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Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter: Witch Hollow, #5
Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter: Witch Hollow, #5
Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter: Witch Hollow, #5
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Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter: Witch Hollow, #5

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Eric is getting ready for the final battle, but the Dark Master is not the only one worrying him. Strange things happen around him, dreams warn of perils, and people act in mysterious ways.


While finding new friends, he might lose the old ones. In the final journey, Eric must face choices he wished to avoid. The life of a whole town depends on his courage, and he won't have a second chance.

"Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter" is the last book of the "Witch Hollow" series.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherI.D. Blind
Release dateMay 7, 2015
ISBN9781513031255
Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter: Witch Hollow, #5

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    Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter - I.D. Blind

    1. Dream a Little Dream of Me

    Eric was walking across the dark hall, searching for someone. He could feel her presence; he knew she might be behind one of the silver columns that stretched up into the vault of heaven. He had to ask her something, but couldn’t remember who she was. All he knew was that she possessed some important knowledge, some secret he had to know.

    He looked up into the night sky. The constellations were moving in a circle, glimmering with silver light and fading into space, as if passing to him some incomprehensible message yet expecting him to decipher its meaning. Then Orion’s belt winked with its three bright eyes, one after the other.

    Eric had seen that sky before—in the blue castle, in Featurion castle, but this hall was not in any of them, this was the vault of heaven, and there was she, standing at the end of the hall and gazing into the starry sky.

    Mom.

    Her face was wan, but he knew she was happy to see him. As he stretched his arms to hug his mother, she shook her head.

    You can’t touch me. Your time hasn’t come yet.

    I’ve missed you.

    I know. But you have an important thing to do. And then we shall meet again.

    When?

    When the time comes. Jane O’Brian turned her pallid face back to the night sky.

    Mom, you told me something once. Do you remember?

    She watched the sky glow and shimmer above their heads, and the teardrop that crawled down her face twinkled as brightly as the stars above.

    You said... You said I’ll have to kill someone. My friend. Tell me about it.

    Jane O’Brian parted her lips, but the only sound she uttered was a soft gasp while she watched the constellations circle around the sky and the stars that sometimes tore themselves off the black dome and hastened down onto the sleeping earth.

    Who is it? Which of my friends?

    She was still silent, not looking at her son, but holding her gaze up at the Belt of Orion.

    Is that the traitor? Eric prodded. One of my friends is the traitor and I’ll have to kill him? Mom, talk to me. Tell me!

    Jane shook her head. "Time is ticking away, my boy. You have to wake up. Now."

    Eric threw his eyes open and knew immediately he wasn’t alone in his bedroom. He sat up, wiped the sweat away from his brow, and marked the figure by the window. It wasn’t his mother; it was a man much taller, and judging by the color of his hair, much older.

    Grandfather Grindewald!

    The moon had shed a milky light upon the old wizard’s profile, and as Grindewald turned around, Eric saw him smile. He sauntered away from the window, the hem of his long robe rustling in the silence, and sat on a chair by the bed. You were having a nightmare.

    How come you are here? When did you arrive?

    An hour ago.

    Aunt Meda knows?

    Grindewald nodded. What was your dream about?

    Eric squinted and rubbed his sleepy eyes. It was always hard for him to talk of his parents, but Grindewald was looking at him with so much expectation Eric couldn’t make him wait. It was very much like the dream I had in Featurion. I saw my mother, and she told me something. Eric bit his lips. Could he know my dreams? he thought. And could he know what my mother didn’t tell me? "In my dream in Featurion she said something which doesn’t let me rest. I don’t want to believe it. And I don’t want to do what she told me I’ll have to. Grandfather Grindewald, you once asked me about my visions and premonitions. There’s something I want to ask you now. In Hollow, my visions, they seem to be coming to life. The first time I came here, on a night around the fire, while the girls were telling me about the last witch hunt, I saw it all as if I was there. I saw people tied up to a log; I think those were Electra’s parents. I could see them inside the flames and could hear their voices. I saw the Hunters destroy the town, burn it and loot it. I saw them tie people to the logs or bury them alive. Then I heard people calling for help. They were locked in a house that was burning, the flames leaking through the cracks. Now I know that that was Gideon Nubbles’s house and his family along with other witches. I tried to save them, and the fire burned my palm, left a mark on my skin. Eric looked pensively at his palm. It’s gone now, but the burn was there, I’m sure of it."

