“The majority of us don’t want it here,” one of the villagers said. “We voted last night at the tavern.”
“That’s right,” another said.
“I want it on record that I don’t stand with the rest of the villagers. I’m against this,” the young mother said. “I don’t think we should give up on her.”
“You weren’t around when we were oppressed,” a swarthy farmer said. “The whole of witches everywhere were oppressed. We can never allow that to happen again. If something is beyond our power or understanding, we have to destroy it.”
“What?” Owen ran to the dais and grabbed Sorin’s arm. “You can’t let them—”
Sorin patted Owen’s hand. “No one is destroying anything. That’s not who we are. No amount of freedom is worth losing our humanity. That’s no freedom at all. We’re only convening here today to decide if Maria Winters shall remain in our village.”
“It’s not—”
“Hush, Agathe,” an old man said. “It’s time to decide.”
The people on the big chairs leaned forward and mumbled amongst themselves for a few minutes. Owen tried to hear as he paced but they must have cast a silencing spell over themselves. The village delegates also muttered to each other and he could hear them just fine. He was glad it wasn’t up to them.
“We’re sorry, Owen,” Sorin said, looking truly saddened. “We’ve come to the decision that she can’t stay within our walls.”
The villagers all slumped with relief and the young mother shook her head in disgust. Sorin led him out and they made their way to tell Maria the news. She looked from one to the other of them.
“We’re sorry, Maria,” Sorin said. “But it was a majority vote. If it were up to me you’d be welcome, but that’s not how we do things anymore. Everyone gets a say.”
“Except Maria,” Owen said bitterly.
“She could have spoken for herself. She chose not to.” Sorin turned to Maria, who stood there silently.
“This isn’t right,” Owen said, his heart breaking for the hundredth time at the blank look on her face. The face that was once so animated and dear to him. He stamped his foot in frustration. “It’s not right,” he repeated. She turned to him slowly.
“It’s not?” she asked in that oddly calm voice that gave him chills. “Do you feel you’ve been wronged, Owen?”
He stuttered, not sure where this was heading. Maria’s eyes locked onto Sorin and he dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat. Seeing Sorin’s face turning blue, he suddenly knew it wasn’t heading anywhere good. Agathe ran toward them shrieking for help. She cast her hands at Maria as if tossing off a hex but then she too fell to her knees, garbling and drooling.
“Stop it, Maria,” Owen begged, hurrying to his cousin’s side. “No, no, I don’t feel wronged. God, what are you doing to them?”
Sorin clawed at his throat and gasped, his face turning a more normal color. He scrabbled away on all fours and shook his head. “Please. You must leave now,” he said, looking desperately afraid.
Maria stared at Sorin for a long moment. “I stay with Owen.”
Agathe coughed and spat, also freed from whatever horror Maria had cast on her. “Then Owen goes as well,” she said, shoving him toward Maria.
Owen stumbled over a rock and landed hard on his hands and knees. He hissed as he sat back on his heels and brushed at the scrapes on his hands. How had everything gone so wrong? He looked up at Maria, whose face was slowly turning red, her eyes locked on his raw palms. Terror struck him when he heard a strangled noise and a thump behind him. Scrambling to his feet he saw Agathe in a heap, blood pouring from her gaping mouth. Sorin shouted for help and one of the villagers from the meeting raced over.
“What’s happening?” she cried, patting at Agathe’s cheeks. “Oh, God, I don’t think she’s breathing.”
Owen whipped back around to Maria, her face now a dark eggplant color. She was holding her breath and staring daggers at Agathe’s limp form. What was she doing to her? Were the villagers right and whatever was in Maria was evil? All the evidence was before him but he couldn’t make himself believe it. She was only confused. Trying to protect him.
“Stop it, Maria,” he shouted, rushing to her and shaking her by the shoulders. “Let her go. I’m not hurt.”
Maria shook with the effort of not breathing and little red marks bloomed along her neck and arms. Owen realized Sorin and a few other villagers were aiming hexes at her, but other than the quickly fading burn marks, she didn’t seem disturbed by them.
“She’s killing her,” the villager screamed, leaning over Agathe.
Owen noticed a blur from the corner of his eye. He turned just enough to see a movement he was very familiar with. Another villager, not someone who had been at the meeting, skidded to a halt and drew a bow from behind his back. Another second later and an arrow was nocked and pointing at Maria’s heart. Owen jumped in front of her, flinging out his hands in supplication at the villager.
“No, don’t,” he yelled.
Something quivered through him, straight to his fingertips. He stared in utter disbelief as the villager went ramrod stiff before falling to the ground. Not again. He couldn’t have done something else without meaning to. He tore his eyes from the man who’d just barely missed falling on his own arrow. Praying he was still alive, he turned to Maria, shaking with terror. At what she was doing. At what he’d done.
“I’ll go with you,” he told her, giving her one last hard shake. “Just stop what you’re doing.”
She instantly let out her breath and turned and fled for the forest in a burst of speed that amazed him. He’d never catch up. Agathe groaned from behind him and he sagged with relief. Maria hadn’t killed her. He shuddered as the thought reverberated around in his mind.
He was relieved
