The Five Cursed Witches: Volume 1 - Zoe, the Witch of Innocence

Chapter 3 My life

Zoe

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"Zoe, you ought to sleep. You have a lot to do the coming days and you will need your strength," Father told me a few hours later.

"I will. Soon," I promised.

I sat on the floor in the living room, using the ottoman as a backrest, staring into the lit fireplace. I wished they would burn. The whole lot of them, starting with the Priestess.

Father sat down on the ottoman and sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Zoe. You know you don't have to. You can..."

"Don't," I interrupted him. "Just don't."

I turned my head to look at him and forced a smile.

"I'll be alright. And I won't be in any danger. Not really. I've handled more dangerous people than a witch hunter."

We had had the same conversation, which I knew his words would lead us to, many times. It always went the same way. Father would shoulder all the blame for the situation and he would tell me he was sorry he hadn't left as soon as he knew I was special. He would then go on to suggest that we left. I would in turn try to convince him it wasn't his fault, that it was my and my curse's fault. I would then decisively refuse to leave, because if we left, the coven would come after us and the one in most peril would be Father.

If it had been only me, I would have left a long time ago, but I could not put Father in such a danger. He had already sacrificed enough for me throughout my life. I would never allow him to risk sacrificing his life as well.

He placed a hand on my shoulder and I tensed up, but he didn't notice or he simply ignored it. I knew the fabric protected him, but my fears always took over when he touched me, or rather, touched the clothes I wore.

"You don't have to be brave in front of me. You can let it all out. I'm here for you," he said in a soft voice.

"I'm fine. I really am. I just need to collect my thoughts a bit."

He sighed and squeezed my shoulder a little. "Just don't stay up too late," he then said and left me alone to my thoughts.

The task I had would honestly be one of the easiest I had ever had. Or rather, it wouldn't be weighing on my conscious like some of the others and that was what I cared about. Killing someone that hunted my kind would make me laugh rather than cry. It probably was among the more dangerous tasks I had had, though. A witch hunter was a formidable opponent to any witch. But since I could kill him without uttering a spell, he probably wouldn't even realize what I was until it was too late.

I would have probably gone to bed with ease tonight, maybe not happy, but at least at peace about my mission, if it wasn't for the fact that I knew it wasn't the end. The coven would call for my services again and I wouldn't be able to do anything but agree, and maybe be forced to kill a child again like they had asked me to one time.

I still had nightmares about that from time to time. The Priestess had told me to kill a man. She had said that he had found out about the coven and the existence of witches, and that he was planning to go public about his discovery. That he, with his revelation, would bring back the witch hunts. I still didn't know if that had been true or not. I liked to believe that it had been true, but there was a small inkling of doubt in me.

The Priestess had gone on to tell me that the man had a daughter as well and that the daughter also had to die, because if not, the daughter would spread the word when she was old enough. The Priestess had been forced to spend extra time to convince me to do it. It hadn't been until she had uttered her first obvious threat to my father's life that I had agreed.

The last words the man said had been to ask me if a she had sent me with a message for him. He had looked so happy when mentioning that she. So, so happy. But I hadn't stopped to ask who he meant. Hadn't stopped to ask anything or to even think a single thought. I had simply walked up to them with my hands bare and taken their hands in mine. And so the man and his three-year-old daughter had fallen dead to the ground.

There had been no pain, no sign of physical damage. Both of them had had lingering smiles on their lips.

The way I had acted when I had returned to the coven had made the Priestess more furious than I had ever seen her before or after. But she must have taken some pity on me. She had at least never asked me to kill a child again.

My father had tried so many times to make me see my curse as a blessing. When I was about forty, however, he had realized that there was no point in trying anymore. His attempts to make a curse that made me unable to touch anything living without it dying to something good had been laughable. I was born a murderer, killing my own mother before I even took my first breath, and I would continue to be a murderer until the day I died. A tool for my coven to use as they pleased.

I knew I would refuse them, though, as soon as my father died. He was, after all, the sole reason for me to follow their orders. Male witches were rare and seen as weak and inferior. Different covens handled it differently. Unfortunately, my father had been born into one that treated male witches almost like slaves.

The peace they gave him in exchange for my services was worth it, I guessed. It was the least I could do for him after having killed my mother and his mate. I knew he didn't blame me for it, at least he had never made any such comments, but he refused to talk about her and that told me enough. Over a hundred years later, he was still consumed by the pain of losing her.

I blinked away the tears that formed in my eyes. I didn't cry, I reminded myself. There was no point in crying. It wouldn't change anything. The curse of the faerie would still be on me, I would still be a murderer, and I would still never get to feel a touch against my skin.

I took a deep breath. This was my life, and it always would be. There was no point in dwelling on it. I simply just had to go to sleep and then find the witch hunter and touch him.