Clara dipped her necklace into her shirt, keeping it out of sight. She smoothened her hair and brushed her clothes. No amount of dry scrubbing could clean her dirt-streaked face but she tried to make herself more presentable lest the black witch found an excuse to hex her.

Tamer tied the rope to a wooden post on the porch. He made Enki sit on the steps. Picking up the iron knocker, he struck the door. The sound reverberated off into the forest. Chiffon curtains drifted out of the windows, swinging back inside when the breeze passed the cottage.

“Take off your shoes,” Tamer said. “She’ll jinx you if you don’t.”

Nodding, Clara bent down to untie the laces. She left her boots on the side of the wall, next to a pot plant. Tamer knocked again. They waited for a minute. Shrugging, he pressed down the hinge, opening the door.

“Helima?” he called.

The living room was painted in fiery red as if it housed a multitude of secrets. There were plush pillows plopped on the couches, sculptures balanced on stands and candles flickering in the corners. The air was suffused with incense. At first glance, it was an ordinary room but there were a few things that stood out.

Clara noticed a black skull moulded as a vase, a bouquet of flowers dipped into the hole on top. Above the fireplace was a mask made of sharp pines so that the wearer’s face looked a giant mouth with teeth. There was a stone tablet next to it, inscribed in blood writings. Like artefacts from a different timeline, the items didn’t fit with the rest of the furnishings.

Tamer stood before a panel of paintings on the wall. “These ones used to give me nightmares.”

She went to observe them. The first one was a painting of a coven of witches garbed in cloaks, dancing in the desert, the red moon shining on the sky. The second had faceless men drinking tea with skeletons and the third one had a black cyclone with screaming skulls destroying a village.

Clara could imagine a little boy staring up at the images, eyes wide with surprise and fingers shaking with fright.

Grim paintings, she thought.

On the table was a plate filled with stacks of unwrapped sweets.

“Chocolate!” she said.

She lifted her hand to pick one then lowered it. She was about to steal from a black witch who for all intents and purposes, might have spiked the sweets with poison.

“Don’t take them,” Tamer said to her.

The chocolate had chips of ground nuts and raisins. Her mouth watered. They looked delicious and tempting. She could almost taste the sweet taste of cocoa on her tongue.

Her craving enflamed, demanding that she devour the goodies.

There were so many of them and she only needed one. The witch wouldn’t tell the difference, would she? When Tamer turned his back to her, Clara snatched one of the sweets, all traces of caution gone out of the window.

A set of short blades flew out of nowhere, heading for her fingers. She jerked her hand back, dropping the chocolate. The blades stabbed the wall, vibrating with the impact.

“Do you know what I do with thieves?” a condescending voice said.

Clara winced. She’d been caught. A woman leant on the doorway, arms held in akimbo. She was old with white hair tumbling down to her waist. A copious amount of powder coated her face, hiding the wrinkles. Her thin lips had been painted crimson, the same shade as her short frilly skirt. She wore a black corset that hugged her lithe frame.

“Helima.” Tamer beamed, making a step towards her.

The woman flicked her silvery stands, pouting at them. Clara braced herself, expecting more blades to fly her way. The witch lifted an eyebrow, glaring at her as if she waited for an apology.

“Er...your dress looks elegant,” Clara said.

Helima’s frown smoothened. She winked at her. “Why, thank you.” The woman inclined her head towards Tamer, her scowl returning. “Now, you.”

Tamer sidestepped, leaning his upper body to the right just as the witch waved her hand and sent a bolt of lightning at him. The spell struck the plate and toppled it to the floor, spraying the chocolate with pink goo. Clara crouched down, poking the sweets.

So much waste. Ah, they still look edible.

Helima sent another curse at Tamer. He dived behind a couch, stooping low.

“Where is my payment, boy?” she asked.

Tamer gave a nervous chuckle. “What payment?”

A yellow strip of light rocketed to the couch, hitting a pillow. It exploded in a flutter of white feathers.

“Do not play dumb with me,” said the witch.

Clara divided her attention between the fight and the chocolate. Helima flounced towards Tamer, swinging her hips from side to side like a cat stalking a mouse.

“Greedy old hag,” Tamer mumbled.

The black witch tossed her hand up. The couch collapsed. Tamer crawled away in time to avoid getting trapped. A man walked into the cottage, carrying a sack full of firewood. Everyone paused to look at him. He had shoulder-length blonde hair and a stubble on his chin. Clara noticed his hands and bare feet. They were covered in tawny fur. A Shima. He scanned the room, blue eyes landing on Clara then Tamer.

“Tamizan?” The man walked to him, holding his hand out. “What are you doing, here?”

Tamer took his hand and allowed him to help him stand. “It’s Tamer now. I’ve come to visit Helima.”

At the mention of her name, the witch flicked her fingers. A golden streak hit Tamer’s head. A patch of his hair turned violet with stripes of white flecking the sides. He patted his head, scowling at her.

“This boy had the audacity to call me old and ugly,” Helima said, crossing her hands over her chest.

Clara moved away from the plate now that the witch’s attention wasn’t solely focused on casting spells. Tamer said something to the man in Shimian.

 “You speak Shimian?” the man asked. He ruffled Tamer’s hair. “Look at you. You’re all grown up.”

Clara studied the man’s features. She tried guessing his relationship to the black witch. Perhaps he was her son, a friend or her husband. He couldn’t be older than thirty but he spoke with Tamer as though a brother would to his younger sibling. A son, then.

No, he could be older. Shimas age differently.

“It’s good to see you,” Tamer replied to him. He took Clara’s hand, bringing her forward. “This is Clara. Clara, meet Helima and Azmand.”

