“I do not like this,” Dahlia said, as soon as the impetuous young witch was out of earshot, sweet Anemony trailing behind.

Neither did Daphne. Of course, she didn’t. But it was a calculated risk, and one they would have to take. She had seethed with rage upon hearing the news of a group of guilded witch hunters in her city. It could not be ignored.

Yet losing Ivy was also unacceptable. She may be the key to unlocking their full potential. Rose certainly thought so. The girl was wild and unpredictable, like a tightly wound coil of unreleased violence. Yet her power had been undeniable that first time they had met. She almost believed Rose’s exaggerations of what had taken place in the far-off coastal city of Atrican.

Perhaps this intrusion upon her territory was exactly what she needed. Setting Ivy loose upon their enemies may do some good, letting out some of that bloodlust Daphne had seen oozing from the girl. And at the same time, her hunter problem would disappear. She only had to believe the girl would be successful. She would. She had to. Daphne had even sent that rather impressive man with her.

She rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers on both hands. Rose would kill her if anything happened to Ivy. Literally.

“We could lose everything,” Cassia said.

Daphne sighed.

“You saw what she did to Azalea,” she said, “if she can’t accomplish this much, perhaps she is not what we imagined her to be.”

----------------------------------------

“What does Armond want with me?” Ivy asked Raenin as they ascended back into the palace, leaving the other witches behind.

Her heart stung at the memory of Anemony’s terrified expression as she passed by her, but it was for the best. The girl ought to stay away from her. It would only make things more painful later if they became friends.

They reached the top of the long stone stairwell out of the damp basement before Raenin replied.

“I already told you,” he said.

Ivy planted her feet at the landing before heading further into the palace.

“He thinks I need a babysitter?”

Raenin chuckled.

“Does everything have to be an offense to you? Can’t anyone just be worried about you? Did I not save you from the freezing cold?”

The thought of this man looking after her only made her temperature rise further. He was worried about her?

“That was only because I got exhausted trying to deal with you!”

He shrugged.

“An unnecessary game we played that day.”

Ivy’s teeth ground against her clenched jaw.

“Fine,” she said, “thanks for not letting me die in the blizzard. But do you deny reporting back on me to Atrican? How am I supposed to be okay with a spy following me around?”

The way he tilted his head to look at her made her want to punch him in the mouth.

“I can stop if it makes you feel better,” he said, “though our mutual friend will assume that you killed me and send someone new. Then you’ll have to deal with two of us.”

“Or I could just leave you behind.”

His eyes flicked to the staircase they had come from and he raised one eyebrow.

“Is that really an option?”

No. Damn it. Despite all her protesting and attitude toward the other witches. There was no way she could leave, now. Although speaking of Raenin, he also seemed way too comfortable in the presence of a whole coven of witches.

“How are you okay with all this?” she asked.

But before he could answer, a rush of wind blew up from the staircase, and a head of flowing blonde hair nearly crashed into both of them.

“Ivy!” Anemony cried out as she whirled mid-air and dropped to her feet a few paces past them. “I’m so glad I caught you!”

Ivy couldn’t hide her smile at the girl’s appearance. Her cheerfulness was always so infectious.

“Hi, Anemony,” she said, “did you need something?”

The girl hid her hands behind her back.

“Uhm, well…no. Where are you guys off to?”

Ivy stared at her. She didn’t like where this was going.

“To kill the witch hunters…”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Anemony raised one hand to her chin, her face darkened just a bit. “I…I can help.”

“No,” Ivy said immediately.

“Awe, but—”

“It’s too dangerous.”

The younger witch regarded Raenin for a moment and pouted.

“You’re bringing him,” she pointed, “and he doesn’t even have any powers.”

“Yes, but he also knocked me senseless and bleeding when I had a knife at this throat.”

Anemony’s eyes narrowed at Raenin.

“You hurt Ivy?”

“That…wasn’t the point.” Ivy sighed. “Look, have you ever even seen a hunter?”

“Once. In the town where I grew up. They tried to clip my wings. But I was too fast!”

Cute, but it didn’t really instill much confidence in her ability to fight.

