#breaking shadows

“My, you are a man of words,” Connor’s older brother Shane stepped out from the cover of the dense forest, chuckling to himself.

Bryn ignored Shane and whirled round on his best friend. “Can you do it or not?”

Connor Phillips pushed him out of the way muttering under his breath. “Can I do it?” He strode until he stood where Bryn had been, toes over the edge of the cliff at the most North-Eastern point of the United Kingdom.

“Shake a leg Connor. We’re in Scotland in November and it’s fucking freezing,” said Shane.

“Behave you two. Let’s remember we’re here for Jack. In and out. A five minute job. Or I’ll kick your arses.”

“Ha ha. You could try, Archer.”

Bryn smirked. “Well, the High Witch could.”

Shane rocked his head from side to side. “Fair point, my friend. Fair point.”

“Will you two shut it? I need to concentrate.” Connor closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Normally, either one of them would have taken the piss at Connor’s sharp tone. But not tonight. Both Bryn and Shane were aware how important it was that they rescued Jack Middleton and in order to get to Jack, they needed to sneak into that foreboding castle.

Bryn and Shane watched, shoulder to shoulder as Connor raised an open palm up to the moon. His shoulders rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Then the wind increased. Gales hurtled from across the open sea aiming right for them. Except they didn’t come within an inch of their faces. A tornado of wind, sea spray, leaves and dirt wrapped itself around Connor. It tore at his hair pulling it upwards. The fingers on Connor’s outstretched hand began to flex. Open then closed. Again. Finally, his hand tensed turning rigid like the rock beneath his feet before his fingers closed in a painstakingly slow movement.

And the moon’s light dulled as if someone had turned the brightness down using a dimmer switch.

Bryn would never understand Connor’s unique gift. He had a core manipulation, they all had but once in a while a witch would receive an extra ability making them highly prized by High Witches of all covens.

As bright, silver rays rotted to darker grey, the wind encircling Connor died, dropping leaves and mud onto the cliff edge. His shoulders drooped and his body shuddered.

Bryn started to count in his head. Force of habit since that incident. He formed a fist by his side, hidden from Shane. One. His thumb jutted out. Two. Forefinger followed. Three. Middle finger. Come on Connor. Four.

He didn’t realise he had been holding his breath until Connor turned around with half-glazed eyes and a lazy smile for the two men he called his brothers.

“Is that good enough for you, Obsidian Heir?” Connor arched a brow.

Bryn breathed a sigh of relief. If he could use his title in a sarcastic way, it was proof the boy was alright.

“Let’s go get Jack.”

Bryn and Connor turned to look at Shane.

“What?” he asked. “Oh. Don’t worry everyone, I’ll fetch the brooms.” Shane rolled his eyes and headed back towards the tree line.

The three men mounted their brooms on the cliff edge and held out their hands to the brush end. A burst of white magic crackled from Bryn’s hand as he fed it into the broom. Air. Once he felt his power hook into the broom and control take hold, he pushed off with his boots towards the castle. Pale light trailed his flight path.

Connor and Shane followed, their own brooms painting blue and green pathways on the black backdrop.

The sea roared beneath, angry and unrelenting. Bryn would never admit it, particularly in front of Shane but water terrified him. Always had. Whenever he neared it, there was a tightening around his lungs, invisible hands wrapping around his throat. He shook it off and focused on the door at the base of the castle. The door that old plans found within the coven archives told him led to the dungeons.

And that is where they would find Jack. Bryn just hoped they weren’t too late.

They landed right outside of their intended target with no problems. With the rocks slick beneath their feet because of the constant battering from the sea, they dismounted with care and propped their brooms up against the aging castle walls.

How typical of the Iron Moon Coven to live in a castle but that was the Darkmores all over. Pompous and stuck up their own arses. They’d always thought they were better than any other coven. Bryn pulled a face in disgust and turned the heavy iron handle on the door.

“Let’s make this quick,” said Connor, struggling to catch his breath. The other two didn’t need to say anything for him to know they agreed.

Bryn entered first. Water sloshed beneath his shoes from where the sea had penetrated the gaps in the door.

