The Daggers of Ire by J. C. Cervantes

Author:J. C. Cervantes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-09-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

His words took all the wind out of Esme.

“Come again?” Tiago said.

“When you told me you were looking for an original witch,” Fetch said, “I knew it was my only shot to break the curse, and I guess my intentions were pretty loud.”

Esme frowned. “You could have just told us.”

With a smirk, Fetch said, “I didn’t know you. Would you have trusted you if you were me?”

“A thousand percent,” Tiago said. “But respect, man. Making a choice you know could end you? Brutal.”

Esme thrust out her hand, palm down. “No more lies.”

Tiago placed his hand on top of hers, and Fetch added his paw to the pile. “No more lies.”

“Okay, then,” Esme said, satisfied. “What do you need us for? Why not go to one of those dimensions alone?”

“Only a brujx has the power to find an original witch.”

Which meant that Esme’s hunch was right. “So the witch hunter, the one who got their hands on a Dagger of Ire, is a witch,” she muttered.

Tiago blew out a long breath that sounded like a whistle. “And that means they’re from San Bosco—so we probably know them, right?”

“I hope not.” The idea of a brujx hunting their own was like a fist to the heart.

“We should go,” Fetch said.

“Wait,” Esme said, her curiosity turning like a tornado. “Who would curse you like this?”

“And like why?” Tiago threw in. “You must’ve really pissed someone off.”

“Something like that,” Fetch said, scanning the forest. “But right now, we need to get to that boat.”

“And then what?” Esme needed a plan, a course of action beyond figuring out the riddle. She desperately needed to feel like she was moving toward her family, toward saving the witches, faster than the seconds were ticking by.

A horrible sound filled the air, like a knife scraping glass.

Esme whirled.

In the blackness of the woods, something began to take shape. Three forms, floating like ghosts.

Tiago said, “What the—”

No, Esme realized as they floated to the forest’s edge, not ghosts.

Semitransparent women with bloodred eyes, hollowed cheeks, and mouths so cavernous, an entire human body could fit inside.

“Don’t move,” Fetch whispered shakily. “Just take it nice and easy to the boat.”

“You said not to move!” Tiago said.

“Fatales,” Esme whispered.

“Let me guess,” Tiago muttered. “They’re fatal?”

A tight ball of fear coiled in Esme’s stomach.

“Nice and slow,” Fetch warned as the trio crept backward. “Or they’ll notice us.”

“Looks like they already have!” Esme said, wishing she could look away from the winged wraithlike Fatales with their tattered gowns and vacant stares. Her jaw tensed painfully, as if someone was screwing it shut, and no matter how much she tried to work it loose, the dark magic tightened the screws.

A few more feet, Esme chanted silently. Her heart pounded. A few—thump—more—thump—feet.

She stumbled into a piece of driftwood. Tiago’s arm shot out to catch her.

There was an instant, a brief moment of total silence, of maybe it’s going to be okay—

Then the Fatales flew at them.

SCREEEEE!

The unworldly shriek was so piercing, so excruciating, Esme thought her head would explode as she fell to her knees, covering her ears.

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