“What do you expect to contribute in a bloody fight to the death, Anemony?” Ivy asked.

“She could scout,” Raenin said.

Ivy shot him a glare.

“Stop trying to help.” She softened her eyes when she looked back at Anemony. “Stay here. Please. I’ll feel much better knowing you’re safe and that I don’t have to watch out for you.”

“That just makes me worried for you!”

Raenin let out a weak laugh.

“Don’t worry about Miss Ivy,” he said, “I’ll take good care of her.” He grinned and nodded at Anemony, who blushed in turn.

Oh, please. He wasn’t half as handsome as Virian. Ivy’s face twisted into a frown at her mind unconsciously dredging up Virian’s face again.

“Shut up,” Ivy said, and turned to leave.

Raenin fell into step beside her, their footsteps blessedly alone. Anemony apparently would listen to him.

They made their way out of the decadent palace, through the royal grounds, and out the main gate without a word between them. Beyond that, Ivy had no idea where to go, and let Raenin take the lead through the streets.

It had warmed some over the last week, and the snow was not quite as high as it had been, yet everyone was still wrapped in furs as they traversed the city. The huge, extravagantly painted manors and snowy gardens fell away as they marched further and further from the palace to plain, colorless one-story homes packed tightly together. They kept on, though their surroundings never quite deteriorated into the slums she was familiar with in Atrican. Hours went by in uncomfortable silence until Ivy couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked as they continued. Her legs were starting to fatigue it had been so long. The sun hung low in the sky.

“Doing what?”

“Helping. Helping me. Us.”

He shrugged.

“Where I’m from, we don’t hate your kind.”

Where he was from? That meant…huh. She looked up at him for the first time in their long trek through Rhune. He didn’t seem old enough to have come over the Sea with Armond. He had to have just been a kid at most.

“You’re—”

“I was born in Aidai, in Soanal, yes.”

Ah. Ivy had no idea where “Aidai” was, but Soanal was indeed the name of the continent far west of the shores of Atrican.

“So, you don’t hate witches, but that doesn’t mean you risk your life for us, either.”

“I’m just trying to keep you alive.”

“Because Armond told you to?”

“Because I think he would be sad if you died.”

Ivy nearly flinched, eying him with a newfound curiosity.

“And would the great Bloody Prince be sad if you died?”

“Of course.”

“Who are—”

He reached out an arm to his side, blocking her path. She was about to duck under it—an easy feat given their height difference—but he yanked her towards him, pulling her off the street and into a refuse-filled narrow alley between two squat little houses. An inescapable hold pinned her tight to his chest before she understood what was happening.

A moment later, however, a burning rage took over in semblance of rational thought. She had no hope of breaking his iron grip around her or reaching her dagger for that matter, but she did have one way to knock him off balance. The bracelet given to her by Forsynthia began to warm to match the heat of her anger as she prepared to bring him into her world.

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“Raenin,” she said, “let me go—”

“Shht!”

Did he just…did he really?

Before she could call on her power, she heard the rough footsteps of two men pass by the alleyway. A second later, Raenin shoved her off of him like she was a dirty beggar. She squeaked out a small sound of protest, her temper flaring again for a different reason altogether.

“Good,” he said.

“Good?”

“They probably thought we were just a passionate couple.”

“Are you trying to get me to kill you?”

He grinned the way only an arrogant ass could.

“That didn’t work last time.” Ivy’s hand closed around her the hilt of her dagger automatically, and he put his hands up. “Calm down, Stabby.”

Her grip tightened.

“Stabby?”

“I just hid us from a pair of witch hunters, so you can thank me instead of getting so worked up. You’d do well to relax a little bit.”

His words, of course, only fueled her fire.

“For what purpose do we need to hide from them? They have no idea who we are!”

Raenin didn’t answer. He just looked her up and down and raised an eyebrow at her.

“What?” she asked. Still, he said nothing. “What is it?”

“Do you really not know?”

“Just tell me.”

“You are far too beautiful not to catch their eye. Even by witch standards, I think you stand out.”

Ivy faltered backward, bumping into the house opposite him.

“Wh—huh?”

