by E. Latimer
She knew she would try to kill one of them. All of them. She’d become more like her gran than ever before. She didn’t care.
The knowledge gave her a rush of adrenaline, and she glanced toward the tomb, hands twitching and tingling. The rage needed release.
At last Bronagh stepped back. Her lined face was slack, her eyes shut as she raised her hands. “The gods’ blessings and protection on you, sisters.” Then her eyes snapped open, and her face went hard. “We should go.”
Yemi tilted her head back, staring up at the dark sky. “Oya, we don’t have much time.”
Meiner set off at a run, plunging into the darkness. Blood rushed in her ears, blocking out her ragged breaths. She ignored Cora, who cried out behind her, “Meiner, wait! We go together.”
Bronagh’s voice was already growing distant as Meiner’s long stride took her deeper into the darkness. “Don’t waste your breath, girl. The devil himself couldn’t stop her.”
The clouds overhead were so thick that only the barest slivers of moonlight slid through. She shouldn’t have been able to see, and yet she could. Something else the Callighan women had obviously thought of. Grudgingly she admitted to herself that the magic had been necessary. Still, it had eaten up precious minutes, and Meiner put on another burst of speed.
Nearing the tomb, she could make out the shape of it more clearly. They were approaching the back. She could see movement at the base, someone walking around the stone wall. One of the brothers had seen her.
She slowed as she neared the edge, and it was probably what saved her. A second later she ran head-on into something solid where there’d been nothing before. The force snapped Meiner’s head back, and she heard something crack. Pain spiked through the center of her face, and warmth gushed from her nose and down her chin. She staggered and went down hard on her knees.
It wasn’t just her face. She could feel the first layer of her protection gone, shredded through by the dark, vicious energy that lined the space before her. When she looked up, eyes watering, she could make out the distortion in the air. Anger surged through her. If she’d paid more attention, she’d have seen that, but she’d been too eager to push forward, to get to Dayna. This was why emotions were dangerous. They made you reckless.
The thought was distant, a faint echo in the storm of rage. It didn’t matter. Broken noses didn’t matter, pain didn’t matter. All that mattered was Dayna.
She’d been such an idiot this morning. She wasn’t leaving town when this was over. Dayna was the only thing that made any of this bullshit worth it. She was the one good thing Meiner had, the only thing she hadn’t fucked up. Until this morning, until she’d almost broken that, too.
Cora’s voice came from behind her, exasperated. “Meiner, you complete muppet.”
Meiner said nothing, just stayed there in the center of the field, still reeling. Something was digging into her left knee, a rock, probably, but it was only a footnote to the pain in her face. She started as something brushed her cheek. Cora’s hands were cool, her slender fingers smoothing over Meiner’s brow, onto the bridge of her nose. She flinched, about to pull away, and then the pain began to recede, slowly at first, dulling a bit at a time. Then it was entirely gone, and her shoulders slumped in relief.
“It’s not fixed, but at least you won’t feel it for a few hours.”
Meiner stared up at her. She knew what sort of picture they made, her on her knees, her face a mask of blood. Cora standing over her, expression calm, determined. The clear leader.
How long had Cora been wishing for this?
She should have been grateful. The pain in her face was gone. In fact, she felt stronger, better than before. But with it came a slow, creeping feeling across her skin. Cora should not have been able to do that with a simple touch. Magic was rituals and chants and the slow, steady buildup of energy. What Cora had done was a small thing on the surface, but it shouldn’t have been possible. Not for her. She wasn’t even ascended yet.
Even as Meiner thought it, she realized it was wrong. Somehow she knew, just looking at Cora. At the shadows on her face, at the hungry light burning in her eyes. She had seen that look before, on Dayna’s face after the ceremony. It had both fascinated and disturbed her.
“You did it, didn’t you?” Meiner whispered, and she was surprised to hear her own voice break, to hear the hurt buried there. “You ascended.”
