Mor took out the keys, her frozen fingers were difficult to obey. The bundle clanged onto the tiles in front of the front door.
- This is witchcraft! – she said with feeling.
- No, witchcraft is when someone dances in the rain in the light of lightning.
Mor turned. The hunter stepped out of the shadows - someone, as usual, broke the light bulb in the entrance. Quickly picking up the keys, he opened the door and, without waiting for an invitation, walked into the small, cozy apartment. In Mor's refuge, in her little fortress. With a casual gesture, Hunter threw his black leather jacket onto the bench in the hallway.
- Come on in, you’re cold, you’ll catch a cold.
The witch stood in front of the entrance to her own house and simply could not enter. A whole puddle had already flowed from the dress onto the rug.
Mor entered the apartment, slamming the door behind her. For a second it seemed to her that a loud sound might dispel the obsession.
“You need to take a shower, otherwise you’ll definitely catch a cold.” “The hunter gently but persistently pushed her towards the bathroom.
Mor turned the lock on the handle and felt relatively safe.
“Really...” She opened the hot water. – What else is left to do?..
Mor spent at least an hour and a half in the bathroom. She slowly dried her hair, wrapped herself in a fluffy “winter” robe, and with the hope that the Hunter got tired of waiting and left, she went out. I'm not tired of it. Waited. Of course, he's used to tracking.
Mor raised her head and looked at the man. Beautiful face. A strong, ruthless and confident predator sat comfortably in her chair.
“Predators sense the fear of their prey. You can’t be afraid,” Mor convinced herself, although a little more and her knees would begin to tremble.
- Tea? – the witch asked quietly but confidently. And then she immediately scolded herself. What is she doing in the name of all the dark witchcraft? Why is he offering him tea?
- Yes with pleasure.
Mor walked into the small kitchen. The entire window sill was covered with herbs and flowers. Houseplants in general were her weakness, so after graduating from a special boarding school for witches, she got a job in a flower shop. She liked to make bouquets and give people joy. And she was ready to talk for hours about how to care for potted plants.
The witch felt calm as she performed her usual actions. She poured water into the kettle and took out a porcelain jar in which the tea leaves were stored.
The hunter stood behind her and carefully watched every movement.
– Are you afraid that I will poison you?
Didn't even bother with a response.
The witch put down her spoon.
– Take the cups out of the outer cabinet. Mine is with blue flowers.
She poured the tea.
– I can offer fish cookies and sugar. The honey has run out.
Mor watched with interest as the Inquisitor put four spoons of sugar in her tea and ate a small cookie. Sweet tooth. This peaceful and essentially simple picture simply tore reality into small pieces. Inquisitors don't eat cookies, they catch and kill witches. They don’t just come to visit and drink tea with sugar.
– Good tea, what’s in it? “He was the first to break the long silence.
– Leaves of currant, strawberry, raspberry and St. John's wort.
“And there’s definitely mint.”
Also, inquisitors do not have pleasant conversations. They extract confessions. They are a different breed. The killers. Enemies.
Mor stood up and, as it seemed to her, began in a very confident voice:
- So, I see you’ve already drunk tea. So I think it's time for you. Evil witches are waiting to be caught... I can’t say I was happy... And in general, the inquisitor has nothing to do in my house.
The man was there so quickly that the witch did not have time to notice how he stood up. She pulled back, but the table prevented her from moving to a safe distance. The hunter took hold of the tip of the belt and pulled very slowly, the knot came undone.
“No,” Mor breathed.
- No? – Warm fingers slipped under the robe, freeing his shoulders. The hunter leaned down and slowly touched the base of his neck with his lips.
Morgana had never been so afraid in her life - even when she was recognized as a witch and marked; even when her mother disappeared and she was left alone; even when she was first stopped by control. It turns out that fear can be so... heavy, sticky and paralyzing. She froze and could not move. She wanted to scream, but instead she gasped for air. My vision darkened.
He stroked her cheek. And fear was replaced by a feeling of euphoria and lightness. Really, no big deal. Nice. Too nice. Morgana stopped frantically squeezing the fabric, her fingers weakened. And then his hand gently but confidently lay on his chest and froze, letting him get used to it. The hunter tenderly bit his earlobe and whispered:
- Still no"? – A smile was heard in the whisper.
Mor knew about the charm of the Hunters, she also understood the dangers it poses to the unwary witch. And this snake continued to kiss her neck painfully tenderly, his hands slid over the skin, studying her body, subduing her, forcing her to respond, reaching out to meet her. The robe fell in a shapeless heap at his feet. The skin burned from the touch, it seemed that this fire penetrated into the blood, forcing one to throw away all thoughts. The witch did not have time to realize at what moment she hugged the Hunter and, stroking his strong shoulders, trustingly pressed her whole body against him.
He easily picked her up and carried her to the bed. The hunter hung over her, supporting his weight on his elbows, but the witch still felt the weight of the male body. A beautiful face opposite. Triumph splashed in the silver of his eyes - the prey was caught and would not escape, his gaze said. And frankly, at that moment, Mor wanted to be caught. And she, wanting to give reciprocal affection, touched his chest - a strong heart was beating evenly under her palm. Morgana looked at the man in surprise. The hunter abruptly grabbed her hand and pulled it behind her head, but he himself already felt that he was losing control over her.
- No! My third no! – the witch desperately whispered, shaking off the obsession.
The hunter grinned:
- How did you understand?
Mor tried to move away but didn’t let go.
- Your heart. It didn't beat faster... Don't you feel anything? Then why? I’m a weak witch...” Mor didn’t finish.
– Intuition. I decided that I couldn’t leave it free.
Bitterness rose in my soul.
– And they also say that we have no soul! Dust-free work for inquisitors! “The witch started talking and couldn’t stop. “And how many witches do you treat like that per night?” Is there some kind of norm, huh, Hunter? Do you at least choose the ones you like, or are they told which witch you need to subjugate? – Every word oozed with poison and struck at pride. Stupid. Very stupid. Her instinct for self-preservation was screaming at her to stop, but she literally spat out the question:
- How many people have you deprived of their freedom, you insensitive brute?
The witch struggled in his arms, trying to free herself.
- None. I've never taken away a witch's freedom before. I take lives. Have you heard about the Black Wolf?
Mor nodded and sobbed, tears flowing from her eyes. The young witch first heard about him several years ago. The truth in the stories was intertwined with fables. But in all the stories it all boiled down to a simple fact: there was never a time when the Black Wolf did not catch up with his victim. It was impossible to hide from him, and not a single wild witch could seriously harm him. This hunter seemed immune to curses.
Don't expect mercy from the Black Wolf,
The end awaits the witch, don’t run...
Inopportunely I remembered a stupid little rhyme.
Morgana closed her eyes. After what she said to the inquisitor, it’s scary to imagine what he might do.
She never expected him to kiss her. They don’t kiss witches for fear of losing their souls. But this man either lacked a soul or didn’t consider it that much of a value. A careful, even gentle touch of the lips. It was a kiss with the salty taste of tears, sadness and loneliness. She answered hesitantly, tenderness spreading throughout her body. “Let him feel at least a little too,” Mor thought.
Current page: 2 (book has 18 pages total) [available reading passage: 12 pages]
- Mor, good morning! “We have a lot of orders today,” the hostess, a plump, pretty woman, nodded affably. – Morgana smiled tightly and said hello. - Oh, you look very tired, and it was two days off. By the way, did you undergo the “execution”?
