Dominic’s here, said Gwenlyn’s voice. My chest tightened momentarily with the update. Carter, that other ghost, is with him, but no one else. No sign that he suspects anything of us. He’s rounding us up a few at a time, telling us to go to the town square. Kinda perfect, right? We’re going to rendezvous at the main house and catch him off guard when he follows. How’s it going with the tree?
It’s going, I replied. Stall Dominic as long as you can, but be careful. I can’t believe that he’d march into our homes without some kind of defense mechanism in place. He’s not that stupid.
I beg to differ. Even telepathically, I could hear the sass in Gwenlyn’s tone.
Seriously, Gwenlyn.
I got it, Morgan. Stop worrying.
She disconnected, but that certainly didn’t stop me from ruminating on all the ways things could go wrong in the next few minutes. Hopefully, Gwenlyn was smart enough to stay out of Dominic’s warpath. I refocused my attention on the task at hand. The yew tree deserved my full awareness.
Laurel began to sing, her voice lilting as it wrapped around the Latin words of the spell. One by one, the other witches joined in, stacking harmonies and intertwining new melodies with Laurel’s original song. The yew tree stretched upward, as though it were trying to touch the cupola of colors that haloed around us. Cassandra added her melodious soprano to the mix, her hands folded neatly in front of her as she crooned to the yew tree. Finally, I opened my own mouth to sing. It had never been one of my talents—I could barely carry a tune—but my addition to the tree’s song, no matter how rough, was imperative.
As the song continued its crescendo, my mother and I drew upon our craft. Then, at the exact same time, we directed our joint spell at the yew tree. A spark ignited amongst its lower leaves, jumping from branch to branch at an alarming rate. The fire burned a fluorescent blue, a color that seemed derived from the combined colors of mine and my mother’s witchcraft. It grew steadily, consuming the yew tree in a cerulean blaze. The fire snaked down the trunk of the tree and spread out to the tree’s roots, where Cassandra and I stood. It hovered near Cassandra’s feet, as if waiting for some sort of final command.
Confused, I paused in my singing to ask Cassandra, “What’s going on?”
My mother raised her voice to be heard over the chorus of voices. “Dorothy hid more than one secret from you, Morgan.”
“What do you mean?”
My mother lifted my chin with one finger. “This ritual requires more than just the transference of leadership. Five Summers women gave themselves to the yew tree in order to seal its protection of our power. To regain that power, we must also give something to the yew tree.”
“Give what?” I asked, my voice quivering.
There was a beat in which the fire crackled and the coven sang, but I was deaf to all of it as my mother responded to my question: “Ourselves.”
“I don’t understand.”
Cassandra took me by the shoulders, her gray eyes shining with reckless determination. “A coven leader accepts responsibility for every witch in her family. A coven leader represents every single soul that is a member of her family. A coven leader is symbolic. I am one person, but as the coven leader, Morgan, I am the coven.”
The fire at my mother’s feet snaked upward, encircling Cassandra’s ankles like some kind of ethereal jewelry. As I finally comprehended the meaning behind my mother’s words, I lost myself in the deja vu of the situation.
“Are you kidding me?” I shouted skyward. I had no idea who I was addressing. Maybe the heavens, maybe Dorothy, maybe whoever else might be responsible for playing with the emotions of mere earthlings.
“Morgan,” my mother chided. She might as well have been scolding me for spilling grape juice on the carpet.
“No, it’s not right!” I argued. I kicked out at the fire that made its way steadily up my mother’s body, but it only flared at my touch and continued on its way. “Every single person that I love has to give themselves up for me. Dad, Gwenlyn, and now you? You have to become one with the tree in order for us to complete this ritual? It’s not fair! Who will I have left?”
“Gwenlyn is still alive,” my mother pointed out, “and you will have your sisters, as well as the rest of the coven. Besides, Morgan, I’m not going to die. I’m going to become a part of the yew tree.”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mom, but we’re burning the damn tree to the ground!”
She took in the sight of the yew tree, engulfed in blue flames, then glanced down to where the fire licked at her waist. “You must understand, Morgan. In a few short minutes, you will be the coven leader. You will lead them well. I have the utmost faith in you. And when you defeat Dominic, I have no doubt that you will free Yew Hollow from every form of strife. ”
“Mom—”
“Listen to me, Morgan,” Cassandra continued urgently as the flames rose higher. She took a step toward the yew tree so that her back was flush against its fiery trunk. “Do not waver. Do not question your own instincts. You will go down in history as the woman who saved one of the strongest lines of witchcraft in the world. Do not forget that.”
And before I could respond, nothing but a sob making its way out of my throat, my mother was consumed by the blue flames. Her body seemed to fuse with the trunk of the tree, and above us, the fire blazed brighter in answer to Cassandra’s sacrifice. As the song of the coven swelled to an impossible volume, the dome of auras pulsed. Green leaves burned away to gray ash as the topmost branches of the yew tree succumbed to the witchcraft. Then the fire of the tree reached up and connected with the roof of witchcraft, flowed down to the witches, and the entire town square was bathed in a blinding white light.
