Me. She. Us

ME. SHE. US

T he clang of swords rings in my ears as a hand clamps over my mouth, jarring me awake.

My heart pounds, and I struggle for a panicked moment before Owen’s familiar scent wraps around me.

“Shh, it’s me,” he whispers. “The guards are coming. You need to get back to your cell, now.”

His words penetrate the fog of sleep, and I nod, disoriented. The dream was so real that the warmth of the nursery still clings to my skin and smoke from the burning fortress burns my lungs.

I take a deep breath and focus, picturing my cell.

A tingling sensation spreads through my body, and then I’m standing next to my cot. I slide under the thin, scratchy blanket and turn to face the wall, pulling the covers up to my chin.

Seconds later, a bright beam of light sweeps across the cell as the guards do their nightly check. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my racing pulse to slow.

In…out…in…out.

I keep my breathing deep and even, terrified they’ll somehow know I wasn’t here a minute ago.

Heavy boots thud past, pausing at each cell.

Voices murmur.

Keys jangle.

My muscles tense as they approach Owen’s cell across from mine.

“Put the bed back where it belongs, wolf,” one of them barks, “unless you want to sleep on the floor.”

The scuff of Owen shoving his cot back into place.

The clink of the guards’ equipment as they move on.

My eyes squeeze shut so tightly that sparks dance across the back of my eyelids. A cold breeze rushes past, smelling like snow and carrying the hint of smoke from a fire.

The rhythmic clomp of the guards’ boots morphs and twists, blending with the frantic pounding of feet through the snow.

Cold wind bites at my cheeks, and the coppery scent of blood mingles with pine and frost.

My eyes open, and I find myself back in the vision, but this time, I’m no longer an observer. I’m in Rowena’s body, experiencing what she experienced.

My lungs and legs burn as I run, the baby a warm weight against my hammering heart. Low-hanging branches whip at my face, but the sting barely registers. Terror drives me forward, urging me to go faster, flee farther.

A flash of movement to the left draws my attention, and my head whips around with a gasp.

It’s me. No, not me, but a ghost of myself keeping pace beside her, red hair streaming behind me.

Somehow, I’m both inside Rowena and watching her at the same time.

I meet Rowena’s panicked gaze for a split second before turning back toward the Northern Fortress rising in the distance. Flames pour from the tower windows, painting the snow-laden trees in flickering orange light while black smoke belches into the night sky .

On the outer wall, lit by the blazing fires, Evander battles a horde of dark witches. Magic crackles and flares as they hurl spell after spell, trying to break through his defenses. He’s a one-man army, a furious whirlwind of flashing steel and explosive power beating them back to buy his wife and child precious seconds to escape.

I falter, anguish warring with my survival instinct as my beloved husband, my eternal spark, fights for his life. For our lives. My heart rips in two with the unbearable need to race to Evander’s side.

The babe lets out a thin wail, and I clutch her closer, torn between the two halves of my heart. Tears freeze on my lashes as I wrench myself away and plunge back into the icy dark of the forest.

A howl of agony rips through the frigid air, reverberating in my bones.

I whirl back in time to see Evander crumple to the ground, his sword falling from lifeless fingers. Fear claws at my throat as the witches swarm forward, intent on finishing what they started.

I lunge toward him, desperate to help, to heal, to do something . But an invisible force yanks me backward, compelling me to continue down the path Rowena and the baby had taken .

Helpless to resist, I turn away from Evander’s broken body before I see the killing blow.

Bile rises in my throat, hot and acidic. I want to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all.

Uncaring of my desires, the magic hurtles me forward, branches whipping my face, roots trying to trip me. The forest blurs into a smear of black and white as I careen after Rowena, her gasping breaths guiding me through the darkness.

Footsteps crunch behind us, getting closer. Too heavy to be an animal. Too fast. Dread sinks into my hammering heart.

They found our path out of the fortress. They’re coming!

A sizzling bolt of green fire hurtles past my ear and slams into a tree beside Rowena. She shrieks and veers to the side, almost losing her footing on the slick ice. The baby screams, high and terrified.

