Page 113 of The Bane Witch
“You mean, hunt together?” The idea had never occurred to me, but it would be a relief to not have to face this one alone.
“Unless you think I’ll cramp your style,” she’s quick to say.
I take in her glowing hair and immaculate complexion, the dark wings of her eyeliner and the uncanny shade of her coat, the boots that must have cost her twelve hundred dollars, and laugh. “You’re the last person who would cramp anyone’s style,” I tell her. “In fact, I’d like the company. Bart’s not much of a conversationalist.”
Just then, an intoxicating stench finds me like an arrow in the dark. My nostrils flare and I make an abrupt left, stooping to pull a golden-orange umbrella-shaped mushroom from its unseasonably sprouting pod. “Autumn skullcap,” I tell her as I hold it high then gobble it down. “He must be close if it’s feeding time.”
Tonight, I’ll call Regis from the cabin, tell him to keep his distance for a while.
Azalea hoots with enthusiasm. “Well, I’ll be damned. Seems I’ve arrived just in the nick of time.”
I grin like a child, a little mad with the energy flowing through me, the snow caking the ground around us, the sun high overhead, trees dancing in the wind as the forest bends to our will. Inside me, the witch is stretching, uncoiling her limbs, ready to make a new notch in her belt.
The hunt is on.