The hostess called “execution” witch control. This woman was generally surprisingly loyal to witches. More even heard her make very unflattering remarks about the inquisitors several times.
- Elena, I don’t know what to do...
Morgana never spoke frankly with her boss, although their relationship was quite warm. But it seemed to her that if she didn’t immediately tell at least someone about the events of the last two days, her head would simply explode. Elena listened without interrupting, lightly stroking the girl on the back.
– Did you speak out?
Morgana nodded and tied her apron with her usual movement.
-Listen to me, girl. And don’t just stand there, get busy with those red roses for the bouquet.
The witch obeyed and began to make a bouquet. Red roses and a white lush mignonette cloud. Satin green ribbons so that the bouquet fits comfortably in the hands of the person for whom it was ordered.
– Listen to me and don’t interrupt. You are not the first, you are not the last. My grandmother was a witch. No, don't be surprised. The abilities were not passed on to me. But I know that she had her own inquisitor. They are drawn to witches, especially beautiful ones... like you. And guess what?
- What? – echoed Mor.
- You have no choice. He will get whatever he wants. But there is good news.
- Which? – Morgana waited tensely.
“You are a woman, and he is a man, you can tame him and make him yours,” Elena answered simply.
“You can tame something like this...” Morgana muttered.
Elena smiled:
- Don't underestimate weakness. Weakness has its own strength. By the way, the fact that you ran away is good. He became interested.
“It would be better if we didn’t meet at all.”
- Of course. You didn't say what he was like. Beautiful? I see in your eyes that yes, you don’t have to answer. Then you're definitely in luck. As they say, relax and have fun.
“He’s cruel, and I’m afraid of him.”
The hostess clapped her hands.
- Everything will be fine. And now let's get to work, get to work...
Mor looked at the collected bouquet - the roses sadly lowered their heads, and the mignonette seemed to shrink in fear.
The Black Wolf was following the witch's trail. A powerful sorceress. She has several deaths of experienced inquisitors to her name, she has repeatedly escaped raids and resorted to bloody rituals. Desperate. Her trick with the curse of the regional unit alone is worth it. A real wild witch. The hunter grinned - a funny thought came to his mind. If there are wild witches, then there must be domestic ones. Those who blush cutely, are afraid, but try to be brave. With long legs and a very seductive ass. The inquisitor grinned, “he doesn’t feel anything at all.” With an effort, he turned his thoughts to the fact that the witch had discovered a book of witchcraft. I wonder why he didn’t feel the forbidden witchcraft? Could she really resist and never use magic for harm? Although I was still able to make the bag dimensionless. Today he will find out what else she can do. The hunter forced himself to concentrate on his work.
Meanwhile, the trail led him to an abandoned building of an old factory, the witch was clearly hiding there, the man felt that the air began to tremble and thicken. This means he is preparing a curse. The Inquisitor put up a mental shield and calmly entered the building. Fat rock pigeons took off, noisily flapping their wings. He stopped and froze, whispering a ritual phrase that allowed him to lure the witch out. For a while the silence was broken only by the cooing of pigeons. The wolf was waiting.
The witch attacked and flew around the corner with incredible speed. She exhaled sharply and, bending over like a cat, jumped. Her dark hair flew up in waves. The Inquisitor noticed sharp claws that were aimed at the eyes. He avoided the blow, moved smoothly, grabbed the witch by the hand and pushed her into the wall. Bones crunched. The woman sank to the concrete floor. He won the first round, but knew that this was not the end. The witch turned around - her face was distorted with rage, her pupils were unnaturally elongated. Badly. The sorceress extended her hand forward and gutturally shouted a word. The force rushed out of her and hit the inquisitor. He managed to group himself, part of the blow was absorbed by the shield, part of it was absorbed by the protective amulet, but it was still difficult. He stood up, breathing heavily, the witch also jumped to her feet and took several small steps towards him. The irreconcilable rivals waited for a second, and then rushed at each other like two wild animals.
The witch began to get tired, she growled and tore, began to make mistakes and missed a blow that knocked her unconscious. With a familiar gesture, the inquisitor took out a silver knife, the blade easily entered the body. One less witch. The hunt was successful. A good day, and in the evening another witch awaits him. No, not a witch, but a little witch. There are a few formalities left - and you can go to her.
The working day was coming to an end. Morgana was nervous, and Elena gave her sympathetic glances. Mor leaned over the counter as if to reach for some wrapping paper while she discreetly took some cough medicine. Just a few minutes later the witch felt feverish. His face turned red and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
- Girl, are you feeling bad? – the owner of the flower shop asked worriedly.
– I don’t know... something strange. She was probably nervous. Could you make me some chamomile tea, Elena? In my bag...
The owner of the flower shop, rather quickly for her size, rushed into the back room and prepared tea.
Morgana sighed and took a sip. Colorful circles began to swirl before my eyes. The girl began to shake and fell. Elena grabbed the phone and dialed the short number for Magical Disease Control.
The wolf was sitting in the doctor's office. After the fight with the witch, an examination was mandatory. Doc concentratedly moved the meter, which measured the level of curses.
– The background is somewhat elevated. But for you, Hunter, this is quite within the normal range. Complaints? Do nightmares bother you?
- No, everything is as usual.
“The bitch who can seriously curse you has not yet been born.” – The doctor was clearly pleased with the examination.
“I really hope so,” the Hunter chuckled.
- Yeah, and drink some milk at night. For being harmful.
The men laughed.
-You look suspiciously happy...
“I’m just going to follow the doctor’s orders exactly today... and relax.”
-Have you found anyone? – the doctor grinned.
– Found and caught... right here in the Inquisition.
– What department does she work in? Maybe I saw her.
The hunter shook his head meaningfully, little devils danced in his eyes.
“Wait, is she…” The doctor was shocked.
“He who hunts what has it,” the inquisitor remarked philosophically.
Morgana felt bad. Just like when she was a child, when she caught a cold and was given cough medicine. And then chamomile tea... This combination caused her a severe magical allergy, which manifested itself in uncontrollable bursts of strength, heat and aches throughout her body. It was because of the cough medicine that she received her witch mark at the age of twelve and was sent to a special boarding school. And now the same medicine will give her a reprieve from meeting the Hunter for at least a week.
The Magical Disease Control staff threw up their hands in surprise... The symptoms were similar to Carpathian fever, only weaker. The witch herself muttered something incomprehensible, but it was understandable, given the temperature.
She was brought to the hospital at the Inquisition, where there was a department of so-called advanced medicine. Sparks of power flew from the witch's fingers and showered on the doctor on duty, but his protective amulet immediately absorbed the magic. The inquisitor doctor in a black robe chuckled displeasedly and checked the mark again, which, naturally, did not bear any traces of forbidden witchcraft.
- What happened to you? “He roughly patted the girl on the cheeks.
Morgana groaned, but didn't open her eyes.
“She’s so feverish it’s no wonder she’s not responding.” Her documents are normal, she works as a flower girl, in the sense of a florist,” the second doctor noted.
– With witches, Zhenchik, you need to keep your eyes open, even despite the fact that she looks law-abiding according to her documents, and her power emissions are weak.
The man was embarrassed, he hated it when his colleague called him Zhenchik. After all, he was a certified specialist in magical diseases, though not an inquisitor... And he had no chance of becoming one, his character was too soft, and his grandmother was also a witch, so he could be a potential sympathizer. The inquisitor doctor had great powers, so Zhenchik had to clarify:
- Maybe I should give her an antipyretic for now?
