To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) (19 page)

He’d positioned himself between Céline and the meadow.

Whirling, she had no choice but to run the other direction, toward the stream.

*   *   *

Back at the campfire, Helga poured another steaming mug of tea and handed it to Jaromir—who already held a mug in his right hand.

“Take this in to Amelie,” she said. “If the sisters are taking a break to follow a lead, I’m sure she could use a bit of tea . . . and some company.”

With a nod, he took the mug and headed off for the blue wagon.

Craning her head, she glanced back at Marcus, who stood behind her with a fairly miserable look on his face. Poor thing. In spite of her well-warranted opinion of shifters, she couldn’t help liking him. He was one of the good ones. “You want some tea?”

He shook his head.

She was about to tell him to come and sit down when
a nag so strong that it caused pain hit the back of her head. She gasped and fell forward. In a flash, Marcus was beside her, holding her up.

Shoving him off, she grabbed a small stick from the fire and pulled it out so she could focus down upon a small flame.

Blessed fire in the night

Show me what is in the sight

Show me what brings fight or flight

Blessed fire in the night

The scene around her vanished and the mists closed in. When they cleared, she was in the forest, and she could hear the sound of the rushing stream. An instant later, Céline, her face awash with terror ran past, catching her skirt on a bush and jerking it loose as she ran on.

The sounds of raging snarls came from behind her. . . .

Gasping again, Helga turned to Marcus. “It’s Céline! She’s somewhere by the stream and Jago’s after her. Go! Go!”

Before the final word left her mouth, he was sprinting for the tree line almost faster than she could follow with her eyes. Reaching into her boot, she withdrew a long hunting knife and stood up. Common sense told her to call out for Jaromir and then run.

“Jaromir! To the stream! Céline’s in trouble.”

Then she ran after Marcus, moving much faster than anyone might expect.

*   *   *

Amelie tensed slightly when Jaromir came into the wagon alone with two steaming mugs of tea. His company was not unwelcome, just the opposite. She simply hoped that he didn’t want to “talk” about things or ask questions about how their relationship had changed.

At present, she wasn’t sure she had any answers for him.

“Tea?” he asked, holding up a mug.

She nodded. “You should stay anyway. When Céline comes back, I’m hoping we might actually have a short list of suspects.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Apparently, Prince Malcolm has been—” She was cut off by the sound of Helga shouting outside.

“Jaromir! To the stream! Céline’s in trouble.”

Dropping both mugs, Jaromir ran for the door, and Amelie followed. He jumped over the stairs and landed on the ground, looking all ways.

“I don’t see Helga!” he called.

Amelie ran to join him. She didn’t see Marcus, either. “She said the stream! Go!”

He bolted with her on his heels.

*   *   *

Céline knew Jago was playing with her.

As a panther, on all fours, he could have caught her easily, but he seemed to be enjoying letting her run for now. She raced through the trees and the brush along the stream, but sooner or later, either he would catch her or she’d have to turn and fight.

She had no weapons, and even amid panic, she
scanned the ground for a stout branch or anything she might grab. Amelie always relied on the element of surprise, and Céline struggled to channel her sister’s courage.

Up ahead, near a wide spruce tree, she spotted a large jagged rock. Without slowing until she was almost upon it, she grasped it as she ran past and then dodged halfway around the side of the tree to use it for partial cover. She hoped he’d keep coming without seeing what she’d grabbed so that she might land a hard blow to his head. If she even stunned him, it could give her a chance to run back toward the meadow.

But when she turned, he’d stopped and he was once again in the form of a man, naked, standing near the rushing water in the stream below.

“The line of Fawe!” he spat. “So proud. You think yourself above me, above my family. What do you think of me now?”

In a blink, he was a panther again on all fours, and he charged. With little choice, Céline stood her ground, gripping the jagged rock, ready to attempt a strike. He was coming so fast she panted in fear, already picturing his claws slashing her face and her throat.

Then . . . when he was two body lengths from her, something black dashed through a bush to her left and smashed into Jago hard enough to knock him off his feet. Both forms rolled down into the stream with a splash.

Snarls and roars and growls exploded in the air, and she ran to the edge of the bank to look down. A tall black wolf—Marcus—was still rolling through the water with the panther. The panther slashed with both claws as the wolf fought for a hold on its throat.

All Céline’s instincts screamed at her to help Marcus, but she didn’t know how and she dared not get in his way. Both animals moved downstream as they continued to fight.

