She's lost it. That was Genevieve's
overriding thought the entire time she rode in the Bethanys' car late that
evening as they left the hospital.
Sage sat in the back with her
sisters, staring blankly out the window next to her, barely responding
when spoken to. After picking up an overnight bag from Gen's home, they
finally stopped at the Bethanys' townhouse, and Sage was the first to get
out of the vehicle and head to the front door.
"She's upset,"
Diana Bethany whispered to Gen. "She gets really quiet sometimes—it's
almost like a meditative state with her. It's best not to take it
personally."
Gen knew differently, however. One look into her dark
brown eyes said as much. That wasn't Sage being sullen and upset; that was
Sage thinking. Plotting. Planning something—something
big. And it wasn't difficult to guess in what
direction her thoughts lay.
Though she didn't blame her, as the
thought of going revenge-crazy had crossed Gen's mind the odd time too, it
was still a troubling development. Common sense told Genevieve that they
should be keeping a level head right now, but Sage clearly had something
else in mind.
Merri sounded concerned when Gen called her at
Michael's earlier, but then she couldn't be sure if it was actual
compassion or fake. She couldn't tell what was genuine with that girl
anymore. At first, Gen suspected the original shy/innocent act was to get
Gen to the house to meet Michael, but even after that she managed to slip
between being timid and harmless, to super friendly and outgoing, and even
to cold killer. And now with Sage leaping off the edge of sanity, it
seemed like the only dependable one would be Michael. Dependably a
bastard, sure, but that was more than she could say for the others.
"You girls must be starving," Ms. Bethany called as she went to
the kitchen. She slipped off her blazer and hung it on the back of a
chair. "Have anything in mind?"
"We're not hungry," Sage said
quickly, sending Gen a meaningful glance. "We'll just head downstairs—"
"Mind your manners," Sage's mother chided. "You have a guest who
probably should have eaten hours ago—you're not warping her to your
schedule."
Though starving herself, Gen had to admit there were
more important things than dinner right then. "I'm not all that hungry,
Ms. Bethany—"
"First, call me Diana. Second, I'm not letting that
daughter of mine push you around. Sage, take Genevieve's bag downstairs
and please throw that shirt in the wash. Gen, Kat will take you on a tour
of the place. Our home is yours while you're here—make yourself
comfortable."
Kat was in a bad mood—understandably so, since Gen
noticed she looked pretty upset at the hospital—so the house "tour"
consisted of, "Bathroom and bedrooms upstairs; kitchen, dining room and
living room here; Sage's room and bathroom in the basement," then she
slumped down on the couch and turned on the T.V.
Gen sat at the
other end of the couch, as uncomfortable as anyone would be sitting in a
strange house with strange people. The house itself was nice, though.
Small, but upscale. Gen never would have guessed that by the way Sage
dressed. Not that she looked homeless or anything, but dark, plain track
clothes didn't exactly scream, "My mom wears designer suits and our living
room looks like something out of a magazine."
The phone rang.
Though it was right next to Kat, she ignored it, instead pulling her knees
up to her chest and turning the volume up a little on the T.V.. A few
moments after someone else thankfully picked up in the other room, Diana
appeared in the living room doorway, a cordless phone in her hand.
"Genevieve, it's for you."
Me? But she'd already called her
mom...
"I think it's your brother," Diana added.
Brother?
"Teriyaki rice okay for dinner?" Diana asked as Gen stood and took
the phone.
"Yeah, that's great." She waited until Diana was back
in the kitchen, then she went to the silent, empty hallway before finally
putting the receiver to her ear. "Hello?"
"What time will you two
be here?"
Jesus Christ, why couldn't she go five minutes without
being bothered by him!
"I told you, later." Maybe that loss of
blood the night before did something to Michael's memory.
"And I
told you we had things to do—"
"Jesus, could you at least pretend
to have an ounce of emotion, even for a second? Do you have the slightest
idea what—" She paused as a nearby door opened and Sage peered out at her.
"Michael?" Sage guessed.
Gen nodded and handed her the
phone. Though she could only hear Sage's half of the conversation,
Genevieve could guess the rest.
"We should be there soon," Sage
said.
Well, I need you here now because I'm a pompous
ass and I don’t care about anyone but myself, Michael would say.
"We'll leave right away then—"
"I
don't think so," Gen interrupted. "I'm not going another night without
anything to eat."