And the stench nearly floored him.

“Ugh!” moaned Shane. “What the hell is that smell?”

“Death,” said Bryn, grimly. “And decay. Come on.” Either side of him were barred cells, dank and dark. Grim indeed. He couldn’t see who or what was in each one because the only light came from Connor’s dimmed moon rays.

Bryn moved forward flanked by Connor and Shane. “Stick to the middle. We’ve no idea what’s in those cells.”

They moved quietly but nothing could stop the sound of the water under their boots.

“How do we know which one Jack’s in, if he’s even down here at all?” asked Shane. “Shall we just call his name?”

“He’s not a dog,” said Connor. “And I think shouting just might alert the Iron Moon we’re here.”

“Well you come up with a plan, smart-arse.”

“I will and it’ll be a damn sight better than yours.”

Bryn whirled on them. “Will you two shut up? Shane watch it!”

But it was too late. Shane turned to argue with his brother, his shoulder brushing against the metal bars. A clawed, scaled talon snapped out between the gaps.

“Fuck!” Shane’s hands clutched his shoulder where his now bloodied skin lay bare between the torn scraps of his shirt and coat. His knees slammed into the hard floor.

Connor reached for his brother while Bryn stepped between Shane and the cell. He raised his palm up to the cell and sent a bolt of white lightning flying through the bars. Whatever it was let out a piercing scream.The whole cell was illuminated in brilliant light. Lightning seared a mound of green-grey flesh, electric weaving in and out of its scales. Its glazed eyes bulged from a fish-like head, limp fins splayed across its face.

Connor helped Shane to his feet, the older brother hissing in pain.

“When we get back to the village I’ll ask the High Witch to check that wound out for you.”

“Why? Is it bad?” The pitch of Shane’s voice hit a note he didn’t know he was capable of. He craned his neck trying to get a better look at the damage to his shoulder. “This is a three-hundred pound coat!”

“Now it’s scrap.” Connor laughed.

Bryn gave Connor a reproachful look. “You need to get it checked because I’ve never seen a demon like that before.” He cast an eye over the still crackling flesh. “God knows what it can do.”

“Why is it here though?”

“No idea,” said Bryn. “But what’s betting these dank cells are just full of weird and wonderful creatures?”

“Bloody hell. He’s an ugly bugger,” Shane sidled up to get a better look at the now dead creature. He wrinkled his nose.

“I’m sure he thought the same of you,” smiled Connor.

“Bryn?” a broken voice spoke from the cloaked darkness of a cell further down in the passageway.

Bryn’s head snapped in the direction of the voice. His legs had engaged before his brain had and started moving. “Jack? Jack, where are you?” His eyes darted from one side of the passage to the other looking for any sign of him. Then a trembling hand crept out low between the bars of a cell a door length away.

Bryn dived for him, grasping the old man’s withered hands in his. He did a sharp intake of breath when he saw him. Jack was nearing his sixties but had always been healthy and full of colour. More on the plump side than lean but this person slumped here was a shadow of that man. A spectre.

“God boy, you’re freezing,” Jack coughed spluttering bile and blood over the floor.

“You can talk.”

Connor and Shane rushed up to them.

“Are we glad to see you!” beamed Connor.

Jack looked up through the bars with grey eyes. “Things must be bad if you’ve brought the Chuckle brothers.”

Bryn hid his smile. “Come on old man. Time to go home. Can you stand away from the bars?”

“I might be able to manage a crawl, lad.” Jack groaned as he dragged his body across the floor.

“Where’s the door?” asked Shane.

“There isn’t one,” Jack wheezed. “There’s a witch here who can bend bars with her mind. It’s to make sure we don’t escape.”

“Right. Brace yourself.” Bryn blasted the bars, wincing as he saw Jack flinch and curl up into a ball.

The bars rattled and clouds of dust fell from where metal penetrated stone.

Connor checked the first bar and then the next. “You’ve only cracked them. Try again.”

Bryn aimed a second blast at the bars. And then a third. Each time a black line snaked further around the rods.

“For the Goddess’ sake Bryn, make this one count. With those blasts I bet half the Iron Moon are on their way down here now.”

