Emily listened absently, sensing wild magic pulsing through the trees. The witch’s home was close enough to the village to buy what she wanted — or simply take it — but far away enough to make sure no one entered her lands by accident. Emily wondered, as the magic grew stronger, if the local lords knew the witch lived there. She was on the borderline, perhaps too far from either of them to take notice. Or she might be too powerful for them to challenge openly. Void — Emily’s supposed father — was a one-man army and he wasn’t the only one. The lords might have decided to turn a blind eye, rather than start a fight they couldn’t win.
“My Lady,” Rufus said. “Will Randor be alright?”
“I hope so,” Emily said. She didn’t want to lie to him. “We’ll see.”
Her eyes narrowed as she spotted the boundary line. The wards weren’t enough to stop her, or anyone, but crossing the spells would alert their mistress. Rufus and Randor had been detected the moment they’d crossed… Emily took a breath, then braced herself and twanged the wards. It felt like a mistake — she thought she could sneak through the wards — but she wanted the witch to know she was there. She dared not act like a spy.
“This is the boundary line,” she said, calmly. “You can stay here, if you like, or go back to the village.”
Rufus turned and ran so fast Emily was surprised there wasn’t an audible rush. She felt a twinge of pity for the young man whose first encounter with magic had been so unpleasant, then turned to walk through the boundary line. The wards hummed around her, confirming — as if she’d had any doubt — the witch knew she was there. Emily’s heart raced as she made her way along the path. The witch had been busy. She’d grown a patchwork garden of herbs and spices, each useful in potions and spellwork. The wards grew stronger as the path widened suddenly, revealing an old farmhouse that seemed to be carved from a single piece of stone. Emily braced herself. The witch was waiting for her.
She was a tall woman, easily as tall as Lady Barb. Her face was sharp and angular, dark eyes glinting coldly and black hair hung down her back. She wore a simple shirt and trousers, odd for a sorceress. Emily reached out, gingerly, with her senses and tried not to wince when she touched the witch’s power. She’d heard hedge witches were little more than charlatans, with a touch of magic and little more, but this woman was formidable. And the land itself hummed around her.
This is her place of power, Emily thought. Show respect.
She dropped a neat curtsey. “I am Emily,” she said. It was hard to escape the feeling that reciting her titles was a very bad idea. “I come in peace.”
“Emily,” the witch said. She didn’t have a local accent. Emily couldn’t place it. “The Necromancer’s Bane, are you not?”
“So they call me,” Emily said, feeling her cheeks heat. The witch had heard of her…? Knew her? Perhaps it wasn’t that strange. As far as she knew, she was the only Emily in her new world. “May we talk?”
“I am Cornelia,” the witch said. “I have no patience for small talk. What do you want?”
Emily forced herself to meet the witch’s eyes. Cornelia? A magical name, she thought, although it didn’t mean she came from a magical family. She might have been named after someone who’d done her family a favour, or she might have simply adopted the name for herself. It was hard to hold her gaze. The woman was no lightweight. She was surrounded by an air of simmering power that blurred into the charmed garden. And the fact she wasn’t even masking her power was worrying. It was nothing more than blatant intimidation.
“I will be quick,” Emily said. It crossed her mind she should withdraw and call for help, but that would mean leaving the poor boy trapped in an animal form. “You turned a boy into a donkey, using a spell that cannot be unravelled nor left to wear off on its own. I have come to ask you to remove the spell.”
Cornelia’s eyes blazed fire. “I caught them spying on me,” she said. “On me!”
“You taught them a lesson,” Emily agreed. “But are you going to leave him that way for the rest of his life?”
The witch took a step forward. It was all Emily could do to stand her ground.
“If they’d been girls, I might have talked to them,” she snarled. There was a hint of pain under her anger. “But men are not welcome here.”
“They got the message,” Emily said. “If you release the boy now, he won’t bother you again.”
“And then they will think they can get away with entering my lands,” Cornelia told her, curtly. “They were spying on me!”
Her eyes narrowed. “And why do you care?”
Emily gritted her teeth. “Because it’s the right thing to do?”
Cornelia snorted. “Who are you to preach morality to me?”
“You have meted out a life sentence,” Emily said, ignoring the question. “If he’s a donkey, a beast of burden, for the rest of his life… how will he be treated?”
“That’s his problem,” Cornelia said. “And my answer is no. I will not restore him to humanity.”
“Please,” Emily said.
“He’s a little brat who would have grown up into an abusive husband,” Cornelia said. “And now that will never happen.”
“Just because you were mistreated by a man doesn’t mean that all men are bastards,” Emily said. The thought hurt. Her stepfather had been a bastard who made normal bastards look bland and harmless, but she’d met plenty of men who were good and decent. Sergeant Harkin had given his life to save hers and… she knew, now, how he must have felt at Whitehall. He’d had no power of his own and, if the students had challenged him, he would have been effortlessly defeated. “And he’s learnt his lesson…”
Cornelia’s temper flared. “Get out. Get out and don’t come back!”
“I will return, with the Sorcerer Void — my father — and as many other sorcerers as I can muster,” Emily said. “And we will force you to undo the spell.”
Magic flared. She shuddered as Cornelia’s curse slammed into her wards. It was hard to focus, hard to tighten her defences, as the magic snapped and snarled at her. She’d underestimated both the witch’s power and her skill. Her wards started to crumple as magic leaked through the gaps in her spells, threatening to rip the rest of her defences apart. She gritted her teeth, trying to stand up and fight back. She’d beaten a necromancer, hadn’t she?
I cheated, she recalled. And that isn’t an option here.
The magic grew worse, pressing against her. It wasn’t just Cornelia now, as formidable as she was. It felt as if the land itself was joining in the struggle. Emily shaped a spell and cast it, hoping and praying she managed to snatch up a nearby rock and throw it at the witch, but the spellware came apart before it even reached its target. A physical blow might have cracked her defences — most sorcerers didn’t pay heed to physical threats — and yet… she had to channel all her remaining power into the defences. Cornelia stood there, her dark eyes flaring with power. Emily cursed. She’d bitten off more — much more — than she could chew.
She started forward, or tried to. Her legs refused to move. She looked down and, for a moment, felt nothing but absolute horror. Her legs were gone, replaced by what looked like a tree trunk. Cornelia was turning her into a tree? Her mind refused to accept it and yet… she could feel the transformation now, a gradual shift rather than an instant transfiguration. The land was drawing her in, welcoming her… her thoughts started to scatter as the wood reached her chest and crawled over her breasts. The feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant and yet…
Emily bit her lip, hard. She wanted to beg for mercy and yet she knew that wasn’t an option. Not any longer. Threatening Cornelia had been foolish, but… she put the thought out of her head as the transformation washed through her neck and up into her brain. Wild magic hummed around her. She could feel it… she wondered, suddenly, if Cornelia was in command of the magic or if it ruled her. The garden was more than just herbs. It bathed in wild magic and… she could see the threadlines, linking Cornelia to her home. It really was her place of power.