Cora didn’t speak, only continued to stare down at Meiner. She did not deny it.
When Meiner took a deep breath, it felt like her lungs were full of shattered glass.
The others had caught up, and still Cora said nothing, only offered Meiner a hand, which she took reluctantly. The other girl tugged her to her feet, lips pressed shut. The silence was as good as an admission. Cora did not look apologetic or ashamed, but she did flick Meiner a wary gaze, as if she were expecting her to say something.
Yes, it hurt. But it didn’t matter now. None of her previous worries mattered, about the coven, about becoming her grandmother. Grandma King was gone, and Dayna was still there, and Meiner would kill all three brothers to get to her. And if they’d done something to her, anything at all, she’d kill them for that, too.
Dayna was still alive. She had to be. Gods, let her be alive.
Brenna arrived, stretching out a hand, bracelets jangling faintly in the silence. “It’s down,” she said curtly.
Bronagh kept her voice low. “They know we’re coming. We spread out, half around one side, half around the other. We want them in our circle. Does everyone know the shield knot protection spell?”
It was the most basic of spells. Everyone nodded.
Faye turned a stern scowl on them. “Let us do the heavy lifting, just keep to the circle and send your protection over us.”
Nobody argued, though Meiner thought bitterly that she hated feeling so helpless, forced to stand back and let someone else save Dayna. She wanted to charge in and start swinging.
“We have no element of surprise,” Bronagh said. “But just keep walking, keep talking. We’ll surround them. Let’s go.” She started forward, and the way she moved was regal, as if she were making an entrance at a party, rather than walking over a dark field toward a massive stone tomb.
They followed, and Meiner pressed eagerly forward. She’d be the first one after the Callighans, she was determined, though Cora was matching her pace, apparently just as eager to get there. Meiner glanced sideways. The blond girl’s expression was hard and glittering. There was a smile playing on the edge of her lips. Meiner’s stomach turned. Cora wasn’t scared or worried: she was excited. She was anticipating this.
They split up, and Yemi, Reagan, and Faye disappeared around the side of the tomb.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, they rounded the side and the entrance came into sight. The brothers had set up their ritual to the left of the tomb.
The six-pointed hexagram, glistening and bone white in the silvery light, the bundles of oak leaves, the stone basin, the goblet of blood—it was not a ritual that Meiner had seen before, and yet, it was familiar somehow. The sight of it felt like lead weighing on her chest.
Two figures stood looking toward the center of the star, and one was turning to face them, but all Meiner could see was the figure crouched in the center of the hexagram. Dayna, her face bruised and dirt-smudged, her gray sweater falling off one shoulder. When she spotted them, her eyes went wide with alarm, and Meiner felt rage crash through her, molten hot. It mingled with the buzz in her system, with the magic lying dormant there, and she lifted her hands. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, maybe lunge forward and strangle the nearest man. Maybe throw a burst of uncontrolled magic.
Before she could do anything, Cora broke the line and hurtled forward.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CORA
It was the magic that drove her forward. As soon as the first figure, dark and broad-shouldered, his eyes glittering in their mask of blood, turned around and smiled, so
mething deep in the pit of her stomach roared to life. The magic surged through her body, sending raw energy crashing through her. It begged to be released. Demanded.
The sensation drove all rational thought from her head, and she charged forward before they could stop her. Throwing up her hands, she let the power burst up and out. She heard the chaotic laughter of the goddess in her ears, and a rictus grin stretched her lips, an echo of Caorthannach’s mirth.
The bloody-faced man screamed as he was thrown, brought up short as his back met the nearest tree, folding his body into a U-shape with an ugly snap. He crumpled at the base of the trunk and did not get up.
Now that she was near enough, she could make out the hexagram—made of bones, she realized with a cold and terrible thrill—and Dayna within it. The objects on the points of the star, too: goblet, stone bowl, oak branches…
Grandma King’s words echoed in her ears: You’ll know the time when it comes.
