Mason. A powerful warlock. Not entirely human. Half-demon. The air glimmered around him with his heavily suppressed magic.
The older red-haired woman was Mara—ah, They knew Mara too well. She held significant power of her own, more subdued than Mason’s, certainly, but just as dangerous.
The younger woman piqued Their interest most of all. Yes. They knew her. They stared at her with Patrick’s dull, dead eyes and pulled his mouth into something like a smile. “Andy Foster.” The power in Their voice reverberated the air around Them. The sound grated, like gravel beneath silk. Power edged every word and resonated long after They’d spoken.
Silence. They waited.
Andy fidgeted, fingers flexing then relaxing. She watched, waited, then finally broke the silence. “You know me,” she stated. “How do you know me?”
Impatient child.
“Yes.” The answer came quickly, with no hesitation. A hiss. “Your power is well known.” Eyes shifted to the half-demon. “And you, Mason Davis. We know you.”
He lifted his head, looking down upon the revenant with a cool, measured stare. They knew that menacing look. For all his cold, blank facade, anger seethed. Quiet fury. A snake lying in wait and every bit as cold-blooded. A strike could come from nowhere in a millisecond. They knew the devastating force of his power—just as he knew Theirs.
With the revenant’s eyes, They looked upon him without fear.
“Who are you?” Mason asked. The words were flat, emotionless, but They detected something buried within the question. Caution. Fear.
They made no response.
They turned to Mara and appraised her as well. She hid her fear as well, behind a mother’s ferocity and anger. She was a beautiful woman, a seer with immense foresight, but her talent for manipulating hearts and minds made her dangerous too. She presented no threat at present but They sneered in her direction all the same.
Finally, They switched their focus to the young witch and spoke. “You could guess,” They began, answering Mason’s question without once glancing away from Andy, “and you can ask your questions. You’ll get no answers.”
“Oh, cut the cryptic shit.” Andy strode forward, all confidence and commands, imposing with her towering height. She wore her emotion plainly, unlike Mason or her mother. Eyes burned with rage and annoyance and her mouth screwed into a grimace. She had strength but beneath it, in her eyes, They could see something else. Weakness. Fatigue. “I hate these games. Tell us who you are and why you’re here before we make you.”
“Andy—”
Deep laughter drowned out the rest of Mara’s admonishment. And it continued, resonating with an unnatural timbre. Mason faced it without flinching, but both women drew back. Fear leeched the confidence right off their faces.
They felt a keen satisfaction at that, petty as it was.
As the laughter died, They clicked Patrick’s tongue to the back of his teeth. “What threats! What useless little threats! You already have the answers, don’t you? We are already imprisoned with your power. We are truly at your mercy. This is all quite unnecessary.” Mocking. Yes. That was the tone.
Andy’s fingers curled into a fist but immediately released them. Magic buzzed the air around her, barely contained. “More riddles? That’s some Hallowed Circle Coven shit, all right.”
“Andy.”
“Mother.” She passed Mara a withering look then settled her venomous gaze on the revenant. “That’s what we know. The Hallowed Circle Coven, but which witch? Tobias? Bernice? Salvadore? Who’s controlling this” —she gestured at the corpse—“man?”
They said nothing and smiled with Patrick’s dry and cracked lips.
Magic sparked at the tips of Andy’s fingers. It manifested purple and hazy, lighting up the floor and her bare feet. “Who the fuck are you?”
Her power cut off abruptly when Mason stepped forward. Andy slumped, shoulders sagging, visibly deflating. Mason placed his hand on her upper arm, eyes on the revenant, and drew her back.
“Yes, Mason. Calm her. She’s weak. She should save her strength.”
“I’ll show you weak,” Andy muttered. Mason’s tightened grip silenced her.
“You’re tired, girl.” They could see it all the more now. Her eyes were red-rimmed, dark bags beneath them, set in a pale and drawn face. “Your power is better left in reserve. You’re strong and have only grown stronger, yes.” Lips drew back in yet another smile. “But so has your arrogance. Save them both. They’ll do you no good here.”