Sage thought that over for a moment. "Another
hour or two, maybe," she said. "After dinner. There shouldn't be any
problems staying for awhile."
Make sure you bring
Genevieve because my day isn't complete without making her miserable.
"Yeah, she'll be there." Sage sent Gen a
quick look, before returning her attention to the phone. "She'll
definitely be there."
"It's been a long day," Gen said as Sage
hung up the phone. "Do we really, really need to be there tonight?"
"Yes."
"Like it's absolutely necessary?"
"Yes.
It's definitely necessary."
"Damn."
"You can come to my
room if you don't want to sit with Kat," Sage suggested, and without
waiting for a reply, she jogged back downstairs herself. Gen followed her
into the finished basement.
Though the rest of the house hadn't
been what Genevieve expected, Sage's room seemed apt. Grey walls, sparse
furniture, and little decoration. On one side sat her training equipment,
with everything from punching bags to a gymnast's balance beam. On the
other side sat Sage's bed, a tall dresser, small T.V., and couch. Simple,
uncluttered, and boring in Genevieve's opinion, though Sage hadn't shown
herself to be particularly interesting to begin with, so she could hardly
be surprised. The far corner was blocked off with a curtain, which was
drawn open to reveal a washer and dryer.
Sage went straight for
her dresser, rifled through a drawer, and finally pulled out another
turtleneck.
"That's really ugly," Gen informed her.
"Well,
maybe when you know some anti-bruising spells, I won't have to wear this
crap anymore," she snapped.
"I won't have to if you'd just not get
strangled."
After pulling out a different shirt, Sage held it up.
"Better?" It was a black pullover with a high neck.
"Boring, but
at least not ugly." Gen flopped down on the couch and picked up the stack
of CD cases on the arm. "Didn't know you were a Playstation fan."
"They're Hayden's," Sage said quietly. "He leaves his PS One here
for when he's over."
Gen set the games down again, the sudden
weight of the room dampening her attempts at teasing. "Sage, he's going to
be okay, you know."
"I know."
Before Gen could attempt any
more words of comfort, Sage started the washer and tossed her bloody shirt
in.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" Gen called when she heard the
washer lid close.
"Is it why is my sister Chinese?" Sage guessed
with the roll of her eyes.
"Uh...no." While the thought had
occurred to her at the hospital, Genevieve didn't think to ask, as it
would seem a little bizarre, and she didn't particularly care.
"Friends that come over usually want to know that," Sage said.
"You mean you have friends?"
Only when Sage shot her a
look did Gen realize she had actually said that aloud.
"Sorry."
"Mom's friend and his wife adopted Ceci from China then died in a
car accident a few years ago, so we adopted her."
"Oh."
"And she's in Cantonese lessons right now, so if she comes up to
you and says something you don't understand, that's why."
"I'll
keep that in mind."
"So what were you going to ask?"
"Mainly why your mom is so nice, and...well, 'cause you're like
really the opposite."
"Excuse me?"
"But I guess that seems
kind of rude, so I'll shut up now."
"Thanks."
A familiar scene took up at Michael's place that
night though now the air was different. Sage and Michael were just as
serious as ever, focused on their task of training hard, but where Sage
was merely quiet and determined before, now she drove herself further
still. There was little Michael could do, besides give commands and
correct her with words, as his arm was still in a sling, but being his
solitary focus didn't seem to bother Sage. Her expression was grave, and
she barely nodded in acknowledgement of anything Michael said. This was no
longer training for enjoyment: this was a single-minded obsession.
And it creeped Genevieve out more than a little.
When
Merri had greeted them at the door, Gen found her back to her sweet,
concerned personality, full of questions for Genevieve about what
happened, and sympathy for Hayden's condition. Then, at Michael's command
to "quit yakking and get to work," it was like a light switch flipped off
and Merri was solemn again. She directed Gen to sit in the kitchen while
she went to deal with God-knows-what in another room.
Though she'd
already proven to herself that she could extinguish a candle at will,
without Michael suggesting anything else to be working on, Gen dug a
candle out of a cupboard, lit it, and set to concentrating.
She
began by feeling blocked again, but eventually the same strange sense of
warm calm overtook her, and she felt the glimpse of another self there—a
self who knew what she was doing.
The candle went out.