Bryn looked to Connor.

“Make this one count.”

He nodded in agreement. Digging deep inside himself, he summoned as much power as he dared without hurting Jack and sent one huge sphere of magic at the bars.

The world trembled.

As did the walls holding Jack prisoner.

The two brother’s surged forward grappling for a hold on Jack while Bryn caught his breath. He leaned against the crumbling wall for support.

“Shit,” said Shane. “Footsteps.”

Bryn turned towards the looming darkness at the end of the passageway. It was true, their steps reverberated along the stone walls. Two people were heading their way. “Right, you two get Jack outside and get your brooms ready.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Connor as he and Shane buckled beneath Jack’s weight.

“Buy you time. Now go.”

“We’re not leaving you, idiot!”

“You know me,” winked Bryn. “I’ll see you in the skies.”

Relief came when Connor and Shane got Jack to the door and Bryn would deal with whatever came his way. The footsteps grew louder until at last, two figures emerged from the shadows. A cherry-haired witch was the first to step out, her mouth twisted into a scowl when she saw him.

“Wait, Leda,” said another voice and a second woman stepped out.

Bryn rose his arm with every intention of throwing a shot of air hard enough to knock her off her feet. But he hesitated, the slight dilation in her eyes staying his hand. In one sweep, he took in as much of her as he could from the straight length of dark gold hair that fell to her waist to the beautiful curves highlighted by a shining black bodice.

She made no move against him, only stared clutching a broom tight in her hand.

His own hand fell steadily back down his side and he noted how her eyes, god he couldn’t tell what colour but they were large and kind, floated between him and the three struggling their way to the door. Bryn felt a flutter of wings in his chest, a caged bird wishing to be freed.

Then she focused on him, biting her lip.  

Electricity pulsed through Bryn and his breath caught.

“The High Witch will return to the fortress any moment, so you must make your escape now,” she said.

“What are you saying?” said the witch with the short, red hair but the other girl held up a finger to request her silence.

Bryn’s throat bobbed. Her voice, those softly-spoken tones like gentle rain patting the floor, comforted him and excited him all at once. “I’ll have your name before I leave,” he breathed.

Boots pounded the flagstones behind him. “Archer! Get your arse into gear,” Shane returned for him and lunged for the sleeve of Bryn’s coat.

“Your name,” he struggled against his friend.

The light of breaking dawn woke me before half six.

“Officers attended the scene in Cullfield, a suburb of New York City...”

I peeled open an eyelid. The TV continued to play to itself, showing American-looking police standing by a strip of bright yellow tape. 

“...the whole town was found massacred in what eyewitnesses have described as a bloodbath.”

Bolting upright, I grappled for the remote to turn the volume up, heart hammering against my ribcage. 

“Police have appealed for witnesses and urge neighbouring towns to be vigilant. We’ll have more on this breaking story as the information comes through. Now, here’s the news wherever you are.” The opening credits rolled for the local news. 

Footsteps sounded on the floorboards above. Gran was up. She must be feeling better. I switched off the TV and raced upstairs. 

“Gran!” I called. “Gran!”

I caught her leaving my room, eyes puffy and red-ringed, skin grey. The soft grey curls framing her face were wild. She gave a gasp, sucking the air from the room and fell back against the door. 

My feet stalled on the top step. “Are you okay?”

Her mouth bobbed struggling to form words that wouldn’t come. 

“Gran?” 

“Oh my – Riley!” she crossed the few steps between us and wrapped me in her arms, the scent of lavender triggering a dormant headache. One of her hands went to my hair, pulling my head towards her shoulder. Over and over she whispered my name.

Then she pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length. Withered hands cupped my face, her thumbs making downward strokes with her thumbs. She laughed through her tears. 

“What did you want me for?”

“Are we not going to talk about this?”

Gran released my face to wipe her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffing away the tears as though they’d never been. “There’s nothing to talk about, Riley. I’m  tired, I must not have recovered as much as I’d thought.”