Cora’s blood sang with recognition. She could already hear the chant in her head. The power battered against the insides of her skin. Everything was as it should be.
Now. This was it.
Her moment to put things right. Kill the brothers and trap Carman forever.
She realized a second too late that she’d been distracted by the hexagram, just as one of the brothers turned from the crumpled figure beside the tree. He smiled, sharp and savage as his hand snapped up. An invisible force slammed into Cora’s side, snapping her head to the left, smashing her body against the earth. Her face pressed into the cool grass, and the sky tilted and blurred overhead.
Someone was yelling. No, chanting. Several someones, from either side of her. The fluid syllables of Old Irish washed over her as she squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to pull air into her lungs.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
MEINER
At first all Meiner could see was Dayna, lying in the center of the hexagram, her face pale. Then Cora charged and everything went to shit. In the flash of stunned silence between Cora throwing the first brother into the tree and the second brother retaliating, Meiner managed to collect herself enough to figure it out.
The hexagram, the tomb, the objects laid out before it…it was all familiar. Incredibly, she recognized it. This was what Grandma King had been teaching her, or, at least, what she’d started teaching her. What she’d been preparing her for. Of course, all of that had ended abruptly. Whatever Meiner was supposed to do, she didn’t know the full ceremony.
Frustration surged through her, but it was short-lived, because Cora hit the ground hard beside her. Reagan and Yemi continued chanting, but the three Callighan women moved inward, toward the hexagram, joining hands. The wind caught Meiner’s hair and dragged it across her face, and through the curtain of white it looked as though Bronagh’s pupils had dilated completely, filling her eyes so that only darkness stared out of the old woman’s face.
Three voices spoke in perfect unison over the sound of the chanting, mingled with the howl of the wind. Or…became the howl of the wind. She wasn’t sure.
The remaining brothers braced themselves. The nearest one struggled to pull his sword from the sheath at his waist, fighting some invisible force inch by inch, expression twisted with pain. When the blade at last rang free Faye faltered in her recitation. It was enough that the man took a step forward against the press of their magic, an ugly smile crawling across his battered face. Moonlight glittered along the length of his blade.
The shaved-headed brother turned toward Dayna, pulling a hunting knife from inside his jacket.
Reagan and Yemi were still chanting, voices ringing out more loudly still, and Reagan pressed forward, tugging out of her mother’s grasp. She searched the ground for something as she recited her prayer, coming up with a fist-sized rock. She threw it, hard, and the rock hit him with enough force to knock him off his feet, knife flying out of his hand.
Meiner checked Cora quickly—she was struggling to her feet—and then turned on her heel. Half crouched, she started toward Dayna, and then froze. Incredibly, the man at the base of the tree had come to life, crawling toward the hexagram on his hands and knees. His long hair was matted with blood, and his back was unmistakably broken. His progress was a grotesque parody of human movement, a jerky puppet show. He looked up at Meiner, at her shock and disgust, and his bloody smile was like a wound in the center of his face. In his hand was his brother’s hunting knife.
No.
Meiner launched herself forward, and for the second time that night, she felt something smash into the length of her body, sending her staggering back with a burst of pain.
Along the edge of the tomb Reagan broke off her chant and brought a hand up, calling out, “Ar ais as!” A deft twist of her wrist, and the man was flung backward several feet. Dubh had begun moving toward them, sword raised menacingly, and Reagan threw her hands up, resuming the protection chant.
Impossibly the bloody-faced brother was still moving. His body seemed even more twisted now, more broken. And yet somehow, he was inching his way across the ground.
Meiner barely felt any pain, barely paid attention as the blood trickled down her face, too intent on the crawling man. He was heading toward the hexagram. Toward Dayna.
No. “Dayna, behind you!”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
DAYNA
Dayna watched everything from a distance, shock hollowing her insides.
