Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1)

“Anything willing to deal,” I reply with a shrug.

“What could offer enough power to do what the witch is doing?” Percival asks.

“A dark entity, a fairy—”

“The place could be in or around a fairy ring. It fits because it would require a gift to summon and control a fairy,” Miles remarks.

“But where? There are plenty of places to summon a Fae.”

“That’s where the heart of darkness must come in,” Rene says.

I take a seat on the end of the couch, and Cristobal sinks down beside me. I lean into him. Luz hands me a brownie, and I smile my thanks. It’s been slow going, but we’re mending the broken bridge between us. I nibble at the decadent baked good and let my mind wander. It can’t be just any forest. The phrase is too specific. The heart of darkness was often thought to mean the evil instincts of man we all have.

“The dark forest seems too easy, doesn’t it?” Miles asks.

“It does. But many deals have been made there. My gut tells me we’re wrong. If we aren’t literal, perhaps it’s an allegory that alludes to the evil we’re all capable of.”

“How would that be represented in real life, though?” Luz asks.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Where’s a place you’re forced to look at yourself?”

“In a mirror,” Percival says.

The words make something click. “Water casts a reflection.”

“The Black Well,” Cristobal says.

Once used by pilgrims who believed it could wash away their sins, the Black Well is full of negative entities. The broken-down structure has crumbled and sunk into the ground. The thought of what would slither up to it to make a deal is terrifying. I sigh. “We have to go there. Sabine said we’d find answers there.”

“You put so much stock in the old witch?” Marcellus asks.

“We made a witch’s promise. Magic doesn’t lie. The words she spoke were the truth.”

***

In the middle of a dense forest, the well is all but invisible to the layperson. I can feel the energy it emits from the road. The bumps that cover my arms and neck are at odds with the muggy atmosphere. The Puritan well is a craggy hole in the ground. From a distance I can’t see it, but I can feel it. The pulsing magic sends out a call in an attempt to snare those willing to pay the price. The air is electric with possibility. I glance at my companions.

“Can you feel it?”

“Not in the way you do,” Cristobal replies.

“It’s a vortex. A portal that allows things to travel between realms,” Miles explains.

“No wonder it feels so icky.” We pause inches away from the circular structure, and all I want to do is get as far away from it as possible.

I crouch down to examine the crumbling stone, feeling out the aura. “I know how they got their power. Blood magic.”

“Can you track it?”

“In a way.” My skin crawls at the thought of doing a summoning here, but I’m left with no choice. “I can summon and ask questions.” Shrugging the backpack off, I set it on the ground.

“You don’t know what the witch struck a bargain with.”

“No, but I’m looking for information, not power. I’ve come prepared to trade. All eyes are watching here. I don’t have to be specific.”

Summonings are always dangerous. It doesn’t mean I can’t take calculated risks to minimize the danger. I line up everything I’ll need within the space, pop the cap on my bottle water, and fill the bronze bowl.

I envision clean white light as I draw the circle large enough to encompass us all with chalk, and follow the lines with salt to reinforce it. I set each item in a corner before I stand, anthame in hand, and make a clockwise circle, closing it magically before I begin to call down protection.