“Don’t pretend like you aren’t aware,” he said, “hunters may not be dosed all the time and won’t sense your magic like a paladin, but they possess an intuition those walking corpses don’t. They’d pick you out in an instant.”

She thought back to her first encounter with witch hunters all those years ago. They had identified her at first sight.

“Yeah,” she said, “okay. I get it…thanks.”

“For calling you beautiful or saving you from the hunters?” His awful smirk was back.

“Seriously, shut the hell up.”

Saving her? He saved those two bastard witch hunters from an earlier death more like it. But things were better without exposing themselves before they were ready. The more they could accomplish in stealth, the better.

“So how are you going to do it?”

“How am I going to do it? And I suppose you’re just going to stand around and watch?”

He leaned up against the wall of the house that made up the alley, causing Ivy to cringe at the brownish, wet stain that brushed up against his furs trailing down from the window above. Oh no. There was probably something similar behind her. She leaped away from her current position against the opposite wall, bringing herself within an arm’s distance of Raenin again.

He laughed at her and confirmed her suspicions, “After Atrican this should be nothing, right? You’re a big bad paladin killer.” He paused, giving her another inspection. “Well maybe not so big. Hm. What about bad? Are you bad, do you think?”

“What is wrong with you?”

His sharp intake of breath put Ivy on alert until he started speaking.

“Is there something wrong? What is it? Tell me!”

“Enough,” Ivy said, “where are these bastards holed up?”

Raenin frowned but slapped the wall of the house he was leaning against. “Two doors passed this one should be a larger, longer boarding house. That’s the nest we’re looking for.”

Nest? Ivy shook her head. Whatever. This time she didn’t hesitate and called upon her power right in front of him. The ashen colors of the witch world unfurled around her dizzying lines and impossible angles surrounding her. Even in unfamiliar territory, she figured she could find her way past a couple of houses. It had been quite a while since she had truly felt lost in this other reality, but more and more it had started to feel less…alien. Almost like a part of her belonged here in some capacity.

“Ivy, wait!” Raenin said, but she ignored him, looking past his twisted form under the guise of her magic.

Sure enough, at the end of a curving pathway through the jumble and haze of broken geometry rested a group of figures. She didn’t have to think about who they might be. She just knew. She knew it as easily as she would have had she seen them outside the witch world. There was no need to wonder over it because it just was. She didn’t question her eyes without her power, so why should she now? Perhaps it had always been this way, and she was just now realizing it.

Several steps later, she judged herself to be atop the roof of the building. Below her, she found more than a dozen ways in, but there was only one choice. Among those inside, a pair of hunters lie still, the subtle vibrations of the witch world the sole movement that touched their forms. Sleeping? Perhaps the night watch. They wouldn’t leave their hideout unguarded. She remembered how long it had taken her and Raenin to get here. There was little time before they should wake.

She dropped silently beside the first and dispelled her power. In a dark room, curtains drawn, a man rested atop a crude cot, eyes closed and fast asleep. His chest rose and fell as he breathed in the stale air of the shared bedroom, unaware that soon he would never breathe again. Beside him, a pack of gear rested against the cot, as well as his sword and one of those cursed weapons Ivy had been shot with a year ago.

She raised her dagger, a white-knuckled grip in her right hand, while she poised to cover his mouth with her left. When her blade fell, she clamped his lips shut, and watched as his eyes shot open, and then slowly faded. Her dagger hit home, embedded between the ribs on the left side of his chest, angled inward for a direct strike to his heart. Blood began to stain the threadbare sheets and trickle through the cot’s minimal padding to the dark wooden floor.

A smile crept up Ivy’s face. It was perfect. This bastard deserved every bit of pain she gave him before the end of his miserable life. How much suffering had he delivered in his years in this world? How many girls had he slain? Tortured? How many more did he yearn for? It was only right that he had experienced a taste of Ivy's yearning.

Yes. This was exactly what she needed. She only wished it could have lasted longer. That she could have made him feel a hundred times back what he had done over his lifetime. But his end was enough.

She stared down at the corpse and shook her head. Except...No. It wasn’t. There were more. So many more who had yet to feel her blade.

