I lift my gaze to stare at Ágota. What do my mother’s words mean? She has told us many times the story of how the witches fled their world when magic was drained from its veins by evil sorcerers. The witches had burrowed doors into this world and escaped before they could be destroyed. They had been relieved to find a mirror image of the Witch World in this one. Our mother had been Romanian in the Witch World, too. She was very young when it happened and her parents had not survived. She never told me that they were anything more than common witch-folk, but now I wonder.
Ágota shakes her head, silently imploring me not to speak.
As the devil leans toward my mother, I see the serpent from the Garden of Eden in his eyes. “But the title is yours even if you deny it, Archwitch.”
Startled by his words, I toss a questioning look toward my sister. How could he know who our mother truly is? I have been taught, since I was a very little girl, to never speak of our true origins or our mother’s exalted status among the witches outside our small home. Our race escaped the witch world when it was destroyed and live in the shadows of this one. Our mother is the only surviving Archwitch, and the most powerful among our kind. It was her choice to raise her daughters far from the other surviving witches and to deny her rightful high position among them to protect us. I comprehend now that she never divulged who she was hiding from.
“I will not serve you, Lucifer. I will not go the Scholomance. I am but a poor humble witch.”
“Humble? Perhaps. Witch. True. But poor is an understatement.”
The devil steps into our home and Ágota tenses.
The alp lingers in the doorway and my mother shuts the door on its gnarled face. Turning about, she clasps her hands before her. In the tiny image of her dancing on the water, her beauty is otherworldly with the dangerous resolve on her face. I understand that my mother is much more than I ever truly realized.
“I made my choice. Leave now. Respect that you have been rejected, Lucifer.”
“I respect nothing,” Lucifer says, taunting her. He looks about him with disapproval, noting the poppets hiding behind the water bucket. They cower before him, which makes him even more arrogant. “So it is true. You have a daughter. Another Archwitch.”
“I use those as servants,” my mother answers swiftly.
The poppets scatter, rushing about in a panic.
The devil laughs, following them deeper into the room until he is standing on the edge of the buried spell. “The alp pulled your daughter’s face from the dreams of the women, too. She is lovely. Where is she? Hiding in the forest?” His blue eyes sweep about the room, searching every shadow.
Ágota frowns and whispers, “Hurry, mother.”
“I am here alone and I wish to remain alone. Leave!” My mother walks after him, hands dropping to her sides. There is growing panic in her eyes for her plan is going awry.
The devil walks across the floor, still on the edge of the spell, his gaze narrowing on the newly created wall. “What is this?” Stretching out a gloved hand, he strains to reach where we are hiding.
I glance toward the new wall to witness tendrils of smoke rising from the surface.
“I am alone,” my mother insists.
“Here she is,” the devil says with delight. “My second Archwitch to claim.”
Surging forward, my mother grabs his arm and wrenches him back so that he is standing in the center of the spell. “I will do what you ask, Lucifer. Just let her be!”
“So the little witch is up there.” With a sneer on his lips, he turns to look toward the wall that obscures from his sight. “Come out, little witch. I want to see you. Are you as pretty as your mother?”
My mother’s fingers flex and twist rapidly at her side, her magic unfurling from her like shimmering ropes of light. A second later, the red glow of the spell carved into the floor of our cottage fills the reflection in the water cup and paints our faces in an eerie light.
The devil pivots toward her, visibly surprised. “A trap? You set a trap?”
My mother, the Archwitch of a dead world, darts away from him. Before she can escape the ring of the spell, Lucifer grabs her arm. Smoke rises from his scorching touch, forcing a scream from her lips as her flesh blackens.
“Release me! Or I will burn this place to the ground with you and your child in it!”
Unable to escape his hold, my mother presses her hand to his chest and unleashes her magic. The devil staggers under the power of the assault and falls against the edge of the spell scrawled on the hard earth. There is a loud thunderclap as he is knocked onto the ground, deflected by the invisible barrier around him. Freed, my mother scampers to escape the brightly glowing spell. She almost accomplishes it when the devil catches her by the ankle, dragging her toward him. His touch burns her skin and she howls in agony.
The beauty of his face is marred by his absolute rage. The devil holds my mother to the ground and yells, “Release me! How dare you trap me, you whore!”
My mother does not answer, but casts another spell, reinforcing the trap.
“I will kill you and claim your daughter! Release me and I will forgive you!”