The Witch Collector (Witch Walker Book 1)

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But here, beneath the moon, with the pounding rhythm of life beating in my veins, the world falls away, any thought of the Witch Collector along with it. Through ritual, we witches are connected, conduits between the Ancient Ones whose power radiates through the soil into the bare soles of our feet and the deities in the heavens who shine down upon us. For a time, that’s all I feel. There’s no Finn. No desire. No anxiety. No cold.

And he’s distracted. I could kill him now, a blow from behind. Rid the world of his dreadful presence. Hampstead Loch and Penrith’s watchtowers are empty because it’s Collecting Day. I’m sure that every watchtower across the valley sits unoccupied. Mannus’s strides eat the ground, and I glance over my shoulder. Dusk has fallen to full dark now, but the sky behind us glows, the horizon aflame. The Eastlanders’ torches are everywhere, scattered across the valley, chasing us like a raging fire through a dry field.

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Scream Factory’s Collector’s Edition Ultra HD of Halloween III: Season of the Witch is a highly satisfying release, featuring outstanding A/V quality and great extras. It’s one of the best upgrades for these films thus far. Highly recommended. Like Nephele, thoughts of my father are never far from my mind. Why he went to the fields the day he died—in the dead of winter—will forever remain a mystery, as will the question that might haunt me until my last breath: If the blade is so all-powerful, why didn’t he use it to save us? To save Nephele? I press the signed form of the words against her chest, feeling guiltier with every passing second. I keep little from Hel, except the story of the knife. But I haven’t mentioned my plan, or that I’m leaving the vale—for real this time. Helena loves me, but she would never understand. I clench my fingers again. There are so many things I want to say, none of them kind. Instead, I hold Finn’s stare until he takes the knife, slips on his leather apron, and steps to the forge. The dove’s wings flap and ruffle. When I open my eyes, her heart pounds so hard that her breast moves with each beat. Her little eyes open too, and she’s up, flying from wall to wall. I shove open the shutters and watch her take off into the cold, vanishing in the distance near the forest’s boundary.

The sound mingles with the revelry and ceremony chanting but soon builds into a clamor that brings everyone—even the musicians and dancing folk—to a standstill.

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Setting the cup of rainwater aside, I force today’s first smile. My fingers are stiff with cold when I sign. “I am sure you are right. I should get to peeling.” The strands glow and tremble, drawn together like iron to lodestone. I keep singing, repeating the words until the strands have entwined and the gilded construct of life is once again solid and resplendent. The moment the words leave my hands, it hits me that I have no right to chastise Hel for not sharing this news. As much as I don’t understand it, this is her choice. One I know she’s made willingly.

I link my arm with his and nod, resting my head on his shoulder. The coiled tension in my muscles ebbs. Finn and I aren’t together anymore, not in the way we once were, but he’s still my comfort, even when he’s impossible. I don’t know how to live life without him, but I fear I’ll have to. When the moment arrives today, I’ll still give him—and his family—a choice, but if I’m honest with myself, he made that decision three years ago.We stare at one another for a long beat, then I put out the fire and set to strapping on my baldric, scabbard, and blades. I mount Mannus and yell for the remaining elders and wardens, but they can’t hear me over the frantic voices of four hundred villagers. I turn to the woman with the little boy. Their eyes are wide and terrified. Finn pulls me close, and after a stiff moment or two, I relax in his arms. We begin moving in the ways of our people, bodies arching and swaying in time, softly at first. But his movements become more dominant.