When Wishes Bleed

by Casey Bond

  I quickly schooled my expression, taking a deep, calming breath. By the Goddess, what was that?

  “Excuse me,” I told them, walking quickly toward the woods beyond them. I held my middle. My stomach was being singed. Fate had finally decided to show up and help me.

  Fine timing that he granted me his favor only after I made a fool out of myself in front of those young men.

  Not that I cared, I decided.

  I was relieved his mark wasn’t upon the golden-eyed boy. If he was the culprit, I might have been tempted to visit him in Twelve, just as the doomed young witch had sought out her lover. I picked up my skirts and jogged into the trees, letting the forest swallow me. Around my waist was a skinny length of solid black rope, stained with the last breaths of those Fate had damned and that I’d hung for him. I uncoiled it and quickly knotted the noose.

  Fate whispered to me, You have found him. Now, make him pay.

  Three young men huddled together, encircling a young witch from my grandmother’s House. Her green gown and robes darkened in time with the sky overhead.

  None of them realized I was behind them until I spoke. “Lovely evening,” I remarked, staring up at the painted sky through the canopy. It was just as I had seen, just as Fate had designed.

  “Uh, it sure is,” one of them chuckled.

  “Do you know these boys?” I asked the young Earth witch. Madeline, Fate told me. “Do you know them, Madeline?”

  She shook her head rapidly, a tear falling from her eye.

  “We know her,” the dimpled boy fibbed. Fate’s mark throbbed above his brow, the sigil pulsing with the need for me to conquer him.

  I smiled. “You lie.” I waved for the girl to come closer to me. “Madeline.” She hesitated for a moment, her fear of me being overridden by her fear of the men, and strode toward me, tucking herself behind my back. “Go find Priestess Ela. Remain at her side. It’s time.” Her eyes widened as the meaning of my words sunk in. She glanced back at the dimpled boy who was no longer smiling.

  “Time for what?” he braced.

  “A witch was found dead just inside our border this morning. The one who killed her will hang in just a few moments.”

  The muscle in his cheek twitched.

  Dimples was going to run. I could see him weighing his options, considering which direction to take

  “What does that have to do with us?” his tall friend asked. He had no idea what his friend was capable of.

  “Going forward, you should be more careful of the company you keep,” I warned him.

  Before my words had a chance to carry over the wind, Dimples took off at a sprint toward the border. I let him run, allowing his confidence and sweat to build and drip in rivulets down his face and back. I let him think he might actually get away as I kept a steady walking pace at his heels. Then I whispered a spell to strengthen his spine so it wouldn’t snap prematurely, lassoed his head like he was a runaway steer, dug my heels into the ground, and gave the rope a strong yank.

  Insects that had been singing to one another quieted as I reeled him in and began to drag him back toward the Center. His cowardly friends were nowhere to be found. They had long since scurried away, and were likely crossing the border back into Twelve at this very moment.

  He gasped for air, clawing at his neck.

  Fate wanted him dead. Every witch in Thirteen wanted the same. Myself included. How many more witches would have died at his deceitful hands? “I suppose it would be polite to tell you why you’re about to die, but I think we both know the reason.”

  He tried to reply, but the noose had already crushed his larynx. Oops.

  A normal Equinox celebration would be in full swing with tinkling bells, crashing cymbals, and witches dancing around fires they set and manipulated for the delight of the crowd, but this was no normal Equinox. Through the trees, I could see that the members of every House had formed a protective circle around the pentagram, encasing the citizens of the lower sectors and making a human barrier between them and the gallows where Dimples would hang.

  The Lowers called Sector Thirteen ‘The Gallows’ for a reason, though few had ever witnessed a hanging here. We were the only sector who had them, and who punished those who committed crimes against us, with hanging. Citizens from the Lowers called us barbaric and inhumane for it, but Fate demanded it, and even if he didn’t, the Priestesses and Priest would.