Extinguishing the flame seemed to grow easier and easier the more
she did it after that, until it took little effort at all. By then, it was
quarter after eleven at night, and she was beyond exhausted. She still
hadn't seen Merri, and Sage showed no sign of stopping what she was doing.
Though a little nervous about approaching Michael, she hoped that if he
got annoyed and threw something at her again, at least this time his aim
might be off from the injuries he sustained the night before.
"Michael," she said quietly as she drew nearer to him. "Um..."
"What?" he barked, barely sending a glance in her direction.
Well, fuck being nice then.
"What the hell are we doing here?" she
shouted instead of continuing with the pleasant approach. "How is this
helpful? I can put out the goddamn candle already. There must be
something—"
She paused as she realized he wasn't paying attention
to her. Instead, he turned to look around the large room.
"Merri!"
he hollered.
Seconds later, Merri opened the door to one of the
side rooms and stuck her head out. "Yeah?"
"What are you still
doing in there?"
"These things take time—"
"I don't
care—she's here bugging me now. Hurry up."
Though miffed at being
referred to as if she was a five year old, Gen was too confused over their
conversation to complain.
Merri thought over his words for a
moment then nodded. "Follow me, Gen."
Go in a dark and scary room
with her?! That wasn't seeming like a good idea—for all Gen
knew, she could be secretly planning to shoot her half a dozen times, then
hide the body...
"Hurry up," Michael ordered.
God, even
being brutally murdered by Merri would be better than dealing with him!
She started to go, but then turned back to him once more, hands
firmly placed on her hips.
"Michael," she said.
He sent a
warning glare back at her.
"I just want you to know that if I ever
have the chance, I am going to kill you while you sleep. Possibly with a
pillow, though I haven't yet ruled out something messy like a butcher's
knife. That's all I have to say—I just thought you should be made aware."
"Duly noted," he replied, and returned his attention to Sage. "Go
and see Merri."
Merri waited at the door to the spare room, and
stepped aside so Gen could enter. Though Genevieve hadn't been upstairs or
to the other separate rooms but for the bathroom, she half expected to
find a torture chamber or something. Instead, the room was long, narrow,
and more or less bare. Sheets of white canvas covered furniture and boxes
in the corner of the room, and a few shelves of books lined the far wall.
In the center of the room was a wide circle of lit white candles
and an open book.
Really not liking the look of
this,
Gen thought.
"Just sit down over there, gimme a minute, and we can
get started," Merri said. She started to close the door, as if expecting
Gen to get out of the way immediately, but Genevieve stood her ground.
"You don't like me much, do you Gen?" Merri said with a sad, half
smile.
"I like you fine," Gen admitted. "I just don't trust you."
"You think I'm going to hurt you?"
"I think that I don't
know for sure you won't. One minute you're all shy, the next it's puppies
and rainbows, and then you shot a guy without a hint of emotion. It's damn
creepy, actually."
Merri pondered this for a few moments, watching
Genevieve as she chose her words with care.
"We are what we are,"
Meredith said at last with a little shrug. "But you can trust me, whatever
that's worth."
Not a hell of a lot. "Will you come in and
sit down at least?"
Not seeing any chairs, Gen took a few steps
inside the room and lowered herself to the ground, folding her legs across
one another.
"What's going on? And I'd prefer your answer says it
doesn't involve me."
"We're taking away the element of surprise."
"How...cryptic. Then does it involve putting out candles? 'Cause
I'm pretty good at that now—I can help with that part."
"It's
pretty simple," Merri said as she picked up a book from the floor then sat
down on the centre of the circle of candles. "And I'm doing most of it.
I'll just need you to help me out, okay?" She patted the spot on the floor
in front of her and gestured to Gen to sit there.
"Please tell me
that I'm helping by putting out candles?" Gen asked as she scrambled to
the spot Merri indicated.
Meredith only offered a smile in
response, and Gen realized with a sinking feeling that whatever was
required of her wasn't going to be all that easy.
"I'll need you
to read exactly what is written here," Merri said, handing her the open
book.
She'd been hoping for a dusty old book with handwritten
calligraphy, and an ancient, forbidding power emanating from the pages.
Instead, she got plain softcover book with blindingly white pages and a
spine without a single crease.
So much for a cool, movie-esque
atmosphere, she thought.
