Shadow's Embrace by Nicole R. Taylor

Author:Nicole R. Taylor [Taylor, Nicole R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nicole R. Taylor

Chapter 12

June’s chest heaved as she clutched the stitch in her side. Lydia’s breaths came out in ragged gasps beside her, both witches pausing only for a moment to glance back at the shadowy silhouette of Mirabel’s house, as the matriarch’s cries grew fainter.

“Come on,” Lydia said. “We can’t stop.”

They retraced their steps, the glowing roots fading to the barest of glimmers now that the ayahuasca was almost out of June’s system. But she couldn’t unsee what she’d witnessed back at Mirabel’s. The way the Shadow’s Embrace had twisted around the matriarch, its tendrils creeping like shadowy veins across the walls and floor, had been more than just an eerie sight—it was a nightmare.

Ahead, the familiar sign of Alistair’s apothecary swung mournfully overhead as they approached, its creaking hinges sounding like fingernails dragging down a chalkboard. The door hung open, the inside shadowy and still. In fact, the town behind them felt just as empty, where it should be busy on a balmy spring evening.

“Alastair?” June called.

“June, wait,” Lydia called, grabbing her arm. “Something’s not right.”

She felt it then, a disturbance in the air that made her pause. The shadows inside the apothecary were thick, as if they were hiding another victim of the Shadow’s Embrace.

Lydia stepped through the threshold first, her fingers tracing the jagged edge of the splintered wood where the lock had been forced. Shelves that once housed neatly labelled vials and jars lay in disarray, their contents a shattered mosaic on the floor. Potions seeped into the cracks of the hardwood, their vibrant colours dulling as they mixed with the dust and debris.

Oh, no, June thought. All this stock lost again. How will Alistair recover his business this time?

“He’s not here,” Lydia whispered. “Look at this mess…”

Glass crunched underfoot as June followed, her gaze moving from one overturned table to the next, each upended chair another echo of violence. The earthy scent of spilled potions mingled with something sharper, the metallic tang of fear that seemed to permeate every broken bottle and scattered herb.

“There're no roots here,” June murmured, trying to make sense of the wreckage. “The ayahuasca is almost worn off, but I can still see them a little.” Her fingers lingered on a torn bag of chamomile, the flowers strewn like fallen stars across the floor.

“It’s got to be Mirabel,” Lydia said. “I left here at least two hours ago and everything was fine. That’s plenty of time to…” She trailed off and swallowed hard.

To catch Alistair unawares, June thought, not wanting to think about what Mirabel might’ve done to him.

“She was looking for something specific,” June concluded, her voice steadying as she knelt to pick up a book that lay discarded near a broken shelf. She brushed off the cover, revealing a title on potion-making that Alistair had recommended just weeks ago.

“She knew what we were working on,” Lydia added, and June met her teacher’s gaze, the unspoken fear between them as stark as the magic that flowed in their veins. “She knew about the wards.

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