The Secret Witch by Harvey Alyxandra;

Author:Harvey, Alyxandra;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2018-10-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 33

It was strange to be walking out at night, even in Mayfair. Girls were only allowed to shop, or walk in Hyde Park, during the day and always while trailing footmen or maids. Even distrusting Daphne’s motives, there was something freeing about the feel of the wind on Emma’s arms and the sturdy pavement under her shoes. The gas lamps flickered above, half shrouded in the thick clinging London mist.

“Where do we turn right, do you think?” Emma wondered. The lanes between the houses were private mews for stabling horses and the first street led to a cul-de-sac. They kept walking.

“I think we’ve arrived,” Penelope finally said, sounding strangled. She stopped to stare down the street. “What’s that?” She shivered. Emma and Gretchen also stopped to stare.

The house was faded, with peeling gray paint and a broken shutter that stuttered loudly against the wall. A black iron gate heavily decorated with scrollwork and a magpie design in the center enclosed the wilted garden. Even the shadows were gray, clinging like mold to every surface. “Why haven’t we ever noticed that house before?” she wondered. “It’s positively dismal.”

They waited for a lone carriage to pass before stepping off the curb to cross the street. This had been the fashionable neighborhood before Mayfair. The houses had a certain faded elegance, still beautiful in a way the Greymalkin House wasn’t. It had been lovely once, when it was full of warlocks, but now only the bones remained along with the taint of neglected spells. Wilted and scrubby plants pushed through the fence.

“Let’s get it over with then,” Emma said, reaching for a vine of green leaves with curling tendrils and red berries. It was covered in a fine layer of dust or mold, she couldn’t be sure. She was just glad she was wearing gloves, even if they would be ruined. She’d barely brushed against it when some kind of dark energy traveled through the fence. She could have sworn that a ghostly hand clamped around her wrist. It seared through her, bruising and burning through her gloves.

It wouldn’t let her go.

It pulled until she was slammed painfully against the iron scrollwork.

“Something’s got me!” Emma squawked. Gretchen and Penelope tried to drag her away. The push and pull made her bones hurt. She felt some insidious magic traveling up her arms, weakening her. Her visions went gray.

Gretchen and Penelope gave such a mighty pull, she was ripped away. It was exactly like an arrow being pulled out of her, sharp and scorching in its agony. The momentum flung her back and she stumbled off the sidewalk onto the uneven cobblestones. A carriage bore down on her, horses whinnying shrilly. The coachman yelled. But even with such brief contact, the magic of the house had sapped her. She couldn’t seem to react quickly enough. Gretchen was sprinting toward her, looking terrified.

Someone yanked her out of the way.

Cormac glowered down at her, his dark hair falling over one eye. One very infuriated eye.

“Thank you,” Emma said as the last of the draining magic faded.

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