Touch of Evil - Cecy Robson Page 0,35

understand. They already proved their strength against the necromancer.”

“Not these Lessers, Emme. The Lessers you speak of wanted to be something and made something of themselves. They stayed in school and learned. They didn’t get kicked out on their asses and asked never to return.”

I think back to the bodies Shayna and Koda are investigating. “They’re Lessers who never graduated or developed their magic,” I reason.

“Duds,” Gerald agrees. “Their power was piddly at best. That didn’t stop them from wanting what their brethren had, the clout, the prestige, a coven.” He spits on the ground, or at least tries to. “They formed their own family and went after everything they felt was owed to them, including vengeance.”

“Vengeance against whom, exactly?” I ask.

He laughs, his voice echoing in the small area. “Anyone and everyone who ever told them they were nothing.”

“While I don’t agree, I can understand their bitterness,” I say. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“I don’t know. All I know is the mousy one was after you.” He shrugs, although it looks odd when a body without a head does it. “The master told me to keep you safe. I did. Look at where it landed me.”

Gerald slaps his hands against the beach when the pool reaches his shoulders. He pushes up on his arms and suddenly stops moving.

I turn in the direction of his darting eyes. “You want to know what all this has to do with you?” he asks.

My hands spread out at my sides as the magic builds along the wall. “They’re coming, aren’t they?” I ask.

“No,” Gerald says. “They’re already here.”

Chapter Eleven

Emme

A small section of cave dissolves. It’s unlike when Bren pressed his weight and said, “Abre.” The walls don’t crawl away and create a larger opening. This is different. A fissure creates in the structure and parts like a heavy curtain, allowing two women hooded in worn gray cloaks through. As soon as they pass, the opening closes behind them.

The first witch is petite, like me, only malnourished. I can tell by the way the cloak clings to her small, hunched frame. Her hands curl deep within the sleeves as if she’s cold. The second witch follows closely, shuffling her feet. She should lead, I think. She’s taller and while as underfed as the first, she’s physically more imposing.

Like Gerald, I already know I can fight them alone. They’re neither formidable nor healthy. They’re sick. My healing touch senses their worsening states as they approach. I’m uncertain what’s happened exactly but their bodies are turning against them. I can feel it.

With their hoods as long as they are, their faces are obscured and their vision limited. But when I do catch my first glance, I wish I hadn’t.

Long black whiskers poke out on either side of a little pink nose encased in white and copper fur. She pauses almost in front of me and whips back her hood.

“You’re alive,” she squeaks. And I do mean “squeaks.”

“Ah,” I answer.

Gerald described her as “mousey.” He should have said she is actually a mouse.

The fur around her eyes and nose are white, the rest of her, including her fuzzy ears are copper. And her hands? Those same hands I thought she huddled deep in her sleeves because she was cold. They’re not hands. They’re shriveled paws.

She would be cute. If she wasn’t so creepy!

I should lift her and her friend into the air. I should smash both of them against the rock wall and quickly kill them. Taran would.

But I just can’t.

She turns to her friend. “What are we going to do, Farrah?” she asks. “I can’t kill her, and I won’t hurt her.”

Farrah whips back her hood. “You’re asking me, Merche? I didn’t sign up for any of this.”

Not to be mean, but I can honestly say Merche is the better looking of the two. Where Merche is a mouse (possibly a guinea pig?), Farrah is a fish!

The rest of Farrah’s body is human and possibly naked under that cloak. Her head is that of a blowfish. She doesn’t have fins, and honestly, that’s the only blessing. Large bulging eyes blink back at me and pulsating gills make up her ears. Her head inflates and deflates as her extra-large, fish lips, take in copious puffs of air.

The fact that they don’t attack and are hesitant to hurt me keeps me in place. “What do you want from me?” I ask. “And what did you do with Bren?”

They jolt, surprised it seems that I