by E J Elwin
These kids hadn’t been brought back to life. Their bodies had been reanimated but there was something else inside of them. That which crawls without a soul…
A girl in a soiled light blue dress was the first to find her feet. She had long blonde hair tied in two braids matted with dirt. I seized my axes from where I’d dropped them on the grass as she walked jerkily toward us. Her milky-white eyes found Lizzie and then her rotting features contracted in anger.
“Lizzie!” she hissed. She had a horrible inhuman voice that sounded more like a snake’s rattle. “Why do you get to live and we don’t?” she rasped. “What makes you so special?!”
Lizzie cried out in terror and then the corpse lunged at her.
In one swift move, Sylvie swung her sword and sliced the dead girl’s head off. It fell to the ground with the muted thump of a soccer ball, and without a single drop of blood. The body looked like a headless puppet as it followed, the stump of the neck dry and dusty.
“Lorna—” Lizzie gasped, looking down at the decapitated corpse.
“They aren’t your friends!” said Harriet. “They’re Malevolent spirits!”
The other dead kids heard her, and also seemed to understand that one of their number had just been felled. They hissed like angry snakes and bared their teeth as they stood and stumbled toward us.
“Beheading, everyone!” Jessica shouted, unsheathing her katana. “Beheading or fire for the undead!” She darted forward and sliced the head off a snarling boy who looked no older than fourteen. Harriet’s knives burst from her leather satchel and soared into the air. Hortensia twirled her quarterstaff above her head and smacked two of the dead faces that lurched toward her. Sylvie stood in front of Lizzie as she shakily raised her crossbow.
“You can do it, Lizzie, I know you can!” she shouted.
Lizzie steadied her grip and fired off an arrow at a dead boy that stumbled toward her. It struck the corpse in the forehead which then crumpled to the ground.
“Good girl!” Sylvie yelled. She flew about ten feet into the air and then came shooting back down, slicing a dead boy cleanly in half as she did so, her sword striking the earth with trembling force. At the same moment, there was a crash of thunder from above. The sky was almost entirely black, the stars all but gone, and I knew it was because rain clouds had come.
Rain, standard after a resurrection spell… Harriet’s voice echoed in my head.
Thick raindrops pelted onto my hair as a dead boy and a dead girl lunged toward me, much faster than I’d yet seen any of the corpses move. It was as if the rain had invigorated them.
I clapped my axes together and dancing yellow orange flames sprung up on the crescent blades. I ran at the corpses and sliced off the boy’s head and then the girl’s. I noticed that many of the boys wore suits, and I knew it was because their parents had chosen for them to be buried that way, the way Connor’s parents had buried him in his best suit. Similarly, most of the girls wore dresses.
I looked around and found Deidre in front of the stone angel, perfectly dry as she watched the chaos from the comfort of her force field. She looked bored, like she’d seen enough of this ghoulish spectacle. She glanced up at the rain falling around the magical barrier, then saw me watching her. She smiled and waved, and then she was gone, the dark swan standing on the grass in her place.
She spread her wings wide and flew up past the angel and out of the force field into the rainy air. The barrier flickered in blue as she left it and I knew it no longer stood. I watched her fly into the rain as if in slow motion, gripped my flaming axes, and charged forward. I darted around the stumbling corpses, keeping my gaze on the swan flying into the thickening downpour. There was a flash of lightning and I saw her clearly for less than a second, and seized my chance.
I channeled all my focus into the axe in my right hand, then hurled it as hard as I could at the dark swan. The axe streaked through the sheets of rain like a fiery shooting star and then I heard a squawk— but the swan continued to fly. She batted her wings fiercely, flying toward the little white church in the distance. I sprinted after her, wanting only to make her feel pain for what she had done. I caught a glimpse of my mom lying in the grass, her clothes getting soaked with rain, but I kept going.
“Arthur, wait!” I heard Harriet shout from behind me.
She could handle herself against the stumbling dead kids. They all could. Sylvie alone could probably eliminate them all. I might only have this one last chance to kill the dark swan.