  I knew the punishments were fair, but I wondered how effective the threat was when it was so far removed. No one from the Lowers normally witnessed someone being put to death, though the young man wriggling behind me obviously knew about our customs. Even though he knew more than most, not even the threat of hanging deterred the handsome, dimpled boy from asphyxiating the young Fire witch.

  The boy was desperate for air, so I whispered a spell to loosen the noose just a smidge. He coughed and sputtered, sucking in deep, ragged breaths. I stopped and gave him a chance to catch his breath.

  “Did you think we wouldn’t find you?” I asked, curious to know the mind of the cruel boy.

  His lips shook with rage. If only he were stronger... I saw the threat in his eyes.

  The trees thinned and then came to an abrupt stop as we neared the gallows. The witches’ chants were drowned out by the shocked gasps of those from the Lowers. When they saw what, or whom, I dragged behind me, the parents who hadn’t heeded Ela’s warning quickly covered their children’s eyes, or scooped them up and carried them away toward the backs of the Houses to join those who had listened. The mouths of men and women, old and young, gaped as I dragged Dimples to the set of wooden gallows erected at the base of the pentagram.

  Death was not welcome in the sacred circle.

  Hovering over him, I waited for him to recover. “Stand up.”

  An inferno of hatred flared in his eyes. He tried to talk, but his crushed larynx only elicited flat shrieks from his mouth.

  “Stand up, or I will drag you onto the platform.”

  He managed to get a knee up and pushed to his feet, sweat-soaked hair obscuring the upper half of his face. The coarse rope had cut into the tender skin of his throat. Rivulets of blood and sweat merged and sluiced down the skin of his chest, disappearing behind the buttoned fabric of his shirt. He panted, his lips puffing out with each breath.

  “Now walk,” I ordered, tugging on the rope as I ascended the stairs. At the bottom, he braced himself and resisted, refusing to budge. “I really thought we had an understanding. You were going to cooperate, and I was going to consider allowing your neck to snap when the floor falls out from under your feet... but now, you’re irritating me.”

  His lips curled up into a cruel smile. “Witch,” he mouthed, his throat squeaking like a rusted hinge.

  It was my turn to grin. “Yes, I am. But do you want to know a secret? I am no mere witch. I am the Daughter of Fate. This evening, I am his hands, and his fingers want to crush the life out of you, the way you did our sister. Fate’s hands never weaken, never falter, and they never fail.”

  I whispered a spell lifting the killer’s feet off the ground. He sputtered as he floated, as I took control and made him hover up the steps while I walked alongside, as easily as one would guide a cooperative hound. Settling him beneath the top post, I ordered the spell to release him. He fell the few inches, nearly losing his balance. I righted him as Fate gave me his name.

  Jenson. Jenson Renk.

  Waving an arm through the air as one would clear a chalkboard, I whispered a spell to extricate Jenson’s memory, projecting it to the crowd, where they saw what he’d done from his point of view. Saw his bony fingers wrap around her neck, watched him straddle her and crush her body beneath his. They witnessed her struggle against him. Her fear was so alive, I could almost taste it. Her desperation was palpable. The Lowers gasped as she floundered and then went still as the light and life faded from her bea
utiful amber eyes. Her fingers weakened and fell away from his punishing hands. Her head lolled to the side, but he held tight another moment to make sure she was dead.

  “Jenson Renk, citizen of Sector Twelve,” I announced, “you murdered Harmony, witch of the House of Fire, by means of asphyxiation. You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. Fate has chosen to show you no mercy, because you showed none to our sister. As repayment for your crime, he demands your death.”

  I stared him down as I spelled the rope in my hands. The frayed end transformed into the head of a snake. It coiled around on itself, hissing at the guilty man before quickly slithering up the posts and across the beam. Usually, I would have made him stand on a stool and hefted his weight for him, but I wouldn’t do anything to help a murderer of this caliber.

  I didn’t even bother with the doors that would break apart, giving way beneath him. No, there would be no mercy for him. I would not allow his neck to break. He would strangle slowly, the way he had strangled Harmony.