- A lot of honor, she’ll get better on her own... Eh, do you feel sorry for her? But in vain, you can’t feel sorry for witches. – The Inquisitor took a small flask from his pocket and drank generously.
– She has rights, like everyone else, she has the right to help. – The voice became harsh, and the man loomed over his colleague. Sometimes Zhenchik could be convincing. He was two meters tall and had strong arms like a bear. The little man filled the syringe with medicine and, without any effort, turned the witch and gave her an injection.
- Take her to the quarantine room. Although my instinct tells me that he’s faking it, the bitch.
The Inquisitor stood up, he was limping badly, the consequences of providing first aid to a witch, since then he hated any manifestations of power in women. Although in fairness it is worth admitting that he was, in principle, a convinced misogynist.
- I won’t be lazy, Zhenchik! – he shouted after him. - I'll go to the main thing. He will look at this...
Staggering and dragging his leg, he headed towards the head doctor’s office. His unbuttoned black robe and gloomy appearance made him look like an old crow. Entering the office without knocking, he caught the chief as he finished examining the Hunter.
“All troubles come from witches,” said the lame man.
“I warned you... I’ve pissed myself off again like a witch’s pig,” Doc said coldly.
- No, I'm not exactly drunk. I need your advice. They brought a witch. Weak. It looks like Carpathian fever, but I feel like he’s faking it. Pretty blonde, the little guy even reminded me of the rights of witches.
A bad feeling stirred in the Hunter's chest. The face froze.
- The documents are in order. No traces of witchcraft.
– Morgana and the last name ending in M... forgot... By the way, it’s a funny joke - Morgana’s strength level...
“One and a half...” finished the Hunter.
The men stood and watched as behind the glass, in a room isolated from witchcraft, a blonde girl was thrashing about on a hard hospital bed. The hunter clearly saw how Morgana was biting her lips, how her thin fingers were crumpling the sheet. He felt excited when he imagined that she would also moan and squirm under him.
- Inform me about her condition. And please find out how she achieved such an amazing result...
- By the way, let your little wife take care of other patients.
Doc wanted to joke, but didn't do it.
Black Wolf turned around and left. He didn't believe in coincidences. She's cunning... You can't leave her alone, she'll definitely come up with something. Weak, but not submissive. She ran away from him into quarantine... Now the Hunter had no doubt that he needed this particular witch.
Morgana came to in a windowless room, protected from the magical background. But half of one wall was occupied by a mirror. The witch shivered, partly from the cool air and partly from her reflection. She was very pale, her eyes were red, shadows appeared under them, her blond hair was disheveled and unpleasant to the touch. A young doctor who looked like a huge teddy bear entered the room.
“It seems that this is the Little Woman,” Mor thought, “the one who took pity and gave the injection.”
- Good morning, Morgana. How are we feeling today?
Mor nodded.
- Much better, thank you.
She tried to smile.
The doctor took her hand and began to take her pulse. Looked carefully into his eyes. He shook his head.
- Well, good, which is better. Today you lie down, get more rest, food will be brought to you. I'll check back later.
He left the room and smiled at the witch at the door. Mor was surprised - she addresses the witch as “you” and doesn’t seem to care that she has damned witchcraft in her. A silent nurse brought medicine and breakfast. Under her heavy gaze, the witch had to swallow two large pink pills.
To the polite question: “What kind of medicine are these?” – a terse but comprehensive answer was given:
- Just what the doctor ordered.
Mor slept, had lunch, took a shower, slept again, took medicine. It was boring. Excruciating. She lay looking at the ceiling, counting the cracks for the hundredth time, when Zhenchik entered the room.
The witch smiled.
– I brought you several magazines, however, they are all old.
He carefully placed a few on the bedside table.
Morgana sat up in bed.
- Thank you. It's very boring here.
- That's for sure.
The doctor smiled welcomingly.
– But tomorrow it will be possible to leave the room. “I’ll go,” he added somehow crumpled, and then took the girl’s hand in his and squeezed it lightly.
– The handle is like a doll’s.
The witch blushed deeply.
The doctor came to see her quite often, he joked and looked at her with a strange expression. She would call it tenderness, but she was afraid to think so. He took her hand, was attentive, and when Morgana finally came to her senses, he took her to a small winter garden, it was humid, it smelled of earth and tropical plants grew lushly, vines curled along the supports, there was even an impressive palm tree. In fact, ordinary patients, and especially witches, were strictly forbidden to enter the garden.
- I wanted to show you this. The most beautiful place in our hospital. I thought you might like it. “He ruffled his hair absently with his hand.
Morgana began to talk about how she loved flowers.
He listened, tilting his head slightly to the side, did not interrupt, and then pulled the girl towards him.
Is he going to kiss her?
And she smells like cafeteria meatballs.
Well, okay. From him too.
Does she want him to kiss her?
His face was so close that she could see the shadow of his eyelashes and her own face reflected in the depths of his pupils. He looked intently into her eyes, as if hoping to see where her magic was hidden.
Yes. She wanted him to kiss her.
He pulled away and simply stroked her cheek.
- What am I doing? Is this some kind of witchcraft? Love spell?
The witch turned away and shook her head. Involuntarily her thoughts returned to the inquisitor. He was not afraid to kiss her. She raised her head and decided to take a chance:
- Take me away from here!
The doctor paused, he understood everything correctly:
– Is the Inquisition hunting you? Did you do something?
Mor smiled sadly:
- One inquisitor is hunting. And my only fault is that I am a witch and there is no one to protect me.
“Come on, I’ll take you to the room.”
That night Morgana couldn't sleep. She listened to every rustle outside the door. Finally, cautious steps were heard. The witch rejoiced: “He has come!” He stopped in front of the door. Mor jumped off the bed and ran to the door:
“You still came to pick me up.”
There was a heavy sigh.
“Please,” she whispered and lightly scratched the door.
“I don’t understand what’s happening to me... I don’t know you at all, I saw you for the first time three days ago.”
- It doesn't matter! Please take me.
“I’m risking my career for a witch.” I will be kicked out of the hospital, I will not be able to practice medicine. And you're not even in danger.
- That inquisitor threatens...
- Shut up! If you are not guilty of anything, then nothing threatens you. The inquisitors will sort it out, it's their job, after all. That's witchcraft! I'm standing at the door like a fool.
- Don't go...
- Sorry, Morgana. I can't…
The witch sank to the floor and sobbed bitterly.
- Don't cry, everything will be fine.
- No, it will not. You are leaving me to be torn to pieces by a monster. “She choked on her tears.
There was a nervous chuckle.
- Oh no. You're not a princess. I can't risk everything for you.
She sat and listened to the sounds of retreating footsteps. Hope was gone.
Needless to say, she never saw Zhenchik again. A lame inquisitor doctor came instead. He behaved surprisingly kindly with her and ran some tests. He was simply eager to find out what happened to her, but the witch did not make the task easier for him. To admit that she deliberately provoked the surges of power would be suicide.
A week later she was discharged and had to return home.
Now Morgana was at home and did not feel safe at all. She looked out the window and immediately hid behind the curtain. The Hunter's car was parked under the windows, which meant he had arrived after all. This is dark, dark sorcery! She didn't expect to see him so soon. What instinct told her that she was discharged today and returned to her apartment? Moreover, during all the time in the hospital, she could not figure out how to behave with him.
The doorbell rang and my feet carried me into the hallway. The witch took a deep breath and opened it.