    I believe you.

    But how is that possible? How did I travel back in time and see the last Hunt, and even burned my palm?

    It was not time-travel. It was a vision of something that happened a long time ago.

    But once I had a similar vision. Again here, in Hollow. Electra and I were in the treehouse, and I saw her tied up to the log. She was burning. I tried to untie her ropes and take her away and the fire stung me again, but this time I didn’t have any burn mark on me. Eric looked at Grindewald with eyes full of wonder. Can you explain it?

    What you saw the second time was the future. But the future is not predestined, it can be changed. What happened to my poor granddaughter and her husband cannot be undone. They are gone, and the past remains in the past. But what you saw the second time was one of the possible outcomes, which shouldn’t necessarily happen.

    So she won’t die, right?

    Grindewald cast his eyes down. "I wish I knew. But I know that we are the makers of our fate, Eric. Everything is in our hands. Whether my girls survive this Hunt depends on them. And on you, as well as on me."

    She won’t die. Eric stood up and snatched his shirt from the chair. None of them will. Not while I live. He looked out the window. The night was young, the sky a starless pit. The rain was hitting against his bedroom window, making a dull, never-ending sound. The torrent hadn’t ceased for the last two days. Sometimes it weakened, and the gushing wind slowed down, but the sky never stopped crying over the town. And at nights the storm increased in strength, the wind howled as if a beast coming to life, throwing itself at the walls and making the castle shudder.

    Have you come alone?

    Yes. Alone and forever.

    What about Grandmother Cordelia?

    She will join me here once the Hunt is over.

    You won’t be going back to Walachia?

    I might, but if everything happens the way I want, I will open the road to the Witchcraft Academy and will use it from now on. It has been barred for fifteen years, but I can restore it.

    Are you talking about the portal on the opposite side of Mr. Eaglefeather’s bookstore?

    Grindewald nodded.

    He’s been arrested, Eric said grudgingly.

    I know. But my friend Oliver is a stubborn old dog. He survived the last Hunt, and I believe he will be saved this time. Colin will get them all out.

    Uncle Colin is planning something?

    Someone knocked at the door. Eric became silent, then looked at the clock on the wall. His time to patrol the rooftop hadn’t come yet. He opened the door, expecting to see Electra, but it was Jack on the doorstep.

    Dad is asking for you, Grandpa.

    Grindewald rose slowly and gave Eric an encouraging smile before walking into the corridor. Jack shut the door gently behind his grandfather and turned to Eric. How are you?

    Not that bad. But could be better. What’s going on? What’s the new plan?

    Turns out that the Revenant has the prefecture’s blueprint. We might be making a raid to get everyone out.

    Any news about my aunt?

    No. She might be there, too. The Revenant says that the arrested are taken from Ostband to the prefecture’s dungeon a few days before the executions. He says we need to wait until—

    But we can’t wait! These people need our help as soon as possible... Was it a knock? Eric opened the door and saw Hector looking into the corridor, his fist still raised in the air.

    Won’t you come in? Eric asked, peeping out and following Hector’s glance.

    There was someone there.

    In the corridor? Jack stretched his head out and all three stared into the dark hallway.

    Did you hear that?

    A door closed.

    Who was it?

    Hector pushed his friends into the room and shut the door. Why is someone always sneaking in this castle?

    The one we should worry about has to be two floors up, Jack said.

    Martin? Eric asked. Is he still here?

    Jack snorted. Where else would he be?

    Still in his room?

    Hiding like a coward.

    I don’t have time for a sermon, Jack, but really, leave the guy alone.

    As if I care for him. Jack shrugged. "It’s our war. The three of us can manage without him. I can’t wait to reach the prefecture and get to Ostband."

