Westerham Witches and a Venetian Vendetta Dionne Lister (e manga reader .txt) 📖

myself to the portal. Flickers of magic pulsed through from the river to me. It was less than half of what I was used to, and the flow was sporadic. Still, it should be more than enough to do some simple things.

“Dissolve the ropes around my wrists and ankles.” The pressure around my limbs disappeared. I just had to hope whoever had put me here wasn’t within sensing-magic distance. I waited for a minute, listening, before I sat up. Sitting up was a terrible idea. Dizziness was like a punch to my face and guts. I carefully lay back down and took some deep breaths. It was me versus my concussion.

After a few minutes, I decided to clean myself up. I didn’t move from where I was, but I drew some magic. Unfortunately, not much came through. I waited a bit longer and drew some more. Would my spell work, though? I didn’t have a visual on where I was, and the small amounts of power coming through the portal might not be enough to send something to another place. Plus, transporting things was only possible if I could visualise where I wanted it to go. Memories of before here surfaced.

Crap.

Isabella had hit me with something. Was it because her grandson was about to confess that he killed his dad? How long had I been here? It could’ve been minutes or days. Did Will know I was missing? Hmm, that gave me an idea.

I started to draw on my power, which made me feel worse. Pushing through the pain and vertigo, I visualised all the vomit—what was on the ground and on me, moving to the floor in our hotel room. Gross, I knew, but Will would eventually discover it and know that I was alive. I could’ve transported it to somewhere else in the hotel, but if Isabella found it, she might suspect it was me and come to finish the job… the job of killing me, not the job of cleaning up.

Before drawing enough power to cast the spell, I blinked and held my breath. Maybe Angelica was here in another room? Was I in an apartment or house?

There was only one way to find out.

I slowly sat up. My head spun, but not as badly as before. I swallowed the urge to vomit. Okay, so far so good. Well, sort of. No matter how I spun it, being clobbered in the side of the head and kidnapped wasn’t good. But it was an opportunity to find Angelica.

I drew my magic again, which sputtered in and out. It was as if the flow from the river of magic was being held back, then allowed to come through. Could I spell my vomit away reliably, or might it end up halfway to where I intended, unceremoniously dropping from thin air onto an innocent person eating breakfast? Or was it lunchtime? There was no way to tell. Gah, stop thinking! Just get rid of it.

I kept drawing magic, filling my natural reserves. Sweat slicked my forehead, and my cheeks heated. I might be overdoing it. Time to let the link to the river go and hope it was enough. “Send all the vomit in this room and on me to the hotel room I slept in the night we came to Venice.” That should cover it. I had no idea what day or night it was. What if I’d lain here for two nights? I shuddered at the prospect. The need to retch overcame me, but I jammed my mouth shut and swallowed. Using magic wasn’t the wisest thing with a concussion.

Had it worked? I sniffed. The smell was gone. I patted myself down. Dry! Victory! Time to keep going. Estimating from what had transpired when I awoke, I figured the bed was to my left. Getting on hands and knees, I faced the opposite direction of the bed and carefully crawled until I came to a wall. Once I did that, I followed the wall to the right. It was a massive guess, but if it didn’t work out, I’d just go back the other way. The only reason I’d panic is if I was in a doorless, windowless room. I supposed it was possible where witches were concerned. I would make a doorway and leave, but the intermittent power made it sketchy. Maybe I’d try once I’d checked out the room; plus, I needed to look for Angelica, and if I left here, I’d never find my way back.

So, no making a doorway until I’d scoped out the whole place.

I’d reached the end of the wall. I slid my fingers along the adjoining wall, and there it was… a door. Slowly, I stood. My head pounded, but the dizziness was gone. Nausea remained. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about my concussion now. If only Beren were here. Ooh, my phone. Oh. My shoulders dropped as I pressed my palms against the door. My phone had been recording on my lap when I was hit. It would still be at the hotel, likely picked up by Isabella or her grandson. Damn!

I took a moment to breathe and focus, then slid my hand down to find the handle. Yay, it turned! I cringed as I opened the door. Would it or would it not squeak? When it was open just enough, I slid through, avoiding any noise. So far so good.

A narrow, horizontal window overlooking a staircase to my left faintly illuminated the hallway. It was night-time, but whether it was midnight or four in the morning, I couldn’t tell. Flashing green and red lights intermittently blinked slowly in the blackness. This place must be on the water, so likely I was still in Venice, and from the staircase and lack of a lock on the door, I was on the top floor of a big house rather than an apartment.

Before going down the stairs, it would be prudent to check for Angelica up here first. I threw