“Hello, Witch Morgana,” the Hunter said the word “witch” with a very strange intonation.
Mor nodded politely.
- Hunter.
She looked attentively at the man as he casually threw his jacket on the bench. Something has changed in him. Now he seemed even more dangerous, although Mor was sure that this was impossible. There's simply nowhere else to go. Morgana took a deep breath.
“I want you, Hunter, to leave immediately.” And they left me alone. There can be nothing between us.
He looked very intently and as if appraisingly at the girl, his silver eyes darkened. The witch was glad that she had put on a simple blue dress. The skirt was below the knees, three-quarter sleeves, the only decoration was a boat neckline that exposed the collarbones.
“Make me your witch tea,” the Hunter ignored her short, desperate speech.
Mor didn't move. She folded her arms across her chest and looked determined.
– We still have a common theme. “So we’ll discuss over tea,” the Hunter said emphatically, “why a law-abiding witch suddenly has a book and why would she run away from the inquisitor.”
The witch reluctantly went to the kitchen, feeling the Hunter following her.
“At the end of the day, tea is good. Tea is not scary,” Mor reasoned.
The ritual was repeated. The witch was making tea, the inquisitor stood nearby and very carefully watched her every move. He intercepted her hand when she reached for a jar of dried mint. I took it out, opened it and checked it. Finding nothing dangerous or suspicious in the mint, the man noticeably relaxed.
A couple of minutes later, Black Wolf sat down in a chair with a cup in his hands and enjoyed tasting the drink.
- How is your health?
“Where from...” The witch stopped short; it was stupid to expect that the Hunter wouldn’t find out where she spent the whole week.
“The doctors never understood what caused this condition. Well, what about you?
Morgana looked away and said nothing. My heart began to beat wildly. The hunter did not insist and moved the conversation to another topic. But the conversation did not become safer for the witch.
-Your book is very interesting. I couldn't open it. It was as if someone had carefully smeared glue on every page.
“I’ve never opened it either.” – Mor frowned at the inquisitor.
- Why did you keep it then? A dangerous thing, in some cases it leads to death.
“In some cases, trips in the elevator lead to... it’s unclear what,” the witch remarked caustically.
The inquisitor's eyes flashed dangerously.
– What is incomprehensible about the fact that a man wanted to get to know a beautiful girl better?
“If only a man,” Mor grinned. And then she turned her gaze to the inquisitor - he leaned back in his chair, putting his powerful hands behind his head. A malicious smile played on his lips. “I mean, not a man, but an inquisitor,” the witch hastily tried to correct the situation. Black Wolf raised one eyebrow expressively. – And I’m not a girl... but a witch. – Mor was nervous and this made her speak awkwardly. The Inquisitor smiled, but this smile did not bode well. The mocking look became somehow hungry. - And in general, what kind of acquaintance is this if I don’t even know the name... of the man... mm... the inquisitor.
Mor realized that she was driving herself into a trap. She already said too much. And this remark was generally beyond common sense. Witches were forbidden to even try to find out the true name of the inquisitor.
– And it’s not that I tried to find out the name of the inquisitor. It has no use for me...
She tried to somehow correct the situation, but stopped short.
The Inquisitor continued to smile.
Morgana felt terrified, goosebumps ran down her spine, and she wanted to fall through the ground.
- What is this happening to me?! – The witch turned around and tried to quickly leave the kitchen.
Why did you try? Because she was rather unceremoniously intercepted. His hands stroked her, this time he did not use charm...
“You’re the funniest witch I’ve ever met.”
Mor got angry. She placed her hands on his chest and released the magical power. She wanted to throw the Hunter as far away as possible. For him to hit his back against the wall so hard that the air would be knocked out of his lungs and that smug smile would leave his lips.
The hunter felt a slight push; the amulet did not even react to such a minor surge of power. This weak resistance was in no way comparable to the wild witch he had recently killed. He looked at the girl. Her eyes flashed lightning, her cheeks were flushed, she bit her lip in anger.
“You’re so angry that you want to do this.”
The hunter kissed Mor. Now his lips did not give tenderness, they subdued and conquered. The witch made a strangled squeak as she pounded the body with her small fists.
- I am not your property. You have no right...” she exhaled when the Hunter pulled away.
- A! It's good that I reminded you.
The Black Wolf grabbed her hand and covered the mark.
“You know, I’m even ready to leave you your witch power,” this was said in a casual tone.
The mark began to change, instead of a neat circle, it spread out and, stretching out, wrapped itself like a snake around a thin wrist. Now the mark began to resemble a bracelet or chain. A sharp pain pierced the hand to the very bones, as if a new brand was being burned out with a red-hot iron. Mor screamed and lost consciousness. She began to sag, but the Hunter caught his victim in time.
Mor came to her senses, lying on the icy stone floor, her throat mercilessly sore. She screamed so much that she lost her voice. My whole body was burning, especially my hand. Morgana looked around, but the bright light blinded her eyes. The voice of the inquisitor seemed to come from afar:
- Hurt?
“Drink,” the witch wheezed.
He put a mug of warm water to his lips. The witch drank hastily, in large sips, the fire inside did not want to die out.
- Where I am? What did you do to me?
Morgana looked at the strange bracelet on her wrist - or were they shackles?
– In the Inquisition, Morgana. The trial will begin soon.
The witch stared at the man.
- I don't understand. What court? – The witch wanted to scream, but she didn’t have the strength to do so.
- Above you, witch. – The Inquisitor spoke calmly, even kindly.
Morgana tried to sit up.
“But I’m okay...” she began.
Suddenly someone's hands picked her up and dragged her somewhere. Mor turned around and saw the Hunter, who was looking after her, but she did not see the expression on his face.
She was rather roughly pushed into a metal cage, which was located in the center of a small hall; opposite there was a wide wooden table covered with a black cloth, in a vase a bouquet of dry lavender, a traditional plant that wards off evil spells, was gathering dust.
Three inquisitors wearing judicial robes entered the hall, their faces hidden by hoods. They sat down in a row and froze like statues. Mor grabbed the bars with both hands and croaked:
“I’m not guilty of anything, I didn’t do anything...
The inquisitor on the left suddenly raised his hand:
- Be silent. Morgana Mori, your guilt is confirmed by the testimony of the inquisitor. Now you will be asked questions, answer only “yes” or “no”.
- It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault! Do you hear? – Tears welled up in my eyes.
The inquisitor on the right continued his usual speech with a tongue twister, swallowing the endings of words, so it came out:
– If the court finds that the answers contained a lie, according to amendment seventeen fraction seven of the Code, third degree restraint may be applied to the witch.
Mor was shaking violently.
- Witch, your guilt has been proven. Your answers may affect the severity of the punishment. Therefore, I advise you to tell the truth. Have you kept a witchcraft book?
“Yes,” Mor whispered. - But I have never...
“Only yes or no, witch.” Next question: did you use witchcraft against the inquisitor?
- I defended myself. He attacked me...
But she was interrupted again:
– The answer is regarded as “yes”.
– Have you, witch, expressed a direct or indirect desire to find out the name of the inquisitor?
- No, we were just talking, I didn’t want to...
– The answer is regarded as “yes”.
– Morgana Mori, you’re letting it slip...
Mor did not listen to the announcement of the verdict. The hall began to spin before my eyes, the figures of the inquisitors turned into blurry spots. She lost consciousness, her last thought was: “Silver knife.” The inquisitors looked at the unconscious witch with curiosity.