    Get to Ostband? Eric sounded confused.

    Jack leaned forward and shifted to a whisper. "There’s a secret path that connects the prefecture to Ostband. My father told me this. If we take control over the prefecture, we can reach Ostband and find him."

    A path to Ostband, Eric whispered. That’s how they must be going in and out without having to cross the forest.

    Hector nodded. And that’s why it’s the right thing to let this night pass, plan everything precisely and gather all our strength. And we have to hurry. We won’t be able to stay here for too long. We’re running out of supplies. Also, they won’t be waiting idly.

    You still won’t tell us who the Revenant is? Eric asked Jack.

    Sighing, Jack stood up and began walking up and down the room. After what happened to you, I think we ought to be more careful. Even though Martin’s room is two floors up... Eric and Hector simultaneously let out a weary groan. ...I still think we should be careful.

    Eric turned to Hector.

    He hasn’t told me, either, Hector said. If that’s what your grim face means. Not even my father knows.

    All you need to know is that the Revenant is in no way the traitor, Jack said.

    I’ll trust you on that. Eric threw another glance at the clock. His turn to patrol the rooftop had almost come. We’ve got work to do now. We shall talk later. He put on his sneakers and followed his friends into the dark hallway.

    2. Captured

    Cassandra was awake, but kept pretending. She heard people walk around her while she was lying on the cold floor and keeping her eyes closed. She wasn’t even sure those were indeed people around her. The creatures that attacked them on the road weren’t humans. And they had been warned. Cassandra had no doubt those creatures knew exactly where they were and caught them off guard. The girls, she was thinking, what happened to them? She and Allegra had managed to pass the girls to Adrian; he might have taken them to safety.

    As the sounds around her ceased, Cassandra dared open her eyes and look around. She was lying against the wall of a dark chamber lit up by one torch with a waning fire. At the moment she was alone, but she didn’t dare stir, despite the pain in her nape which begged for a soothing touch. Her hands were cuffed with stiff manacles and were aching, too. She tried to remember more of what had happened. Before one of the beasts hit her on the back of her head she could hear Allegra screaming. Was she screaming like that because they had got the little girls?

    Cassandra didn’t want to believe it. Adrian was alone, but he was a deft fellow, with fast legs and strong arms. He might have managed to steal away with Elizabeth and Clarissa. And then, Cassandra and Allegra had deliberately taken another route so that the beasts wouldn’t follow the girls.

    Allegra. Where was she? Cassandra ran her eyes around the chamber. The place was hazy and she couldn’t tell its exact size. The door seemed to be made of iron, and chains of similar material were hanging down the ceiling. A desk was pushed into the corner beneath the torch, littered with all kinds of blood-chilling tools. And beneath it three long, rectangular boxes were crammed against the wall, one with an open lid. The dim stone walls and the damp floor reminded Cassandra of the prefecture’s cell, but she knew she wasn’t in the prefecture. It was Ostband. And they said there was no escape from Ostband. But then, her father had fled once. And her brother and friends escaped, too. Maybe all is not lost for me? she thought.

    Cassandra started when the iron door opened and boots stomped into the chamber. The first pair of feet was followed by four more boots, two of which stopped in front of her face.

    Lift her, said a familiar voice. Then she was held by her elbows and pulled up to her feet. Sheriff De Roy came into sight, his favorite whip in his hand, and looked at her with his small green eyes, one of which was peeking through the hole of the silver mask.

    Where is Allegra Van Dyke? Cassandra asked.

    This witch thinks she has the right to ask me questions? De Roy looked at the guards with a smirk. They answered him with a chuckle. Hold her tighter. These witches are cunning.

    The guards tightened their grips around Cassandra’s forearms. De Roy reached out to her face and grazed her cheek with his long fingers. How much I wished for this. Sofia Turner’s daughter, back in my hands.

    Cassandra jerked her head. De Roy’s glance was so sly and lewd that she couldn’t keep her eyes on his. She cast her eyes down and saw a leather bag hanging on his belt, with her and her sister’s red hair inside. She scowled with disgust.

