I sat fidgeting a little from the hostility in the room. Grigore and Emil scowled incessantly at each other, dark eyed and brow furrowed. Grigore had told Emil his findings and demanded what Emil was hiding. So far Emil hadn't complied.
Teodor watched over by the door, oddly not taking his gaze from me. His eyes never left my face and I tried to ignore the stare but found myself curling closer to Grigore, seeking comfort and protection, and I knew Grigore had noticed by how his magic swelled over me protectively and his temper grew worse.
"I'm waiting." Grigore growled, barely hiding his impatient tone.
Emil's brushy brow slowly relaxed and his gaze lost its hostility. "There is a witch."
Grigore settled back, seemingly pleased with the answer while my face paled. The last time I had a run-in with a witch had led to a child's death and the loss of my memory. I didn't want to deal with another.
"Do you mean a witch or a hag? They're distinctly different."
"I don't see how." Emil sniffed.
"One will do anything to protect humans as a midwife and healer, while the other will eat flesh and spread plagues."
"Then the last I knew, she was a witch. Nanny Rutt has only ever been kind to us. She heals us from sickness and has helped our women birth. She has no reason to hurt us."
"Have you angered her?"
"Not that I'm aware of. She lives a fair distance away."
"And why didn't you mention her? People going missing without any signs of kidnapping and signs of madness within a community are potential signs of a hag. She may have turned recently." Grigore growled. "You have to tell me everything if you want me to help you, Emil. You hold anything back and I can't protect you. Witches can turn to madness very easily."
Emil shrugged his portly shoulders, unconcerned about Grigore's words. "You know now." He said. "There is a small road leading east, back into the forest. Follow it for a day and you'll find Nanny Rutt. See if she is still a kind old lady for me."
Grigore grunted unhappily and stood, helping me to my feet. Teodor stepped aside as I was swept out, hurrying passed the skinny man and his hawk like eyes. Grigore followed me out into the cold and fading light but not before shooting a hostile scowl at Teodor, his magic grumbling in warning when Teodor seemed to only see me. We were off again before the door even shut behind us.
"Are you going to her now?" I asked worriedly. I didn't want to go see this witch but neither did I want to be left in this soulless town by myself.
Grigore squeezed my hand but his dark eyes remained fixed on the road, filled with thought. "No. The sun is going down and the cold will worsen. I'll wait until dawn to take you."
I breathed a small sigh of relief and it puffed out of my mouth as a small cloud. Grigore seemed to notice and he tugged me close, circling an arm around my waist and trapping me to his chest as he took a kiss from me. I sighed softly, pressing myself into him and parting my lips, taking comfort from his velvet mouth and sweet taste.
"The witch won't hurt you, not while I'm with you. This won't be like your encounter with Black Annis." He murmured firmly.
"I know." I smiled stiffly, trying to convince him I wasn't scared but failed to wipe the fear from my eyes. "Do you really think a witch is behind the children's disappearances?"
"Children are often favoured meat among hags but I can't be certain. I need to know Nanny Rutt to know what she would do. Hags all have their own ways of causing havoc. Some create madness, other create sorrow or rage. I also need to see if she is sane and would cause harm to the children, she may be quite healthy." He said to me, glancing at the sky when thunder rolled above, marking the coming of a storm after the brief break of hail. "But we'll do a few sweeps again, see if we can find anything useful, then sleep. The witch can wait until the morning."
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The Weaver's Source
FantasyLyra has been waiting for her Weaver to find her for years, unable to leave the safety of her home and only connected to him through passionate dreams - remembering nothing about him apart from his wild, sensual song. When the lone Weaver Grigore f...