“Keep going!” I yell at Rowena, my voice strange and distorted to my own ears. “Don’t stop, don’t look back!”

I burst through the tree line right behind Rowena, skidding to a halt as my boots slide on the icy edge of a small cliff. Below us, a frozen lake glitters in the moonlight, deceptively serene.

Rowena whirls around, her red hair whipping across her face. She clutches the squalling baby tight to her heaving chest, her eyes wild with desperation.

There’s nowhere to go. We’re trapped.

I spin to face our pursuers, my heart a staccato beat in my ears. A figure emerges from the woods, tall and graceful, with an aura of power that raises goose bumps on my arms.

As she steps into a shaft of moonlight, I gasp.

She’s the spitting image of granny Hutchen from my time. The same hazel eyes, the same cold, assessing gaze, the same two inches taller than me.

“Rowena, darling,” the woman purrs, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “You didn’t really think you could escape me, did you?”

Rowena’s arms tighten around the baby. “I won’t let you have her, Morella. I’ll die first.”

Morella throws back her head and laughs, the sound as sharp as broken glass. “Oh, you foolish girl. You’ll die either way. But first, you’ll watch as I rip your precious daughter apart. Piece by piece. The power of the Rothaven line dies here.”

Rowena makes a choked, agonized sound.

I step in front of her, my hands balled into fists. I’m just a spectator here, unable to change what’s already happened. But I can’t stand by and let this monster destroy my family .

“Stay back!” I shout at Morella, my voice shaking with rage and fear. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

My warning goes unheard as the evil witch focuses on my ancestor.

“You have nowhere left to run, Rowena,” she snarls, advancing with deliberate steps, ugly green magic flaming in her hands.

Rowena takes another step back, the heel of her boot sending pebbles skittering over the precipice. My heart pounds in a frantic rhythm as the distance between her and the cliff’s edge narrows.

“Morella, please. It doesn’t have to end like this,” Rowena pleads, her voice cracking as she clutches her baby to her chest.

“Oh, but it does.” A cruel smile twists her lips. “An eye for an eye, isn’t that what they say? You took my son from me. Now I will take your child from you.”

“He used dark magic to drain other witches of their power and kill them!” Rowena lifts her chin in defiance. “He was a monster, but I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

Rowena looks back over her shoulder at the frozen lake below. Snowflakes catch on her lashes and numb her wind-chapped cheeks .

A sense of calm steals over her features, a resolute acceptance straightening her spine. “You’re right, Morella. It ends here. But not how you think.”

She takes a deep breath, the icy air searing her lungs. “My child and I will die as we lived, protecting our magic from being used for evil.”

Horror rips through me as understanding dawns, but too late as Rowena takes that last step backward off the cliff’s edge. With a strangled cry, I lunge for her, my fingers grazing her hand as she falls.

Then I’m back inside Rowena, gravity wrenching me down, down, down. The screams of the baby mingle with the howling wind and Morella’s furious shrieks.

My terror rises, but Rowena brushes it aside. There’s only one priority now. One singular purpose driving me as the icy lake rushes up to meet us. With her last shred of strength, she pushes every ounce of magic she possesses into a desperate shield around the precious life cradled in her arms.

The impact steals my breath, frigid water engulfing us, dragging us into the lake’s murky depths. The cold pierces like a thousand knives, so intense that it burns before blessed numbness sweeps in.

I thrash inside Rowena, trying to separate myself, terrified of what it will mean if I’m still bound to Rowena when she dies.

Peace settles over Rowena like a soft blanket. She’s done all she can. At least her daughter will never suffer at Morella’s hands. Her heart slows, the space between beats lengthening.

But I’m not finished fighting, unwilling to relinquish us to fate’s design.

Rowena’s consciousness fades, allowing mine to surge forward, taking control of her body. With my last vestiges of strength, I reach out, my magic seeking, searching, grasping for any shred of power to save us.

