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The first line of glyphs fell apart.
Sweat broke at my hairline.
The second line of glyphs wavered. My hands shook from the pressure. I leaned forward, channeling more power into the sword.
The second circle broke and I nearly fell.
The crone surged to her feet. Her hands clawed the air. Chalk blew at my feet. Three more rings. Shit.
I could use a power word to release myself, but that would mean announcing to Ghastek that I had one.
The circle didn’t dull his hearing, only his magic senses.
I drew the sword back, blocking the vampire’s view of me with my back, and pricked my index finger.
A tiny drop of red swelled. I crouched and drew a line right through the four rings. The ward cracked open like a shattered glass.
The crone drew back.
I stepped out and bowed and stayed that way. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the crone raise her hand, after a momentary hesitation. I read reluctance in her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could hold me.
She had locked me three times, and three times I had broken out. Three was a number sacred to witches. I didn’t want to show Ghastek more power.
The crone’s fingers curled.
“Maria, please…” The maiden-witch had spoken. Her voice was weak and wilting, yet it echoed through the dome.
The crone lowered her hand with a sneer. “I spare you because she asks. For now.”
I straightened and sheathed Slayer.
“I know you.” The mother looked at me, her hands continuing to draw yarn with faint clicking. “Voron’s child.Po russki to govorish? ”
I shifted into Russian. “Yes, I speak Russian.”
The witch clicked her tongue. “Accent you have. Don’t speak Russian every day, no?”
“Don’t have anybody to practice with.”
“And whose failing is that?”
There was no good answer to that one so I backpedaled into English. “I’ve come for information.”
“Ask,” the maiden said.