The Wolf & The Witch

They had been asleep for perhaps ten minutes when Lestat jumped up, pulled Claire back and away, and leveled his sword at the four witches in front of them.

Claire reached over and lowered his arm, lowering the sword. “Settle down. Put your sword down,” Claire whispered. They both suspected something would happen tonight, since they were out of horses, and Claire knew- any witch that could dismember horses in silence could do the same to them. “Trust me, Lestat- don’t fight them.”

Four witches stood in front of them. Three younger, at perhaps eighteen, and an older witch in her thirties. At least this time they were dressed- mostly. It was the same redhead, and the same redhead, and the same blonde from before. Then Claire remembered that first horse, and the four bites in the liver. So it was these same four? Except the problem for Claire- how the hell had they kept up with them? They had traveled over six-hundred miles in six days. A malefica, or a priestess, can teleport, or slip between shadows and light, but how did these four do it? “How are you following us?”

“Este, our malefica, wants to see you. Now.” A cow was waiting behind the witches with a cart tethered to it- a cart that had thick wooden bars and solid iron braces- a mobile cage with the door standing open.

Lestat paused for a moment as Claire’s words worked their way into his head. That was not the right question to ask... not unless she had seen them before. He looked down at her, and could tell- she had seen these women before. When? Obviously since they entered this land. But why didn’t she tell him? Then he realized she had- when she was looking off across the fields, when she said she didn’t see anything. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, and he lowered his eyes at her: the words ‘trust me’, directly followed by a lie. That was a witch, by definition, and it infuriated Lestat. This goddamn lying witch. And what possible purpose could a lie like that serve? But, he knew, in his heart, that he was far angrier at himself than he was this witch. Her lie hurt, and the only damn reason it hurt was because he was getting too close to her. He knew witches lied, all of them. He knew none of them could be trusted, not one. He had been taught that lesson over and over. It should not surprise him, and it should not hurt him, and it should not bother him. But it did, and that angered him- he was angry at himself, and Claire. His little witch friend was no different from any other goddamn witch- they were all the same. Anger crawled out of his stomach and clawed at his chest and his throat; anger sat on his eyes, forcing his eyebrows down.

Claire tugged him forward, to comply, and Lestat did not step forward with her. She looked back at him, and he looked down at her, then the witches in front of them, and growled, deep down in his chest, and leveled his sword at the witches.

“Lestat, no. That’s-”

The blonde witch flew at him and Lestat let her come- he leaned to the left, so she attacked left- she ran magic down her arm and shot a rock the size of a hornet’s nest at his face, point blank, and he slipped to the left again, turned his head, turned his body and let her pass through the air. He pulled Claire around, then delivered a hard, straight right kick into the center of her back- the blonde witch flew off into the grass, landed with a hard thud, and groaned out in pain.

Claire’s eyes went wide and she held her hands out- “Stop! Stop, Lestat. Stop. We’ll follow. We… just need to get our stuff.” Claire looked at him- that entire exchange took half a second, and he could’ve cut the blond witch in two four times over. If they weren’t already in a lot of trouble, they would be as soon as he started killing witches.

“No, we will not follow,” Lestat growled, and turned, and lowered his eyes at the older witch. “Return our horses now, or lose your head.”

“Big words, for a wolf,” the older witch said.

One of the redheaded witches charged, and Lestat stepped back, and another step, and one more, timing this just right- he heard the blonde witch running at his back. Lestat dropped his sword to the ground and watched the redheaded witch come, saw her weaving magic in her fingertips, and he heard the blond in the air; he saw the shadows of her hands on the ground, and he did not move; he saw flames creep up the arm of the redheaded witch, and he did not move, and then as fingers were on his neck, and fire was at his throat, Lestat leaned his head to the side, grabbed the blonde’s wrist, and slammed her down into the redhead with enough force to break bones. The two young women collided with a heavy, cracking thud and bounced off each other into the grass. They didn’t get up. Lestat’s eyes never left the older witch. “Horses. Now.”