As she gazed over the words
on the open page, she realized she didn't recognize a single letter.
"Um...Merri, I can't read this."
Meredith tapped the
opposite page. "It's spelled phonetically there."
"Ah.
That's...helpful."
"They really fixed it up for the third
printing—it's much more accessible to people. Now take a minute to get
grounded, then I need you to take my hands, concentrate, and read exactly
what you see in the book."
"Will anything explode?"
"No."
"Am I going to kill anyone?"
"No."
"Is something
bad going to happen to me?"
"You'll be fine, I promise, Gen," she
said with a warm smile that, once again, Genevieve didn't trust for a
second.
Meredith closed her eyes and held her hands out, palms
upward. After taking a few deep breaths, Gen dropped her hands onto
Merri's, and looked down at the book. She read through it a few times in
her head, getting familiar with the words. Satisfied she'd be comfortable
enough to say them aloud, she allowed her mind to clear and recited the
spell.
Nothing happened.
Gen glanced around the room, a
little confused. Was something
supposed to happen? A glowy light,
perhaps? Maybe something might float or burst into flames? Of course,
Merri hadn't exactly said what to expect; maybe the effects would be felt
later...
"Again," Meredith whispered.
"What?"
"Just say it again. Once more."
"With feeling?"
Meredith didn't reply, so with a tired sigh, Gen read the words in
the book once more, and waited.
She looked around at the circle of
candles surrounding them. The flames didn't flicker or go out, and nothing
seemed any different—
Meredith's grip on Gen's hands suddenly
tightened.
"Merri?"
Her body tensed, and her auburn brows
pulled into a frown of pain.
"Meredith?" Gen said again, concern
rising in her voice. Merri squeezed her hands tighter still, knuckles
going white from the pressure.
What do I do, what do I
do...
Gen glanced to the closed door; should she bug Michael? Would he even care
at this point? Was all this normal, or was something bad going on? She
twisted one of her hands from Meredith's grip and hurriedly flipped
through the book, searching for something—anything—that might help, or
possibly tell her what the spell they just did was supposed accomplish.
There were just more words that looked like gibberish to her, though.
Meredith fell back suddenly, arching her spine and stretching her
limbs in a frightfully unnatural position. As she flung her arm to the
side, several candles knocked over, and hot wax dripped onto the
floorboards.
"Michael!" Gen screamed, casting the book aside and
jumping to Merri's side. Her friend was pale and beads of sweat ran along
her forehead. Dread clawed at Gen as she watched Meredith twist with
pain—this couldn't be right. This must not be what was supposed to
happen... "Michael!"
Seconds later, the door burst open and
Michael was there, pushing Genevieve out of the way and kneeling next to
Merri. Gen watched in terrified silence, feeling as helpless as she had
hours earlier upon discovering Hayden near death in his car, as Michael
reached for her wrist and checked her pulse.
"Is she going to be
okay?" Gen asked. "I don't know what happened, I—"
"She's fine,"
he said, still looking at Merri with concern.
"She really doesn't
look it!"
Michael ignored her and watched Merri closely for a few
minutes. Eventually she stopped twisting and arching, and then dropped
flat on the floor. Eyes closed, Meredith didn't move again, as if in a
deep sleep. Michael lifted her upper body off of the floor as best he
could, but with one arm in a sling, there was little he could do.
"Do you need me to do something?" Sage called from the doorway.
"Just get back to work," Michael brushed her off then looked at
Gen. "Think you're capable of helping?"
"What do you want me to
do?"
"Put her over my shoulder." He indicated the one that hadn't
been hit by bullets the night before.
"You sure that's a good
idea? I mean—"
"And don't ask questions."
"Fine," Gen said
with a sigh. "But try not to drop her."
Michael stood up on his
knees and did what he could to help as Gen lifted Merri up and heaved her
over his less injured shoulder. She wasn't certain how safe Meredith would
be there, but he stood up without help and managed to balance the
unconscious body slung over his back fairly well.
At first Gen
thought he might take Merri to the couch, but instead he veered to the
right and headed up the stairs. Though he hadn't told her to follow, he
hadn't explicitly told her she was done helping either, so Gen opted to
follow in silence.