    What kind of sick person are you?

    De Roy grinned, his fingers grappling Cassandra’s jaw. I can’t wait to show you that, Sofia’s daughter. He pushed her head back and approached the hooks hanging down the ceiling. Cassandra held her breath until De Roy walked away from the chains, but then he stopped by the desk with the torture tools. She stared at them, waiting for him to grab one, while trying to control her unsteady pant. He would use them, she was sure of it. He had probably used them on her parents, too. The scars on her father’s face spoke for themselves.

    Sofia’s daughter, De Roy said again, as if he couldn’t believe it. I should have been more careful with you last time you were in my hands. But you turned out to be as cunning as your witch mother. He grabbed the iron pliers. Do you know your mother’s story?

    "I know you killed her, monster."

    I did, De Roy said with delight. I didn’t just kill her. I buried her alive, then stood by her grave and enjoyed her cries until she tore her throat and ceased making a sound.

    A shiver ran down Cassandra’s spine. She knew already how her mother had died, but hearing it from the one who had done it while he spoke of her murder with such calmness made her lips shiver and filled her eyes with stinging tears. Holding the pliers, Roy walked back to her. I wonder if you shriek like her, he said. His smirk disappeared when Cassandra spat into his face. De Roy froze, then hit her hard across the face, breaking her lip. I suppose she didn’t have enough time to teach you manners, little witch.

    Cassandra raised her tearful eyes at the sheriff, then once again spat into his face. His blow was harder this time, aimed at her nose. She tasted her own blood that oozed into her mouth, leaving a salty taste on her lips.

    Sofia Turner’s story is one of my favorites. She was brought here with her little daughter, and I’d give her a choice every day: ten minutes with you or a glass of water. She chose you the first two days; on the third day she chose water. Then you again for another two days. This lasted for a week. As you can see I was rather merciful. Not only I let you see each other, I even let you be fed so that you wouldn’t starve to death. I had promised your mother you’d die together. But that cunning witch ran away. Not too far. In the forest the hounds caught her; they always smell a witch’s reek. And then... De Roy scowled. His lower lip hung down, displaying his yellowish teeth. Then she imprisoned me inside this mask, he said through clenched teeth. "And I imprisoned her. In the coffin. And listened to her wails until she had no air to breathe."

    Cassandra couldn’t bear his monologue any longer. As her own blood streamed into her mouth, instead of swallowing it, she spat a mouthful of blood into the sheriff’s face, splashing the red drops all over his silver mask.

    De Roy didn’t slap her this time. She expected he’d tear her flesh off with the iron pliers, but he collapsed into a strange laughter. As the sheriff’s laugh grew in strength, one of the guards on Cassandra’s right chuckled, too. De Roy became silent, scowled at the guard, then gave him a hard blow on the head with the pliers. The guard gasped and fell on his knees, letting go of Cassandra’s arm.

    No one laughs here but me, De Roy said. He pointed at the wooden coffin against the opposite wall. Put her inside.

    Cassandra tried to resist as the guards dragged her to the coffin, then forced her into it. She fought with her cuffed hands, writhed and squirmed, tried to get out, shrieked and wept, her tears mingling with the blood on her face, but in the end she was forced into the coffin, then the lid was locked, and after some time she stopped banging against the wood.

    3. Old Wounds

    The night was calm, though the rains hadn’t stopped. It was the second hour already that Anthony had been standing by the window, glancing outside. Colin Fitzroy, a craftsman; Shay MacGavin, a blacksmith; Harold Gardiner, a music teacher, he was murmuring, counting the people in the castle. Alan Pickering, a trader; Cyrus Nubbles, a stargazer; Gideon Nubbles, an alchemist. He had gone through the same names a hundred times already, thinking separately about each of them, recollecting how he had come to know them, and wondering what they had been up to for the last fifteen years. He never added Grindewald or Andromeda to the list, had long stopped suspecting any of the youngsters, and felt a pang after each pronounced name. They all were his friends, but Anthony knew one of them was lying.