Claire’s eyes went wide and she put her hand on his chest. “Settle down, settle down. Trust me, Lestat- let’s go with them. We should not fight. Let’s follow-”

“No. I am not following a goddamn witch in a fucking cage. But I’ll be happy to run th…” His tongue slipped, and the trees wavered. “Rn... run them…” Lestat wobbled, and Claire wobbled- both of them went back a few steps as if the ground had just moved beneath their feet. Then Claire slumped against him, and Lestat caught her, and tossed her over his shoulder. As he balanced her, and balanced himself, he snuck the tip of his toe under the sword on the ground. He looked from one witch, to the other, pretending to be close to passing out- this was magic meant to disorient, but Lestat knew- it was none of the four witches in front of him that cast it.

“My, my, aren’t you the dangerous one,” a woman’s voice said, from behind him.

Lestat nudged the sword into the air with his toe and spun at the same time- he grabbed the hilt, leaned out, extended his arm, swiped, and the tip of the sword left the thinnest line on the woman’s throat- another series of motions nearly too fast for eyes to follow. He fell to the ground, then just as quickly picked himself up, with the witch over his shoulder.

The other redheaded witch came running to help, and the malefica held her hand out, stopping her. “Back. You’re too weak for this one.” She studied the wolf, curious. He might have actually hurt her if he had shifted into a wolf. Who was the last wolf that had actually touched her, let alone drew blood? Interesting. “Not going to shift?”

Lestat wobbled, but caught himself, and lowered his left shoulder, and adjusted his feet. “Replace our horses, witch.”

“Lestat, was it,” Este said, and stepped closer, within reach of his sword. She glanced at the witch over his shoulder, cuffed to him. “Let’s chat, shall we? I just woke up and don’t like to sweat, so I would rather not fight. I am the ruler of this land. At least, during the night. And I have something you desperately need, and you have something I desperately want.”

“I don’t care who you…” he stumbled back, nearly going to the ground, but fought the magic, and regained his footing. He leveled his eyes as this witch, and steadied himself. “Replace our… horses.”

Este waved her hand over her head and clouds followed, blocking out the moon, and the stars, and darkness settled around them in heaps. “I want that cuff. Six nights now my witches have tried to remove it, and six nights they’ve failed. Then they grew frustrated and, well… you know: horses.” She shrugged.

Lestat paused his anger, and his sword slowly dropped till the blade was resting in the grass. Was there a chance this witch could remove the cuff? If a priestess placed it on them, then a malefica should be able to remove it, right? They’re opposites? And he couldn’t care less what this witch did with this cuff after it was off. “Can you remove this?”

“Maybe. Toss your sword away.”

Lestat did without hesitation. It nearly hit the blond witch, but that was purely accidental. Lestat slipped Claire down into his left arm and held their cuffed hands out.

Este was a stunning black-haired woman, with a body that looked like it was carved by god after he’d had too many drinks on a warm night- nothing but curves. She wore a simple black cotton dress that hung high on her thighs and clung to each of those curves. She grinned at Lestat, and moved towards him like water through whiskey, and reached out and for the cuff. She held it in her hands, studying it- turning it one way in the darkness, and then another. She ran magic into her hands, and fingers, and little sparks shot into the air off the cuff. She dropped their cuffed hands and stepped closer, and leaned down to study the witch in his arms- she pulled Claire’s face around and looked at it, and blew a dismissive breath out between her lips. Then she leaned into Lestat, and put her face against his chest, his bare chest, and sniffed him. She lowered her face to his stomach, then to the very top of his leather pants, and inhaled. Then she backed away. “You are a rather interesting wolf. I didn’t actually believe what my girls told me.”

“The cuff?”

Este walked very slowly around Lestat, looking at his arms and shoulders, his back muscles, his neck, his forearms, his shaggy dark hair and stubbled beard. She traced a line with her finger from his shoulder, across his chest, as she circled back around. “There’s one thing missing from you, young wolf,” she said, stepping around in front again and turning to him. “You do not smell like sex. And you should know, if my girls had smelled sex on you, it would’ve been your heart, and your liver, they ate, and not the horse’s.”

“Can you remove the cuff, or not?”

Este stepped slowly back, her dress, and hair, and eyes, fading back into the black night. “Sorry, wolf. You are stuck with both the curse of that cuff, and the pathetic witch in your arms.” Her eyes never left Lestat’s. She took one step back, and then another, and then she retreated into the black margins of the night, disappearing the way a black stone does when it’s dropped into a black well full of black water. Lestat could no longer see her, or smell her. Then-

“But I still want that cuff,” Este whispered, at the wolf’s ear.