On the next cot over slept a woman. The feminine form of the witch hunter made Ivy grind her teeth. It was that much more offensive to see a woman hunter. Ivy’s dagger was plunging down before she could think. A strangled cry escaped the woman’s mouth before she died, but Ivy didn’t care anymore. The thrill of the kill had taken over. The female hunter’s blood splattered up at Ivy when she ripped her weapon free, dotting her face with splats of crimson.

She rushed to the singular door in the room and hid up against the wall beside the hinges. A moment later the door flung open.

“Maryann?” A man stepped inside. “What th—”

Ivy’s attack sent her blade deep into his upper back, between the shoulder blades. She twisted and ripped it free, retreating into the witch world not a second too soon. A fourth hunter had been right behind him, sword drawn.

“WITCH!” the man screamed.

But Ivy had already stepped behind him and her dagger was in his neck. Her power, her body, and her blade were all running on instinct. Just like that night in Atrican when it had felt like nothing could stop her. Her movements were perfect. She knew precisely how to navigate the witch world to land exactly where she needed to be. It was like she had been born there, more natural than the awful place she actually called home.

She had already enveloped herself with her power before the next two hunters stormed up the stairs to the second floor. Once more, with a clarity she had not quite experienced before, she was able to pick out their readied pistols through the chaos of the witch world.

“Can you feel it?” one asked.

“Yes, vaguely.”

She read their distorted movements just in time as two deafening bangs filled the air. Diving to one side, she ended up tumbling down to the first floor through a broken path in the witch world directly through the floor.

“It’s a teleporter!” Came a shout from above.

Down below, she was surrounded by hunters on all sides, though they were not as prepared as the first two and split between several rooms. She moved with a preternatural accuracy within the witch world to the furthest, most isolated form. Her dagger took him as easily as the first four and he went down in a crumple of flesh and bones. Not waiting for his body to hit the ground, she picked another target and slayed. And again. Again. The weight of her blade seemed to lessen the more blood it drank.

It didn’t even matter if they were alert. She was so fast the last four had gone down in as many seconds. Nothing could stop her. Adrenaline filled her body and mind with ecstasy as she painted the walls with their blood.

“Easternmost hallway!” a man called out.

“Back-to-back! No Gaps!”

She studied the forms of the remaining hunters. Seven remained, all huddled together in one room, weapons facing outward. Huh. This might prove a challenge. She grinned at the thought.

Letting go of her power, she found herself—as they had so helpfully mentioned—in a hallway, a dead witch hunter at her feet. A pool of slick crimson, fluid rippled as she shifted her feet. From where she stood, without the witch world, she could not see the remaining hunters, but nor could they sense her magic while dosed if she did not use it.

She decided to wait a minute and see what their plan was. Not often would they find themselves being the hunted, she guessed. It might be foolish to attack them now, but this was their only move. All she had to do was wait. Or just leave and come back later.

“I’ve never sensed one that could move like this,” one said in a hushed voice that barely reached Ivy’s ears.

“It must be an ancient hag. The bishop will pay us well.”

“No,” this third voice was shaky, frightened, “we must get away. Before it’s too late!”

“Quiet, boy! And it’s not about the money either. Our mates have been slaughtered by this abomination. It will not leave this place alive.”

Ivy covered her mouth to giggle at them. One had some sense, but the rest, how silly.

A thump against wood echoed through the building, and then a witch-hunter's pistol fired, causing her to jump. What the hell? She checked herself, though it was hard to discern if she was bleeding herself apart from…everything else. But no. She felt no pain, no crippling agony that brought her to her knees.

“You fool!” a hunter called out, “that’s—”

“No! He’s not one of us!”

Two more shots rang out, and then a clash of steel. Ivy grunted, surprised he had actually showed up. But she wouldn’t waste the opportunity.

Dipping back into the witch world, she skipped into the next room, her dagger finding purchase in a witch hunter’s back. Before she could retract her weapon and retreat, however, sharp steel scored along her shoulder and the back of her arm. Ivy shrieked, falling back against the nearest wall, clutching her wound with her free hand.

