Witches of Ash and Ruin

by E. Latimer

  “What is it?” Cora leaned forward, wincing at the pain in her wrists.

  She flicked the clasp back on the box and opened it slowly. It was lined with velvet, and in the center were two thick gold bands. Nestled just behind them was a long, wickedly sharp dagger. The handle was intricately done, gold snakes with ruby eyes wrapped up the silver handle.

  Cora reached for the blade. She couldn’t seem to help herself. The gold snakes were cool and smooth beneath her fingers.

  “I’ve told you, your ascension will be different than the others.” Grandma King watched as Cora picked up the dagger and turned it this way and that under the light. “You’ll be tested. You must take your own sacrifice.”

  Cora stared at her. “Take…what?” Grandma King said nothing, and Cora shook her head.

  “You mean…”

  Grandma King nodded slowly. “Up until now I’ve provided it. But in order to trigger your ascension you must take your own, and it must be…significant.”

  Cora set the dagger down, her stomach turning. “What does that mean?”

  “A central part of him.” Grandma King’s voice dropped lower. “A heart will do, or…the other thing men value so very much.” Her thin brows were raised as she said this, and Cora’s mouth dropped open.

  “You’re having me on.”

  “Don’t go soft on me now, my girl.” Grandma King climbed slowly to her feet with a groan. “We are not bound by common law or morals. We’re witches, and we do what we must.”

  Cora blinked, trying to clear her vision. She didn’t even want to think about it. She just wanted to go home and lie down. “What…what are the cuffs for?”

  Grandma King turned away, collecting the grimoire off the grass. She didn’t seem to have heard the last question. “Are you ready to go, witchling?”

  “Yes.” Thank god. Every muscle in her body ached, and her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

  “Good.” Grandma King slammed the grimoire shut. “Because here is your test. Find your way out.”

  “What?”

  Grandma King scooped up the bags by the fire, including Cora’s purse.

  Cora shot to her feet. “Hey, that’s my—”

  She paused, blinking. Her head was beginning to swim. Above her the treetops were silhouetted against the open sky, which tilted and swooped. She blinked again and jerked her gaze back down to the fire. “Wh-what did you put in the—”

  There was no one there. Grandma King was gone.

  “Fuck!” The word rang out into the empty forest. Cora stumbled forward, and the ground surged beneath her feet. Something rumbled overhead, and tiny, cold pinpricks of rain began dotting her skin. Cora cursed again.

  That bitch had drugged her and left her in the middle of the forest. She didn’t even know where they were, she’d just followed Gran’s instructions blindly as she’d driven, too preoccupied to pay close attention. And now on top of everything, the heavens were about to open and empty themselves onto Cora’s head.

  Hadn’t she done everything the old woman wanted?

  She kept walking, teeth clenched against the rising panic. She was no innocent babe lost in the woods; she was a fucking witch. She would find her way back to the parking lot.

  Swearing under her breath, Cora plunged onward, finding handholds on tree trunks as she passed. Without the light from the fire, everything was a dark blur, but somehow, she felt less dizzy.

  They hadn’t walked that long to get here, maybe five minutes? She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the fogginess. She wondered nervously if her vision was dimming or if the forest was simply becoming thicker and thicker as she walked on.

  Another few minutes of groping through the steadily growing darkness, and then the rain began coming down harder, soaking Cora’s thin sweatshirt. Shivering violently, she pressed on, too angry to stop to think.

  She had to be going the right way. It was this way. She remembered.

  The sun should be directly overhead at this time of day, and yet…the forest now seemed endlessly black. There was something unnatural about it. Even a forest at its thickest didn’t block out this much light.

  Cora sucked in a breath, ashamed that it was more of a sob. Branches broke beneath her feet. She didn’t want to stop, because when she did…the sounds began. The crash of a tree branch too heavy to have fallen off by itself, the buzz of some creature she couldn’t identify. The whistle of wind, and the rustle of branches, though she felt no breeze on her face.