“Céline, stay there!” a voice called.

Helga emerged from the trees, downstream, directly above the wolf and the panther. The wolf leaped off the panther, and then charged back in, going for its throat and pinning it in the stream. The panther slashed, leaving bloody wounds down the wolf’s shoulder, but the wolf didn’t let go and held it there, biting deeper.

To Céline’s shock, Helga ran down the bank into the stream.

“No!” Céline cried, fearing for the old woman’s life.

But Helga raised her large knife and drove it down right through the panther’s left eye, dropping all her weight and sinking the blade into its skull.

Rock in hand, Céline ran toward the trio in the stream, but the panther ceased moving. The wolf let go and stumbled backward. A breath later, the panther shifted into Jago, who lay dead with his throat torn and a knife through his eye.

Marcus was himself again, too, but his face and the front side of his right shoulder were slashed and bleeding.

More crashing sounded in the brush, and then Jaromir and Amelie emerged from between two trees downstream. Both gripped long knives.

Jaromir’s eyes dropped to the sight of Jago’s body.

Céline ran for Marcus, gripping him to keep him from falling. The slashes on his face were superficial, but his shoulder was bad. Blood flowed from the
two deepest slashes and ran down his stomach over his hip.

“We have to get him back,” she called.

Jaromir and Amelie hurried over, and Jaromir looked down at Jago. “Marcus, you killed him?”

“No,” Helga answered. “I did.”

That night, a gathering of the leaders was called.

A large group stood around a burning campfire at the east end of the wagons.

From what Céline understood, at the first gathering that involved Jago, five years ago, only the heads of the families were involved, which was part of why the story had been so easy to hush up.

This time, everyone involved was present, and a good number of people from the families had gathered outside the circle to listen. Céline wondered about the difference, but Helga stood beside her and pointed to a middle-aged man with a muscular build.

“That’s Gerard,” she whispered. “New leader of the Ayres. He and Sinead both demanded this be more public.”

She hadn’t said much since killing Jago, and her eyes were hard. Céline wondered if she even cared what happened to her now.

Sinead and her husband, Terrell, walked straight to Céline and stood beside her. Jaromir and Amelie stood
a short ways back. Marcus was seated on a chair to Helga’s left. Céline had stitched the wounds, stopped the bleeding, and bandaged him. She’d begged him to remain in bed, but he insisted on coming to this gathering.

A slender man with graying hair stepped near the fire. Céline recognized him from her reading of Jago: Silvanas, leader of the Taragoš. His expression was strained and weary, and in spite of everything, Céline couldn’t help a flash of pity. The man had lost his son today.

“Helga of the line of Ayres has confessed to killing my son,” he said. “Let the judgment of the act begin.”

“Céline should speak first,” Sinead called in a strong voice, “and tell us what happened.”

Céline had known this was coming. For some reason, she turned her eyes to Gerard, thinking on his pain and sense of helplessness the day Jo had been killed, and although she’d never met this man, she spoke directly to him.

She began with Jago cornering her alone on the outskirts of the meadow, pressing his proposal, growing angry at her refusal and dragging her into the trees. She continued with the ugly chase, her finally turning to defend herself, Marcus launching in, the fight in the water, and Helga running to finish it.

“Helga had no choice,” she said. “Jago would have killed Marcus and then me.”

Gerard’s eyes were blazing, and he took shallow breaths. He was most likely reliving the past. Only then did Céline allow herself to look at some of the other
leaders. Silvanas had gone pale. Rupert appeared uncomfortable. These people had covered up a murder five years ago, and now they were being faced with the consequences.

“Marcus,” Rupert asked. “Is this what happened?”

Standing from his chair, Marcus nodded. “Yes. I almost did not arrive in time. Jago was attacking Céline, and I caught him at the last instant. He would have killed her. He had gone mad.” He looked to Silvanas. “And Helga had no choice. I was already wounded when she ran in. She saved me and Céline.”

With open reservation, Rupert addressed Helga. “You can corroborate what these two have testified?”

She glared at him. “I’ve got no call to justify myself to you. I saved a girl this time. I couldn’t save the last one. I couldn’t save my own girl. But that killer is dead and gone now. You judge me however you like. The gods know I’ve judged you.”

Sinead stepped forward. Her body was tight. “I propose a judgment of self-defense or defense in the case of others. Everyone in agreement raise your hand.”

