‘Love’. When does she think I was born? The endearment, though pleasing in her accent, will not sway me. When it comes to her ilk, I have no ‘good side’—too many needless deaths have happened at the manicured hands of a witch, and I’m never falling for it again.

Though I do play along with her, letting my hands run along the dappled skin of her neck a little longer than necessary as I collar her. I’m of the mind that anything goes to get the last Cercel witch into Naclall is fair game. Zion, however, takes a stilted step forward, her blood-soaked gloves leaving red drips in the snow from how hard she’s fisting her hands.

The clasp of the collar works its magic and disappears, leaving Miss Cercel unable to defend herself against the jealous werewolf. Not only would Zion attacking Miss Cercel be grounds for dismissal on both a professional and personal front, but Myles, who was watching Zion lose control, seemed…suspicious.

Miss Cercel says she has everything on her that she’s wanting to take along to Naclall, a feline smirk on her lips as she gives me a once over and saunters off to the camp’s exit. Witches and their games. I remain indifferent, but my girlfriend is losing it, and though it would do a lot of good to speak to her on the matter, I cannot.

Myles would either hear, and we’d be outed or if I put Myles in charge of Miss Cercel and hang back with Zion so he doesn’t hear, that would be just as suspicious. No. I’ll have to explain later, and hope that I won’t have to put my suit in harm’s way to keep Zion from going after Miss Cercel.

“Watch Miss Leif,” I look to Myles, “it seems she is a bit on edge from her spree killing.” The lie flows easily from my lips, but I don’t stay long to see if it takes. I turn and follow Miss Cercel, my long legs allowing me to catch up easily.

“We will be heading into the woods,” the crunch of snow beneath my shoes is pleasant—a far cry from the situation I just turned my back on. There is next to no-one on our trek to the gate, only the tops of heads from hiding humans. Maybe an eye pokes out if they’re brave enough.

Bravery…

“Miss Cercel, if you would be so kind as to use the gate at the back of camp? There’s a little blonde boy who seems to think you his girlfriend. Says you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, and he cares for you very much.

“I told him I would return with word from you; however, I believe the real deal would make his day.”

“Of course,” the witch smiles despite her situation and pulls the flimsy shawl tight to her body. She veers off in the direction of where I told the children to stay making it obvious, I’m taking her from a group she knows intimately. “I didn’t expect the Mothman to care about such things.”

“I happen to like children, Miss Cercel. They’re not trying to be anything. They just…are.”