Chapter 4: A Mistake

There was a tremor as the full weight of the beast hit the ground. The bullet piercing its heart mid lunge, it had fallen almost instantly.

The slain beast clearly behind the Witch when Allen fired, he knew now that he had missed his target. On high alert he rapidly surveyed the square, until nn encircled pentagram glowed on the stones next to the subdued werewolf. The Witch’s form gradually taking shape. She appeared crouching beside it curiously.

Allen’s rage withstanding, he quickly closed the gap between them. Leaving no more room for any of her tricks this time, he pressed the gun against the back of her head. Allen had never killed a person before. However, with his body shaking with anger and his vision blurred by the rain and his rage, he thought himself capable of murder in this moment. This realization only caused Allen to hate the Witch even more.

“Witch, answer me.” He spat. “Did you kill Harold Pierce?”

Feeling the cold barrel of Allen’s pistol on the back of her head, the Witch made a slow gesture of surrender. Raising her hands into the air away from her body, she was careful not to make any sudden movements that might spook him. Quite honestly, she couldn’t have cared less whether he shot her or not. The action was merely a sporting display of her surrender to make him feel less on edge.

However, their confrontation was soon interrupted by an unexpected third party, as the man Allen had presumed dead, groaned. Rubbing a lump on his head, he sat up. Bewildered by the scene laid out before him, his eyes moved between Allen, the Witch and the werewolf stupefied.

Still confused and dazed, the stall keeper rose to his feet. Taking a few trepidatious steps towards them, he halted with still a good six meters separating them. “Hey, Miss you okay?” he asked hesitantly, concerned by her dangerous predicament. Hands still raised; the Witch made a slight waving motion in the man’s direction. “It’s fine. Be more mindful of the cobble stones when it rains next time, Sir.”

“I just wanted to thank you, Miss. If you hadn’t stepped in when you did, that werewolf would have had me.” The man replied, his eyes darting towards the gun Allen held worriedly.

“Don’t mention it.” She answered, not daring to move her head in his direction.

“You were injured though, should I call someone?” he asked, shuffling a half inch closer. The Witch did not reply, but instead dismissed him with a more overt shooing motion.

After the man had left, Allen too felt confused. Close enough to her now, he could see the blood dripping from her raised arm. A small red pool beginning to form beside her.

“You didn’t kill the merchant?” he said, unsure whether it was a question or a statement.

“I made a pretty poor job of it, if that were the case.” She observed.

“That’s your blood.” Allen muttered, the events becoming clearer to him as he spoke.

“That’s right.”

Maintaining a degree of suspicion Allen did not lower the gun completely but moved so that it was not held so firmly against her. Still frozen in place she paused before asking “Do you mind if I transfer him?”

“What?”

“The werewolf. He’s only paralyzed, not dead. He has to be transferred to an Alliance holding cell.” The Witch explained.

“I still have questions?”

She clicked her tongue, “Tsk, annoying.” She commented. “Since you helped me out this time though, I’ll comply.” The woman added, lowering her arms.

His anger lessening to bitter annoyance, Allen’s temple throbbed. In a businesslike fashion, The Witch wasted no time. Uttering a series of cryptic mutterings, a complex array of interwoven symbols and shapes erupted in a bright flash of light. Twisting and interlocking like a web, it enveloped the werewolf. Quickly dispersing, it left not a single trace of the werewolf in the square.

Unable to disguise his awe, Allen stood mystified. Other than simple cures and minor magic traps used on their farm, he had never witnessed spells on this scale. His knowledge of mages was limited to stories and a hand full of encounters with customers in the market. However, even he knew that this magic was particularly advanced to be cast by someone only a few years his senior. “Blood magic.” She said, as though reading his mind. “You didn’t think I was just having a nice game of tag, did you?”

Taking a second look around him, Allen could made out the faint markings surrounding the square. His stomach turning once he realized that, as the name implied, they had been drawn in blood.

Plopping onto the ground in front of him, the Witch sat with her legs crossed. Unclipping her cloak, it fell away to reveal her pale thin arms. One covered in blood from the open gash it bore. It soaked into the black fabric of her shirt. Its long sleeves crisscrossing around her long arms and neck in such a way that it left her shoulders and the tops pf her hips exposed. Disappearing as it plunged into a pair of leather shorts that latched onto matching thigh high boots.

Allen blushed, the longer he regarded her. Although, magic practitioners were afforded ample allowance for their eccentric manner of dressing. This garb was widely considered indecent. Even in a city like Ineset, it was only deemed acceptable for women to wear trousers if they toiled in occupations that demanded it and for men to wear long sleeve shirts all year round, unless tilling a field in summer.

Ripping long pieces of cloth from the cloak. She began to bandage the wound on her arm, as she explained further, “It’s a magic cage. No one can use magic to get in or out once they enter.” She indicated the edge of the square briefly with her good arm. “It had a simple condition: that the fallen party would be imprisoned by the Alliance.” Neglecting to mention that the technicality was made void once the werewolf was transferred, she clenched the rag in her teeth. Tugging on the end, she tightened the makeshift bandage roughly.

Still pointing the pistol towards her, Allen thought the Witch must have been fairly confident in her own victory to impose such terms. Either that, or she was completely insane. “You were after the werewolf?” he said.

“That’s right.” She replied, distractedly reaching for another bandage.

“Then why mislead me?” Allen asked irked.

“You misunderstood all on your own.” She replied wrapping another piece of cloth around her arm.

Allen thought back to the events that had transpired. Feeling ashamed, he realized she was right. He had jumped to conclusions too quickly and could have even killed her.

Obviously still in disbelief of his earlier actions, Allen muttered “I shot you.”

“Hmm. Yes, you have talent and good instincts.” She replied, providing Allen a vague smile. “Lay off the alcohol next time though. It impairs your judgement.” The Witch said jokingly.

Allen sunk to the ground, mortified he ran his fingers through hair.

“Nonetheless, the silver bullets were useful.” The Witch added.

“I was wrong.” Allen said quietly, his brown hair falling over his eyes as he clutched is head.

“Hmph, maybe not.” the Witch smirked, as she paused to regard him “Since, I did kill him. Your grandfather that is.”