The Sisterwitches: Book 10: The Sisterwitches, #10

By Katie Cross

Love, plans, and trustfalls. 

 

If there's one thing that could draw Sanna into the dangerous dark heart of Letum Wood, a dragon is that thing. 

 

Sanna and her dragons take their lives into their hands and trail a mystery into the deepest recesses of the forest. What they find is not what any of them expected.

Greater explorations require Sanna to part from her favorite beasts and head into the unknown alone.

 

Meanwhile, Almorran magic presents to Isadora in a rather unexpected form, requiring Caroline, Baylee, Isadora, and the magical detection team to join together and discover what to expect next. 

 

The possibility that May, Head Witch of Miss Mabel's School for Girls, might have a lesser Almorran scroll makes them hungry to find the truth. There are five Almorran scrolls. 

 

Where are they?

 

They plunge into a race against time, dark magic, and wily witches. Fortunately, Isadora has an advantage. 

 

Unfortunately, the web of deceit plunges deeper than any of them expected.

 

Join our beloved Sisterwitches in the final installment in THE SISTERWITCHES: Book 10. These slice-of-life stories will sweep you back to the world of the Dragonmaster and right into the heart of the witches we love best. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: KC Writing
• Release date: Dec 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223470694

Katie Cross

Katie Cross is ALL ABOUT writing epic magic and wild places. Creating new fantasy worlds is her jam. When she’s not hiking or chasing her two littles through the Montana mountains, you can find her curled up reading a book or arguing with her husband over the best kind of sushi.

Book preview

One

Sanna

Damien’s voice warbled from the forest floor below Sanna, creaky with accusation.

Sanna, get out of that tree!

She dug her toes firmly into the pillowed moss in silent rebellion. The vine she gripped wrapped firmly around the branch overhead. She tugged it to confirm. Nothing slippery would lead to her demise. She barked a quick, No! and continued.

He sighed with ragged irritation.

Based on taps with her cane, the tree branch sprawled at least as wide as Sanna was tall. A spongy layer of moss rooted into the bark with spiny tendrils, and provided plenty of traction for her bare feet.

Why are you walking on a tree branch? Damien called. His long suffering tone carried the slant of age. At seventy-three years old, he remained mostly hale and hearty. He continued their daily walks through the forest, his speed cut in half.

The question, she countered, "is why aren’t you walking on a tree branch?"

Because I value my hips.

So do I.

He mumbled something unintelligible. Sanna transported her cane to the ground and held both arms out to the side. Her surefooted steps reminded her of days long ago when she romped through tree limbs, spying dragons.

I used to run, she explained with a touch of whimsy. On the tree branches, I mean. I’d swing on vines and run from branch to branch.

Why am I not surprised?

Her lips lifted in a smile. For all his bluster, he waited patiently. Heat swelled from either side. Caeris paused on a branch slightly higher than her, watching with an inquisitive cock of his head. Luteis stood above, peering to the north.

See anything interesting? she asked them both.

I am not sure, Luteis replied, unnaturally still. His curious drawl piqued her attention. Sanna paused to listen, discerning nothing out of the ordinary. Caeris swung his head higher.

Luteis? she asked.

Something . . . I . . .

He shifted his weight and unfurled his wings. Their magnificent, bold spans arched wide. Burnt orange simmered in light hues more yellow than not. Bold, brilliant strikes of deepest orange created a shifting evanescence.

I smell it also, sire, Caeris murmured. His tail poked behind him in a balancing act as he pressed to all four legs. They lifted their noses, scenting the air. The hiss of their forked tongues sliding out and back meant a deeper exploration.

How curious.

Sanna lowered her foot, paused mid-stride. A whisper of cool wind slid past her overheated cheeks. Spring had shucked the final vestiges of cold and boldly marched to warmer days in this first month of summer. The chill in the breeze surprised her. How could it be anything but sweltering? Wind swept by, shoving tendrils of hair past her ears.

The unusual air movement didn’t match the season, which opened in near silence once they stopped creeping across branches.

Something lays ahead, little one, Caeris said.

While Damien grumbled below, she mentally reoriented. They stood somewhere near the middle of Letum Wood. Or was it the eastern edge? Nothing noteworthy lived there. Understanding flooded her.