I gripped my remaining axe and ran after Deidre as hard as I could, wishing I had a broomstick, wishing I could fly. The dark swan, however, didn’t fly up into the sky. Instead, she glided straight for the little church and flew neatly through its doors, which were ajar. I raced after her, dimly recalling the two Brotherhood members and aware that they could very likely be inside the church. I didn’t care. I wasn’t afraid of them. What were two more goons with guns? I had firepower of my own.
I ran up the rain-soaked front steps to the church, then burst through the heavy wooden doors. There were no lights on and for a moment, all I could see was my flaming axe, and then a wave of soft golden light pulsed to life across the room behind the altar. A long wooden table bearing dozens of votive candles came into view, every single candle suddenly alight. At the same time, the heavy doors slammed shut behind me and there was the clicking sound of a lock.
I automatically pushed on the doors and tried turning the locks, but it was as if they had been cemented shut. I knew it was Deidre’s magic, as were the candles, and that my entrance had triggered it. I looked up at the high vaulted ceiling and at the rows of wooden pews illuminated by the candlelight, but there was no sign of the black swan or the pale woman in the white dress.
Instead, a masked man stepped out from the shadows beside the table of candles. I raised my flaming axe but there was no gun in the man’s hands. We briefly stared at each other before he spoke.
“Well, if it isn’t the little witch.”
Ice creeped over my skin and into my veins as I recognized the man’s voice. It was a voice I would know anywhere. He reached up and pulled off his black Brotherhood mask, and my blood froze as I saw the familiar face. The face of my father.
CHAPTER 26
Magick Malevolent
Dad?” I gasped, and the flames on my crescent axe suddenly went out as I said it.
“Arthur. Tell me, what did I do to deserve a son like you? A faggot and a witch.”
“You killed Mom,” I breathed.
“Witch scum,” he said, with stunning indifference. “No doubt that’s where you got it.”
“She wasn’t a witch. And even if she was— how could you? How could you do this?”
I couldn’t believe it. I knew my dad was awful, knew he would detest the idea of witches, but a member of the Brotherhood? It had to mean he’d been raised that way. Harriet’s words echoed in my head: indoctrinated from birth… groomed to be vicious, misogynistic killing machines… I’d lived my whole life under the same roof as a witch hunter.
“Witches are vermin,” he said in that indifferent tone. “They need to be exterminated.”
“What about Deidre?” I demanded. “Why don’t you exterminate her?”
“She’s helping us get rid of the rest of you,” he said. “Seems to really hate you all…”
Suddenly, he bolted straight at me, sprinting down the aisle faster than I’d seen him move in a long time. I could have thrown my axe and stopped him before he reached me— but I didn’t. I dived aside and tore around the perimeter of the pews toward the front of the room. I had a sudden flash of memory of the times he’d chased me as a small child, both for fun and when I’d done something wrong. This time, however, I was pretty sure he meant to kill me.
He stayed at the other end of the room, watching me as I edged around the pews toward the altar. He moved with the familiar skulking of the Brotherhood that reminded me of wolves. A deep rumble of thunder boomed from outside as w
e faced each other across the long aisle.
“Arthur, honey,” he said in a dangerous voice. “Don’t you want to give your old dad a hug?”
I had never in my life heard him use the word ‘honey’. It was so false, so perversely the opposite of affectionate, that it made my skin crawl. “My dad doesn’t hug,” I said.
He bolted again, barreling toward me like a running back in football, and then I threw my axe. It struck him hard in the chest, right on his black jacket, but then bounced off, landing on the stone floor with a clatter and sliding under one of the pews. I looked at the jacket in confusion. It was as if it were made of rubber. He smiled at the look on my face and then clicked his tongue.
“Trying to kill your own father?” he said. “Shame on you.”
I raised my right hand, willing it to ignite— but it didn’t. I flicked it again, but nothing happened. He advanced on me, watching my struggle with evident enjoyment. Then he pounced.
