The Witch's Patron

Prologue

The witch Vidonia crashed through the door and collapsed into a heap in the street. Though morning approached, the world was still mercifully dark; there was no one around to witness what she was about to do.

Standing between the witch and the door's threshold, her familiar chattered impatiently.

"Yes," she hissed. "I know. I'm moving."

Trembling, she got to her feet. She only had a handful of minutes left to complete her spell. Waves of weakness and nausea threatened to disarm her, but Vidonia held fast; the magic she was performing was more powerful than any she had wielded before, but she had come too far to give up now.

To the relief of her restless familiar, she shut the door and shoved it hard until she heard the latch click into place. Her next job was to lock it.

Vidonia pulled a dagger from the pocket of her cloak and carefully unwrapped its blade. She placed one hand on the worn wood of the door, feeling for its innate energy like a pulse. When at last the ancient vibration quivered through her palm, Vidonia sent her own energy down through her other arm and directed it through her dagger as she carefully carved a symbol around the door handle.

The lock slid into place with a satisfying clunk.

"Excellent," the witch panted, shaking back her sweat-soaked hair. "That should hold until I'm finished."

Again, she chiseled her sacred blade into the heavy wooden door, carving emblems meant to bind and hide. For every line and curve she gouged, Vidonia felt her strength drain. Magic was a system of give and take; she was asking a lot of this spell, it was no surprise that it demanded just as much from her.

As she finished the last of her symbols, the door shook — not from her magic, but from a frantic hammering coming from the other side.

"Vidonia!" screamed a muffled voice. "Vidonia, what have you done?"

From her feet, the witch's familiar let out a low, threatening growl.

"I thought I had more time before she woke up," Vidonia muttered, delicately pulling a clay jar from the satchel she wore concealed beneath her cloak. "I'll have to move quickly."

"Vidonia, I know you're out there." The door handle rattled in vain. "Why are you doing this?"

The witch scowled and dipped her quivering fingers into the cold, pungent paste contained within the jar. She had spent many moon cycles perfecting the concoction; the final step needed to seal her spell. Careful not to waste a single dollop, Vidonia began the careful work of smoothing the paste into the grooves she had carved. While her hands performed their magic, the witch chanted an incantation.

"With this spell, I transform your home into your prison."

"What?" the frantic voice behind that door cried. "Vidonia, stop!"

"May you spend what remains of your miserable life trapped in a cage built by your own betrayal."

"Betrayal? Vidonia, please – you can't be serious." The door trembled with the desperate pounding of fists.

"You will watch the world you love move on without you over a threshold you may never cross."

"Don't do this, Vidonia!"

"And you will be lost to the night. So it is cast, so it shall be."

Vidonia's finger finished filling the last rune, and with her incantation complete, the paste began to glow. In the final throes of darkness, the symbols of the witch's spell glowed with an eerie light that spread like roots taking hold in the wood. Vidonia sank to her knees and pressed her forehead into the door, gasping for breath.

She could hear crying seeping from beyond the door. Her familiar crawled onto her lap, looking pleased.

"Vidonia, please," came the sobbing voice. "If you ever cared for me—"

"If I ever cared for you?" the witch snapped, her fingernails digging into the wooden door with rage. "I did care for you, and look where it got me! Never forget that it was you who turned on me first."

There was a moment of strained silence before the voice spoke again. "The path you chose to walk is a dark one. I was trying to save you from yourself."

A soft, muted light crept over the world as if a dark cloud was lifting. Vidonia looked up at the sky, brightening by the moment: sunrise.

"How noble of you," the witch said, watching rays of sun cutting over the silhouetted rows of tightly clustered buildings.

"Vidonia, please." The voice behind the door was so broken, so forlorn. "Don't do this."

"It's too late." the witch closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the morning sun wash over her. "I already have."

When she opened her eyes again, the sun had risen and the door had vanished. The witch Vidonia rose slowly to unsteady feet, and smiled.

"Goodbye, Keizsa."