The upstairs loft resembled the downstairs:
unpainted red brick walls, long dark curtains over the windows, and rows
of shelves filled with an assortment of books. In addition was a short
wall in the middle of the room, dividing the space into two. The right
half housed a cabinet that resembled the large flat one downstairs—which
contained all the creepy weapons Gen had seen on her first day there—as
well as a couple of target boards mounted on the far wall. Decidedly that
was the more scary part of the room, so Gen directed her attention to the
other half, where Michael was taking Merri.
A king-sized bed was
pushed into one corner, and bookshelves and a rocking chair were in the
other. Stylistically, everything was streamlined and simple, with fabrics
in black and furniture in dark walnut. It all seemed more or less
very...Michael. Except for the art on the walls, that is. Framed sketches
and original oil paintings hung along the walls. Some were classical
nudes, others landscapes from places Gen didn't recognize, and all high
realism.
"Can you clear a spot for her?" Michael said, pausing
next to the bed.
Gen rushed ahead of him and grabbed up the
hardcover sketchbook and array of pencils from where they rested on the
mattress, and then set them on the bedside table.
"Is she going to
be okay?" Gen asked as Michael set Merri down on the bed gently.
"Yes."
"Did something go wrong or—"
"No."
"So this," Gen gestured to an unconscious Merri, "was supposed to
happen?"
Michael ignored her, and set to adjusting the pillows
behind Merri's head. He looked concerned, at least to Gen, but she had to
trust that if Meredith was in any real trouble, he wouldn't merely be
fluffing pillows. She knew how quiet some people got when they were
worried or upset too—current example being Sage the entire time they were
at the hospital that day—and just in case Michael actually had a single
inch of sensitivity in his being, she decided to abstain from drawing
attention to it by asking if he was worried.
"Grab her a bottle of
water from the fridge for when she wakes up," Michael said as he reached
over the headboard to turn on the wall-mounted reading lamp. The paper
shade dulled the glow of the bulb, and in its light, Merri appeared to be
sleeping peacefully.
Gen started for the stairs then Michael's
sharp reprimand stopped her.
"Not there—around the corner."
She peered around the short wall and sure enough, there was a
mini-fridge tucked in the darkness.
"That is so cool," Gen said as
she grabbed the bottle of water and set it on the nightstand.
"What is?"
"That you have a mini-fridge in your room. I
always wanted one."
He gave her a strange look.
"Yeah,
yeah," Gen said. "That's probably like really lame sounding."
She
guessed that since he hadn't yelled at her to go away yet that they must
be waiting for Merri to wake up. Still, even in seemingly life or death
situations, the tension around Michael was palpable, and Gen looked for a
way to break the ice. Her gaze fell on the book that appeared to be a
sketchbook, and she reached down to open the cover.
"So you draw—"
Michael snatched her wrist just as her fingers touched the book
and he yanked her arm back. She found herself staring into his eyes,
unable to look away, and just as terrified of him as she was the man who
tried to kill them the night before.
"Don't touch my things," he
growled, then dropped her arm.
"Sorry." She rubbed her sore wrist,
hoping he didn't leave a mark.
As Michael watched Merri in silence
for a few minutes, Gen watched him. He definitely looked worried—there was
little doubt about it. On one hand, Genevieve felt a need to rejoice in
knowing he was at least human, but stronger still was the pull to be
worried herself. He seemed less concerned when he was shot himself, so if
this was troubling him...
"Michael," Gen began.
He turned
to face her, ready to snap.
"Are you sure..." She frowned as she
noticed the dark red spots forming on the upper part of his T-shirt.
"You're bleeding again," she informed him, gesturing to the spots.
Muttering an obscenity under his breath, he nodded to the stairs.
"Merri will probably be asleep for awhile, so you and Sage can go home."
Gen was more than happy to get out of the loft and away from him,
so she ran straight for the stairs.
"Back here early in the
morning," Michael called as she thumped down the steps.
"What's
going on?" Sage asked.
"We get, oh, about..." Gen glanced at her
watch. "Five or six hours of sleep, then we have to come back."
"Is Meredith alright?" Sage slipped her pullover on for the trip
back home and packed up her gym bag.
"In theory."
As the
girls stepped outside of Michael's house, they both cast a glance around,
now each extra paranoid about what might be waiting for them in the dark.
"Maybe we should have called a cab?" Gen suggested.
"Just
hurry up."
*~*~*
An hour passed after Genevieve and Sage had left
before Meredith awoke.
