“We will depart on the ley line bridge, then journey toward the Carpathian Mountains,” he says.
“What is in the Carpathian Mountains?” Henrietta dares to ask.
“My stash of resources,” he answers with a wry smile. “Do you think I would gather them all in one place?”
Chuckles of relief follow this comment.
“I have a place prepared for us. Do not fear.” Balázs sets his arm around Ágota and my shoulders. “Let us depart this place.”
The portal to the ley line bridge bursts to life at his beckoning and our strange group of witches and cats stroll along the magical path. I gaze down at the castle and town that were our home these last years. Already the banner of King Charles flies above the gates. Scowling, I lift my eyes to regard the hundreds of tents that shelter our enemies filling the valley.
Several cats brush past my ankles urging me forward. Our time here is ticking away for the spell is almost at an end. There is a mad scramble to reach the end of the bridge before the others can follow. Balázs has sworn to not hurt the coven, but none of us trust Fülöp after his rebellion. When we reach the mountainside, I feel the spell snap and time return to its normal course. Twisting about, I gaze down the long, iridescent bridge waiting to see if we will be pursued.
“Are they coming?” someone asks worriedly.
After the last cat skitters off the bridge to join us, Ágota takes a sharp step forward.
“Let them try,” she snarls, thrusting out both hands.
The ley line bridge explodes, balls of colorful magic flooding the air. Ágota spins about, pulling the magic to her. The orbs of shimmering magic rain down upon her, singing like chimes in wind.
“Give it to me!” I shout at her.
Ágota’s fingers flex and twitch and the rainbow miasma floods into her. Her hair stands on end as she laughs with joy. I step toward her and she rests her hand on my shoulder. I am instantly flooded with magic, but it turns red and black in my veins before flooding out into the valley below.
My magic fills every soldier of King Charles’ army, overwhelming them with the need to kill. I permeate their hearts with rage and blind their eyes to the truth. I flood them with visions of their enemies descending on them and spur them to battle. In seconds, the soldiers of King Charles are hacking away at each other, steel clashing with steel, blood spilling onto the soil. They will slaughter each other and none shall remain alive.
“Let Fülöp explain to King Charles what happened to his army,” I say, victory throbbing in my soul.
“Our time here is done,” Balázs says with satisfaction. “Now we depart.”
Spinning about, I join the others on our trek toward the mountains. The sounds of battle fill my ears and magic trembles in the air. I smirk at the thought of Fülöp trying to rule now. The ley line bridge was a source of much of the coven’s magic.
“Do you think we are as wicked as Fülöp said?” Ágota asks me.
“Oh, yes,” I reply.
We both giggle as she takes my hand.
Neither one of us looks back toward the castle. We lost our home before and we know we shall find another. This time we are not alone for Balázs and the loyalist of the coven are with us.
Our future lies elsewhere.
Chapter 17
Time is slipping past me as rapidly as a mountain stream. My memories are a blur of sound, colors, and briefly glimpsed faces of those I love. I struggle to grasp onto the images rushing through my mind, but fail in my endeavor. I am a slave to this curse, my free will stolen by its power. I can only relive that which it desires for me to remember.
I am trapped between existing in the present and the past and frustrated by my inability to awaken. Try as I may, I am unable to rouse myself and escape the spell. Worse yet, I cannot control which memories I revisit, which confirms that the curse is seeking out specific events.
But for what purpose?
I am assailed by questions.
Does Lucifer still stand at my side? Did he truly exclaim that this curse is witch magic? If it is witch magic, who cast it? Is this a remnant of Ágota’s power? Or did another witch cast it in hopes of finding me? Has Balázs finally forgiven me?
I am torn from my ruminations by a familiar tug drawing me through the miasma of memories to one point in my long life. The world solidifies around me into a dark, icy evening. I shiver beneath my thick fur cloak and my boots sink deep into drifts of snow as I trudge upward through the tree line toward the craggy summits of the Carpathian Mountains. The icy wind stings my cheeks and flutters my hair while snow flecks my clothing.
Balázs and Ágota stroll before me, surrounded by the cats. The familiars leave small paw prints in the snow that I find charming. In the light cast by sizzling torches held by the faithful witches of the coven, we trudge along the narrow path that winds through the trees.