  Minutes went by; Cora didn’t know how long. She should have been at the parking lot by now. Shaking, she pulled off the protection necklace Bronagh had given them this morning. Hanging it over one finger, she let it swing, whispering a guiding spell, invoking the name of Caorthannach. With the other hand she dug her lighter out.

  The necklace swung back and forth, casting wild shadows over the trees around her. Then abruptly it went still. Cora felt it drag down on her finger, the cord cutting into her flesh.

  “Shit!” She dropped it, backing away hastily.

  Around her, the forest noises cut off all at once, and the silence closed in around her. She felt…watched.

  Whatever it was didn’t feel friendly.

  Gasping, sobbing, she stumbled forward into the impenetrable darkness. She didn’t dare question her decision. This was not a mistake; she would break through into the parking lot any minute now.

  Something snagged her foot, and Cora went down, cracking her forehead on the thick trunk of the nearest tree. Twigs and stones cut into her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut, moaning.

  Slowly she rolled over onto her back, a trickle of warmth spreading out over her forehead, trailing down her cheek. The treetops warped and spun above her, and resentment surged in her breast, overwhelming the pain.

  “Where are you, Caorthannach? Why did you let that thing take me? If you’re here,” she growled at the treetops, “show yourself.”

  The second the command fell from her lips, Cora felt the ground shake beneath her. She stiffened.

  Something struck her in the chest, hard, knocking her breath out of her body.

  “You are mine, witchling.”

  Cora’s head jerked up, her heart crowding into her throat. It was the same voice she’d heard in her head, but now the woman it belonged to loomed over her. She was tall, maybe the same height as Meiner, and she seemed to glow, as if the coals from the dying fire Cora had left behind were embedded beneath her skin.

  Her hair fell in ringlets to her waist. On her head was a circle of orange-and-gold flowers, set with glass beads that glittered despite the darkness, a crown of flames against her black hair. The material of her dress was strange, gold-and-black scales that moved like liquid around her form. Cora wasn’t sure if she was wearing it, or if it was part of her skin.

  Her eyes were as inky black as her hair, the pupils impossibly wide. When she stepped forward, Cora scrambled back on her hands and knees. Terror flashed through her, leaving her breathless and gasping, hot and cold waves rushing over her skin. The woman was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, but there was something distinctly unearthly about her. The way she moved, the way her face turned this way and that as she examined Cora. As if she had not been born but formed herself out of nothing. The sight of her made Cora’s skin crawl.

  “You think to challenge me, to test me?” The woman’s voice was a hiss, the rasp of silk on silk, and Cora blinked as the shoulders of her dress moved. A moment later she realized what she was seeing: not the dress, but a pair of snakes. Scales glittered black and gold as the slender bodies dropped from her shoulders, undulating, slinking down her arms.

  “I never—” Cora hated how weak she sounded, how her voice trembled. “I wasn’t—”

  The woman moved so quickly Cora didn’t have time to flinch, leaning down to catch her chin, tilting her face up so Cora was forced to look at her.

  Cora’s chest tightened. She’d been wrong about the color of the woman’s
eyes. They weren’t just black; they burned with light at their centers, twin flames wreathed in inky darkness.

  “You will continue to be tested. Your worthiness measured, your strength tried,” Caorthannach whispered. Her mouth was close to Cora’s ear, and the goddess’s breath was like the kiss of a flame. “You will prove your dedication before I give you what you desire. Say you will prove yourself to me, Cora.”

  “Aye, I will,” she gasped out.

  Caorthannach reached down and seized both her wrists, hauling her to her feet with a single, violent tug. A moment later the skin beneath Caorthannach’s slender bronze fingers began to burn.

  “Please,” Cora said through gritted teeth.

  “You are mine.” Caorthannach’s voice was filled with hissing, with the crackle of flames. Her gaze was bottomless, drinking in Cora’s face, paralyzing her. “Mine to do with as I will. Devote yourself to me and I will grant you unlimited power, the kind you’ll need to face what’s coming. Challenge me, and I will pull you apart piece by piece.”