I wanted to tell her she’d be fine, that the illness wouldn’t be rearing its ugly head again, but then she’d want to know why. Even I wasn’t proud about how I’d gone about it, but seeing Gran like this again, well enough to be on her feet or nearly tumbling from them… I’d made the right choice. 

“Once more then, what did you want me for?”

What did I want her for? “The news. On the news, there’s something about a massacre in a town on the outskirts of New York. From the sounds of it, it seems like the whole town. I didn’t know if it merited checking out. It could be a coven.”

Gran looked thoughtful. “It’s possible. I have a meeting with our coven this morning, I will raise it, contact other covens there. Even if it wasn’t a coven, something like that may require investigation. Can you remember the name of the place?”

“No, I can’t. But it must be all over the news.”

A weak smile crossed Gran’s face, the one she gave me when I wasn’t being helpful. 

“Do you need me to come?”

“Ha! Don’t think you’re getting out of your studies that easily. Talking about school, unless you get a move on, you’re going to be late.”

“Fine. Am I still okay to go out tonight?”

Gran cupped my face in her hands. “Of course, of course. Go Riley, and live.”

I took a swig from the bottle in my hand, grimacing at the bitter taste. The shaped glass knocked against my teeth. Something had been off with Gran. Yes, she’d been ill, so ill I’d made a deal with a servant of death to save her soul. But still – 

“God Riley. You’re quiet. You’re here now, you might as well enjoy it.” Kat knelt on the blanket beside me. 

I could smell it as soon as Kat sat down, the stench of stale smoke burning my nostrils. “Please tell me you haven’t been smoking,” I coughed, wafting the fumes away with my hand. 

“Of course, I haven’t,” she said before diving into her bag. She plucked out a shocking pink aerosol can and sprayed it all over herself with a few squirts in the air for good measure. “Simon insists he won’t stop though, so until Channing Tatum becomes available, I’m sticking with him. Anyway, back to you, what’s up?”

I balanced the almost full bottle in the grass, the contents settling uneasily in my stomach. Once again, it would be easier to tell the truth. Although confessing to be a witch would throw up more questions than answers for Kat, and Gran would surely kill me for divulging our secrets. 

“I told you earlier I was tired, I didn’t sleep well.” Striking a deal with an angel in the early hours of the morning proved to be more time-consuming that I’d originally planned. 

“You’re seventeen,” Kat yawned. “You should be able to stay up all night and not feel its effects. But if you’re feeling shit, why don’t we find something to put a smile on your face? Where’s Will?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him for a while. The last time I did, he was fighting his way to the front of the crowd.” I bobbed my head towards the fifty-deep crowd who were dancing and swaying in ways unsuited to the heavy metal band rocking it out on stage. 

Kat had spent weeks talking about this clandestine festival. She’d had to sneak out under the hooked nose of her strict mother, and I felt guilty for spoiling it. Now, with my ears ringing because of the constant din, I wished I’d stuck to the lie I’d tried after lunch. My boyfriend had barely looked at me, never mind spent any time with me, and I found myself disturbed by fleeting thoughts of the angel in Will’s absence. 

Smoke gathered, seeping into my pores choking my lungs. Makeshift fire pits sprang up everywhere in the clearing in the middle of Derwent Woods. Uneasiness prickled my skin. As a water witch, fire put me on edge, and probably affected me more than any of the nemocanes in attendance. Nemocanes were non-witches, those without power. 

“Do you want to go find him?” Kat tilted her head and fluttered her fake eyelashes. 

I’d known her long enough to know she wasn’t asking and before I knew it, Kat had pulled me to my feet. “Come on, let’s see if we can get Will to put a smile on your face. If anyone can, I’m sure it’s him.”

We delved deeper through the crowd, ducking, and weaving through twisting bodies and flailing arms, some of which smacked me straight in the face. The stench was almost unbearable, cheap perfume, the musty smell of beer all mixed in with sweat and smoke. 

“I can’t see them, can you?”

“They’ve got to be here somewhere,” said Kat. She craned her neck to scan the crowd. “Tell you what, if you go to the right, I’ll go this way, and we’ll send the other a text if we find them. Okay? Great.”

“Kat, wait!” But the mass of bodies had already swallowed my friend, bottles of alcohol raised in the air, the crowd singing as loud as their voices would let them. 

