A Lying Witch Book Four

blasting out in every direction. It hit me right in the face, considering I’d been leaning down in Sarah’s arms. I was buffeted backward but managed to pitch into a role and push to my feet. McCain wasn’t so lucky. The shockwave caught him just as he was leaning back and toting his sword over his shoulder for another swing. The momentum was such that he pitched backward, the sword falling against his chest and momentarily pinning him in place.

This time, time didn’t slow down, and while it would have been kind of nice, I didn’t need it.

I pushed forward, the fancy transport key still in my hand, the word to activate it on my lips. I skidded to my knees, my pants tearing as I jostled over the gravel.

McCain began to push up just as I reached him, just as I punched a hand out and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

I clutched the hilt in both hands and yanked back with all my might. Though at first McCain seemed surprised, a split second later, he realized what I was doing.

He bellowed as he jolted forward and wrapped his grip around the sword, pressing into me.

I didn’t give up. Holding the hilt of the sword in one hand, I slashed forward with the sacred knife.

I caught him across the top of the chest, and the blow was enough to send him jolting backward, enough for him to lose grip on his sword.

Time spiraled into a point. Of opportunity, of chance, of failure. As I yanked the sword back, I questioned if I had the time to plunge forward and stab McCain through the chest, returning Max’s soul to him.

I didn’t.

He bolted toward me, arm spreading wide.

I didn’t give him the opportunity to lock me in place. I slashed at him with the knife. I kept his sword in one hand, clutching the key against it, and I said the magic word.

There were plenty of reasons why the spell wouldn’t work. Not least of which I didn’t exactly have much magic to speak of.

But it didn’t matter.

In a cascade of sparks, the transport spell took hold, and I was ported away. The last thing I saw was McCain’s terror as his enraged face snapped close to mine. But he didn’t reach me in time.

I had no idea how to use one of these fancy keys, but apparently they were foolproof. Half a second later, I felt myself being spat out, and I landed on the opposite side of the tip. I skidded face-first into a mound of gravel. McCain’s sword fell at my side, and I managed to keep hold of the sacred knife. The transport key slipped out of my grip. As I pushed up, it was just in time to see it disappear. In a twist of sparks, it simply crumbled, its magic obviously having been used up.

I stared at it, heart beating, throat constricted, then jolted to my feet. I craned my neck and scanned my surroundings, trying to figure out where I was. My original assessment was correct, and I was all the way on the other side of the dump, a good kilometer or two away from McCain.

“Oh holy hell. Shit, it worked. It worked,” I said as I shook my hands and tried to chase away my fear. That hadn’t just been close – I’d been literally a millimeter away from dying.

Though I dearly wanted to sink down to my knees and indulge in catching my breath, I knew I didn’t have that luxury. I pushed back down to my knees and silently considered McCain’s sword.

I may have failed in plunging the sacred knife into McCain’s chest, but at least I had his sword. And that would count for something. Not only would it give the witches a chance against him, but it was the past version of the contract. All I had to do was destroy it, and I’d be one step closer to finishing this.

“Jesus Christ, how the hell am I meant to destroy it?” I managed through a stuttering breath as I continued to survey it. I didn’t pluck it up. Now it had been removed from its master’s grip, it looked as angry as hell. Red lines of power kept pulsing through the blade, and it looked about as hot and dangerous as molten lava.

Though this section of the tip was sufficiently far enough away from the rest of the battle, I could still hear the soft sounds of distant explosions. And I knew full well what that would mean. Linger and people would die.

“Okay, okay, you can do this,” I stuttered to myself as I pressed close to the sword, almost straddling it. Obviously, the only weapon I had was the sacred knife, so I was pinning all my hopes on it. But how exactly could you destroy a sword with a dagger?

I got my answer as I peered closer at the blade.

It was no ordinary sword. Written along the hilt were magical runes. And though I couldn’t recognize them, it was obvious they were some kind of spell.

So all I had to do was change the words of the spell, right?

It was a gamble. But right now, it was all I had.

Pressing my tongue between my lips and hoping like hell I wasn’t about to aggravate the sword only to have it cast some defensive spell in my face, I pinned the hilt of the sword to the ground with one knee and started carving against the symbols. At first, nothing happened. At first, it was frigging hard work. Hello, I was carving into metal. But the longer I concentrated on the task, the more the magical dagger reacted to me.

Slowly its blade started to penetrate the sword’s hilt, crackles of magic spewing everywhere.

They were so powerful, they felt