Michael sat in the mission rocking chair
across from the bed, reading in the dim light. He'd changed the bandages
on his chest as best he could with the use of only one hand, and put on
yet another new T-shirt. At this rate, half of his clothes would be
bloodstained in only a few short days. Maybe when the threat was disposed
off—however brief a time that would be—he could actually have enough time
to heal properly. Either way, a new wardrobe was definitely in order.
"Michael," came Merri's hoarse whisper.
He set down the
book and went to her side, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Water?" he offered.
She shook her head. "Nothing cold..."
After picking up the water on the nightstand Gen had brought from
the fridge earlier, he snapped off the cap and handed her the bottle.
"Room temperature."
"Thanks." She smiled appreciatively and
accepted the drink, downing half the bottle. "Are they still here?"
"No. I sent them home."
"I'm okay," she said, trying to
sit in a hurry. "I can—"
"You can rest." With care, he pushed her
shoulder and urged her to lie down once more. "They'll be here in the
morning."
"Okay," she nodded, more to herself than him, her gaze
drifting off. "Okay. Tomorrow is fine. We have time. Not much, though."
"You don't need to worry about it."
She rested the bottle
back on the nightstand, took the dark red throw pillow cast to her left
and hugged it against her chest. Where her thoughts were, Michael didn't
know, and he certainly wouldn't pry. If Merri had something to tell him,
she'd say it.
"Did I scare Gen?" she asked suddenly and her face
fell into a frown of worry.
"Yeah," Michael said with a half
smile.
"Dammit...I was going to tell her, but then I didn't think
she'd do it..."
"You were right—if she knew that would happen, she
wouldn't have agreed to help. Besides, it was funny."
She smacked
his hand, playful but also a genuine scold. "Don't be such a prick. She's
trying, you know."
"Get some rest," he said as he stood, avoiding
any discussions of the witch.
"I should go home—"
She
ceased her arguing as he shook his head.
"I'm fine downstairs.
They're coming back in the morning, so sleep now." He switched off the
lamp, gathered his book, and walked to the stairs.
"Michael," she
called, and he looked back. "Don't you want to know what I saw?"
He wouldn't say no, because he did want to know—their lives
depended on it. But he wouldn't make her relive it either, not now, not
when she needed time to recuperate...time to prepare for whatever would
come.
"It can wait," he said truthfully, then went downstairs to
leave her to some much needed rest.
*~*~*
Genevieve didn't sleep well.
It wasn't as if
her accommodations were awful or anything. Sage insisted on sleeping on
the pullout couch, and let Gen have her bed, which she found incredibly
comfortable. And the basement was dark and silent, so sleep should have
come easily.
Instead, she silently cried, burying her head in her
folded arms.
So much had happened. Hayden had nearly died...
Hayden, her best friend's brother. She'd known him for almost a decade,
grown up feeling as though he was her big brother too. The sight of the
blood and him not moving...
Scarier still was the sight of Sage
not moving. She stood there by the car, frozen and terrified. Gen never
would have expected that, and seeing her be so human was disconcerting.
Much like Michael, if something freaked Sage out, they were definitely in
trouble.
She was also drawn back to what Michael had said the
night before. Sage wasn't ready. Here, she seemed like the most capable
one of any of them, and even she lacked what was necessary to stop the
people after them: the ability to strike a killing blow. Had Hayden's
attack pushed her enough to take that step?
And, more importantly,
did Gen want to know if it had?
A stab of guilt struck her then.
Did it really matter? She'd been too quick to judge Merri. Whatever spell
they did earlier had been designed to do something to Meredith—something
probably harmful—which is why she hadn't told Gen what it was. Genevieve
had carried on about not trusting her and whined about having to do any
work, all the while Merri knew in a short time, if they succeeded, she'd
be in an incredible amount of pain, and probably pass out for the rest of
night.
There was little doubt that whatever they did probably
relied on Meredith's abilities as a seer. And from what she'd gathered
earlier, from snippets of conversations and the expression on Merri's face
when talking about certain things, "seeing" was far from fun. Whatever she
experienced, it wasn't a picture on a movie screen she was distanced
from—it wasn't something she could happily turn on or off when she felt
like it.
A warrior who couldn't kill, a seer currently
incapacitated, and a witch that could barely put out a candle...
They were doomed.