  Cora could only nod. The skin beneath Caorthannach’s fingers had become intensely painful, burning hotter and hotter. Her eyes streamed with tears.

  Caorthannach bared her teeth in a shocking smile. Her teeth were rotten, cracked and chipped and crooked behind her full red lips. Cora flinched, and the woman’s smile stretched wider. She opened her mouth, a snake about to swallow a mouse.

  “Awake.”

  Something slammed into the side of Cora’s face, knocked her backward, sending stars bursting across her vision. Then darkness crashed back into place and stayed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MEINER

  Thursday morning the two covens were downstairs researching again, and it occurred to Meiner that right now might be a perfect time to snoop through Grandma King’s room.

  All she needed was a lookout.

  Upstairs, she could hear the echo of voices in the bathroom; the door was slightly ajar. Evidently Reagan and Dayna were in there doing their makeup or something. Meiner started to turn and then paused as Reagan’s muffled voice came through the door.

  “I’m just concerned. You heard Bronagh. You got pulled in because of your emotional state.”

  “I’m fine, I swear. And she said it could be something like that, not that exactly.”

  There was a pause, and the thump of a drawer. “I just…feel like lately whenever we try to talk about anything serious, you push me away.”

  Oh god. Meiner grabbed the banister, half wanting to turn and flee down the stairs, half rooted to the spot. This was horrifying and fascinating and completely none of her business.

  “That’s not what I’m trying to do.” Dayna’s voice was tense. “It’s just that I don’t deal with this stuff well. It works better for me to just…not think about it.”

  “You mean push it down temporarily. You know, if you force it all into a tiny little box, it will eventually explode.”

  “Oh my god, that’s so dramatic.” Dayna laughed, and then the laughter cut off and she sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. That’s just how I deal. Can we talk about this stuff later, when people stop showing up murdered? Once we’ve checked off ‘catch serial killer’ and ‘stave off impending doom’ from our to-do list, then I’ll sign up for therapy or something.”

  Reagan sighed. “Abeg, I don’t believe you.”

  A moment later the door swung open, and Reagan emerged from the bathroom. She stopped short upon seeing Meiner, who nodded and continued up the last step and into the hallway. Hopefully her face wasn’t turning red. She could feel her cheeks burning.

  For a second, she thought Reagan was going to accuse her of eavesdropping, but she only slipped past her and down the stairs without a word.

  When Dayna emerged a moment later, she blinked at Meiner, who was now standing on the threshold of Grandma King’s room. Meiner cleared her throat and said quickly, “Remember saying I should find out what Grandma King is up to? I’m going to search her room. Can you wait here?”

  Dayna frowned, darting a look down the hallway. “I didn’t say I’d stand guard. I don’t know if I want to be a part of your coven’s dirty business.”

  “Come on. Just for a minute? You said I should look, and everyone is downstairs. It’s perfect.” Meiner kept her voice to a whisper, pausing long enough that she and Dayna could hear the activities downstairs. Grandma King’s voice was loud and cross as she snapped back at something Cora had said. “They’ll be fighting for ages. Just stand there and make noise if you hear anyone on the stairs.”

  “What noise? You want me to caw like a crow or something?”

  Meiner snorted. “No, just…rap on the wall or something.”

  “Brilliant, that will look super inconspicuous, me just standing here thumping away at the wall.” Dayna was starting to cave, though; Meiner could tell by the way she uncrossed her arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall with a sigh. “Fine,” she said at last. “But if you get caught, don’t tell anyone I helped you. Your gran scares the shit out of me.”

  “Thanks.” Meiner took a breath and crossed the threshold.

  She started with the trunks in the corner where Grandma King kept her tools. If there were signs of black magic being used anywhere, it would be here. There were three ironbound chests, and though they were locked with combinations rather than old-fashioned lock and key, Meiner knew all of them.

  She started with the far-left trunk. She lifted the lid and sat back on her haunches, blowing out a breath in disgust. It reeked like stale incense.