    Not Colin, he told himself for the hundredth time. He loves Meda and loves his four children. And not Shay. His son is the apple of his eye and he had sworn to avenge Rosaline. Alan? They hanged his father. Gideon? They burned his family alive. Cyrus loved Gideon’s family, and he hardly escaped himself. The only one who hadn’t lost as much as them was Harold Gardiner, their friend of twenty years, his daughter’s music teacher. Music teacher, Anthony pondered. "Harold was always into music and art and piano and songs; he wouldn’t harm a fly, but would compose a song for it. It couldn’t be Harold Gardiner, the friend who played the violin on his wedding day, while he and Sofia spun in a merry dance.

    Sophie.

    She looks so much like you, my love, Anthony whispered, staring into the darkness behind the window. She has your eyes. Your hair. Your voice. Your heart. He uttered every word, as if there was someone in the room who could hear him. But as he squinted into the window glass, all he saw was his reflection, scarred and tired, and the empty room behind.

    He stood by the window for another hour, immersed in thought, the haft of a dirk squeezed in his hand, and Colin didn’t want to disturb him, but as he came near, Anthony said, Go back to bed. I’ll watch alone.

    No. It’s your turn to sleep.

    I can’t sleep. I’m thinking of her all the time. I shouldn’t have left her alone. Maybe I should’ve gone with her. Taken my daughter and left Hollow. But it’s not why I came back.

    Lightning struck, the yellow zigzags blinked in the darkness. Then the sky growled, and the gushing wind hit itself against the closed windows, almost shattering them.

    You know I had no idea she was alive. All those years I’d been sure Cassie had died with Sophie. That’s what they told me.

    Who told you that?

    I don’t remember his name, but it was one of De Roy’s men. He was wounded, dying. When I asked him about my family, he said De Roy had killed them. I don’t think he deliberately lied to me, he probably thought that was true. Chased by the beasts and hounds, I fled the town, then decided to not come back. There was nothing left for me here, but the feeling of guilt for living while they were dead. And I had an unfinished job. I had to kill the demon. I trudged the world for fifteen years, searching for clues and answers, and in the end returned to Hollow. The circle will close here, Colin. I will kill him this time.

    You will. But to do that you need to rest. Go to bed.

    Anthony traced the blade of the dirk with the ball of his thumb. Who found her?

    I did. It was the day after the stronghold had been abandoned. We were searching for survivors. Strider, my dog, took a trail, and I followed him into Mysterious Forest. And there, inside the branches of the tree, hidden under the wings of a great bat, Cassie was sleeping soundly.

    Anthony made a sound resembling a muffled sob. Thank you, Colin, for taking care of my daughter.

    Never thank me for that. My three girls are everything to me.

    Your three girls, Anthony said in a strange voice.

    I know what you think of Medea, but she’s my daughter.

    She’s not.

    I love her. I won’t let anyone touch a hair on her head, including you.

    You’ve saved my daughter. I won’t touch yours.

    I know you wouldn’t touch her in any case.

    And that would be my biggest mistake.

    Tony!

    Yes, I wouldn’t harm a child, but Colin, what will happen to her? You can’t hide her all her life. One day she might go out.

    As another lightning struck, bathing the castle in white light, Anthony saw the pallor on Colin’s face, as well as his hair that had been going gray too rapidly. He put his palm over his friend’s shoulder. I am sorry, he said, but she’ll have to go back.

    Not necessarily. She should be given a choice.

    Or maybe you should’ve let her go years ago.

    Meda and I have discussed it many times. Maybe we should have, but we were already too attached to that little girl. And then, not even Grindewald knows what’s there, Colin said, looking out the window.

    Leave the girl alone.

    Anthony and Colin simultaneously turned around. Alan Pickering was standing by the wall. He lit up his pipe and inhaled, then let the trail of gray smoke creep through his nostrils.

    Why are you sneaking like that? And shouldn’t you be on the rooftop? Anthony asked him.

    Shay is on the rooftop now. And if you think I’m sneaking, then what will you say about Gideon? He was in the corridor when I came, his ear plastered to the door.

