My Long Lost Mate

"It must be a magic oath," said Maggie, examining the dead body on the floor. After receiving a few clues regarding the black witches' plan, I called Maggie to see if she knew anything about this matter. Though she'd complained about being called right before her beauty sleep, the mention of money made her come rushing. 

"A magic oath?"

"It is an oath made of magic," she said as she knelt down, marveling at the organs that had poured out of Mr. Wickham's body. "Once made, one is unable to break the oath since the magic will prevent them from doing so. In this case, it looked like this man had taken an oath to maintain a secret, so when he tried to break the oath, the magic stopped him by making him puke ceaselessly to death." 

Was this the reason why Mr. Wickham was so careful with his words? But it didn't look like he knew anything about the oath. It was obvious that he was as surprised as I was when he suddenly puked out of nowhere.

"Is it possible to make an oath without the consent of both parties?" I asked the witch. 

Picking up a liver, she grinned and kept it safely in her bag. I frowned, perplexed as to why she would need such a thing. Was it a common pastime amongst black witches to collect organs? "It's feasible if the witch used her words cleverly. She could trick him into making an oath without him realizing it." 

Given the similarities between what happened to Mr. Wickham today and the rogues in the past, I'm quite convinced that the witch involved was the same person. Though I'd suspected Greta to be involved, this only confirmed my suspicions.

"Do you know a witch called Greta?" 

Hearing the question, Maggie almost dropped another organ that she'd picked up from the floor. She then turned to me, staring as if I'd breathe out fire.  "How did you know that name?" 

"Why? Is it a name I'm not supposed to say?" I asked, raising a brow at her surprise. 

"It's our queen's name," she answered, regaining her composure and picking up the remaining organs, placing them safely in her bag. "I'm just surprised because I haven't heard of that name in a long time."

What? Greta is the Queen of the black witches? Why is the queen after Violet? I thought she was just a normal witch seeking more power, but now you're saying that she was the Queen of the Black Witches? What the hell? The problem just got a whole lot bigger. 

I thought Violet wouldn't be in any more danger if I killed this Greta, but now that I know she's the queen, I'd have the entire black witches hunting me down if I did as such. It would put both of us in far greater danger. 

"I believe I asked you about how you came across that name," Maggie repeated her question, finished with taking the organs on the floor. She then took a seat on the sofa in front of me, wiping her bloody hands onto my sofa. I let out a growl. "Calm down, wolf. It's only a sofa."

"I prefer to keep my things clean, witch," I glared at her, and she rolled her eyes. Looking at my annoyance, she swept her palm across the dirty sofa, and the blood on it immediately vanished. She then looked at me, using her eyes rather than her mouth to ask if I was satisfied. "I heard from someone that this Greta witch is going after my mate." 

"Your mate? That little white witch?" She asked, almost in disbelief. Her tone sounded as if I'd pulled out a silly joke on her. "You've got to be mistaken, wolf. Why would the Queen go after a mere white witch? A newborn, at that." 

I pulled out the note from my pocket, passing it to Maggie for her to see for herself. The frown was palpable on her face when she read the note, wondering what her sisters were doing going after a white witch.

Now that I know Greta was the queen, the 'Her' in that note would most likely refer to her. However, this only means that the note belonged to another witch and that there were already a lot more witches around us than we realized. 

"Don't you know anything about their plans?" 

"What plans?" She scoffed. "I've left my sisters for decades. How would I know what they're up to now?" 

"They're planning to start another war," I said, sipping on the tea that had gone cold. The note wavered in her hand when she heard me, surprised, but pretended not to be. "And it seems that your sisters are planning to make humans their force. Doll-like humans, to be exact." 

Given the fact that she had left her sisters behind for decades, I had to hold on to the hope that she would stay on my side—though it was fairly impossible without the help of my fortune. I'm sure that the price of her knowledge would mean nothing compared to the price of my people's lives.

"According to the man whose organs you just so gleefully stole, a witch is turning the villagers into her puppets," seeing Maggie quietly observing the map, I continued, "She mixed her blood into the villagers' food and will perform a ritual once the amount is sufficient. Do you know anything about a witch who used her blood to control people?" 

"I do," she answered after a brief pause. I could see her balling her fist, clearly infuriated by the mention of the witch. Her eyes glowed with suppressed anger, but she made no further explanation regarding the said witch. 

"Is it Greta?" 

"No," she deadpanned. "It's my sister." What exactly is she talking about? Of course, I knew that it was one of her sisters. All black witches are sisters, no? Seeing the confusion on my face, she sighed. "My blood sister." 

I let out an 'oh,' which irritated her even more, but it wasn't even my fault that she was irritated in the first place. I sat with my legs and arms crossed, waiting for her to continue her explanation about her blood sister.

"What can she do with that blood of hers?" 

"As you know, control people," she shrugged, kicking Mr. Wickham's dead body. She appeared to be venting her annoyance on the poor man. "Once she gets a hold of your blood, she'll be able to control you. And that goes the other way around as well." 

"What an annoying ability," I said, and she chuckled, quickly agreeing. I ȧssumed that the relationship between the two sisters was not all that good. 

"Blood witch is very rare even amongst us, so I can know for sure that it's my sister that you're talking about," she remarked as she kicked the deceased man for the second time, prompting me to get a servant to clean the body.

"Is it possible to be freed from her once she takes control of your blood?"

"It is," she pulled out three fingers towards me, pulling them back down with every method she said. "The first and easiest way is to kill her," she smiled, as if to say that it was the method she recommended the most. "The second is purification, while the third would require one's own willpower to be freed of her influence."

Surely, killing her would be the simplest option. I've heard that purification takes a lot of time and energy, and breaking free of her control was not something that just anyone could do. But the problem is that this blood witch is nowhere to be found—though it could easily be solved if Maggie agreed to help me locate her. 

"Can you—"

"I can't," she quickly refused, as if she knew what I was about to ask her. "But don't get me wrong. I'm not refusing your money because she's my blood sister. I don't even want to admit that she's my sister."

"Then why?"

"Don't you realize how many people wanted us dead? It's only natural for most black witches to take precautionary measures to avoid being located. If not, we'd be long dead." 

"So you're saying that you don't trust each other," I said as I allowed the servant by the door to come in and clean up the mess around us. Maggie gave a short, mirthless laugh but said nothing in response to my words—probably because it was the truth, and there was no point in denying or agreeing to it. 

"It is only in the nature of black witches to act in ways that benefit them the most," she remarked, her face smeared with a rare melancholy expression. A brief pause followed, and her voice grew smaller when she added, "...even if it means betraying their sisters in the process."