ANATOMY OF A GIRL

december 24th, 1808

Location:

Cara'cius, Svet'dmai

A single knock at the door roused Mela from her work bench. It was a timid sound, fearful. The interruption quickly deepened the scowl that was etched on her face.

Mela muttered the incantation beneath her breath, forcing the door to swing inward on its hinges. At the threshold, a young witch stood, her fingers interlocked in a display of strength. Unfortunate that her eyes could not feign the same strength. There was a glossiness in them that was simply not acceptable. Mela would have to inform the girl's mentor. A Dusk witch, no matter her age, could not show such weakness. Mela could not allow it. She hadn't remained the head witch in this coven for decades by allowing weakness.

Mela watched the girl with her good eye, stretching her aching limbs. "What is it?" she snapped, raising an eyebrow at the girl.

The girl witch took a breath, finding whatever sttength she could in that inhale. "A few weeks ago, after our late gathering, I returned to the sanctuary to collect a spell book I had forgotten. As I stood in the tree line, I noticed a figure in the shadows. I couldn't be sure who I had seen, it was so dark. They were leaving the sanctuary in a hurry. The girl looked almost ill in the light of the moon." Mela's gut seized, in anger, perhaps, or disgust. What the girl was implying – it was treason. "I did not know their face, but I convinced myself it was a new recruit, one I'd just yet to meet. I could not consider an alternative." Stupid, stupid girl, she thought. They did not recruit young witches very often, and it had been months since the last recruit joined their ranks. Mela's hand tightened around the edge of the workbench, wood digging into her flesh.

The girl continued, seemingly oblivious to the anger forcing its way through Mela's arteries, rupturing within her cardiac tissue. "I have only just realized my mistake – my stupidity, my lady," she stuttered, peering into the depth of Mela's blackened eye. "I saw the girl again this morning. Calantha Bane – she was in our sanctuary." Her head fell, eyes focused on the age-old wood of the sanctuary's floor.

Mela's ancient mind spun with the possibilities. The Dusk coven was well-known around Svet'dmai. They'd done many great things, many more ungreat things. But the one thing that put them above every other coven was the syani. It held a power many wished to possess. It was a dangerous thing, made powerful only in the knowing hands of an accomplished Dusk witch.

The head witch shut her eyes, letting the darkness contained within her left eye wander through the sanctuary's walls. There, at the very edge of their Dusk world, she could feel, taste, smell, the walls that once contained the herb. The precious, devious herb. A single leaf granted the power of the sun and moon. It had been in their possession for centuries. Those few dried shoots were all that remained, and it was gone.

In the hands of a creature such as a Bane – it was vile to even consider. Stolen, in an act of war. The girl would pay with her life.

*

In the days that followed the duel, Caius did not grow quieter. His rage did not dull – it was a living thing, sharpened within the crevices of his heart. It was not a thing he could learn to live with, and for that reason, he knew that he would have to make a move of his own against Demarko. A punishment for the Half-Witch's foolishness.

Caius gathered the supplies he'd been collecting, throwing the bag over his shoulder. He licked his lips as he made his way down into the kitchen. He could taste the sweetness of vengeance on his tongue. It was a melody – a beautiful, bloody song.

It was a cold day beyond the threshold of their home, but nothing could temper the pure delight in his veins.

Calantha approached the house as he made his way out into the dirt patch they called a garden. She eyed him and the bag over his shoulder, "I don't want to know what you're planning, but be careful, Cai," she said, grabbing his arm.