Victor would have been proud of his daughter, They did not doubt it.
When Andy pitched forward at them, Mason held her back. It was Mara who stepped forward, her eyes blazing as Andy’s had. She pursed her lips together until hardly anything showed of them. “Enough. Enough goading. Who are you?”
A pause. They laughed again, but the sound did not carry so far this time.
“We are from the coven. Yes. You are right. The revenant is Our tool; nothing more, nothing less.”
“Your name?” Mara lifted both of her delicately shaped eyebrows, watching with wariness.
“Do you believe any name We give you would make a difference?”
“In ascertaining the source of this power, what has been channeled through this man, perhaps. For punishment…” Mason’s words trailed off.
“For punishment, not so much,” They finished, and smiled thinly.
Another pause. “Any witch from that coven,” Mara added, with barely disguised distaste, “is as guilty as any other. As it was when you murdered my husband.”
She plied her words, hoping to force a reaction. A slip of the tongue. A reveal. It was not a subtle trick. It wouldn’t work.
“Now who’s goading whom?” They asked, amused.
“Enough of this.” Mason moved in front of the revenant again. His eyes had darkened and power flowed more readily. It cascaded from his shoulders like water, streaming down his arms. It manifested blue, then red, with streaks of black marbled throughout. Its iridescence was a thing to behold.
They rose into the air, at least two feet, legs dangling. Force knocked the revenant back into the wall. They felt nothing but the vaguest sensation of something physical.
When Mason’s eyes widened and the colors vanished from his aura, They knew his power had been nothing more than a feint. A distraction. A pretty light show.
Oh, They were such fools!
Just steps behind the half-demon, Andy stood with one hand stretched out. Blood dripped from her nose, flowing over her top lip. She bared her teeth in an ugly grimace. “Mason, do it. Now!”
Something pressed inside the revenant’s mind. A probing sensation, poking and prodding. Then came pain—true pain. It squeezed. Compressed. Crushed.
“Stop it!” They bellowed.
“Release him,” Mason intoned, voice steady, calm, and powerful.
The charged air lifted hair away from Andy’s face and her arm trembled with effort, but she held on. Blood stained her teeth. “Release him! Get the fuck out!”
It hummed. It buzzed. It burned. They could not stand it, but it was just as well. They had enough. Let them have their victory. Let them have now. And They—They would have next time.
A howl tore the air and crashed like thunder when it came down. And They fled.
Patrick
His body trembled, vibrated. Fear, he realized. They were terrified.
Darkness surrounded him. Words echoed in his mind. It might’ve been English, but he couldn’t tell. He didn’t understand it at all. The words changed, shifted, but the power in them remained potent. It was ancient and powerful. It pulled at him, pressed against his skull until he thought his head would explode from the force of it.
He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t move. A deafening boom echoed off the walls. Something cracked and he hit the floor. Then came relief, sweet relief. It wasn’t the peace of a true death, no. It wasn’t the relief he craved, but it was silence. Blessed silence.
�
�Gone,” he said weakly. Without the dark power clinging to his voice, it lacked substance. He tried again, managed a hoarse croak. “They’re gone.”
“Are you certain?” Mason asked. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
The hum of power had fled. He felt nothing. No presence at all. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” Why couldn’t he speak? “I dunno—dunno when they’ll be back.” He closed his heavy eyes and kept them closed. His breath came out in a hiss.
When he finally opened his eyes, he found Andy crouched next to him. She appeared thoughtful and concerned, but exhausted. Blood left a red smear beneath her nose. “Your name is Patrick. Can I call you Patrick?”
He managed a weak nod. “Casey.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “My daughter’s name is Casey. Where is she?”
“She’s downstairs. She’s—” Andy let out a breath too. “She’s recovering. My sister and my friend are with her. She’s safe.”
Bit by bit, it started to come back to him. “Your friend. The brown-haired girl. Is she—?”
“She’s fine.”
“I—They tried to kill her. Casey. That wasn’t me.” Still, he looked away in shame. “Used me.”