A tepid malaise fell over her. She blinked as the scene before her played out. None of it felt real. Her body was sluggish and so heavy. The massive framed witch hunter facing her grinned through a silvery beard. She tried to focus, but couldn’t. It seemed far off in the distance, Raenin was engaged with a pair of hunters, one already dead at his feet. He wielded a pair of blades—one shorter than the other—to deadly effectiveness. Another hunter fell before him.

Another hunter whirled at her, his pistol aimed at her chest. No. No! She clawed for her power, but it felt far away. What? How?

A whirling piece of steel collided with the second hunter’s wrist, the daggers point sinking through and through. The man dropped his weapon and cried out, but the second hunter still charged her. Finally, Ivy grasped a portion of her strength and sank away into the muted colors of the witch world. Yet nothing was as it should be. The lines and anti-patterns confused her. Her head ached at simply beholding what should be natural to her. It was only a second before she returned.

She had moved several paces toward where Raenin was fighting another hunter. The setting sun streaming in from the window reflected specks of inky darkness in the hunter’s blade. Alaricite. These were well-equipped witch hunters. Suddenly, her loss of strength became all too obvious after being slashed by one of their swords.

Raenin parried his opponent’s strike and closed the distance for a grapple. He spun the man to his left just as another bang reverberated through the domicile. A hole opened up in the hunter’s back, oozing thick blood as his muscles went limp. Not an instant later, Raenin dropped the man and dove forward, reaching for the pistol of the first man Ivy had downed in this final altercation.

Something about the way he fought had entranced her, and her mind was still addled by Alaricite, so she hadn’t noticed the last hunter—the one who had cut her—rush at her from the right. But another shot resonated through the otherwise quiet, death-filled room. The gray-haired hunter fell to his knees, a snarl on his face, before collapsing to join his brethren.

Damn. Ivy turned her gaze toward a kneeling Raenin, smoking pistol in his hand. He fell backward, dropping both of his weapons and spreading his arms and legs wide. Blood soaked into his clothes and he just lay there, panting. Nothing else to do, she took the several steps necessary to close the distance between them and looked down at him from directly above his torso.

“You’re uh…” she kicked her feet, “not bad.”

“Fifteen,” he said, “fifteen witch hunters, Ivy. You dove headfirst, alone, into a safe house filled with fifteen seasoned hunters.”

“It worked out.”

He raised his head off the ground and gave her a not-so-pleasant stare.

“Oh? And what would you have done had I not stormed through the front door like a madman?”

“Probably would’ve come back later.”

“You should have said that beforehand!”

“I didn’t really come into it with a plan.”

“You don’t say?”

In her periphery, she noticed a subtle movement. Ah, right. The hunter whom Raenin had disabled with a throwing knife to the wrist. The man was on his ass, scooting away from them in the darkness.

“Hey,” she said, and it must have been the tone of her voice because Raenin was back to his feet and alert in an instant.

They strode up to the downed man together, Ivy still clutching her wound, the pain and alaricite poison clouding her mind. Yet she could swear she knew this man.

“Perro?” she asked.

“No!” Perro screamed. “How did you find me? I ran as far as I possibly could from that cursed city!”

“You know this one?” Raenin asked.

“We have a…history.”

He laughed, raising his longsword. “Not anymore.”

Hm.

Ivy held up a hand.

“Wait,” she said, “give him to the queen. He’s terrified of me. Maybe we can get something useful out of him.”

“People have tried to extract the secrets of their weapons before. They never crack.”

She smiled. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

When she turned to the door that Raenin had apparently kicked in, her mirth dropped like a stone thrown from the highest tower. Anemony was standing in the doorway, eyes as wide as dinner plates, mouth agape. Horror was written plainly across the delicate features of her face. She had once told Ivy that she had feared her, but until now, Ivy hadn’t seen it.

“Anemony,” she said, but the girl rocketed upward into the air, disappearing from sight.

Ivy let out a long, tired breath. Her arm burned like hell, she had been poisoned again, and she had probably just lost her newest, and only remaining friend.

Raenin clapped a hand on her uninjured shoulder.

“She’ll get over it.”

She shrugged him off and spun, giving him what she hoped was her harshest glare.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, and walked through the ruined doorway.