Is it the dark heart of the forest? she asked aloud for Damien’s sake.

His mutterings silenced.

Yes, little one, Luteis replied.

That’s what you smell?

He didn’t answer.

The words dark heart of the forest agitated every instinct with instant unease. The phrase referred to the center of Letum Wood’s behemoth land, though it wasn’t an actual center. As one studied the map, it lay a little too far north to be the middle.

The centralization of gigantic trees, cluttered upper stories, aggressive predators, and dark shadows made it a beating heart, all the same.

Hidden creatures thrived in the dark heart, where sunshine rarely touched. These macabre wonders of magic rarely left their middling forest. As a locus for magic, it radiated.

Rarely did a witch venture so deep, for few knew it existed. Most avoided it entirely, often experiencing a general, avoidant unease. Even forest dragons skirted the edges. Beluas stayed far away, as well as forest lions. Greater predators that rarely left the shadows lingered in the folds and crevasses. They hunted the periphery only when food ran low within.

No sound issued that Sanna detected. Damien, who likely noticed their tense postures, wisely held his tongue. It wouldn’t be the first time Luteis anticipated a pack of descending forest lions or scattering beluas.

What from the dark heart do you smell? she asked.

When Luteis replied, his voice had a low tonality. I do not know, little one. That is the conundrum. The dark heart of the forest has always been . . . musty. This is different. Familiar.

Is it a dragon?

Yes.

His simple answer bound her tongue for surprise. What dragon would enter the dark heart? Adolescents, probably, attempting to prove their mettle. Luteis shifted, advancing along his branch. The breeze sped by in twirls. Having lived the first fifty-some-odd years of his life as a wild dragon with only a goddess for company, years had passed since Luteis had discovered anything new in Letum Wood.

While they waited, no interesting noises surfaced, nor detectable magic systems. Only a perpetual and spinning calm. A twig crunched below, drawing Caeris’ attention. He returned his focus to the dark heart as quickly.

Sanna? Damien whispered loudly.

She held up her hand. Just a moment. They smell something . . . interesting, I guess. A dragon, maybe. We’re close to the dark heart.

I know. Don’t you think it best that we leave?

Damien, a lover of all things forest and Letum Wood, would usually enjoy the novelty of a new experience with dragons. If he called danger, then danger existed. A thrill zipped through her, fast as lightning.

Not yet.

Luteis’ strange fixation ended. He shook his wings, body twisting side to side. Forgive me, little one. The smell has retracted. I cannot find it.

You said it was a dragon?

I believe so. I am not sure.

Sanna turned to face Caeris. Did you smell it?

I am also relatively certain it is a dragonian scent, he replied slowly. Obvious unease gave him away. If it was a dragon, it may have passed by. Will you search, sire?

Not at this time. There is no need to venture into the dark heart on a chance. Dragons may roam where they wish, though I never . . . it is not of concern.

Something in Luteis’ tone set her teeth on edge. She knew him better than any witch or dragon. He rarely left a supposition unfinished. His uneasiness caused instant concern, for very little distressed him in the woods. Dropping the scent trail was equally unusual. He would only abandon a scent out of worry for Sanna and Damien’s safety. She opened her mouth to protest, but he anticipated her.

Later, little one, he said only to her.

Sanna reached a tentative hand forward, but her fingertips brushed no trunk. It should be close. Perhaps . . .

Three more paces, little one, Caeris said. His reassuring guidance led her to the main trunk, where another thick vine awaited. She tested it, gripped it, but stopped short of wrapping it around her ankle. She was spry for a woman in her early sixties, but saw little reason to tempt fate.

She transported to the forest floor instead.

Damien heaved a relieved sigh. Thank you. I’m not sure my heart would have handled you skimming down that giant vine for two stories.

Sanna smiled.

Is something wrong? he asked. Your dragons are very . . . statuesque. Luteis hasn’t stopped peering north.

Luteis and Caeris remained on the branches in the tree. Luteis held the same pose, only at a different spot. She studied his glimmering form with hidden concern. Their lack of movement likely meant they spoke to each other instead of her.

Something strange indeed.

He’s fine. They caught a sort-of-new scent and are puzzling it out.

Sort of?

