Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

I have ten days to figure out what the demon meant.

I should go back if Mors and the others are looking for me. It could spell trouble, but for the first time in many, many years, I have a purpose.

This little witch was born from my magic, from people like me. She is one of mine, and it's my duty to protect her. I know it's a lie though. Something about her compels me to stay and protect her, even from my kind. Mors could have killed me for standing before her. I was lucky he was in a good mood, but the demon, on the other hand . . .

Demons only do things for two reasons.

The first is a deal.

The second is because it's entertaining.

Which is it for him? Since it's been so many years since he appeared, it has to be a deal. Someone made a deal to save her. My brow furrows as I glance between them. They work seamlessly together, even if neither notice, communicating without words. He helps her brew the spell I do not need, reaching up for a vial when she cannot and handing it over without a word. When she steps back, he moves with instinct to block her from tripping. It is like a dance between them. Both are so very aware of the other.

Do they even realise it?

Why does the thought irritate me?

Has anyone ever been that aware of me? Have I ever trusted someone so much that I can rely on them without even thinking?

No. I have never let someone in that much. They trust each other, which makes this a lot harder. If I am to save her and free her from the deal with the demon like she so clearly wants, then it will hurt them both, maybe even kill her.

Does she truly want to be free of the deal, or has she spent so long fighting his presence, she doesn't even realise what she wants anymore?

I need to know more before I make a move. This could be a dangerous situation for them, and I do not wish to hurt the little witch. She is kind and funny. I blink at my thoughts, and when she glances over her shoulder at me and grins, I find myself smiling back.

For the first time in a few millennium, I smile at another, unable to help it.

The demon was right. This little witch is far more dangerous than I thought.

"Freya, get out here right now!" someone hollers from outside the cave.

Both Freya and the demon turn, frowning, and then they share a look. The demon disappears and reappears a moment later. "It's Hagatha."

"Why?" Freya's frown deepens, but she hurries to the entrance. I discreetly follow, shielding myself so neither of them sees me. Freya is half bowed before an older lady who has her arms crossed, an irritated expression on her face.

"Tell me it was not you, child," Hagatha demands. What a strange name.

"Erm, see, usually I would be feigning innocence, but for once, I'm lost. What was not me?" Freya asks with confusion. She has been in her home with us for the last few days, brewing the spell, not up to trouble, and from the look of this white witch's face, this is the usual for her.

Hagatha sighs, scrubbing at her face. "Freya." Her voice fills with power, and it lashes out, wrapping around Freya, who gasps, dropping to her knees. I grab the demon before he can react. "Wait," I hiss at him.

The glowing white bindings wrap tighter around Freya's throat. "I want the truth, and this spell will ensure that. I am sorry, child, but I cannot trust your words otherwise. Did you steal the mask of origins from my shop?"

"What mask? I have stolen nothing," Freya rasps as the threads dig into her throat. It won't hurt her, just feel uncomfortable and allow her to speak nothing but the truth. It's not harmful, but even I do not like the sight of my little witch on her knees, being forced to speak.

Hagatha frowns. "What have you been up to, Freya? You have been quiet, and then the mask disappeared."

The demon stills—we both do. If she speaks the truth now, it will not be good for her. No coven would be happy that a member summoned and trapped a god to break a deal with a demon.

They could cast her aside.

"I have been trying to contain my magic so I do not make any more mistakes." Despite the spell, one of the strongest I have ever felt outside of my realm, Freya manages to lie.

She lies through a truth spell.

Just how powerful is this little witch?

The spell suddenly unwinds, and Freya gasps, falling forward. "I'm sorry, child, but I had to be sure." Hagatha sighs, crouching down and offering her hand.

Freya climbs to her feet, ignoring the proffered hand, and glares at Hagatha. "And you cannot trust my word? You trust me that little?"

"You have never given me a reason for it." Hagatha sounds tired.

"Am I not a member of this coven? Do I not deserve the same respect? You have all looked down on me since I was a child, and now you use magic on me as if I were a traitor?" Freya hisses, and black smoke seems to wrap around her .

Hagatha notices, glancing at it worriedly, but she doesn't appear surprised. "Child, calm down. I had to know it was not you?—"

"Yes, it was not, yet here we are," Freya hisses, and the sound raises the hair on the back of my neck.

It is chilling.

It is cold.

It is death.

I stare at Freya. Just what magic does she possess? She doesn't even seem to notice she is doing it, as if it's outside of her control, which is even more worrisome.

"Child." Hagatha spreads her hands wide, watching her magic. "That mask, you know it, the one that sings to you." Freya stills, as does the smoke. "It is the origin of the necromancers, and it is one of the most cursed objects in this world. It's filled with so much evil and pain, it can corrupt even the purest soul. It is missing, and I am questioning everyone like this. Follow me if you do not believe me."

The smoke slowly retracts. "Who would steal something like that?"

"Nobody with good intentions," Hagatha admits, her face almost collapsing. "I swear, child, I am not singling you out. We have to get to the bottom of this swiftly. That mask . . . it could cause the end of this world."

"Necromancers are all gone," Freya murmurs.

Hagatha eyes her. "Or they want us to think they are." She waves her hand. "I will continue to search, but if you see or hear anything, let me know, okay?"

Freya nods and watches Hagatha go with a frown on her face. She looks all soft and innocent, but I cannot forget what I just saw—the darkness leaking from her soul.

When the demon glances at me, he is not surprised.

He knows what she is.

We both do.

The question is, does she?