Her own hand and Gerard’s rose instantly. One by one, the other leaders raised their hands. Rupert was the second to last. Finally, even Silvanas slowly raised his hand.

“Done, then,” Sinead said. “Helga, go and get some rest.”

And with that, the gathering was over. Jago was dead, and Helga’s actions had been justified.

Céline had never seen anything quite like this. It had seemed impartial and fair, but she knew from
Helga’s story that a vote of consensus did not always equate to justice.

Jaromir reached out to Marcus. “You need help walking back.”

“No, I can walk.”

Céline glanced once more to Gerard, who nodded at her and looked sadly at Helga. To the best of Céline’s knowledge, those two had not spoken to each other since Helga’s arrival. Perhaps they would both find it too painful.

Then Céline nodded to Sinead. “Thank you.”

This seemed awfully formal, but she didn’t know what else to say.

She, Amelie, Helga, Marcus, and Jaromir headed back for their own wagons. Upon reaching them, she noticed Jaromir watching Amelie with a mix of longing and uncertainty. These scant nights here, in the meadow, away from all other responsibilities, might be the last moments of peace those two would have in some time.

“Amelie,” she said, “why don’t you and Jaromir head in and rest? I’m going to take Helga to the other wagon and sit with her for a bit. She shouldn’t be alone. Is that all right?”

Startled, Amelie glanced at Jaromir and back to Céline. “Yes, of course.”

Quickly, Amelie and Jaromir vanished into the white wagon.

“I don’t need you to sit with me,” Helga said.

“I know,” Céline answered. Then she looked to Marcus. “Perhaps you should come with us and sleep in a bunk tonight?”

“No,” he answered. “I’ll sleep better by the fire.”

She had no idea what to say to him. He had saved her life today. He had taken wounds meant for her.

Turning, she fell into step beside Helga, and they both climbed the short steps and entered the blue wagon, closing the door behind themselves.

Helga went straight to the back and sank down on the lower bunk.

“Does this change anything for you?” Céline asked. “Would you want to rejoin your family?”

The older woman seemed so tired. “No. That time is past. My life is in Sèone now.” She tilted her head. “What about you? You know at some point, Sinead will try to talk you into staying.”

Yes, Céline had expected this and was surprised it hadn’t occurred yet. “My life is in Sèone, too.”

Her heart was in Sèone.

Helga lay back, and Céline went over to pull an extra blanket up over her shoulders.

“I’m not a child,” Helga grumbled.

“Let me take care of you a bit.”

Céline crouched there by the lower bunk as Helga’s eyes closed. Soon, the older woman was breathing deeply—but not snoring yet.

With reluctance, Céline rose to face the top bunk. She was exhausted, beyond exhausted, and the thought of tossing and turning up there, unable to shut off her mind, was almost too much.

Without thinking, she left the wagon quietly and walked back to their own small campfire. Marcus sat there, gazing into the flames. His dark eyes rose at her approach.

She sighed. “I know this isn’t fair to you, but I’m so tired. I need to sleep so badly.”

Without a word, he used his good arm to spread out a blanket, and then he lay down. She went to him and curled up against his back this time, pulling another blanket over both of them.

“I don’t want to press against your shoulder,” she said.

She slipped her arm around his stomach, and he grasped her hand, holding it against himself.

“Sleep,” he said.

*   *   *

Near the mid of night, Amelie lay in Jaromir’s arms, both of them still awake as he brushed his mouth over her face and neck.

She reveled in the feel of his warm, bare skin against hers, and she unconsciously ran her finger over the scars on his back. He had so many scars.

Tonight had been even more intimate and intense than last night, as she was learning what to do, what he liked, and what she liked.

The result was a revelation.

For now, she’d managed to push away all thoughts of tomorrow, and simply live for today, but she’d not been so successful with attempting to push away the past. It haunted her that this was all new to her, and Jaromir had been with so many women.

She longed to ask him one question, but she feared the answer. He was not a sweet talker and if she asked him something, he’d tell her the truth.

As if sensing something was wrong, he lifted his head with his face directly above hers.

“What is it?” he asked.

Unable to stop herself, she blurted out, “Is this . . . is it different for you from everything that came before?”

He seemed to understand exactly what she was asking him, and he didn’t answer for a few seconds.

Then he said, “Yes. It’s very different.”

She breathed in relief and didn’t press him further. For now, that was all she wanted to
know.