  On top, there were thin silk scarves in various colors. These she knew were often used in protection spells. Gran would rip off a piece and bind the ingredients inside. Underneath she found bundles of herbs, dried berries, loose leaf tea, and a number of small animal skulls—mostly rodents, she’d guess. These she avoided touching.

  There was also a small box in the corner, and Meiner lifted the lid, grimacing.

  Bones.

  These days, Gran used a combination of smooth river rocks and the bones of a chicken to divine the future. But these didn’t look like chicken bones.

  Pale and bleached with age, they sat on a bed of red velvet. As Meiner stared at them, a cold wave of recognition hit her. She made a disgusted noise in her throat and slammed the box shut. They brought back memories of lingering in the doorway, peering out while Gran crouched on the back porch, throwing the bones so they scattered with a hair-raising clatter over the wooden boards. Then low rhythmic chanting and an occasional rumble and shudder from the house, as if the very earth beneath was disturbed.

  Meiner shivered. So, the old woman had kept the bones. That was…disturbing.

  Not for the first time, Meiner wondered if it wasn’t simply old age causing her grandmother’s mind to go. It wasn’t as if the doctors could diagnose a case of black magic.

  Why had she kept these? And more concerning still…why bring them here?

  Her sense of unease growing, Meiner quickly searched the other trunks. At first there was nothing damning, or even remotely interesting—only more spell ingredients, a pack of black-and-gold tarot cards that her grandmother rarely used anymore, and in one corner of the last chest, concealed in a velvet bag, a strange, squat little statue of a man with the head of a goat, which Meiner flipped upside down and examined carefully. The statue, while incredibly creepy, did not seem possessed of any black magic, and there didn’t seem to be a hidden compartment anywhere. Still, she quickly snapped a picture of it on her phone before putting it back in the corner, disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach.

  She made sure to close and lock all the trunks carefully and then wandered through the rest of the room.

  She stopped short in front of the mirror. There was a single, hand-painted card stuck in the frame, just above the plastic-bagged toothbrush on the counter. Scarlet rope ran around the edges and ended in a noose in one corner. In the center a grinning skull peered out. Either by accident or very deliberat
ely, Grandma King had set the standing hand mirror across from it; Meiner stared, transfixed, at the death’s-head reflected again and again, an endless hallway filled with black ink skulls.

  Then she shook herself, reaching out to snatch the card off the frame. Her gran could be so damn macabre sometimes. Her sense of humor had taken a strange, dark turn since the dementia.

  Meiner stuffed the card in her pocket and turned, noticing one of the bottom dresser drawers was cracked open. She stepped forward, bending to dig through Gran’s socks, wrinkling her nose at the scratchy wool.

  Her hand hit something through the fabric—the bottom of the drawer, she thought at first. But no, she felt it give slightly under her fingertip. Meiner shoved the socks out of the way, revealing a leather book. Her heart jumped, and she was reaching for it, just as she heard a hard thump on the wall. She froze, then hurried through the bedroom and back into the hall, only to find Dayna gone from her spot on the wall.

  “What were you doing?”

  She whirled around, finding herself face-to-face with Cora. Meiner frowned at her. She hadn’t noticed it this morning, too occupied with Dayna and all the research they’d been doing, but Cora seemed different up close. She was paler than usual, and her face had a sharper quality to it. She looked tired and gaunt, though she’d tried to cover it up with lots of face powder and red lipstick. She was even wearing jewelry, which wasn’t like her: a long necklace of rosary beads with a moon pendant, and a pair of thick golden cuffs that went halfway up her forearms.

  Cora’s eyes glittered as she stepped closer, peering past the doorway.

  “Going through Grandma King’s sock drawer, are we? You know she’ll kill you if you touch her stuff, especially that.”

  “What I’m doing is none of your business.” Meiner’s temper flared instantly.

  “I don’t think Grandma King would approve of this, do you?” Cora glanced deliberately toward the stairs, brows raised.

  Meiner shoved past her, knocking Cora into the door frame. “Hey!” Cora snapped at her. “What were you looking for?”