I dived aside again and skirted the length of the pews, sprinting back to the front doors. I flicked and clenched my hands, begging my flames to appear, but they didn’t. Panic ripped through me like electrical shocks. Had I lost my powers? Had Deidre cast a spell to suppress them? I tried not to show the terror I was feeling as I faced my dad across the aisle.
I looked around for my axe but it was somewhere under the pews. It was a powerful enchanted weapon but it had bounced so easily off my dad’s chest. He had to be wearing some sort of armor, some enchanted protective vest under his jacket that Deidre had made for him. I would have to strike him in the head or face, and since my fire wasn’t coming, I’d have to use my fists. I thought of Sylvie out in the cemetery. She would flatten my dad like a bug. But I was on my own for the moment.
I gathered all my strength and then charged down the aisle at him, registering the look of surprise on his face. I leapt at him, meaning to tackle him, but he threw his arms out and grabbed me, lifting me clear off my feet. He squeezed me hard around my midsection as if to crush me, but I didn’t feel any pain as I punched him in the face as hard as I could over and over again. He recoiled and swung me around, stumbling into the pews, before throwing me to the stone floor.
Before I could find my footing, he leaned down and struck me across the face with such force that I saw stars. The room slipped briefly out of focus and then he kicked me savagely in the stomach. My insides cried out in protest and I felt like I could throw up. I tried again to get to my feet, then he punched me with his other hand. I fell back to the stone floor, tasting blood.
He coughed out a panting laugh. “Look at you, Arthur, running around with your shiny little axes. Just asking for someone to beat the FAG out of you!” He kicked me in the chest as he said it and I twitched from the pain. “You devil people call yourselves sacred,” he spat. “There’s nothing sacred about you. You will burn for eternity in Hell. You turned your back on the Lord. On the church.”
“Yeah?” I gasped, looking up at him. “See what a lovely person it’s made out of you?”
He reached down and grabbed me by the shoulders, forcing me into a standing position, then wrapped his hands around my neck. I gasped for air and my hands jerked to where he held me, but his grip was too strong. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t fight him. The room blurred around me. I couldn’t believe that after everything, the one to end me would be my father.
“Is that all you got, witch?!” he shouted. “No funny little spell?!”
His grip tightened around my neck, and I felt myself start to slip away. Would it be so bad? I had been ready to die only two days before. I would just be meeting up with Connor sooner than we’d anticipated… My love, you won’t believe what happened to me…
A crystal clear image of the two of us dancing in the Halfway Place in our tuxedos flashed across my mind, the magical color-changing stars twinkling overhead… Then other images followed it like slides in a projection. I saw myself hugging Harriet in her bedroom, saw Jessica open her arms to embrace me when we first met, saw Jasper giving me a bear hug in the woods… I saw Sylvie, Lizzie, and Hortensia, the fireflies dancing around us, the three of them pulling me into a group hug… I heard my mom’s voice, her last words telling me she loved me. Then I heard Connor’s voice. It came in fragments but I understood it clearly: I love you… More than anything… Forever… My hero…
Energy exploded in my chest like it had when I first saw my fire in the trees behind Huerta’s. The room cleared up around me, and a jolt of air shot into my lungs even though I was still locked in my dad’s stranglehold. His taunting words reached me with razor-sharp clarity.
“Come on, don’t you devil people have powers?” he asked. “I bet you can’t even get that right. Useless faggot!”
Flames surged through my veins. My right hand ignited at my side. My power was back.
“That’s—” I grunted, “flaming faggot to you!”
I raised my burning right hand and pressed it against his face with slapping force. He let out a piercing yell as the skin on his face seared and sizzled. He let go of my neck and tried to tug my fiery palm from his face, but the flames reared and scorched his hands. I pulled my flaming hand back and then struck him hard in the face with it, sending him stumbling backward.
Angry red skin hung off his face. His eyes were wide with shock and insanity, the way the Patriarch’s had been. He was able to take one lurching step toward me before the fire on my hand exploded in a dazzling yellow orange blaze that fully illuminated the room.