It might be a dragon, but most dragons don’t enter the dark heart. They claim the smell comes from within.

Damien thumped his cane on top of a rock with a hollow thud. Not that you could blame any dragon. It’s an awful place, don’t you think? We’re still twenty minutes from a known boundary, and I can feel the change. If they have discovered a new creature, let me know? Luteis has led us to interesting discoveries before.

Sanna held out an arm. The feeling of an impending and inevitable confrontation motivated her to leave.

Shall we return to your place? I’m starving and it’s hot. It will only get warmer the longer we stay.

Sanna considered Reebis with a tilt of her head. Her crimson scales flushed with glittering carmine the past several years, brightening the way Sanna perceived her. She’d grown taller, but not tall. For a forest dragon, Reebis was compact, tightly held, and little.

No less fiery.

Reebis had slid into her twenties and dragon adolescence the previous year. The forest would never be the same. Her moods always had an erratic slant but emergence from the hatchling years made her egregiously wild.

You’re irrational, Reebis. Sanna’s reasoning tone usually engendered less wrath. At least, I think you are. I’m not sure, since I can’t speak with you. We know this: your mam and sire desire the best and their decision is consistent with other forest dragon parents in the past. You’re not the only adolescent withheld from flying near the castle. It’s too close to witches.

Reebis snorted.

Sanna held up two hands.

Sure, Caeris goes all the time. Doesn’t mean you’re ready for it. He’s older, too, for what it’s worth.

Reebis’ flickering tail stirred up old leaves. The unsettled gesture meant Reebis pondered. Sanna despaired the silence in her head. Why couldn’t she speak to all the dragons?

She’d accepted that while she might have Dragonmaster blood, the time of the Dragonmasters had passed. Any connection she held to the giant creatures was one to cling to, for future generations may not hold the same, which included speaking with the dragons. Though, some forest dragons would never favor her.

Reebis snorted. Her head lowered in the best capitulation Sanna could expect.

Do you think there’s a way for you and me to speak, Reebis? Sanna propped an elbow on a tree trunk and leaned into it. Short of bonding through blood, which I’ve already done with your sire.

Another snort.

Her tail flicked faster.

Sanna’s compounding frustration built. Reebis may have an idea, but how would she communicate it? Access to Reebis would greatly help Sanna guide her through the difficult adolescent stage.

Little one, Caeris said. Reebis desires me to say something to you.

Ah.

Resourceful girl.

Yes?

She desires to speak with you also, as always. She has requested of the goddess.

Sanna’s heart escalated.

And?

The goddess says that it is acceptable to her, but you have not asked.

I’m sorry?

Have you asked of the goddess? Reebis says you have not, thus Deasylva has not granted.

Shock stunned Sanna to paralyzed disbelief.

I can ask?

His inflection elevated with confusion. How else will you receive, little one?

Unable to form a thought, she said, Uh, thanks. I will, and stumbled to the porch to sit. Boards creaked under her settling weight. Reebis keened as she wiggled closer with a question.

Little one? Caeris inquired. Reebis is concerned.

I’m fine. I’m . . . thinking.

Are you considering asking it of the goddess?

Yes.

A pause. Is asking a hard thing for witches to accomplish?

Yes! she almost cried, because no wasn’t quite true. Of course it was hard! Yet . . . was it really?

I’m just supposed to ask?

Reebis scooted closer, if possible. Her heat swelled like a closed oven, thickening the already swampy air.

Yes.

The implication existed that Sanna could have spoken to Reebis for all these years—not to mention Mexis, Sharis, Pacha, and others. A sinking feeling dropped through her chest. If she had asked, would Deasylva have granted?

That’s stupid! Why didn’t the goddess tell me earlier?

No response.

What if I ask and she doesn’t grant it? What then? There’s no guarantees when it comes to Deasylva. That much I’m certain of. I don’t like it.

Caeris fell quiet. Meanwhile, Reebis stomped away. The ground didn’t tremble beneath her steps, the way it did with her sire, but Sanna understood her vexation. Sapphire swooped overhead as Caeris winged closer. He lowered to the circle in front of the Dragonmaster house, head tilted in an inquisitive way. He strolled over to Sanna and Reebis. She wished she could see his eyes.

