Book One – Chapter 5

“Curses on all witches,” Yves muttered, instantly feeling a chill run down his spine and panic rush through his veins as the words escaped his mouth. Before him, Midnight whirled around. It was still witching hour. You did not speak during witching hour. You did not speak. You did not speak. You did not speak. What worthless wizard speaks during witching hour? Shut up.

His words were worthless, of course. Not meaningless. They carried great meaning, profanities coming straight from the crevices of the heart. But they were ultimately powerless against any actual curse. Only witches could convey such malevolent spells. Yves wanted to believe that this reflected their pettiness, foul character and utter inferiority. Wizards did not engage in such underhanded ploys. They killed each other face to face. And yet, despite his disdain for their methods, Yves found himself envious of their abilities to manifest their malice when all he could do was yell into the wind.

Having been cursed a shameful eleven times, three by the same witch, this was the latest manifestation — to his shame, the second Vicha that ever haunted him. The weight of the curse pressed upon him, its irritating mark woven into his right shoulder. How was this possible? How could it already be here? It was incredibly enduring and so much fucking faster than the last.

Yves’ expression blanked. Was someone feeding it?

The Vicha was a malevolent force that relentlessly pursued them. The curse moved slowly, but it never wavered, never rested. They needed to outpace it, outrun it for at least another full moon before it dissipated — unless some damned witch was trailing and feeding it!