She shook hands with the man. Helima flashed her a full-toothed grin that twisted her face, the wrinkles becoming more visible. Clara attempted a smile of her own but failed. She was getting nervous over meeting strangers.

Helima strode to the window, her back straight and her steps purposeful. Clara had the feeling the woman was too old but her gait and manner of dressing made her look youthful—a bold testament to defy her age.

“What brings you here? Judging by that man tied up outside, it cannot be anything good,” the witch said.

Tamer wasted no time in getting to the point. “He has the Lakht Curse on him. He’s hiding vital information that I must know.”

“What makes you think I will agree to this?” she said.

“I need your help, Helima.” He cleared his throat. “You’re the best black witch in all of Aurion. Stronger than the Magus and more beautiful than an angel. Breaking the curse will be child’s play for you.”

 “Oh, shut it! Flattering me will not get you in my good graces,” she said. “Idris and you bring nothing but trouble! You still owe me, boy. If you cannot pay me then you’d best be on your way. ”

Tamer didn’t budge.

Helima waved her hand in a nonchalant manner. “Fine fine. Azmand, help me untie the man.”

They stepped out of the house. Clara followed them. Witnessing the power of a black witch wasn’t something she wanted to miss out.

 “I’m going to wash this off,” Tamer said to her, brushing his dyed hair.

Clara heard his retreating steps. She stood a few feet away from the two strangers, observing them under a tree. Azmand untied Enki from the pole. With a snap of her fingers, the witch had the covering gone from Enki’s head.

“You have merged with a spider,” Helima said to him. “Mutilated your body. What a terrible thing to do.” She placed her palms on his head, thumbs pressed on his brow.

Trails of red light snaked around Enki’s face, descending to his neck. They reached his shoulders, coiled round his stomach and slithering lower, binding his whole body in red helices. He fell on his knees, shaking his head and biting his mouth until Clara saw blood dripping down his chin. Eryx’s spells had him restrained. They made him powerless against the witch.

Clara moved closer to the scene, her heartbeats spiking up. The helices turned a deep color. Blood red. Smoke flowed out of Enki’s body, changing into eerie apparitions that circled his kneeling form. Helima moved together with the ghosts, her fingers skimming over his chest.

Enki shrieked, a pitiful cry filled with terror and agony.

No matter how hard Clara pressed her palms over her ears, she could still hear his screams. Tamer rushed out of the cottage. She didn’t notice how fast he reached her but she felt his presence behind her. He put his hands over her eyes.

“Don’t look,” he said.

She couldn’t stop herself from prying his hands off of her eyes, couldn’t muffle her ears anymore. She looked at Helima and then wished she hadn’t. The witch’s face was paler, the skin no longer smooth. It was lined with deep wrinkles and marred with grey veins. Her red lips curved up into a feral grin, the corners reaching her ears. Sharp teeth glinted in the red light. When the ghosts disappeared and the screams stopped, the witch’s face returned to its former beauty.

“It is done,” she drawled. “This will cost you.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Azmand coughed. “I need to light the fire. Keep the house warm.”

He went inside. Clara stared at Enki. He lay spread-eagled on the grass, breathing heavy. Tamer brought a chair from the porch. He pulled up Enki and made him sit. The man swayed.

“I’m not going to say this again,” said Tamer. “Answer my questions. Who is your master?”

Enki hung his head low, black hair hiding his expression.

“How do we free Amarant?”

Clara couldn’t handle it anymore. She’d had enough for the day. She retraced her steps to the cottage. A whoosh sounded from behind her. A thumping noise came next. She glanced over her shoulder.

Enki’s claws were spread out behind his back, splinters of wood lying at his feet. He was rubbing his right wrist where a circle with a simple sigil had been carved into his skin. The wound was fresh. He had carved it himself. She saw Tamer rising from the ground and shaking his head. He had been flung to a tree.

The witch stayed still, watching the men with an amused look on her face. Enki ignored her. He sped off into the forest. Tamer scrambled to his feet and followed him.

He must not escape!

She took off, passing Helima. The witch grabbed the collar of Clara's shirt, her black nails scratching her neck.

“Let us have a tea party, my young thief,” the woman said.

“Let me go. I have to help him!”

The witch smiled. “Tamizan will handle it. Come along, now.”

Blowing out a breath, Clara pulled her shirt from Helima’s iron grip. This was ridiculous. She didn’t want tea. She felt nauseous after watching Enki suffer. If Helima was indeed the most powerful black witch in Aurion then she had to do as she demanded. She feared getting cursed. There were worse things than having her ears turned to horns and her feet hardened to hooves.

They went inside the living room where a table had been set with teacups and a kettle. A tray held biscuits and…bonbons. She wouldn’t let herself be enthralled by them. Clara vowed to exercise restraint this time.

Helima dragged back a chair. “Sit.”

Taking a seat, Clara rested her hands on her lap. Azmand walked in with a jug of milk in one hand and a sugar container in the other. His long sleeves had been folded up to his elbows. She could see black veins spiralling up his arms. He sat with them. When he noticed she was looking at his hands, he rolled down his sleeves.

“Eat up, dear,” The witch said to her. Shifting her posture towards Azmand, she said, “I never thought Tamizan’s lover would be a scrawny little thing.”

A rush of heat colored her cheeks. “I’m just a friend.” She didn’t dare mention the witch also looked like a scrawny little thing. “And I’m not hungry.”

“No? You will need that energy. You see, you are not ready.” Helima pointed her index finger at Clara’s chest, her nail tapping the locket concealed by her shirt. “You are not ready to face them.”