Little one, do you know—

A bellow broke the air.

Caeris whirled around to face the opposite direction. Reebis followed, but stepped closer to Sanna. Sanna stood. Another dragon, this one farther, followed. Sanna stepped off the stairs and ducked under Reebis. The sense of something wrong pervaded the air in a slow-moving fog. She put a hand on Reebis’ foreleg.

What is this?

A scream similar to the first echoed across the empty circle of Ancients, tangibly mournful. The sound of a dragon landing with clumsy violence drew her attention to the right. Pacha, Junis’ daughter and still quite young, dropped to the forest floor, no doubt drawn by the drama.

Caeris’ alert ears stood straight up. Reebis shuffled to the side, wings elevated to half mast. Her neck lowered as a growl built in her chest.

The scream is from Yana, Caeris said. She says that her hatchling has wandered away from the nest. They cannot find him.

How old is he? she asked.

He has three moons. His name is Yennis.

The forest dragons reckoned the first year of a hatchling's life by moon cycles. To have three moons meant he would be three months old, barely old enough to eat meat without his mam chewing it first. Their energy and body experienced exponential growth at that age. Yana was a first-time mam. Sanna had known that Yana planned to lay an egg, but hadn’t known when or where. Yana didn’t frequent the brood much.

I do not know Yana well.

Reebis took to the air, winging away. Colors shifted far beyond Caeris as Sanna stepped underneath his towering form. She stood between his front legs as dragons descended from the upper canopy. They broiled in a gathering search.

I must attend the search, little one, Caeris said.

She tossed a hand. Go! Find the whelp. I’ll wait here. He’s not the first one to go missing for a few hours, and I’m sure he’ll be home before supper, a little wiser and perhaps less stupidly adventurous.

Meanwhile, she had a request to the forest goddess to consider.

Two

Isadora

Isadora tilted her head to the side and squinted one eye.

Egads.

Did she see correctly?

Bifurcated paths branched in a dizzying array, all of them thin as spiderweb strands. She couldn’t track their individual movements, nor the array of wisps that accompanied each. The numberless chances clustered like dewdrops along the wiry lines. She’d never seen so many potentials for a single witch in all her life.

She advanced, touched a wisp. It ballooned to a visible version. She recoiled, then leaned closer to study a macabre potential filled with ebony fog, a single candle, and a witch crouching beneath a bed in abject terror.

The good gods. What sort of things do you fear in the night, Patty? she murmured.

Isadora commanded the magic to remove smaller trails, navigated around lesser opportunities, and managed to find what might have been the next day. She couldn’t fathom life in Patty’s mind. Patty contemplated so many decisions, Isadora barely saw past noon.

Isadora returned to the beginning with a cluck of her tongue. "You’re too much of a mess to be helpful to the rest of us, Patty. I can’t see past lunch without fighting for it! How do you survive?"

With one last, quizzical look at the chaos, Isadora closed the magic.

A nasal voice greeted her the moment she stirred to awareness. Well? What did you see?

Isadora blinked back to reality. A wild-haired witch with thick glasses and owlish eyes stood only a pace away from her face. Isadora recoiled with a gasp. Oh! Patty. You frightened me.

Patty blinked. Well?

First of all, a little distance would be appreciated.

Patty shuffled back one step. Her fingers repetitively plucked at a long string that unwound from her shawl. What is it? she cried. What atrocities did you uncover? You’re afraid to tell me, aren’t you? It’s a growth! I knew it. I’m doomed.

Patty wilted in her chair.

Isadora managed a smile and pushed her seat back. Patty clutched the arms of her chair to close the gap, but Isadora held up a staying hand. Patty stalled.

Give me a moment, Isadora said. I will share my thoughts. I need to . . . decide what I saw. A breath of fresh air will help.

The dry tang of paprika and turmeric lay thick on the air, along with simmering tomatoes, when Isadora pushed to her feet. Standing provided separation from Patty’s stoop-shouldered stance, wide-eyed stare, and agitation.

Were you able to see anything? Patty smacked her lips. Anything at all? Am I doomed? Should I move? I should move. No, I can’t move. There’s no time, because I still have to do the tomatoes. Oh! The corn.

Patty whirled.