“All will be explained, Warrior. Don’t fear—step inside.”
Despite his unease, Reddix had come too far to turn back. Slowly, he pushed the door open and stepped into the hut. It took a moment for his sunlight-dazzled eyes to adjust to the gloom, but what he saw surprised him.
Sitting by herself on a rough wooden stool was a woman with long, white-blonde hair and piercing yellow eyes with strange, vertical pupils. She was wearing a flowing black gown, but despite her plain dress, she had lovely, delicate features and long white hands. On one of her fingers was a large ring with a dazzling pink jewel. It flickered in the firelight as she moved, stirring something in a large pot.
“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously. “I’ve come to see Xandra.”
“I am she.” She widened her slitted yellow eyes at him and laughed. “Yes, that’s me—the swamp witch. What? You thought all witches had to be old and ugly? Sorry to disappoint you, Reddix, my dear.”
“I just thought…never mind.” He shook his head. “Why can’t I feel you? Your emotions…”
“Ah yes, your RTS. Such a nasty affliction.” She shook her head and made a tsking sound. “As to that, you can’t feel me because I’m shielding myself. I can do that, you see, because I have a Touch sense myself—the same as any male of our Clans—and I’ve learned to use it.”
“What?” Reddix frowned. “But a female can’t have the Touch Sense. That would be—”
“Unnatural? Blasphemy? A crime against the Goddess and Nature?” Her slitted eyes flashed. “Yes, that was what your father said when they cast me out. Do you think I live out here by choice?”
“I…don’t know.” Reddix shook his head. “But I thought…I heard you have powers.”
“Oh, I do. Above and beyond my oh-so-unfeminine Touch Sense.” She smiled mockingly. “And fortunately for you, I’ll be happy to use them for your benefit.”
Reddix frowned. “I thought it would be harder than that. Why would you want to help me, just like that?”
“Because I feel for you, dear boy.” She put one long white hand to her bosom. Looking more closely, it almost seemed to Reddix that her fingers had extra joints. But that couldn’t be—could it?
“I know all about you, you see,” the witch continued. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you for years—ever since you were diagnosed, in fact.”
The skin between his shoulder blades began to crawl. The witch was lovely on the surface but there was something under her smooth, beautiful face that wasn’t right. Something as putrid as the swamp she lived in.
“I should go.” He started to turn, but her words stopped him.
“What a pity—going before you get your cure?”
Slowly, Reddix turned back. “You can cure me? You can reverse my RTS?”
“I can’t reverse it, and I can’t give you the ability to give a female the Deep Touch—let’s be perfectly clear about that—I don’t believe in false advertising.”
“Then what can you do?” Reddix demanded.
“My dear Reddix, I can mute it. I can make it so you never have to feel the emotions of anyone around you again.” She rose and came to stand before him. “Now wouldn’t that be a relief?”
“I—”
“Just imagine,” she continued, tapping him lightly on the chest with one long nail. “Having a conversation with another person without feeling their emotions crawl all over you like slugs. Their curiosity pricking you like a thousand needles, their contempt coating the back of your throat like vomit. Or if they’re female…” She reached up and threw his hood back, baring his face before Reddix could stop her. “My, my, yes…” She nodded approvingly. “I can only imagine what you feel when females look at you—you’re a pretty one, my warrior. Too pretty for one with a condition like yours. Is that why you did that to your face?” She reached up to brush his cheek with her fingertips, but Reddix jerked his head away.
“Don’t touch me.” He took a step back and pulled the hood back into place.
“But why, my dear Reddix? Surely you can’t feel my emotions no matter how lascivious they are—I told you I’m shielding.”
“Shield all you want, just don’t touch me.”
It was true he couldn’t feel the witch’s emotions but when she got close, he could sense they were there, barely held in check by the invisible barrier she had somehow erected between them. It was as though she was holding a bag of live vipers and the sides of it were bulging—he didn’t want to get bitten when it finally burst.