The Matchmaker (by Sophie Smith) novel Chapter 123

CHAPTER 123

Raven’s voice was low and rhythmic, each syllable rolling like distant thunder. Her fingers clung tightly to Zafira’s hand, knuckles pale against the flickering candlelight. Around them, the other witches joined in, their chants rising and falling in eerie harmony, weaving through the room like invisible threads pulling at something unseen.

The air shifted–first subtly, then with growing intensity. It thickened, humming with a pressure that made Saphira’s skin prickle. She inhaled slowly, the weight settling in her chest like a stone. Then came the tingling in her fingertips, a warmth that pulsed in time with the witches‘ voices. Her body began to sync with the rhythm, breath slowing, heartbeat aligning with the spell’s cadence.

Let this work. Let it lead us to them. Please.

No one spoke. Even the sound of breathing seemed suspended, as if the room itself had gone still in reverence or fear.

The minutes dragged. Ten, maybe more. Time felt warped, stretched thin by the magic swirling

around them.

Then, abruptly, the chanting ceased. The air stilled. The pressure vanished like mist burned away by sunlight. Saphira flinched at the sudden silence, her body jolting as if something hac

been severed inside her.

Raven released Zafira’s hand with care, her movements deliberate, almost reverent. She rose to her feet, brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. The witches broke their circle, stepping back in silence, their expressions unreadable.

Nikolas stepped forward, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Did it work?”

Zafira’s eyes snapped to Raven, wide and pleading. Her fingers twitched in her lap, still curled

tight.

Raven didn’t answer right away. She closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, then turned to Saphira. “Do you have a map in here?”

Saphira blinked, caught off guard. “Yes–just a second.” Her legs moved before her mind caught up, crossing the room in quick strides. She yanked open the desk drawer, fingers fumbling slightly as she pulled out the folded map. Her hands trembled as she laid it flat on the table, smoothing the creases with her palm.

Raven stepped beside her, plucking a pen from the desk without looking. She leaned over the

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map, eyes scanning the terrain with laser focus. Saphira watched her, breath caught in her throat, heart thudding against her ribs like a warning drum.

After a few tense seconds, Raven circled an area. “Here,” she said, tapping the inked ring. “This is where they are roughly. It was hazy. Definitely cloaked. Another witch is shielding them, but we saw glimpses. This is it.”

Saphira leaned in, her gaze locking onto the circled spot. Her pulse quickened. Finally. A lead. Finn stepped closer, voice low and grim. “That’s Silvermoon territory.”

Jasper’s jaw tightened. “Will their witch know we tried to locate them?”

One of the witches, tall with silver–threaded braids and a voice like velvet, shook her head. “No. She was cloaking them from external detection. It’s passive. We didn’t push hard enough to trigger a warning. But that’s why we couldn’t get an exact location.”

Saphira exhaled slowly, her eyes fixed on the map. Silvermoon. Of course. Everything keeps leading back there. Her gaze drifted to Zafira, who was still staring at the map, lips parted, breath shallow, as if afraid to hope.

Saphira reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against Zafira’s arm. Just enough to remind her she wasn’t alone. We’re close now. We just have to be smart.

Anastasia’s voice sliced through the quiet like a blade. “How on earth are we supposed t them back from a pack working with the Elders? They’re probably protected up to their tee

Saphira turned toward her, catching the flicker of frustration in Anastasia’s narrowed eyes. Her

arms were crossed tightly, nails tapping against her bicep in a restless rhythm that echoed her agitation. The question hung in the air like smoke–thick, suffocating–and no one rushed to

answer.

Nikolas shifted his weight, the leather of his boots creaking against the floor. His jaw was clenched, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. “I don’t know yet,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “But we need to plan thoroughly. Rushing in blind would be suicide.”

Saphira’s gaze dropped to the map still spread across the table, the inked circle staring back at her like a wound. Her fingers hovered above it, not quite touching. That’s where they are. Somewhere in that haze. Somewhere behind layers of magic and muscle.

Her thoughts drifted back to/Raven’s earlier words–the cloaking, the flickers of visibility, the presence of another witch. Another witch… but who?

She straightened, her spine stiffening as the thought crystallized. “The witch you sensed–do

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you think they were an Elder? Or maybe a new recruit?”

Raven paused mid–step, her brows knitting together. She glanced at the other witches, exchanging silent looks. One of them gave a subtle shrug, lips pressed into a thin line. Raven turned back to Saphira, her voice thoughtful. “They weren’t strong enough to be a full Elder. But… they could be a recruit. Someone being trained. That would explain the partial cloaking.”

Saphira nodded slowly, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. So they’re not just hiding–they’re preparing. Reinforcing. Growing. The realization settled in her chest like ice. This isn’t just a rescue. It’s the official start to the war.

Jed stepped forward, arms folded across his broad chest, his tone grim. “We need to assume they’ve got everything–witches, vampires, their own wolves. Layers of protection. If we underestimate them, we’ll lose before we even get close.”

The room erupted into a tense hum of voices. Finn leaned against the wall, arms crossed, suggesting stealth. Raven countered with a magical diversion, her fingers tracing idle patterns in the air. One of the other witches proposed a binding spell, her voice calm but firm. Jasper argued for brute force, his tone sharp, eyes blazing.

No one agreed. The ideas clashed like blades in a sparring ring, each one sharp, each one flawed.

Saphira stayed quiet, absorbing it all. Her eyes flicked to Zafira, who hadn’t spoken since spell ended. She sat still, pale and distant, but her gaze was alert, tracking every word. She waiting. Just like the rest of us. For something solid. Something real.

Nikolas raised a hand, silencing the room! “We’ll wait to hear what Damon and Ruby have to say. Maybe they’ve seen something we haven’t. But we’re not going in full force. Not yet.”

He looked around the room, meeting each gaze with quiet authority, “We’re not ready to take on the pack, the Elders, and the matchmaker all at once. We do this one step at a time. And the pack? They’re too high profile. They can’t be first.”

Saphira exhaled slowly, tension coiling in her chest like a serpent. One step at a time. But every step feels like a cliff edge. Her eyes drifted back to the map, then to Raven. We need more than guesses. We need leverage. We need precision.

She pressed her palm flat against the table. Because if we misstep now, we won’t get another chance.

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