The left one called:
“Come in, Hunter, she didn’t even listen to the verdict.” So, I think, she won’t understand that you subjugated her before the trial, and not after, as expected.
“The procedure has been violated,” the right one shook his head.
The hunter approached Mor and easily picked him up:
– Changing the places of the terms does not change the sum. I remember this from elementary school.
- In general, you know it yourself.
The central one nodded at Morgana - pretty. Only frightened, like a witch before the inquisitor.
The men laughed.
- I'll have whiskey. – The hunter smiled.
- ABOUT! This is the conversation.
More would be very surprised if she learned that her freedom was valued at three bottles of whiskey. She would be upset - too cheap.
Morgana came to her senses and fell into oblivion again. She did not understand where she was, occasionally heard a man’s voice, sometimes she saw her mother’s alarmed face, her lips moved silently. Mor couldn’t make out the words, it made her sad and she cried. The faces of the girls with whom she studied at the boarding school flashed before her eyes. They pointed at someone and shouted at her to run. On the border between sleep and reality, the witch made out the Hunter's face. What is she doing next to him?
Mor came to in her own bed, still wearing the same blue dress. It was a velvety black night outside the window.
“Dream,” the witch whispered with relief. - Nightmare!
- Not really. – The Inquisitor appeared silently.
The witch crawled to the corner of the bed and curled up into a ball, her teeth chattering:
-Will you kill me at my home?
- No, I won’t kill you. For what? – The hunter simply radiated confidence.
- But I was sentenced...
“Sentenced,” the inquisitor easily agreed. “Now, Morgana, you are my personal witch.” In special cases, the Code provides for this type of punishment.
- In case the inquisitor wants it? – Mor clarified, fear dulled.
– One of the mandatory conditions. “The hunter was as serious as death. The witch nodded and looked out the window, as if she was very interested in the moon. “You are no longer free and belong to me,” the man continued, without waiting for an answer from the witch.
- How's the property?
– Well, actually – yes.
“Like a thing...” Morgana raised her chin.
- Not a thing...
- How's the pet? – The witch found the strength to use sarcasm.
“Like a house witch...” the man answered her in the same tone.
– And how long is this punishment? – The witch put in all the contempt she was capable of.
- Let's see…
- Slave owner! – Anger replaced fear.
Morgana sat up and was about to get out of bed, but the Hunter gently held her by the shoulders. He didn’t let her come to her senses, he pulled her closer to him.
- Insensitive! – The witch pulled away. - Not enough for you…
- Not enough... and I’m not insensitive...
The witch tried to hit him, but he intercepted her hands. Morgana closed her eyes. She sat on the bed, constrained and motionless, with a very straight back, her palms clutched at the hem of her dress.
– You set all this up on purpose, didn’t you? – Morgana asked dully.
The man did not consider it necessary to answer.
Silvery moonlight poured in through the window, giving her face a particularly gentle, magical glow.
- Morgana, Mor? – the Hunter called quietly.
Morgana jerked when wide hands covered her chest, squeezing lightly. The movements become more demanding.
– If you say “no”, I won’t hear. – The words sounded like a belated echo.
The dress flew off in a lump against the wall, followed by his T-shirt. Warm breath touches the skin, his kisses burn, and when his lips captured a tense nipple, Mor could not hold back a moan. A witch in the arms of an inquisitor, how wrong. But her body, against its will, responds to affection. It is impossible to resist his strength and confidence. Moreover, for the first time on her way she met a man who is not afraid of her and wants her as she is, with all her witchcraft abilities.
“I hate it...” Mor breathed out as the Hunter lightly bit the sensitive skin on his chest. She herself could not understand to whom this referred. The witch hated herself more.
- But you want...
And then she herself reached out to him, grabbed his neck and kissed him. Her tongue flicked across his bottom lip and then she bit. The witch tasted blood in her mouth.
“What a passionate, evil witch,” the inquisitor said in a hoarse voice, his eyes glowing strangely in the darkness. - What are you doing to me?
The moonlight seemed to envelop the girl, the air vibrated with thickening magic. And Morgana stopped fighting... with herself. Witches are sensual by nature, but until that day Mor had no idea that such passion was hidden within her.
She stretched like a cat, and then ran her nails along his smooth back, feeling with pleasure how his strong muscles tensed. The man growled quietly. His fingers immediately slid along her inner thighs, pushing the lace of her panties to the side.
- So whose are you, witch?
- Better ask whose you are, inquisitor.
A sharp tug and the panties turned into a useless rag. Her eyes sparkled slyly. She lay in front of him completely naked, but for the first time she felt like a strong, real witch. Morgana arched and ran her hand seductively over her chest. The belt clinked and the Hunter got rid of his jeans. He pressed his body against her, his hand buried in her blonde hair, squeezing it in a possessive gesture and forcing her to throw her head back.
The witch gave a short cry from the sharp pain that pierced her and twitched.
– So tender... and now all mine.
The magic in the air became almost tangible.
He moved in her sharply, invading deeper and deeper. The man was no longer gentle, his essence as a brutal warrior was unleashed. He had won and was now taking and subjugating his beautiful captive.
She felt like a real criminal, since her actions could be classified by the Inquisition as a blood ritual. Article... She chose not to think about it.
The witch quickly folded her things and some food; now the bag contained much more than one could imagine. And the weight was consistently about two kilograms. There's one last thing left to do. Mor took out a hammer and hit the wall next to the window hard and sharply. A few more blows, and she was able to get out of the hiding place a witchcraft book, several amulets and seeds that lead astray. Not particularly hoping for success, the witch stuffed several seeds into the lining of the Hunter's jacket. She didn't know how to use them correctly. But trying is still better than inaction. The girl was incredibly sorry for the flowers. Poor innocent victims. Without water and its care, they will die. Without looking back, Mor left the house. She closed the door, as usual, two turns.
At the station, Morgana looked at the train schedule and chose the longest line. Three hours until the end. Wonderful! The patrol inquisitor glanced at her with an indifferent gaze.
Sitting by the window, the witch watched as the city was left behind, the houses became lower, and the greenery became larger. She didn't have any clear plan. She decided to get off at the station she liked. And then... Who knows where the road will lead her. Is it possible to run away from yourself and your destiny? Mor decided to give it a try.
In the evening, the Hunter looked thoughtfully at the dark windows. According to his calculations, the witch should have sat at home and waited. The little mouse hid in a corner and trembled. Alone, in the dark. He felt a pleasant anticipation. Yesterday she greatly surprised him - not a single witch had ever told him such things. They didn't dare. She also turned out to be surprisingly immune to charm. Although it may have been due to lack of practice. At the school of the Inquisition, he, unlike many of his fellow students, did not pay enough attention to these techniques. Although, most likely, he simply did not come across a witch whom he would like to charm.
The Black Wolf shook his head, driving away the memory of how he... of course, not that he lost control, but got carried away and allowed himself... No, he couldn’t even say “feel” in his thoughts. But the fact that he kissed the witch is a fact.
Today the witch herself will ask him to take away her precious freedom. No charm. The man easily ran up the steps and confidently knocked on the door. No one responded in the apartment; sensitive ears did not catch a single movement. Within a few minutes he examined the slight disorder that always accompanies hasty preparations, and the ruined hiding place.
Suddenly. The second time he was wrong about it. The witch turned out to be interesting.
