thought should have lit something inside me, but it sharpened the fear because Celeste and my mom were somewhere ahead.
And the Priestess had already proven she knew exactly where to cut to make me bleed.
A faint dark line appeared below us, cutting through the Wilds like an old wound that never healed, and my stomach clenched.
Shadows glowed faintly beneath the trees, almost invisible except for the way my magic recoiled from it. There was a black vein in the land, pulsing and watching.
Twobble leaned around my side just enough to look down, then immediately regretted the decision and tucked his face against my coat.
The broom dipped slightly, following the curve of the path below, and the witches behind me adjusted course. A few startled gasps drifted through the air as they spotted the darkness.
“I’ll take care of it,” Nova called.
Witches flanked my sides as Twobble clung to me, and I felt a burning ache.
They trusted me, and I desperately hoped I deserved it.
The horizon darkened ahead in a way that had nothing to do with night. The land itself seemed to change color as we crossed the invisible line. The trees below lost their shape first, their branches bending wrong, trunks twisted as though they had been grown in soil that whispered terrible things. Leaves clung in ragged patches, dull and bruised-looking, and bare limbs reached upward like gnarled fingers trying to pull us from the sky.
We’d entered Shadowick, and the air shifted so quickly my lungs tightened as the heaviness clung to each breath I took.
My birthmark prickled, but the scar remained numb. Hopefully, the Priestess still could not track me.
Thank you, Grandma Elira…or the pendant…or Twobble’s moonstone.
At this point, I was willing to thank jewelry, ancestors, and possibly the broom if it didn’t kill me.
The village of Shadowick came into view below, and every witch behind me seemed to quiet without anyone speaking.Low, dark buildings crouched along crooked streets, their roofs slanted and sagging as if the sky had been leaning on them for years. Chimneys released thin strands of smoke that didn’t rise so much as twist sideways, curling along rooftops before thinning into the black air.
Everything about the village felt wrong and dark, and it had always felt that way since I first encountered it. I couldn't help but wonder if the citizens of Shadowick liked it that way, or what stopped them from rebelling.
There were no warm lanterns glowing in windows, cheerful signs swinging above shops, or bursts of laughter spilling from doorways.
Stonewick always sounded alive, even in its quieter hours. Teacups and footsteps. Bells and murmurs. The occasional goblin complaint echoing from somewhere it shouldn’t.
We skimmed higher above the first row of buildings, and I spotted faces looking up from below. I spotted pale shapes in windows, and figures in long coats.
But no Celeste.
A crooked square opened in the center of the village, dominated by a jagged black monument jutting from the stone like something forced up from underground. The shape made my eyes water if I looked at it too long, and the broom shifted beneath me as if it didn’t care for the sight either.
“Get going a little quicker,” I whispered.
The broom obeyed.
For once.