He let out a horrific scream which was quickly drowned out as his face and head burned. When the fire pulled back, the man I had known as my father was unrecognizable, his face charred to a crisp. He tottered around blindly like the undead bodies outside after they’d been decapitated, then fell backward onto the sanctuary. He twitched once and then moved no more.
I gazed at the body for a few seconds, watching the smoke rise from the burnt face, then turned my back on it. I walked to the wooden doors and remembered there was a spell on them to keep them locked. I would have to burn them down or else try a window. Then I remembered my axe lying somewhere under one of the pews. I turned around to look for it and then saw her.
Deidre, back in her human form, crouched over my dad’s body. I saw the streak of red on her left arm where my axe had caught her. Before the command was fully articulated in my mind, both of my hands burst into flames. I hurtled toward her, raised my hands to incinerate her, when her eyes glowed blood-red and she made the most terrible high-pitched squawking sound I’d ever heard. It was the sound of the dark swan, even though she was in her human form.
The squawk felt like needles in my ears, but that wasn’t all it did. My feet left the ground and I felt myself flying through the air before slamming painfully into the wooden doors and then falling to the cold stone floor. Stars popped across my vision and my body felt like one big bruise as I struggled to get up. When I finally found my feet, I saw that Deidre wasn’t alone.
A masked man stood next to her. For one horrible moment, I thought she had somehow brought my dad back to life, and then I saw his body still lying where it had fallen. This new arrival was the second Brotherhood member meant to be here. He pulled off his mask and I felt another rush of familiarity as I saw the face of the man I’d seen in the vision of Deidre as an adult; the member of the Brotherhood who had fallen in love with her at first sight by that creek.
“Burned Witch,” said Deidre in her high psychotic voice. “Meet the Patriarch!”
I gaped at them in shock. I was sure I had known who the Patriarch was, the man with the carved wooden features who had led the attack on Harriet’s house, the man who Lizzie had killed in the clearing with her crossbow. It had seemed a given that he was the Patriarch, the way he had so easily commanded the other men. He had also been older, the expected age of a man others would refer to as a patriarch. The man who now stood before me seemed far too young to be the leader of so many.
I was working through my surpri
se when the man suddenly lifted something to his mouth and began to chew. I wondered how he could possibly be snacking at a time like this, and then I saw the thick red stains on his mouth. I glanced at Deidre’s hands and noticed the red stains there too… I looked down at my dad’s body, saw the gaping hole in his chest, the thick dark liquid oozing out onto the floor beside him, and then the whole macabre thing hit me.
The thirteenth heart. But how? My dad wasn’t a witch. Deidre had sought only witch hearts for her demon tribute—
“The heart of a man dead by patricide!” yelled Deidre gleefully, as though sensing my thoughts. “An adequate substitute for a witch’s heart! Especially when the man is the father of one of the Sacred Four! Thank you, Burned Witch, for giving us this gift!”
I watched in horror as the man ate the entirety of my dad’s heart and then licked his fingers. His body seized up, becoming rigid like a string pulled tight. A breeze passed through the room even though the doors and windows were closed. The votive candles cast flickering shadows on the walls. The man convulsed as if he were being electrocuted, then his body started to change. His limbs jerked and made horrible snapping noises as if they were being broken, but then they grew, extending outward at odd angles like tree limbs. He hunched over but then shot upward, growing a foot in an instant. His skin changed color and seemed to thicken, growing something on it that looked like dark green moss…
I jolted out of my shock long enough to realize that the man was becoming a demon. I ignited both of my hands and aimed them at him, when my ears were assaulted again by Deidre’s deafening squawk. I became airborne once more and was thrown back against the doors.
The room slanted and everything hurt. I crawled achingly to my feet and saw Deidre’s ecstatic expression as she gazed at her lover, her pale face glowing in the candlelight.
“We did it, Damon!” she shouted.