- Let's play. – The hunter was pleased. He grabbed his jacket and went out. Dissolved in the darkness of the night. The witch had a whole day's head start. Which way did she go? Contrary to common sense, Black Wolf felt vaguely uneasy. And one more thing - he really didn’t want some other inquisitor to take her into his hands.
Mor sat in a forest clearing, a small fire crackled merrily. She looked into the fire. An experienced witch could see glimpses of her destiny in the flames. Mor narrowed her eyes. Nothing. Only the resin on the pine branch flashed with a bright blue spark and a loud click.
She mechanically rubbed her right hand - for the first time she felt the witch's mark as something foreign, irritating. Morgana thoughtfully raised her hand over the flame. Pleasant warmth, warms and caresses, if you keep your distance from it. But if you let the fire get too close... The witch lowered her hand a little lower. “It hurts to burn,” Morgana thought. She instinctively pulled her hand back, couldn’t help herself, and screamed quietly.
Witches used to be burned. Now witches had rights and were allowed to work. True, as it turned out, the inquisitors still have absolute power over them.
The patterns on the mark melted and became less obvious.
– Is it possible to get rid of it? Some day?
The forest was silent, only the tops of the trees rustled louder. A night bird hooted.
- Understand it as you wish.
It was getting cool, and there was a dampness coming from the ground. The witch began to be preoccupied with another question: why did she end up here magically? Why did she, a city dweller, have to drag herself into the forest? Of course, in her mind, wild witches lived in the forests. She imagined being lost in the wilderness, collecting wild herbs, and the Hunter would never find her.
In fact, the night forest turned out to be dark and cold, filled with strange sounds. The witch did not know how to live further. After all, who needs a florist in the woods? And if in the summer it was possible to somehow spend the night, then what to do when autumn or winter comes? What if it rains? Where to get water from?
It was necessary to go to the station and buy a ticket for the train that goes to the sea. Although to buy a ticket for such a long distance it would be necessary to show documents, and then she would be easily tracked down. The witch shivered and thought that it would be nice to spend the night in the village.
A jacket suddenly fell on my shoulders. Mor screamed. How did the Hunter manage to get close so silently?
- She ran away not far.
The Black Wolf walked around the girl and sat down next to her.
The witch nodded.
“Although I’m surprised you left at all.” Have you decided to become a wild witch?
Morgana shrugged and asked:
– Was it easy to find me?
The hunter smiled, his white teeth flashing in the darkness.
“I just realized that I should have gone to the seaside...” She sighed and looked sideways at the man. He threw a few branches into the fire and stretched out his arms, enjoying the warmth.
- I would have found it anyway.
- But I would see the sea. On the other hand, it’s probably not bad, otherwise I was worried about spending the winter in the forest, with cold rains in the fall.
The hunter laughed. Very sincere. Morgana smiled discreetly.
“You know, I’ve never laughed so much as I did in these two days.” I would have found you earlier...
“I wanted to ask...” Mor fell silent, her cheeks flushed red again, but she hoped that it would be unnoticeable in the darkness.
- What? – the Hunter asked coldly. – Do you want to know what will happen to you? Or won't I let you go?
- No. Everything is clear to me here. Doesn't matter, it's a stupid question...
- Do you take a risk...
The witch shook her head and rose to her feet, picking up her bag:
- It's probably time.
He pulled her hand, and the witch, losing her balance, fell straight into the Hunter's lap.
- It will be time when I say so.
The man ran his hand along the spine and enclosed him in a ring of strong arms.
- So what do you understand, little witch? Mm?
- You will kill me. – Mor said these terrible words so casually and easily that even she herself was amazed at her courage.
- Is there a reason for it? – asked with interest.
“I’ve said so many things...” She blushed again.
He nodded.
“Yeah, she said it,” he grinned.
Morgana sighed heavily and wanted to make herself more comfortable and so as not to press herself against his hot body.
They sat in silence for some time. Mor felt stupid.
The man’s lips practically touched her temple, his voice was insinuating and sounded very convincing:
“I want you to give up your freedom.”
The witch shuddered in fear. She tried to object, he put his finger to her lips.
“This time you won’t say no, and if you do, I won’t hear.”
- But how can that be? “Morgana was confused and said in a very childish way: “It’s not fair.”
The hunter smiled, his eyes flashed slyly.
- Certainly.
Morgana pulled away sharply and untangled herself from his arms. He looked up at her.
- I'm not your toy. You can’t do that to a living person!
- Shall we argue? And then, you are not a person, you are a witch. And don’t glare at me, you still won’t have enough strength even for a decent curse.
- I hate it. – Morgana hissed like an angry cat.
“It’s good, from hatred to love...” The Black Wolf rose very smoothly, “one step.”
He easily picked up the bag, chuckled meaningfully, weighing it in his hand, and then simply walked up to the girl, firmly grabbed her by the elbow and confidently led her along.
The witch had never ridden in the Inquisitorial car, much less in the front seat. The hunter looked calm and extremely pleased.
“It’s good to be strong,” Mor couldn’t stand it, breaking the silence, “you can do whatever you want.” I would like that too.
Black Wolf narrowed his eyes:
- You're talkative. - And as if turning more to himself, he continued: - But it’s not annoying. Strange.
– I am immensely glad. Although a witch, by definition, should annoy the inquisitor.
- Must. But I told you, you don't look like a witch. And you're also beautiful.
The witch became embarrassed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
They drove in silence for some time.
Mor even dozed off, and then jerked sharply, waking up, and stared at the man with wide open eyes, her hands turned icy. She had completely forgotten that in the bag, carelessly thrown in the back seat, there was a witchcraft book and several amulets. All that's left of mom. The Black Wolf looked at the girl in surprise. She too quickly averted her eyes and cast a haunted glance at the bag. The hunter understood.
– Did you hide the book there?
Morgana nodded - how easily thoughts and emotions were reflected on her face. She bit her lip in frustration.
“You see, I was right, you are very dangerous, you even have a book.” So you understand that you won’t be able to stay free. - It seemed that the inquisitor was speaking seriously.
But the witch understood perfectly well that he was mocking.
The car smoothly braked in front of the entrance.
Morgana reached for her bag.
- Leave it. You can go. But don't try to run away anymore. I'll come this evening. – The man’s voice rang with steel.
Mor got out of the car and looked at the rapidly brightening sky - a pink stripe had already appeared on the horizon, the day promised to be sunny. Without looking back, the witch went home. It was impossible to escape not only from myself, but also from the Hunter.
Morgana fell helplessly on the bed and laughed, everything turned out as in the joke: “If you run from a tiger, you will die tired.” In her case, however, from a wolf.
She was tired and somehow gradually fell asleep.
At seven in the morning the alarm clock rang. The witch opened her eyes and managed to sleep for several hours. She's at home, the weekend is over, there's nowhere to run. Mor tidied herself up, swallowed a cup of tea and went to work on autopilot. Since the escape didn’t work out, and life goes on, you need to follow the routine. Thoughts kept returning to the Hunter.
How to get rid of the inquisitor's attention? Per day! Mor thought feverishly. Think, witch, think. It would be good to make him forget about her. Only she doesn’t know how to cast magic. There was no one to teach. She used the power to make the plants grow better, not get sick and be resistant to frost, so that the flowers in the vase would stay fresh longer. But this was intuitive knowledge, without understanding how the force actually works. By the way, Morgana was very proud of her ampel strawberries, which she grew on the balcony. Actually, that's all the skill is. And it’s unlikely to scare off the inquisitor with the emerald green of her begonias.