Fighting my way in the direction Kat told me to go, I was confronted by one unfamiliar face after another. They swam before my eyes and merged into one continuous blur. Heat rose in my face. Sweat coated my forehead, droplets running down the length of my neck. I tugged at the stiff collar of my denim jacket, but the more I did, the more it closed around my neck like a vice.

More limbs struck.

The fire was overwhelming.

I fought for air. 

My hand raced around my neck in a frantic motion. The contents of dancing bottles dripped down onto my hair and face. Gran would think I’d drank a brewery. 

I forced my way to the back of the crowd, pushing through people as though they were water and I was desperate for the shore. Breaking out into the open, I inhaled as much fresh air as I could, letting the space subdue the rising panic within. 

The constant roar of the band was the only reminder of where I was and the only thing stopping me from falling to my knees and making a spectacle of myself before most of the year twelve and thirteens. 

A glint of white flashed through the trees ahead.

Then another.

My blood turned to stone. 

Then a hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I spun, blood throbbing.

“Where have you been?”

“Nowhere.”

I looked back towards the treeline. 

“You okay? Riley?” Kat’s voice was muffled and far away. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“I’m not sure I haven’t,” I mumbled. 

“What? Doesn’t matter. Come on, I’ve found the boys.” Grabbing hold of my wrist, Kat pulled me through the crowd where I couldn’t help but look back.

Ghosts – a definite possibility and harmless in most cases. Demon – more likely and more deadly. I looked around at all those gathered. Shit, so many. It would be a bloodbath. 

“Here they are,” Kat thrust me forward. 

Will and Simon had worked their way right to the front. Lyrics flew from their mouths delivered out of tune between swigs of beer. As soon as Will’s eyes found mine, he stumbled to me with a lopsided grin on his handsome face. I felt a pang in my stomach as another face popped into my head.

Mentally, I told it to piss off. 

“W-w-where have you been?” he slurred. His hands were all over my back, moving lower and lower. Will leaned in read to place a kiss on my lips. Reaching back, I stopped his hands travelling further but welcomed the kiss I’d waited all night for. 

Despite tasting that wretched alcohol, my heart leapt. Worries of dangers lurking beyond the trees evaporated. I’d probably imagined it anyway. Reaching up, I ran my hand through his short dirty-blond hair. 

“We need more time together,” he said, lips pressing against my ear. “Alone.”

I tensed. The meaning was as clear as ringing bells and set in my insides like concrete. I plastered a smile on my face. After all, it was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Having pined for him for the last four years with not one sign I was even on his radar, I was determined to make the most of being his. 

Somewhere, screams pierced the deafening music. 

“What was that?” Will asked, pulling away. 

I ignored him. With my body as still as stone, I looked to see what had caused panic to roll through the crowd. People fled in all directions, frantic limbs flying. I’d stood still long enough to feel the loss of Will’s body heat and watch him leave to join the dispersing group. 

Nausea surged when I realised they were running away from the treeline where I thought I’d glimpsed something other. 

Shit. 

The music cut off and a loud crash sounded as the musicians abandoned their instruments. 

“Will? Kat? I spun on the spot desperately trying to find my friends. I battled against the onslaught of bodies, the only one going towards what made everyone else flee. 

The screaming was terrible. It punctured my mind until I couldn’t think straight.  A tall blur of blond hair and white t-shirt barged my shoulder and knocked me to the ground, not bothering to stop. I hissed at the sharp pain in my hands. Lifting them from the grassy field, thick blood trickled from a jagged wound across my palm. The fragmented remains of a glass bottle lay hidden in the glass coated in my blood. Black in the moonlight, the droplets slid down my hand and into the grass. 

Shadows emerged from the trees, the stark darkness of the woods bleeding into the clearing. They moved in quick, sharp jerks barely touching the ground with their stick-like limbs. The only creatures I had ever seen scurry like that were spiders. 

Demons. But what kind, I didn’t know, had never encountered them in any of my witch studies. My pulse drummed in my ears as all other sounds died. They drew closer, the pale white of their skin stretching over thin, sharp bones like a translucent film. Two pointed pincers bulged out of the side of their head and around the front of their faces. Fire danced in their feline-like eyes. 

