Chapter 2
A clatter of pans woke him up.
“You cleaned,” his host said distastefully.
Samuel blinked his eyes sleepily and watched her bustle about. She was about to approach the door, and his hackles rose.
She stared at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
He growled.
A brow raised, and she shook her head. “I need to go out and get some firewood. The fire’s dying and it’s too cold.”
Samuel got up and followed her out.
It wasn’t early morning. The sun had been up for a while now, and he trailed after her as she moved in the outskirts of the clearing, picking up any dead branches. He also saw the way she touched some trees here and there. If his eyes weren’t mistaken, the leaves seemed to glow a little brighter after her touch. It was as if she was reviving them, giving them some energy.
He looked around but didn’t feel the malevolent presence he had felt last night.
A curse had him looking up, and he saw the witch hopping on one foot, her face scrunched in pain. The colorful stream of curses had him wincing at their descriptive nature. Were women supposed to use those words?
He came over to check what had her so worked up and saw a large stone that was protruding out of the ground. The scorch marks on the rock had him inspecting it for a closer look.
Dark magic always left its mark.
And this was definitely some dark magic.
The woman knelt down, hissing out a pained breath. She touched the stone and muttered something. The scorch marks faded.
She rocked back on her heels, a trail of sweat slipping down her temple.
Samuel just studied her and, this time, walked next to her, seeing how unsteady her gait had become. He hadn’t thought that that would have taken so much out of her.
But she was definitely slower, and her movements were stiffer.
“Wild mushrooms,” he heard her say. “I haven’t seen these here in a while.” She leaned down to pick them and stuffed them in a pocket of her dress.
Samuel followed after her, and when she had collected enough firewood, they made their way back. As they reentered the clearing, Samuel saw the same powder that had been sprinkled along the inner walls of the house, also lining the cottage itself.
The vegetable garden was also surrounded by that powder, as was the pond.
Samuel turned his head to study the woman. She was walking toward the cottage. He paused for a second and looked for the window. His instincts warned him that he was up against something dangerous as he studied the burnt ground just outside the window. The scorch marks were prominent here, as if whatever had touched the stone had done more than just pass here. It had stood here and watched and waited.
Samuel sniffed the spot and turned his nose up in distaste.
The smell was disgusting, almost pungent.
Brimstone and fire.
It was almost familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“What are you doing?” She had rounded the corner of the cottage and was staring at him.
Samuel put his paws on the windowsill and peered inside.
A perfect view of the witch’s mattress.
He turned around to study the woman who had her hands on her hips as she waited on him. “We’ll freeze outside. Hurry it up.”
The Council was meant to serve and protect.
But there was no Council now.
However, he had been bound to those vows he took. Serve the people. Protect the people.
And this woman needed to be protected from whatever the hell was after her.
Because something was.
He followed her inside, and when she shut the door behind her, he evaluated his options. Coming to a decision wasn’t that hard. He had nothing to do in life, and this was the most activity he had had in over a century.
As the witch knelt down and tossed some of the wood into the dying flames, a shimmer of light behind her had her whirling around. The cold determination in her eyes took the man by surprise.
“Thank you,” he managed to say.
She nodded sharply, and it amused him that she refused to turn around to look at him.
“I haven’t seen another human being in a few years now. It’s a little unnerving,” she admitted reluctantly.
“Samuel.” She blinked, and he ran a hand through his hair. “My name is Samuel,” he clarified.
“Oh, I’m Rowena.”
“You’re a witch.”
It was more of a statement than a question, and Rowena just inclined her head, her braid falling to one side of her shoulder.
They stared at each other in awkward silence for a few moments before she turned around “I’m going to heat the stew for breakfast. Would you like some?”
“Yes.”
Even reheated, its taste did not diminish, and as Samuel ate his share, he wondered how to approach the topic.
Samuel frowned when Rowena left her bowl on the floor, and he picked it up and went to wash it in the basin along with his own.
Rowena didn’t say anything. She just watched him in silence, before commenting, “You’ve got a thing for cleanliness, don’t you?”
Samuel did not remove his eyes from the bowl he was scrubbing clean. “I like things in order.” A scoff from her had him narrowing his eyes. “You have something to say about that?”
“You’re a neat freak.” She grinned.
That smile held so much mischief that it transformed her entire face. It had him stopping for a heartbeat and just looking.
