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The window remained open, the cool chill of the night air blowing the drapes.
In the distance, I heard the sound of hooves, though the motel was too far from the road. I wasn’t fool enough to think it was all in my mind. Whether it was the Huntsman or the Dullahan, something was coming, and I couldn’t rely on Kaleb to protect me—the lights were on, but no one was home.
I didn’t want to lose another patch of hair, but I couldn’t find anything else to weave. If I had time, I could have shredded a pillowcase with my sewing scissors, but the hooves grew louder—a roaring cavalry.
My magic was too diluted; Grandmother Eva always told me so.
Know your limits.
Would my‘can’t see me’spell work against a Sídhe?
I didn’t know, but I had to try.
I reached up with shaking hands, finding a hunk of hair at the base of my neck, and began to braid the strands. I muttered my intent over and over while Kaleb pawed at the door.
The room was on the first floor. I decided to go out the window, away from the road and the sound of horses.
I climbed out, feeling my magic coat me like a layer of tacky dust.
I pressed my back to the pebble-dashed wall as I crept past the rows and rows of darkened windows. The moon was fat and full in the sky, giving me enough light to see.
My car was parked under the street lights at the front of the motel. Even if my magic could hide my body, I wasn’t sure it would conceal my shadow. I peeked out from the edge of thebuilding to the rows and rows of cars in the lot. Everything was still and silent, and the sound of hooves was a distant memory.
Had I imagined the whole thing?
I didn’t dare move as I stared at the lobby's glass door, watching the night clerk's dark figure bustle around. I couldn’t go back to my room. If Kaleb had found me, he would lead the Huntsman to me whether he wanted to or not. A spell couldn’t hide from a werewolf's nose.
I was content to stay, pressed against the building, hiding in the shadows.
And then I saw Melly on the road. Bloody and struggling to stand.
The Dullahan folded into existence, or maybe he had always been there, but I hadn’t been able to see—a figure on a dark horse, with a rope in his hand, wrapped around Melly Parish’s throat. The witch’s frail body was leashed and broken.
I pressed a shaking hand against my mouth, holding in the horrified gasp that threatened to escape. Guilt turned my blood sour—I’d been so quick to accuse Melly of selling me out, of abandoning me to the Fae. This was a woman I had known since childhood, who had helped my grandmother until her final days and given her potions and tinctures to ease her pain.
I needed to help her.
How?
How could I help Melly when I couldn’t fight? Couldn’t use magic for more than a cheap trick or two?
I could bargain for Melly. She’d put her life on the line to protect me. What kind of person would I be if I let her die at the hands of the Dullahan?
I stepped out from the shadows, my shaking fists clenched at my side as I forced myself forward. I marched to the dark horsemen, my heart ready to leap from my chest.
“Hey!” I shouted when I broke through the first row of cars. “Let go of that rope! She doesn’t have a part in this!”
The Dullahan shifted in his saddle until his body faced me.
Melly’s face was pale, and her lips were coated in blood. “Run, child.”
“Melly...” My face folded.
“Run, you insolent child.” Melly’s eyes shot to the Dullahan before snapping back to mine. “The Huntsman needs a Weaver, and I’ll be damned if I protected you all these years just to give you to the—”
Melly’s eyes dulled, and her words stopped mid-sentence. Her legs collapsed from under her, revealing a man in a red military jacket with more buttons than there were stars in the sky.
He lifted his sword, eying the blood on the silver with detached interest.