The only one left in the clearing, I pushed myself back onto my feet. Only me and a dozen of these things. I grimaced at the throbbing in my hand, and took calculated steps towards the demons, taking care not to trip over the abandoned debris strewn over the grass. 

There were seconds left before they reached me. Would flooding the clearing work? Should I send out a jet of water to blast them back? Quick. Decide. 

“Are you going to make a half-arsed attempt to get away or just let them kill you?”

I whirled on the familiar voice to find the angel standing there. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving you.”

The untamed black hair grazed his shoulders. He held my gaze steady and sure, his lips slightly parted. Something registered on his face and a darkness bloomed in his widening eyes burning with such intensity that the night sky with all its stars and wonders paled in comparison. 

I blinked the image of him away and clicked my tongue. “Save yourself.” With that, I sent three demons skittling with a low jet of water. 

“There’s too many of them, we’ll never make it. Come on,” Rafe reached back and grabbed my wrist to pull me with him.

Not that I wanted to admit it, but he was right. We barrelled across the grass heading for the stage. My much shorter legs struggled to keep up with his longer strides. Even in frantic escape mode, Rafe moved with grace while all my energy was spent trying to stay upright. 

He glanced over his shoulder. “They’re gaining on us. Hurry!”

“Can’t you sprout your wings and fly us out of here?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I’ll explain if we survive this.” 

I groaned as he increased his speed dragging me with him, my thighs and calves burning. 

“I need to get to the coven.”

Each penetrating stab reverberated across the ground, and the closer they got, the more their screeched pierced my ear drums. Rafe stopped when we reached a black and silver motorcycle propped up by a short leg at the side of the stage. 

“Hop on,” he said, throwing his leg over. With a kick of his boot, the leg flicked up and the engine roared into life. He looked at me once more. “What are you waiting for?”

“There isn’t a helmet,” I hesitated. 

Dark amusement flickered in his eyes. “Seriously? We’re getting chased by demons who I know want to kill us and you’re worried about where the helmet is.”

I could have explained. I could have told him why the sheer thought of getting on that bike was giving me palpitations and shortening my breath. But I didn’t.

“Safety first,” was all I said. 

“Get on the bike, Riley.”

I stopped myself throwing up. “If we die now, I’m betting it’s down to a lack of safety equipment and not shiny demons with excellent cheekbones.” I hitched up my long skirt and jumped on. At first, I didn’t know where to place my hands and settled on the thin strip of leather between us. 

“Here,” he reached round, grabbed both my hands, and pulled them around his waist. My injured hang stung. My chest crashed into the solid wall of his back.

“I need you to hold on,” he shouted over the noise of the engine. 

Gripping tighter, I brushed the contours of his stomach muscles. Heat bloomed on my cheeks and I was thankful he couldn’t see the fire in my face.

We sped away and the creatures gave chase. 

“Head for Valestone,” I called. “We’ll be safe there.”

Rafe drove straight into the forest. I wondered if he hoped the trees would act as an obstacle to slow the creatures down. Derwent Forest was thick and known for the dense canopy capable of blocking most rays. Especially now, as midnight fast approached, everywhere was black except for the small distance illuminated by the bike’s headlamp and the smouldering fires left in the clearing. 

“Do you know what those things are?”

“Arachna demons. Half human and half spider. All of them female.”

“They can’t be.”

“Female or demons? Hang on!” he steered left, avoiding a row of tree trunks. The bike weaved in and out of trees effortlessly navigating root laden paths as though he’d driven this way a thousand times. 

Daring to look back, my loose hair lashed my face like gilded whips. Somehow, my faux daisy headband stayed in place. A good thing for Rafe because if it flew off, I’d make him go back for it. Demons be damned. 

“They’re getting closer!”

“They can’t move that quick. These are new ones emerging from the undergrowth.”

My head snapped back to him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“None of this is about making you feel better,” he called back, swerving again. 