    Colin and Anthony exchanged glances.

    Do you think he heard everything? Anthony asked. And knows about me?

    I suppose so. He looked grim when I caught him eavesdropping.

    And Harold?

    He’s on the right wing.

    Alan, you really don’t hear anything suspicious? Colin asked.

    Pickering sat in the armchair in the dark corner of the room. As he inhaled once again, the dot of light in the pipe lit up his face. Nothing. Not while the demon protects him. Or her.

    It’s not a woman, Anthony said. Nor a girl. It can’t be Andromeda. And it surely is not one of the girls under this roof.

    What do you think of the story your son told us? About that boy Martin, Alan said.

    I just can’t suspect him, Colin said. I’ve thought of him, and I can’t picture that boy as a spy. It has to be someone else.

    Gideon?

    Impossible.

    Cyrus?

    The same as Gideon. They have so many reasons to hate the Hunters.

    Harold? Anthony asked.

    Harold is an Easterner, but he’s our friend, Pickering said. I’ll never believe he’d change sides. Not for all the gold in the world.

    And here we are, Anthony muttered, no one is the traitor, and yet, someone has to be.

    This is crazy. Colin rubbed his weary face. How can we plan a raid on the prefecture if one of us is a spy?

    That’s a good question, Pickering said. But we can’t delay our plan. Too many lives depend on us. And Shay’s going crazy.

    Why? Anthony asked.

    He’s heard rumors that his new love has been arrested and taken to the prefecture. He can’t wait to get there.

    His new love? Anthony stared at Alan, who continued to smoke pensively in the corner, then turned to Colin. My friend Shay is in love?

    She’s Eric’s aunt. Albert O’Brian’s widow. I’m not sure if you remember him.

    Vaguely, Anthony said. From farmers’ family, right?

    Pickering nodded. And it’s not just her in the dungeon. If we don’t hurry, they might end up like Glorvinda Grafton.

    Then it’s decided, Colin said. Tomorrow we shall attack the prefecture and get into Ostband. The quicker we do it, the higher are the chances to end up alive.

    Have you told anyone about it? Pickering asked.

    Jack, and he has probably told the boys. Meda. But she won’t tell the girls. Shay, Harold, Gideon, and Cyrus don’t know yet.

    Then don’t tell them until the last moment. Pickering put his pipe out, and the darkness swallowed his face.

    4. Esther

    Esther opened the door to Edward’s bedroom and looked at her son. Edward was sleeping soundly, which happened rarely recently. More often he cried in his sleep, then hid under the bed and refused to come out the whole night. Esther shook her head. Edward’s behavior was against her expectations. She had done everything to raise him as a brave and courageous man, she had insisted on his presence during the trials, she wanted him to see what happened to those who wronged his family, but all was in vain. Edward, although almost fourteen, acted like a six-year-old girl. Sometimes he’d make her so angry she wished to pull him out from under the bed and beat him up. Sometimes she did it, hitting him with her wooden fan. And sometimes she tried to be calm and explain him what he had done and what it had cost his family, but all Edward did was cry and try to hug her. He could be persistent, and a few times Esther gave in, letting him put his head on her lap and fall asleep. She’d pet his head while he slept and those times he wouldn’t cry. That made Esther angry. Edward was becoming too attached to her skirt. She had three sons and she didn’t want one of them to become a girl.

    Three sons, Esther thought. Once she had three, but then the witch killed her eldest. And now the life of her youngest was hanging on a hair. Esther had promised too much to De Roy for sparing Edward and not giving him to the Dark Master, and she didn’t know how to get out of that swamp. De Roy’s greed was boundless. He had demanded so much gold that sometimes she thought giving up Edward would be easier than paying so much to De Roy. Edward caused her disappointment after disappointment. There was only one way out of the seemingly hopeless situation, and that was the McCormacks’ money. They have a lot, she was thinking. Money, lands, estate, and that all could be hers if only she played her game till the end. Esther looked at the safe in her study and breathed out. Then a sudden suspicion crept into her heart. She opened the safe, took out a sheet of

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