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The witches drew knives from sheaths under their dresses and raised the knives to their own forearms. Together, they cut made horizontal cuts without a single wince or whimper. Midnight blood trickled down their arms and chants poured from their lips.
Whatever freaky ritual they performed, it worked. The air grew colder and colder.
Unsure of what else to do, I fired my gun at them. The bullet hit an invisible force field and hovered there, completely intact.
The witch I’d fired at craned her head to peer at me. Not a single crimson red curl was knocked out of place. She flashed a blinding white smile and flicked her bracelet-clad wrist at me. The bullet sailed back in my direction.
I dove behind a nearby rock.
Splash!
The bullet hit the creek, which was only inches from my face.
I scrambled to my feet, but it was too late to retreat. The witch snarled like a rabid animal.
“Stupid mortal,” she spat. “You dare hurt the Mother and now this?”
She broke away from her cohorts and took a step closer to me. She licked her red lips.
“It’s been so long since I’ve tasted something as divine as you,” she mused. “Your soul is pure—it would please Lucifer for me to consume it.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I can tell you about who’s killing the witches,” I lied. “Surely that’s of some interest to you.”
She laughed.
“Oh, how your ignorance amuses me.” She tittered. “Lucifer has blessed me with this—a tasty, defenseless hunter.”
“Shouldn’t you help your friends?” I asked. I cleared my throat and spoke louder. “They don’t seem to be faring too well without you.”
The witches hesitated in their assault on Freya, and Freya seized the moment. Crying out a spell, she slipped past their defenses and sent two of the witches flying back, across the river and into the trees. Their bodies thudded against the pines, and they didn’t get up. A short but vicious-looking blonde witch broke away from the group.
“You think we’re weak?” the blonde witch asked and muttered a spell.
A stream of water rose in the air and turned into ice. The witch bared her sharpened teeth and flicked her wrist. The ice spear shot at me, and I dove again. Again and again, the witches launched rocks, sticks, and ice at me. A few of the rocks landed. Every one of them undoubtedly left bruises. Adrenaline kept my body in motion, but a shard of ice stabbed my calf, and I crumpled.
Rocks dug into my face and stung my skin. The tiny pains were dull echoes of what radiated from my calf in hot waves. Blood flowed from the wound and from my nose. With bruised arms, I raised my upper body. When I tried to stand, my calf refused. More blood surged out of it, and my head swam. I fell back on my ass. Never in my life had I felt more helpless. The dark witches each wore smug grins, but it was the short one who spoke.
“Who’s weak now, hunter?”
She raised her hands, summoned a huge spear of ice, and pointed it directly at me. The other witches chanted, and the air around me got even colder. My ragged breath fogged before me.
“I may be weak,” I admitted, “but at least I’m not damned.”
“Stop this!” Freya screamed. She rushed them but bounced off an invisible shield. “He’s got nothing to do with this and you all know it!”
“Okay,” the blonde witch crooned. She pointed at Freya, and the ice rushed her.
“No!” I gasped.
Despite the blood gushing from my leg, I forced myself to stand.
The spear changed at the last second. The ice shifted into thick shackles that wrapped around Freya’s wrists, ankles, and neck. Her body sagged beneath their weight, but she quickly righted her posture and bared her teeth.
“The Betrayer will be pleased,” the red-haired witch purred.
“Wait,” the other dark witch said. She pointed her long, pale finger to the woods. “Do you hear that?”