  Bay stared at me from below with an unreadable expression. I likely hadn’t made it quick enough for his liking, but I didn’t care in that moment. Brecan stood at the fringe, his rigid posture a tell that he would gladly help if I needed it. It was a kind gesture, but I’d never required anyone’s assistance for this. This… was what I was made for.

  The snake coiled tighter and tighter over the beam until the condemned man’s toes were lifted off the ground. He kicked, trying to find the planks beneath.

  Jenson’s face turned red and then purple as he scrambled to force his fingers between his skin and the serpent to ease the pressure. His heart beat faster, but the blood wasn’t able to flow where he needed it most. His lips bulged.

  He kicked out in a blind panic, sending his body swaying back and forth until his movements became uncoordinated. His grip floundered and his arms fell limply to his sides, twitching occasionally.

  The thrashing and swinging slowed, and then Jenson stopped struggling.

  The group of young men whose hands I’d shaken stood just within the collection of witches, lingering closest to the platform. With wide eyes and gaping mouths, their attention was fixed on Jenson Renk, staring like they could see his soul leave his body.

  They couldn’t, but I could.

  A dark mist emerged from his flesh. It lingered as I whispered a spell transforming the snake back into a rope. His lingering last breath settled into the coarse fibers, darkening the length of cord, and then Fate’s victim fell to the ground an empty heap, naught but flesh and bone.

  There would be a fuss in the lower sectors tomorrow – tonight, if some chose to leave to spread the word about what they saw. Those who witnessed his hanging would never forget it, but Jenson Renk would be forgotten in time, and that was all that mattered.

  Fate was pleased.

  The fire in my belly was extinguished. My fingers and lips had thawed.

  I descended the stairs and met a pair of golden eyes the moment my feet hit the ground. I looked away, unable to stomach the emotions blazing behind them, and made my way through the crowd that wasted no time parting for me.

  5

  From the steps of my House, I watched Ethne on the platform of the gallows where Renk’s body lay prone on the weathered-gray planks. She waved her arms over the killer’s corpse, causing a white-hot fire to consume it before the stench of him reached the crowd. She was a master of her craft, and could wield the flame so precisely that there wouldn’t even be a char mark left on the planks. I could feel the heat of her anger wave across the grass.

  Ela carefully climbed the steps to stand beside her. Her thick robes, now as dark green as the pines in the forest’s middle, concealed her shrinking body. She’d shriveled just since this morning. Time had been kind to her for a very long time, but she had begun to pay the price for the unnatural extension of her youth. She looked positively brittle. Tonight’s events had aged her significantly, though I wasn’t sure why they’d taken such a toll.

  Her hair faded more and more by the minute, leaching from newborn fawn to silvery white. The slight hunch in her upper back became a sharp mountain peak. Her skin wrinkled as she climbed, and her muscle withered away. By the time she reached the platform, she could barely fight the atrophy overwhelming her body to pull her weight up the stairs. She huffed and puffed, and I honestly thought she might fall over dead when she reached the top step.

  It was immediately clear that despite the ravaging toll on her body, Grandmother’s mind hadn’t shriveled at all. Nor had her demeanor. But as she cleared her throat and her weak voice tried to calm the crowd, Fate gently whispered that her days were numbered.

  As if she could read my mind, her hazel eyes snapped to mine.

  A hush fell over the crowd. I wasn’t sure if she’d spelled them, or if they genuinely wanted to hear what she had to say about what they witnessed.

  The shaky words she spewed were spelled to calm and comfort those who heard them. She assured them that no witch would ever harm the innocent. The shoulders of the members of the crowd visibly relaxed, as did their breathing. The worry lines on their faces faded away. It was like they’d taken a collective breath and slowly expelled it.

  I took a seat at my table once Bay helped Ela descend the platform’s steps, and the musicians began strumming a soothing tune. The circle of witches that had surrounded the Center broke apart, freeing those within.