The smile slid off her face when she saw the intensity with which he was studying her. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re not…You’re strange.”
A chuckle. “So I’ve been told.”
The short laugh held hints of pain as well that had him looking away. The gentle sorrow in her eyes felt like a private thing, and he wished he hadn’t said anything.
Wiping the bowls, he looked down at her where she sat on the floor, cross legged. “You knew I was a shifter.”
“That’s not a question.”
Samuel gave her a hard look, and she offered a lopsided smile, “Yes. I know.”
He sat down next to the fire, his eyes transfixed on her face, waiting for any deceit. “And yet you let me into your home?”
Rowena raised a brow, “Are you asking me–”
“I’m a shifter,” he said, cutting her off. “Witches and shifters don’t exactly mix. Why didn’t you consider me a threat?”
She shrugged, and he smelled nervousness from her. What didn’t she want him to know?
“I just knew.”
Samuel crossed his arms against his chest, “I don’t believe that.”
“Maybe I saw it in my Scrying Ball,” she challenged, two red dots on her cheeks.
“I was not born yesterday, Rowena. Scrying balls don’t exist.”
She glared at him, obviously unwilling to depart with her secrets.
Samuel just looked at her.
They sat in silence so thick that it could have been cut with a knife.
“Prophecy,” she said, finally. “I see prophecies. I saw you in the role of a protector, a friend, a savior.”
Samuel absorbed the knowledge she had just hit him in the face with. “A seer?” he said finally. “You’re a seer?”
She pursed her lips and nodded.
“I thought they were a myth.” Samuel stared at her. “I’ve read about your kind, but I never thought that seers existed.”
Rowena frowned and clasped her hands that lay in her lap. “I don’t think there are many of us.”
“What does that mean?”
She looked at him. “I’m the only one of my kind that I know about.”
The scholar in Samuel was sitting up. This was a discovery for him. To find out that seers actually existed was an outstanding find. And to think there was one before him. He had once asked Morrigan about them, and the witch had coldly rebuffed him, telling him to get his mind out of his fantasies.
Then something struck him. “If you’re a seer, shouldn’t you be protected? You’re a rare species. There aren’t…” He stopped when he saw how pale her face had become. “What? What did I say?”
Rowena wrapped her arms around herself, her tone bitter. “I’m a person, you know. I left my home because I knew somebody was bound to find out soon enough about what I was. People had already started to give me strange looks with doubt in their eyes. How did Rowena know this would happen? How did she know the storm would take out the lightning poles and destroy the shelters?” Her fingernails dug into her arms as she continued. “They already thought of me as unnatural, but there was a huge storm a few years ago. I saw it in my prophecy and this time I didn’t tell anyone, but I started preparing for it. I stocked food and clothes and essentials.” The bitterness in her eyes grew, along with desperation when she looked at him. “’If I didn’t tell them, they would have no reason to point their fingers at me,’ I told myself that so many times that when the storm came and we were all holed underground. Then I brought out the supplies.”
She gave a laugh that lacked humor. “They didn’t touch anything. My clan thought I had called upon the storm. That’s the only way I could have prepared for it. I tried to tell them, I tried to explain to them, but their minds were already made up. I was a freak.” She paused to take a breath, and Samuel watched her, his body motionless. “Of course, they did not know that I had foreseen the storm. So, they chose to believe that everything that I claimed to know was because I had set it in motion.”
“I don’t understand,” Samuel said, his eyes narrowed. “They thought you summoned a storm? For what purpose? Only witches who dabble in…“ He broke off with a swear word. “They labelled you as a dark practitioner.”
For a moment, he thought he saw the witch’s eyes gleam with tears.
Her voice was even. “I left before they could. A few of them stuck up for me, but the majority thought I was an abomination. It wasn’t just the storm. I would know when someone was about to fall ill, or when someone was about to get pregnant. More than being cast as a traitor, I was fearful somebody would find out about me being a seer.” Her hands trembled. “They would have taken me away. I have heard whispers of what goes on in the compound of the Inner Circle. They would have destroyed me.”
Samuel let her take a breath. He watched her try to calm herself down and asked, “Not even your family knows?”
She shook her head.
The shifter glanced at the window. It was still daylight outside, and he looked at her. “If nobody knows, then why are you being hunted?”