Movement flickered in the darkness behind Eleanor. Maddie fought the sudden rush of excitement and terror. Teresa had found the courage to move out of the cell, but all Eleanor had to do was turn slightly and she’d see the teenager as plain as day. “Surely a sorcerer can find a better way to sustain her looks than killing innocent children.”
Teresa was easing around the edge of the cavern entrance, a ragged white shape framed by the cold fire’s flickering light.
“There is nothing as powerful as blood magic, and only blood magic can sustain me now.” Eleanor raised an eyebrow and studied Maddie critically. “How old do you think I am?”
The crone had looked at least a hundred years old, but something in Eleanor’s tone suggested the number was higher. Much higher. “I really have no idea.”
Teresa crept past the entrance of the cavern and disappeared into the trees. Maddie didn’t relax. Couldn’t afford to when the woman standing opposite her could take the shape of a panther and easily catch the fleeing teenager.
“My dear, I am five hundred and twenty-two years old. Hold it well, don’t I?”
Maddie blinked. Five hundred and twenty-two years old? No wonder the woman was mad—she’d watched the entire world change around her while she remained the same.
“What about Hank? How old was he?”
“He was younger by several hundred years. It took me a while to find a man who was both trainable and, shall we say, as bloodthirsty as me.”
The sound of a branch snapping whipped across the clearing, as sharp as a gunshot. Eleanor spun around and stared into the trees.
Maddie waited tensely, listening to the silence and hoping Teresa had the good sense not to move. After several long heartbeats, Eleanor turned back.
“As much as I have enjoyed our little chat, it’s time to move. Our guests are approaching.”
Something in Eleanor’s dark gaze made Maddie retreat a step. Eleanor smiled and waved her left hand casually. Ice snapped across Maddie’s skin and held her tight. She couldn’t move, could only watch as Eleanor made another motion with her hand and encased her in a wide circle of fire.
“Now, for my masterpiece.” The flames parted as Eleanor walked through them, like slaves bowing before their master. “But I’m afraid you won’t be around to see it.”
The witch waved a hand. Maddie’s silent scream was lost as the darkness encased her mind.
“DON’T MOVE,” JON WARNED SOFTLY.
He knelt down and studied the trail ahead. Something didn’t feel right.
He picked up the rock near his feet and lobbed it ten feet ahead. There was a slight tremor in the bushes to his left, and a swoosh of air as an arrow imbedded itself in the tree trunk to their right. He watched it quiver lightly in the mottled light of the forest. White ash, just like the one that had landed him in the well. And, in an odd sort of way, sent him Maddie.
“Set off by motion, and placed to injure, not kill,” Mack commented softly.
Jon nodded and picked up another rock, lobbing it farther ahead. Another arrow thudded into a tree. “Just in case the first one missed.” A third rock had no effect.
He glanced back down the trail and frowned. A whisper of movement told him they were being followed. Mack’s men, probably. It certainly didn’t feel like Eleanor. Besides, the witch wouldn’t make any noise.
He turned his attention back to the trail ahead. He couldn’t feel any more traps. “Looks safe to move on.”
He rose and led the way forward. No more arrows thudded out of trees to greet them—in fact, the trail seemed entirely too easy. He’d expected Eleanor to play with him a bit more, yet he was over halfway up the mountain and so far had only a few poorly placed arrows to contend with.
Worry snaked through his gut. Something was wrong.
Ahead, a branch snapped—a sharp sound that seemed to echo through the unnatural silence of the forest. He stopped quickly, listening. For several seconds there was no further sound, then he heard a soft, fearful sob. Even as hope rose, he squashed it. The sob didn’t belong to Maddie—it was much too young-sounding. Eleanor would have no doubt ensured the mountain was empty of human habitation—she certainly couldn’t afford to have strangers wandering into the middle of her blood sacrifice. Which meant the person he could hear just might be the kidnapped girl. From the sound of it, she was heading down the trail toward them.
“Trouble?” Mack asked quietly, his hand hovering near his gun.
“Someone’s running toward us—someone who’s frightened and unsteady on their feet. It just might be our missing kid.”
Mack raised his eyebrow. “You can tell all this standing here?”
Jon gave him a grim smile. “I can. And so can Eleanor, if she’s as close as we are. Let’s move.”
They scrambled up the trail, ducking low-hanging branches and trying to make as little noise as possible. Jon leaped over a slime-encrusted rock, but his footing slipped coming down, and he landed awkwardly. A needle-hot lance of pain ran up his leg. He swore to himself and limped on for several more steps, then stopped and grabbed at his leg.