The witch sighed heavily. All her life everyone around her told her that she was a “dark creature”, a “dangerous creature”, and everything in the same spirit. People treated her power as something to stay away from. But it turned out that she was incredibly defenseless and, frankly speaking, “toothless.” But there is always a way out. Or not?
Or maybe go to the Inquisition and complain? Write a formal petition. The witch smiled cynically and imagined the text: “To the High Inquisitor from the witch Morgana. The Black Wolf illegally tried to subdue me. Please influence him."
Or maybe he suddenly has an urgent task? Will dark witches attack? Well, she had no influence on that. Become a dark witch in one day and commit dark witchcraft, so that the Inquisition will devote all its efforts to eliminating the consequences. Three "ha ha".
Or maybe she can kill the Black Wolf? Pierce his cruel heart with a silver knife. Avenge all witches. Morgana spent several minutes imagining herself in every detail as the witch-heroine who had killed the most powerful Hunter. The image of the Black Wolf flashed before his eyes, a terrible wound on his chest, gray eyes glazed over, a face as pale as snow, terrible blue lips. The girl felt nauseous, and she blinked several times to drive away the eerie vision. A sarcastic inner voice told her that the lack of a silver knife was not the only problem. Fight against a strong, trained, ruthless, beautiful... The thought took a wrong turn. In short, the “murder” option did not work.
Morgana realized that she could not do anything to the inquisitor. But she can...
The witch went into the pharmacy. There she bought vitamins, chamomile tea and cough medicine.
The bell rang habitually in the flower shop, which was located in a beautiful old mansion; in one window there was even a stained glass window in which a pale, elegant lady with a mysterious smile was pressing a crimson rose to her chest.
- Mor, good morning! “We have a lot of orders today,” the hostess, a plump, pretty woman, nodded affably. – Morgana smiled tightly and said hello. - Oh, you look very tired, and it was two days off. By the way, did you undergo the “execution”?
The hostess called “execution” witch control. This woman was generally surprisingly loyal to witches. More even heard her make very unflattering remarks about the inquisitors several times.
- Elena, I don’t know what to do...
Morgana never spoke frankly with her boss, although their relationship was quite warm. But it seemed to her that if she didn’t immediately tell at least someone about the events of the last two days, her head would simply explode. Elena listened without interrupting, lightly stroking the girl on the back.
– Did you speak out?
Morgana nodded and tied her apron with her usual movement.
-Listen to me, girl. And don’t just stand there, get busy with those red roses for the bouquet.
The witch obeyed and began to make a bouquet. Red roses and a white lush mignonette cloud. Satin green ribbons so that the bouquet fits comfortably in the hands of the person for whom it was ordered.
– Listen to me and don’t interrupt. You are not the first, you are not the last. My grandmother was a witch. No, don't be surprised. The abilities were not passed on to me. But I know that she had her own inquisitor. They are drawn to witches, especially beautiful ones... like you. And guess what?
- What? – echoed Mor.
- You have no choice. He will get whatever he wants. But there is good news.
- Which? – Morgana waited tensely.
“You are a woman, and he is a man, you can tame him and make him yours,” Elena answered simply.
“You can tame something like this...” Morgana muttered.
Elena smiled:
- Don't underestimate weakness. Weakness has its own strength. By the way, the fact that you ran away is good. He became interested.
“It would be better if we didn’t meet at all.”
- Of course. You didn't say what he was like. Beautiful? I see in your eyes that yes, you don’t have to answer. Then you're definitely in luck. As they say, relax and have fun.
“He’s cruel, and I’m afraid of him.”
The hostess clapped her hands.
- Everything will be fine. And now let's get to work, get to work...
Mor looked at the collected bouquet - the roses sadly lowered their heads, and the mignonette seemed to shrink in fear.
The Black Wolf was following the witch's trail. A powerful sorceress. She has several deaths of experienced inquisitors to her name, she has repeatedly escaped raids and resorted to bloody rituals. Desperate. Her trick with the curse of the regional unit alone is worth it. A real wild witch. The hunter grinned - a funny thought came to his mind. If there are wild witches, then there must be domestic ones. Those who blush cutely, are afraid, but try to be brave. With long legs and a very seductive ass. The inquisitor grinned, “he doesn’t feel anything at all.” With an effort, he turned his thoughts to the fact that the witch had discovered a book of witchcraft. I wonder why he didn’t feel the forbidden witchcraft? Could she really resist and never use magic for harm? Although I was still able to make the bag dimensionless. Today he will find out what else she can do. The hunter forced himself to concentrate on his work.
Meanwhile, the trail led him to an abandoned building of an old factory, the witch was clearly hiding there, the man felt that the air began to tremble and thicken. This means he is preparing a curse. The Inquisitor put up a mental shield and calmly entered the building. Fat rock pigeons took off, noisily flapping their wings. He stopped and froze, whispering a ritual phrase that allowed him to lure the witch out. For a while the silence was broken only by the cooing of pigeons. The wolf was waiting.
The witch attacked and flew around the corner with incredible speed. She exhaled sharply and, bending over like a cat, jumped. Her dark hair flew up in waves. The Inquisitor noticed sharp claws that were aimed at the eyes. He avoided the blow, moved smoothly, grabbed the witch by the hand and pushed her into the wall. Bones crunched. The woman sank to the concrete floor. He won the first round, but knew that this was not the end. The witch turned around - her face was distorted with rage, her pupils were unnaturally elongated. Badly. The sorceress extended her hand forward and gutturally shouted a word. The force rushed out of her and hit the inquisitor. He managed to group himself, part of the blow was absorbed by the shield, part of it was absorbed by the protective amulet, but it was still difficult. He stood up, breathing heavily, the witch also jumped to her feet and took several small steps towards him. The irreconcilable rivals waited for a second, and then rushed at each other like two wild animals.
The witch began to get tired, she growled and tore, began to make mistakes and missed a blow that knocked her unconscious. With a familiar gesture, the inquisitor took out a silver knife, the blade easily entered the body. One less witch. The hunt was successful. A good day, and in the evening another witch awaits him. No, not a witch, but a little witch. There are a few formalities left - and you can go to her.
The working day was coming to an end. Morgana was nervous, and Elena gave her sympathetic glances. Mor leaned over the counter as if to reach for some wrapping paper while she discreetly took some cough medicine. Just a few minutes later the witch felt feverish. His face turned red and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
- Girl, are you feeling bad? – the owner of the flower shop asked worriedly.
Witches don't like inquisitors Anna Brusha
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Title: Witches don't like inquisitors
About the book “Witches Don’t Like Inquisitors” Anna Brusha
Hunting for witches and exterminating them in terrible ways is one of the features of the Middle Ages. What would happen if the Institute of the Inquisition continued its activities today? In the novel “Witches Don’t Like Inquisitors,” Anna Brusha described the fantasy world of magic, complementing it with a realistic approach to the destruction of witches. In this reality there is no church or faith, there are only two forces that are in eternal conflict - witches and inquisitors.
When you start reading the book “Witches Don’t Like Inquisitors,” you watch the scene where the main characters meet in a stuck elevator. The young witch Morgana falls in love with an attractive man and gives herself over to her feelings without reserve. She, as if enchanted, lets the stranger into her house and obediently carries out all his orders. It is difficult to convey the horror of the main character when she finds out that her lover is her worst enemy. This is the Black Hunter, one of the most powerful and severe inquisitors.