Far below, in the basin of the lake, the earth thrums, ancient and steady as a heartbeat, offering strength. Higher on the hill, the scorching heat of the flames devours the Northern fortress. The crisp bite of winter’s breath dances across the lake’s frozen surface. And all around us, the currents swirl, born from mountain springs and glacial melt.

I latch onto them all, weaving the ethereal magic of nature together in a desperate plea to survive. Rowena’s heart stops, the protective barrier around her baby unraveling.

Then light explodes around us, brilliant and blinding, banishing the inky darkness. My spell slams through her body, pulses through her veins, a command that cannot be denied.

Live, it screams. Fight. Swim.

The water’s icy grip turns gentle, almost caressing, and blessed air expands our straining lungs. Rowena’s heart lurches, her body thrashing as life surges through it once more.

Her limbs obey my unspoken command, legs pumping, one arm pulling, the other still clutching the precious bundle in our arms. Our head breaks the surface, and we gulp a greedy lungful of sweet, frozen air.

That’s it, Rowena. I funnel more magic through our body and strengthen the protective shield around the baby. Just a little farther. We’re almost there.

Through the curtain of sodden hair plastered to our face, I glimpse the shore, so close. Inch by painful inch, we drag ourselves through the water, until at last, our fingers brush against rocks and pebbles, and our feet find purchase on blessed solid ground.

We haul ourselves out of the lake’s clutches, staggering onto the shore in a graceless tangle of limbs. Shivers wrack our body as the bitter wind slices through soaked clothing, chilling us to the bone .

“They’ll come searching for us,” she whispers through chattering teeth, our arms tightening around her precious bundle. Her baby girl, fussing but better off than her mother. “If they find our footprints leading out of the water…”

Then don’t leave any footprints.

Rowena shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

An image blooms in my mind, sleek fur, powerful muscles, keen senses, and I offer it to her. Become wolves, Rowena. Pups are strong and can survive the cold. Become wolves and live.

She grasps desperate hold of the intricate threads of the spell I offer. A chance at survival, a new form to carry them to safety. With numb fingers, she lays her daughter on a soft patch of moss, bending close to whisper the ancient words to reshape her tiny body.

Magic surges through us, a crackling current of power that I share. It pours into her child, and before our eyes, downy fur sprouts along her delicate limbs, her face elongating into a tiny muzzle. A heartbeat later, a wolf pup squirms free from the confines of the blanket, her little tail wagging as she prances around my ankles.

Wonder and relief clash inside my chest, but there’s no time to marvel at the miracle we’ve wrought. Fixing the spell’s framework in her mind, Rowena lets the power wash over us, our own body shifting and changing. Bones realign, muscles knit themselves into new configurations, and suddenly, the world is awash in a riot of scents and sounds never experienced before.

The transformation releases me from Rowena’s body, and I stand as a spectator once more, admiring her new form.

She’s a sleek wolf, with fur as red as blood against the stark white landscape. Her pup yips, bounding over to nuzzle against her side, her tiny body radiating heat and life.

“You did it,” I whisper, reaching out a hand. “Now run, Rowena. Run and never come back.”

Rowena trots over and presses her muzzle against my ethereal form, thankfulness washing off of her in waves.

Surprised, I stroke her fur, marveling at the softness. “Go. They’ll be coming soon.”

Throwing back her head, she opens her muzzle, and a howl sings into the air, a celebration of freedom and a shout of defiance. Her pup echoes the cry, her small voice a high-pitched counterpoint.

Then, with one last brush against my hand, Rowena turns and races into the woods, her daughter close at her heels.

The last of their line, and the beginning of mine.

The Founder story for Hartford Cove said my ancestor fell in love with a man who could turn into a wolf. Rowena’s grandson. Which makes Rowena herself the witch in the woods.

I turn back toward the fortress, where fire still lights the sky. The fortress hadn’t fallen this night. Rowena’s protective wards saved at least part of the structure.

Leaving it for the Hutchens’ ancestors to squat inside like giant ticks, still trying to suck the magic out of it.

The only question now is, do they know their family history? And are they trying to repeat it?