  I searched for dark hair and golden eyes, but never found him.

  Ethne lit the bonfires. A pair of witches juggled fire sticks, while another duo swung lit chains around in great arcs, slicing bright circles through the twilit sky. The scent of smoke filled the air as our guests finally began to form groups, talking and even laughing among themselves.

  The witches of the House of Water called for miniature storm clouds to build. Lightning forked from them, creating small, intense bursts of light within the roiling thunderheads. The thunder they made complemented the musicians’ drum beat.

  Fragrant flowers in every color and shape emerged from the soil as the witches from the House of Earth were introduced. Topiaries of twisted vines formed next to a family of three, a father, mother, and daughter, perfectly mimicking their shapes down to the child’s fine hair.

  Those from the House of Wind sent a sweet, warm breeze to sweep across the space, plucking petals from stems and sending them whirling above the rooftops nearby, beyond the treetops and high into the sky, until they disappeared from sight. As they lowered their raised hands and snuffed out any trace of wind, soft petals rained from the heavens. Within minutes, the grass was carpeted in petals of every color of the rainbow. Children scooped up the delicate petals and flung them into the air, trying to imitate the Wind witches.

  Tonight, here in this space, no one would scold them.

  Tomorrow would be different. I’d heard that those who returned to Sector Twelve would advise their children not to speak about coming here, nor about the magic they witnessed. Where it was almost fashionable to attend years ago, cavorting with witches was becoming more taboo with each passing season. When I was a child, the woods overflowed with guests. Now, the Center was barely full.

  Being a witch is nothing to be proud of, they would tell them. Witches are dangerous creatures.

  They weren’t wrong, but they also weren’t right.

  Children would ignore their own experiences and feelings if adults pressed them hard enough into the straight and narrow line. It was how prejudice and ignorance were perpetuated through the generations. But as long as it was only one night a year and they hid their purchased tinctures and herbs in their pockets, covering their heads and faces with the hoods of their cloaks as they crossed the borders and snuck back to their homes, there was no harm.

  I whispered a spell, lighting the white candle on my table. I didn’t have any of the elemental affinities, but I’d learned to conjure th
e elements to a small degree. I couldn’t call down a tornado or flood a stream, but I could light wicks and fill my basins if the well dried. And, as long as I paid attention to my plants, they grew just fine.

  For hours, I sat and watched. Anyone who ventured close to my table quickly found their way back into the anonymity of the crowd, placing as much distance between them and me as possible.

  I sat quietly, alone, and watched the stars tilt around the blue-black sky. Blackberry wine was being passed around to anyone who wanted it, and the heavy atmosphere that I’d brought to the celebration of the Equinox was replaced by a more carefree one. The alcohol probably helped assuage the Lowers’ feelings, and we were plying them with enough to drown an entire sector.

  Someone wearing a heavy cloak finally staggered to my table, pulled out the chair opposite me, and flopped into it unceremoniously. The sweet smell of blackberries filled the air, along with something masculine and heady.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re drunk. You should find whomever you came with and ask them to see you home.”

  Strong hands pushed back the hood, and with a start, I realized it was the handsome man from earlier. Looking into a pair of bloodshot, golden eyes that tried vainly to focus on mine, I noticed details I’d missed earlier. His dark brown hair was freshly cut; the hair at the nape of his neck hadn’t even begun to grow back out. His shoulders were broad, and the cloak concealing them was made of thick, black material. In golden thread, a symbol was emblazoned over his heart, but it was wrinkled and I couldn’t make it out.

  “I’m not going nowhere,” he slurred.

  I crossed my arms and raised my brows. “You want a reading?”

  “Reading? I don’t see any books,” he chuckled.

  “I read fates.”

  “Futures?” He laughed and pointed a finger at me. “You’re a witch.”

  “And you’re obviously a genius.” A drunken genius, with pretty, molten eyes.

  “You’re supposed to make love potions and hex dolls,” he slurred. “Not hang people.”