“I know. We were just about to look for you, you know. Saved us the trouble.” He didn’t deserve the gentleness in her voice. No, I brought trouble and then some, right to your door, he thought morosely.
When he didn’t answer, she went on. “We don’t have long. I’m sure whoever’s controlling you will be back.”
“Yes.” He cut his throat with the unfamiliar sound of his dry laughter. “They’ll be back.”
Andy leaned forward. “Tell us everything you know.”
“I will. Can you—can you release the binding?”
“No.” Mason stepped forward, hovering behind Andy. “We cannot risk it. I am certain you understand our precautions.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” He hadn’t expected leniency, hadn’t dared hope. Hope was such an awful notion. It didn’t exist anymore. Patrick sucked in another deep breath. “I’ll tell you everything,” he continued. “Everything I know, but I want to see Casey. After.”
They exchanged glances. Andy stood up, a tall figure next to her petite mother. “We’ll see what happens,” Mara answered. “We won’t put her or anyone else at risk again. Precautions.”
Of course. Precautions. He’d forgotten the precautions. He’d forgotten so many things. “All right. All right.” He held his head high, nodded, and then he told them all he knew.
Andy
Later That Night
She awoke with a start. The air in her room chilled her and her stomach churned. It was too dark to see—her tired eyes hadn’t adjusted yet. They were heavy with sleep, her mind groggy.
The dream still clung to her. No, not a dream, Andy realized. Not a vision either. A nightmare. A memory.
She could still feel Jeremy’s blood on her hands, warm and sticky. She smelled the copper scent of it pervading her senses. Drip by drip, it fell onto the wooden bench, the grains soaking it up. And worst of all, the voice in her ear—an older woman’s voice, crisp with her English accent—urging her on.
“Finish the ritual. Say the words! Do it now!”
Through the darkness of the room, she saw no blood, no dead bodies, and heard no whispering. The Hallowed Circle Coven hadn’t crossed her path in years. They weren’t here now.
Gods, the last she’d seen of them, she’d been an impressionable teenager. Oh, she’d been so stupid to want to join their ranks, to follow in her father’s footsteps. They’d promised power and magic the likes of which Andy had only toyed with before. It could all be hers if she’d only dedicate herself to them. If she committed. If she became one of them.
So she did. She joined them and murdered her boyfriend in the sacrificial circle and now his blood was on her hands forever. In the semi-darkness, she looked down at them. They were as white and as clean as ever. No blood.
Still, Andy couldn’t shake the sensation, or the dread. The Hallowed Circle Coven was back. After twelve years, they’d crawled back into her life and—
Her breath caught. No. No, something wasn’t right. Power charged the air, dangerous and familiar. It buzzed around her.
Her gut tightened again. Something was coming and it was coming… now!
Andy lashed out blindly with her power. The shock wave rocked the room and sent objects clattering and crashing. Anything that wasn’t bolted to the floor slid back, toppled, or shattered.
Except for Patrick.
The revenant stood rooted next to her bed, silhouetted in the semi-darkness. The lights came on with a thought, the room instantly illuminated. Andy winced and scrambled across the bed, her vision adjusting to the new brightness.
Borrowed power encircled him. They were back in full force. Magic surrounded the revenant in a vibrant red hue. It shimmered around him, absorbing and protecting him from Andy’s telekinetic blast. Her power did nothing.
In his hand, a ceremonial knife glinted in the light—the blade long, straight, and deadly sharp.
Andy scrambled for the edge of the bed, seeking footing to give her the advantage, but the revenant moved faster. A blast hit her before she could put up her shield, powerful force sending her into the headboard. Her shoulder cracked against it and she cried out.
She wouldn’t panic. Not yet. She still had power. She could still move. She still had her spells, primed and ready. With a single, charged shout, she spat one out. “Brume!”
Thick, heavy smoke lifted from the floor. The room filled with it and within seconds, she could see nothing. If she couldn’t see, neither could the revenant, she’d wager. She held her breath.
The distraction worked. There came a lull and Andy slid off the bed as quickly and as silently as she could. Crouched on the floor, she began to creep her way around the bed. The smoke would clear, fade away, but she only needed a few seconds to ready another spell, to fight back.
