The Witch and The Thief

2

"What do you mean you found something?" Despite firmly believing Haggis had to be mistaken, curiosity got the better of her, and Maera followed after him. The instant she came to the chair, the room shifted and altered around her, exposing its actual size and contents.

Her mouth hung open in amazement as she turned in a slow circle to gaze at everything, she'd only seen in the meticulous drawings of the grimoire she'd received her first year in the coven. She'd studied every page in the thick book until she knew each item and their purpose by heart.

Drummond would be fighting mad if he ever found out she was here, unattended. But at the moment, she didn't rightly care. Maera had been a member of the coven for four years and had finally earned the privilege of being the lone keeper for the night.

As far as she could see, there was no reason she shouldn't be able to view the contents of the room, unattended or not—save it remained a means for Drummond and the others to remind her of her lowly state in their eyes.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Maera glanced toward the door and gave a small flick of her wrist to light the candles and wall sconces strewn about the room. If anyone asked, she'd claim it happened by accident due to a nervous tick.

Looking to her left, she found the Tiara of Resurrection. It was the most beautiful ruby-encrusted tiara she'd ever seen. According to the grimoire, it granted any healer wearing it the ability to bring a body no more than two days dead back to life without any unfortunate repercussions to both parties involved.

It rested on a plush, purple velvet pillow within a bejeweled glass case next to the Feather of Truth—a long, pristine golden eagle feather rumored to have been lost and destroyed during the Battle of Wylf over two hundred years ago. The rumors were obviously false.

To look at it, one would erringly believe it was a regular golden eagle feather, never knowing it was far more wickedly sharp than a butcher knife, able to flay its victim to the bone with the smallest amount of pressure. Maera shivered, remembering what she'd read in the grimoire of the feather's powers and use as an instrument of torture, and quickly averted her eyes.

A sharp gasp escaped her, and Maera covered her mouth at seeing the Goblet of Death, a gleaming Elvish copper vessel with the power to do as its name suggested to any who dared drink from it. Evil emanated from it in sickening waves, and Maera took several quick steps away, whispering a warding spell against any of its corrupting power.

In her haste to put some much-needed distance between her and the goblet, Maera bumped into the small table behind her holding the Dragon Tooth Stone.

She spun on her heel and watched in horror as the glass dome crashed to the floor. Much to her relief, she managed to catch the stone midair. Maera sighed and righted the table with shaking hands. Then, she choked on a scream at seeing two shocked eyes staring up at her from the floor.

They belonged to a man wearing black from head to toe, and the shadows clung to him like an insatiable lover. A shock of lustrous hair, a soft beacon amidst the darkness surrounding him, obscured his left eye. He quickly pushed the offending lock behind his left ear and righted his hood as he stood to his full height.

Maera's jaw fell slack as she stared dumbfounded at the sinfully handsome, hulking giant. He was glorious. How in the everlasting land of obscenities had she not noticed such a large man hiding in the shadows? He towered over her by nearly a foot and a half, making her feel small for the first time in her life.

Lachlan seized the witch's moment of shock and threw the window open. With any luck, he'd be long gone before she realized what he'd taken. He flung his right leg over the sill and cast one last glance over his shoulder.