"The people she infected with those red orbs are going to die," informed Felizitas with a sincerity and conviction no one that young should know. "It's happened before, a long time ago. After a month they start to get very sick and then they just die. None of the healers could do anything about it."

Hansel didn't know anything about this new addition to the Lamiae's power arsenal, but he was aware of some of the truly despicable capabilities of spells. His line of work focused on the prevention of magical curses, rather than the remedy, but it still didn't make the helplessness abate.

"So can you save Verena? Can you help like Gretel said?"

This was why he let Gretel deal with the children. His brashness and non parental instincts were ill placed with such young people and he always seemed to fall victim to the wide hopeful eyes of young girls who needed to be saved. The words were leaving his lips before he could stop them. "I promise." It was absurd to make such a promise. He would do his damnedest to rescue the children and more importantly his sister, but given the foe, he wasn't sure it was an accomplishable task. "I will bring your sister back safely."

Felizitas face lit up with salvation and delight, unaware of the severity of the lie Hansel had just cast. "Thank you," she said, relief evident in her voice.

Hansel could imagine what the young girl was going through, watching her sister taken away into the unknown by the scariest of monsters. It was something Hansel had to endure a time or two before; it was a fear that haunted his nightmares. There was always some small, minuscule, inconceivable chance he could pull this off. And if he did fail, he wouldn't be alive to see that disappointment destroy the sunshine that just lit up her face. "I'm going to need a few things first."

It wasn't his gun, but it felt familiar and safe all the same. Normally, Hansel would have been more prepared and stocked for whatever might be thrown his way, but the village had supplied him as best they could, more importantly, they gave him a rifle and ammunition.

The Lamiae had a large head start and an uncanny ability to hide their trail, but they weren't prepared for Hansel's unnerving attention to detail. There were just enough little clues that Hansel was pretty certain he was going the right way. It felt like old times again; the sweet smell of forest all around, a loaded weapon on his shoulder with a destination of certain death. For the misery it brought, there was nothing like the life he had, and going down swinging sure beat old a forgotten.

While it felt like the good old days, Hansel couldn't help but keep one eye over his shoulder. The last time he was out in the world, the Lamiae had been ruthlessly hunting him and Gretel, running them both ragged. It was difficult to shake the feeling that it wouldn't happen again, except it couldn't; the magic that allowed them to home in on Hansel like a blood hound on a fox, was gone. The tension and fear that had come with it remained, as did the desire to use.

The feeling of control and power that came with embracing his powers had been intoxicating and unlike anything he had experienced before. It would have had to have been to push his utter reluctance and hatred of witchcraft out of mind the way it had. Hansel still hated magic, more importantly, he hated what it had done to him but there was still some small sliver that craved to be a part of it again.

This test would be more than just getting Gretel back, this would be the moment he decided if he could rise above all of his short comings, both inherited and learned. This would be the moment that defined is he was stronger than his destiny or just another cog in the machine of life. As he made camp and put another day between him and what had transpired on the floor of Kaspar's cottage, he felt a little more sure footed.

Hansel's feet were already beginning to ache by the time the sun broke over the mountain. It was risky to start hunting at such a dark hour but sleep was too elusive to hold onto for long. The forest was wet with the morning mist and as silent as the dead; the morning chill as cool as the cold steel the hunter gripped tightly in his hands. His nerves were on high alert with the hairs on the back of his neck rising in anticipation.

His left hand fell from his rifle to the knife fastened to his belt. Years of experience had instilled the instinct to wait for the right moment to strike, to let the enemy make the first move. He was not disappointed. In a flash of silver and purple he felt one of the creatures move past him. As quickly as it appeared, it disappeared into the safety of the forest cover. The steady pitter-patter of the blood droplets falling from Hansel's blade were the only sign that the creature had even made an appearance.

Satisfaction forced a smile on his face. No longer on the defensive, he could see just what these foul beasts were made of. The betrayal of a snapping twig to his left pulled his attention and his rifle. He thrummed with familiar excitement as each shot rang out until the telltale screech of a bullet finding home. The wounded Lamiae wasn't going to go down quietly, spring out of the bushes, claws out and tearing through Hansel's flesh.

The tug of torn flesh across his back caused him to stagger back, his finger sliding off the trigger. His opponent was just as lightening fast as he remembered but without the bone weary exhaustion of running for his life, the task of taking her out didn't seem as impossible. The Lamiae sprang up, digging her fingers into his shoulders while wrapping her legs tight around his waist. The weight of the beast and the momentum in which she threw herself at him sent both of them tumbling to the ground. She bit and scratched like an angry wolverine, refusing to let go of the prey pinned beneath her.

Straining tense muscles, Hansel managed to twist, shifting the Lamiae underneath him. Now in the top position, he slammed his fist into her face repeatedly. The upper hand didn't last long as the pair began to tumble over one another, constantly changing who had the dominate position in an equally violent and bloody struggle. They finally came to a rest, Hansel's blade buried deep in the Lamiae's gut. He laid there, chest heaving under the weight of a body that would fight no more as warm blood crept along the cool metal and curled around his wrist. Though it was just his imagination, it burned as it soaked into the bandage hiding his mark from the world.

His victory didn't last long. As quick and as silent as the Lamiae were, their speed betrayed them as leaves whispered their movements. Hansel could hear he was surrounded long before he saw their formidable features. They stood there, in a loose circle surrounding him; heads cocked in confidence, like a cat deciding how best to eat a mouse.

"Well what do we have here?" demanded one of the Lamiae, her silver, crown like horns sparkling in the early morning light. She boldly stepped toward the hunter, mindless of the blood glistening blade clutched tightly in his hand.

Hansel stared back defiantly, blood in his smile. If he was going down, he was taking the bitch with him. He just had to wait for the opportune moment to strike.

The queen leaned in close, taking a deep breath and sucking in his scent. She followed the line of his neck down to his shoulder before pulling back. The disappointment was evident in her face; the prize had been lost. "What have you done?" she asked, already knowing what actions had transpired to rob her of the glory that would have been sucking Hansel dry.

Hansel's wrist twitched in anticipation and his muscles coiled in preparation to strike. The queen's hand clamped down hard on his wrist before he even raised the blade past his waist. His face contorted in the pain that his voice refused to acknowledge. Tighter she squeezed, never shifting her eyes from his, and then, she began to hum.

Hansel let his anger fester. First at the fact that such monsters roamed the earth, bringing misery to all those who lay eyes on them and then at the fact that she would waste his time with cheap parlor tricks that never worked on the siblings. Except, maybe things really had changed since drinking Kaspar's potion, because suddenly Hansel found himself unable to move. It was just like Felizitas had described, only to experience it first hand was terrifying. Hansel always had the ability to fight if he just dug down deep enough, there was always that last reserve he could pull from to fight for one more inch. He couldn't move at all, he was completely at her mercy and she would show none.

Slowly, one by one, the queen pulled back Hansel's fingers and relieved him of his knife. She tossed it to the side like a stray loose thread, formerly inconvenient but now a forgotten memory. She pressed her lips against his ear and in a sing song voice, whispered, "No more magic to protect you."

A sharp pain exploded in the back of his head before everything went black.