But the air cleared too quickly. Andy looked up, eyes widening, as the haze dissipated. The revenant spoke, the words echoing in that strange rumbling voice from before. His mouth opened into a great, yawning buzz and it grew ever louder.
Oh, fuck!
Andy barely had a second to react, to understand, before the smoke invaded his mouth, his nostrils, inhaled like some demonic vacuum from hell. It filled his eyes, turning them ash-gray, then pitch-black. A grimace pulled across the revenant’s face, an awful mask that didn’t belong to him. A smile. A grin.
And then he laughed.
A thousand shards of glass, iron, obsidian, and black steel spewed forth. The sharpened edges of the transformed smoke cut through the air with high velocity. She hadn’t a second to lose.
Instinct saved her, when Andy brought up her hands to her face in self-defense. The shards halted immediately, poised in the air only a few millimeters from her face. Hastily, she erected her shield and several of the shards within it clattered to the floor at her feet. There were still hundreds of others, and they pushed and pressed hard into the barrier, sending sparks flying. If she let go, even for half a second, they’d cut her to ribbons. There’d be nothing left.
“Liberum! Discedo! Release!” a powerful voice cried out from the doorway.
With a single shout, Mara’s spell knocked the revenant back. He—They—collided with Andy’s dresser and crashed to the floor. Telekinesis wasn’t one of Mara’s natural talents, but spells could simulate the effect, and she’d picked the very best one.
The red cloud of magic that surrounded the revenant disappeared. All power fled the room, leaving only Andy’s and Mara’s distinct signatures to hum within the space
Andy released her hold on the black shards and dropped her shield. They fell to the floor, hundreds of sharp little pellets bouncing across the carpet. She exhaled shakily.
“I knew sleeping was a bad idea,” she said.
“Bind him again. Hurry.” The shards crunched beneath Mara’s shoes as she moved out of the doorw
ay.
Andy didn’t hesitate. Within seconds and with only a few movements of her hand, she had the revenant—Patrick once again—sitting up. Her invisible bonds held him in place. A line of black oozed down his temple. Blood, she suspected. He was out cold.
She hoped he’d stay that way.
“Vision?” she asked, sweeping hair back from her eyes to look at her mother.
Mara shook her head. “No. Not this time. They returned while I talked with him. A spell knocked me back, but it didn’t knock me out.”
“Yeah. Same with me.” She rubbed her shoulder, then her wrist, tracing the bumps of scar tissue beneath her tattoo. “And Mason?”
“He left to trace the magical signature. I think They waited for him to leave before striking. Typical cowards.” Mara scoffed and dropped her gaze to the dagger on the floor. “That looks—”
“—familiar.” Andy stepped closer, but she didn’t touch it. She didn’t want to. She remembered how easily the blade cut through flesh, how blood welled on the skin at the tip. Andy would never forget the look on his face, the frozen terror in his green eyes when she cut his throat as a sacrifice. The blade had been so sharp, he must not have felt it.
But she had.
Mara picked it up carefully by the hilt. “I can feel the power in it. Dark. Perverse.”
“Put it down, Mom. Please. That blade is death.”
Mara studied the blade then she dropped it onto the trunk at the foot of Andy’s bed. “A Hallowed Circle sacrificial dagger,” she whispered.
“Yeah. And who do you think they want to sacrifice now? Fuck. It keeps getting better and better, huh?” Bitterness edged her words. “Looks like someone really wants me dead.”
“Not just dead—sacrificed.”
That word rankled her last frayed nerve. “Call Mason. Now. I want to know what he knows. I need to know.”
“Andy…”
She ignored the warning tone. “No. I’m tired. I want this over. I want this done. The coven has resurfaced to kill me. Patrick said the coven has been summoning something big for months. We might not know what, but I’m not going to be a part of it in any way.” She fixed her mother with a stern stare. “I won’t end up like Dad—murdered because I betrayed them.”
Witch Way: The New Ashton Chronicles Page 11