We hit an emerging root. My hands wrapped tighter around him to stop myself from falling off, but he jumped the bike and landed them back on the ground on the other side. 

“You okay back there?”

“Yes,” I said into the rushing wind. It whistled as it sailed by my ear.

A volcano of dirt and greenery erupted ahead. Rafe jammed on the brakes and skidded, landing at an angle. Two white pincers grappled out of the ground. He paused for a beat before flying off in the direction we faced.  

“Not much further now,” he called back. 

In the distance, the shadows of the forest faded paling to navy blue and lighter still as we neared the edge of the forest. I felt easier knowing we would soon be out. I’d have to wake my grandmother and summon the coven to deal with the demons – Arachna, Rafe called them. How strange I’d never heard of them before. 

We broke out of the boundary of the forest and slammed into the village. The closed lichgate of our village’s Norman church lay ahead, the church on our right, silhouetted against the sky. The interior was nothing more than an illusion created for any tourists making their way to Valestone or visitors from nearby towns. Witches in our coven could see through the magic veil like it was a splash of oil in a puddle. 

I gave a little yelp as Rafe spun the bike, landing parallel to the forest with the church behind us. He twisted the key and the noise died. 

“Well that’s something new,” he stared up at the sky, scanning across the span of the village. 

Following his gaze, I smiled, knowing what had piqued his interest. “It’s a protection dome for the coven. Powered by the High Witch.” When I spoke, my head felt like it was submerged in water, my words muffled, and ears blocked. 

And still the creatures came, their skin shining like a pearl in the moonlight.

“Here they come.”

One creature placed a pincer across the boundary marked by a row of uniform trees. As soon as they did, electric flashes surged up the offending limb until it covered the whole demon. It crackled, steam rising high before its body went limp and slumped to the ground, lifeless. Two other demons scurried up to the dead body, trying to nudge it alive with a pincer but when it didn’t move, they retreated in a hurry taking the whole horde with them.

“Nothing that intends harm can enter.”

“Impressive. I might need a word with your High Witch.”

I dismounted; my attention fixed on the smouldering mass of flesh. “I’m not so sure about that,” I said absently. “A servant of death seeking her out about a protection dome might freak her out.”

“Point taken.”

I turned to smile at Rafe. “Nice bike.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and threw his leg over the motorcycle to stand next to me. 

“Yeah, it’s not mine. Some idiot left it next to the stage with keys in the ignition. An idiot I’m very grateful to, but I’m just going to leave it here. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes. I’m going to wake my grandmother with the wonderful news that half of the neighbouring town have witnessed and were nearly eaten by demons. Some possibly eaten if I don’t get a move on.” I studied the gash across my palm, flecks of dried blood formed a boundary around the open wound. 

“Are you hurt?”

I snatched it away, hiding it by my side. “Just a little scratch.”

“Show me.”

“I said it’s fine.”

Rafe sighed and held an upturned hand. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation in my mind and before I knew it, he was cradling my hand in his almost reverently as he ran a calloused finger tip down my palm. 

My breath bated. He smelled of soap. Clean, like rolling in freshly washed linen. I couldn’t look at his face. 

“When you get home, I want you to properly clean the wound.”

“My Gran will have a poultice of witch hazel leaves and bark. She’ll sort it.” I would have sworn I saw a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“And I’ll come back tomorrow to heal it when I have my powers back.”

My head snapped up. “What do you mean? Is that why you couldn’t fly? Have you lost your powers?”

“So many questions, little witch.”

I cocked my head to one side silently demanding answers. 

“Angels are given a day off, if you will, every ten thousand souls they collect. Today is mine, but you live the day as a mortal. No powers, no wings.”

“You had a day off and you decided to creep around a teenage party? Not that you look much older than we do…”

At that, Rafe chucked. “Get going, or someone is going to find themselves at the mercy of an Arachna demon.”

“I need my hand back.”

A hint of colour stained his cheeks, but he dropped my hand as though the contact burned him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Rafe nodded in reply. 

I kicked my legs into gear. I made it to the end of the lane before the urge to look back became too much. He should’ve gone, but he was still there, lounging against the stolen bike, watching. 

It took everything I had to move away.