The conflict and confrontation between the two sides - the witches and their hunters - runs through the entire narrative. Anna Brusha revealed to the reader the full depth of Morgana’s experiences and showed the incredible power of love - she made Morgana weak, practically helpless before the terrible power of the Inquisition. In the book “Witches Don’t Like Inquisitors,” good and evil are very clearly presented, and both moral concepts are closely intertwined in each of the images of the main characters.
In this amazing story, you expect that the emerging feelings should reconcile the two warring elements, but they only exacerbate the conflict and cause more and more contradictions. This is a unique case when two opposites attract and are connected by many invisible threads, since the main characters cannot exist without each other in all respects.
“Witches Don’t Like Inquisitors” is a psychologically subtle book, showing mental anguish and tossing between two fires. What should a man do who must destroy his beloved? And if you add to this constant checks and total control over the performance of inquisitorial duties, you understand that this repressive machine leaves no chance for the development of feelings. Surprisingly, the main characters eventually get out from under the yoke of that frightening reality. They reveal themselves to the reader as ordinary people with their passions, emotions, experiences, weaknesses and fears, leaving their masks and decorations somewhere behind.
Anna Brusha created very colorful and understandable characters for the reader. Morgana constantly rushes about in her conflicting feelings, cannot resist the psychological pressure from her tempter. The Black Hunter is a cruel and cold-blooded inquisitor, far from pity and sentimentality. Reading this book will be interesting for those who want to see all sorts of shades in the relationships of such different people.
On our website about books, you can download the site for free without registration or read online the book “Witches Don’t Love Inquisitors” by Anna Brusha in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.
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Mor nodded and sobbed, tears flowing from her eyes. The young witch first heard about him several years ago. The truth in the stories was intertwined with fables. But in all the stories it all came down to a simple fact, there was no case when the Black Wolf did not catch up with his victim. It was impossible to hide from him, and not a single wild witch could seriously harm him. This Hunter seemed immune to curses.
Don't expect mercy from the Black Wolf,
The end awaits the witch, run or run.
Inopportunely I remembered a stupid little rhyme.
The girl closed her eyes. After what she said to the inquisitor, it’s scary to imagine what he might do.
She never expected him to kiss her. They don’t kiss witches for fear of losing their souls. But this man either lacked a soul or didn’t consider it that much of a value. A careful, even gentle touch of the lips. It was a kiss with the salty taste of tears, sadness and loneliness. She answered hesitantly, tenderness spreading throughout her body. Let him feel it too, at least a little, Mor thought.
Her witchcraft power, suppressed and held back for so long, rushed out and literally sparkled at her fingertips.
The hunter broke the kiss, and then simply stood up and left without saying a word.
The next morning Mor woke up completely exhausted. She walked past the black jacket, which remained lying in the hallway, and grinned: Skin of the Black Wolf. In daylight it's not so scary. And then memories came flooding back: what she said to the inquisitor, and then how she kissed him. And she liked it. Terrible! It became painfully embarrassing. And who is she after that?
The old Morgana would probably have cried, but last night changed something in her. Mor spent her entire life trying to follow the rules, not use magic, be invisible, and not attract the attention of the Inquisition. And yet, what she was so afraid of almost happened to her.
Only the Goddess knows where witches disappear when they succumb to charm. Deprived of will, freedom, and a warm magical spark, they are said to be sent to closed settlements where they work for the inquisitors.
But no one has returned from where yet. And what actually happens to them is unknown. A trembling ran through her body, Mor imagined what it would be like to lose magic and for the first time called the Goddess by name: Help me, Hecate, patroness of all witches! Oh, what have I done?
The girl looked around her apartment and took out a travel bag. I used nail scissors to tear up the lining, revealing a half-erased symbol behind it. She discovered this thing, which once belonged to a witch, at a flea market and bought it without hesitation. The saleswoman had no idea that the bag could become almost bottomless if the sign was imbued with power. Her hands trembled with tension as the girl channeled her magic into the lines. To be sure, she pierced her finger with a pin, the lines trembled and drew in a scarlet drop of blood.
She felt like a real criminal, since her actions could be classified by the Inquisition as a blood ritual. The article... she chose not to think about it.
The witch quickly folded her things and some food; now the bag contained much more than one could imagine. And the weight was consistently about two kilograms. There's one last thing left to do. Mor took out a hammer and hit the wall next to the window hard and sharply. A few more blows, and the girl was able to get out of the hiding place a witchcraft book, several amulets and seeds that lead astray.
Not particularly hoping for success, the witch stuffed several seeds into the lining of the Hunter's jacket. She didn't know how to use them correctly. But trying is still better than inaction.
The girl was incredibly sorry for the flowers. Poor innocent victims. Without water and its care, they will die.
Without looking back, Mor left the house. She closed the door, as usual, two turns.
At the station, the girl looked at the train schedule and chose the longest line. 3 hours until the end. Wonderful! The patrol inquisitor glanced at her with an indifferent gaze.
Sitting by the window, the witch watched as the city was left behind, the houses became lower, and the greenery became more abundant. She didn't have any clear plan. She decided to get off at the station she liked. And then... Who knows where the road will lead her. Is it possible to run away from yourself and your destiny? Mor decided to give it a try.
In the evening, the Hunter looked thoughtfully at the dark windows. According to his calculations, the witch should have sat at home and waited. The little mouse hid in a corner and trembled. Alone in the dark. He felt a pleasant anticipation. Yesterday she greatly surprised him; not a single witch had ever told him such things. They didn't dare. She also turned out to be surprisingly immune to charm. Although it may have been due to lack of practice. At the school of the Inquisition, he, unlike many of his fellow students, did not pay enough attention to these techniques. Although, most likely, he simply did not come across a witch whom he would like to charm.
The black wolf shook his head, driving away the memory of how he... of course, not that he lost control, but got carried away and allowed himself... No, he couldn’t even say “feel” in his thoughts. But the fact that he kissed the witch is a fact.
Today the witch herself will ask him to take away her precious freedom. No charm. The man easily ran up the steps and confidently knocked on the door. No one responded in the apartment; sensitive ears did not catch a single movement. Within a few minutes he was inspecting the slight disorder that always accompanies hasty preparations and a ruined hiding place.
Suddenly. The second time he was wrong about it. The witch turned out to be interesting.
Let’s play,” the hunter was pleased. He grabbed his jacket and went out. Dissolved in the darkness of the night. The witch had a whole day's head start. Which way did she go? Contrary to common sense, the Black Wolf felt vaguely uneasy. And yet, he really didn’t want some other inquisitor to take her into his hands.
Mor sat in a forest clearing, a small fire crackled merrily. The girl looked into the fire. An experienced witch could see glimpses of her destiny in the flames. Mor narrowed her eyes. Nothing. Only the resin on the pine branch flashed with a bright blue spark and a loud click.
She mechanically rubbed her right hand, for the first time she felt the witch's mark, like something foreign, irritating. The girl thoughtfully raised her hand over the flame. Pleasant warmth, warms and caresses, if you keep your distance from it. But if you let the fire get too close... The witch lowered her hand a little lower. “It hurts to burn,” the girl thought. She instinctively pulled her hand back, couldn’t help herself, and screamed quietly.
Witches used to be burned. Now witches had rights and were allowed to work. True, as it turned out, the inquisitors still have absolute power over them.
The patterns on the mark melted and became less obvious.
Is it possible to get rid of it? Some day?
The forest was silent, only the tops of the trees rustled louder. A night bird hooted.