She was rooted to the spot. An invisible hand was squeezing her lungs, and she felt each panicked gasp in the closing of her own throat. Horror seized her bones and muscles, freezing her to the spot.
Meiner’s cry woke her, but it was too late.
She shot to her feet, turned, and the bloody-faced brother barreled into her. The bone dagger in her hand went up, and she slashed at his face just as she saw the knife in his hand, a moment before it plunged past her skin and filled her shoulder with fire. The bloody-faced brother stumbled back with a sharp cry, clutching his face, but Dayna wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. The bone dagger tumbled to the grass as white-hot pain drove up into the side of her chest. Then she was on the ground, in the center of the six-pointed star, and she could only see the endless night sky.
It was getting darker, and at first, she thought it was the edges of her vision fading, that she was sliding into unconsciousness. A moment later, she realized that a dark shadow was slowly moving across the full moon, blocking out its light.
No moon, no stars, she thought. Only darkness. And then, so much blood.
There was. It gushed from her shoulder, staining the grass, soaking into the thirsty soil. It felt like her body had an endless supply to offer, and it was giving it all. When she glanced over, her stomach surged, and she turned her head quickly, sure she was going to be sick. Through the bloody wound she’d seen a flash of white.
The bone in her shoulder.
Shouldn’t she feel it more? Shouldn’t the pain be worse?
The witch hunter loomed over her suddenly, his back hunched and crooked. He lashed out with a boot, kicking over the goblet of blood, splattering its contents across the nearest point of the star. He limped forward, and Dayna shrieked as he seized her wounded shoulder. Blackness surged at the corners of her vision as he flipped her over onto her stomach, pressing her shoulder hard into the dirt at the sixth point of the hexagram.
The earth trembled beneath her in response, and there was a cry of triumph from the witch hunter.
This was followed by an answering scream of outrage from across the hexagram. She thought it was Meiner, and then she couldn’t remember why Meiner would be screaming in the first place.
The air was restless, stirring. The wind whipped the witches’ hair around their faces and screamed past the standing rocks, but nothing touched her in the center of the hexagram. Nothing could reach her here, not while she was busy with the business of dying.
Something in the earth beneath Dayna shifted once again, and she shut her eyes, head spinning. The spell
was almost complete. Carman was waking.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
MEINER
Meiner pulled herself to her feet in time to see the witch hunter with the broken back plunge his knife into Dayna’s shoulder.
“Dayna!” The protest was ripped from her throat, her cry mingling with the other witches’. With Reagan’s scream.
Meiner was moving, running for the hexagram. Her only thought was to get Dayna out of it before the witch hunter went back. Dayna wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be.
But there was so much blood. It spilled out onto the grass and stained the fabric of Dayna’s shirt, spreading alarmingly fast. The witch hunter stooped down to grab Dayna, and Meiner put on another burst of desperate speed.
The ground surged beneath her, bucking and heaving under her feet as a low rumble started up, growing louder. The shadow was almost completely across the moon now. The night was so black it was hard to make out more than shapes in the darkness.
Meiner cried out, gritting her teeth, stumbling toward Dayna on shaky legs as the earth surged up to meet her, knocking her off balance. Everyone else seemed equally thrown off; even the brothers weren’t moving, though the one with the sword attempted to stumble toward the Callighans.
After a moment the earth stilled, the roar breaking off. Meiner dove forward, throwing herself on the brother with the broken back. She jerked him up and off Dayna, a savage scream ripping from her throat as she threw him down outside the hexagram and put her fist into his face.
The skin on her knuckles bruised after three punches, broke after five. She hardly felt it.
She was roaring, throat raw, blood rushing in her ears, hitting him again and again. His face was a bloody mess, but she didn’t stop.
The buzz coursed through her, lighting every inch of her skin. She was alive, alive, alive. It felt so good to give in, to let the rage take over. She hit him again and again, teeth bared in a savage snarl.