9
In Which Dominic Makes His Last Stand
As the light faded, the fire settled, now a natural orange color rather than the peculiar blue. The tree still burned furiously—it would likely take hours for it to wither away entirely—but ash began to drift down like a snow flurry, settling in the hair and on the shoulders of the witches. Five new auras added themselves to the already expansive repertoire within me, and I recognized the familiar vibe of Dorothy Summers making itself at home in my bones. I also knew the other four auras by instinct alone; they belonged to the rest of the original Summers coven. Mary, Ann, Elizabeth, and Bridget had returned to Yew Hollow in the bodies of the present coven, and the power of the originals now coursed through our veins. I trembled with the sheer presence of such renowned individuals. My cheeks were wet, but I didn’t remember when I had started crying. I looked toward the yew tree, at the place near its trunk where my mother had vanished. It was a staggering contradiction that the complete annihilation of the tree was also such a beautiful sight. The bonfire crackled, immersing the town square in warm, golden light. I stood much too close to the conflagration for comfort or safety, but the heat that radiated from the tree dried the moisture running down my face. I stepped closer, closing my eyes against the glare and reaching toward the tree, when a coil of flame stretched out from the tree and licked my outstretched palms.
There was no pain, at least not any kind of pain that I had experienced before. It was as if my soul had ruptured within me, pressing into every hidden crevice inside my body. I was suddenly aware of every rush of blood through my brain, every pulse of my heart, and every cell itself. My mother’s aura flooded through me, accompanied by countless others, and I understood what was happening. The transference of the coven leader’s powers had taken. Not only was I aware of the personalities of the present coven but also of those of every witch that had ever been born into the Summers clan. My mother had not prepared me for the onslaught of information that I was now bombarded with, downloaded to my brain as if I were nothing more than a supercomputer’s hard drive for the entire coven’s existence. I sank to the ground without being consciously aware of my movement. Hands squeezed my shoulders, and someone’s fingers grazed my cheeks, but I had shut down. I opened my mind, allo
wing the unrelenting flow of identities to take over.
Morgan?
Gwenlyn’s voice broke through the cacophony of the transference process. It took all of my concentration to focus on her, but when I finally did, the chaos in my brain subsided just enough for me to take a breath. I opened my eyes. Karma and Laurel kneeled in the dirt on either side of me, waiting for me to regain my composure. I nodded to them, and together, they helped me to my feet.
Gwen?
Dominic’s gone, Morgan, said Gwenlyn as I brushed the dirt from my hands. He took off as soon as the original power shifted hands. That’s what that was, right? I feel like I just powered through a truckload of energy drinks.
Yes. What do you mean Dominic’s gone, Gwen? Where did he go?
No idea, said Gwenlyn. He went as white as a sheet, and the ghost that he had with him dimmed like a flashlight out of battery. They ran off, but when we tried to follow them, they’d already disappeared into the woods.
“Shit,” I said out loud. Instinctively, I knew that Dominic had no plans of backing down. This was his one and only opportunity to stamp out the Summers coven for good, and there was no way he would pass up on it.
“What is it?” Karma asked, still steadying me with one hand.
“Dominic’s not happy,” I told them, raising my voice so that the other witches in the square could here me. “Gwenlyn and the others have lost track of him. I highly doubt that he’s gone off to lick his wounds. It’s way more likely that he’s gathering his army together right now. Keep a sharp eye on the trees, people. We’ve got a fight on our hands, one that I intend on winning.” I turned to my sisters. “Karma, get ready to control those demons. Laurel, let’s see what we can do with the trees. Can they let us know when Dominic is close by?”
“Absolutely.”
My sisters strolled off, gathering the other witches together to begin building our defense strategy. I wandered away from the yew tree, turning my back on its steadily burning bonfire.
Gwen?
Yeah.
Where are you all?
On our way to the town square, answered Gwen. There was a hardened determination in her tone, the same kind of determination that now seemed to motivate my every decision. How are you, oh great coven leader?
I scoffed, but Gwenlyn’s sarcasm was just enough to ease some of the tension between my shoulders that intensified with every passing second. Overwhelmed, I answered truthfully, but I’m hanging in there. You got an ETA for me?
Five minutes.
“Morgan!”
Laurel hurried over to me, distracting me momentarily from my conversation with Gwenlyn. She took my hand, and her natural line of witchcraft jumped between us. The trees of the forest were alert, their roots vibrating with the drumming of footsteps.
“Do you feel that?” asked Laurel.
I nodded and withdrew the pistol from its place in my waistband. The ancient runes on my arms brightened again, surely reacting to the ghosts’ advance. “Dominic’s on his way, isn’t he?”
“He sure is,” Laurel said, her mouth set in a grim, straight line. “And he has every single demon and ghost with him. You were right. This is going to be one hell of a battle.”
“No pun intended,” I muttered. I stepped up onto the bench beneath the yew tree and raised my voice, addressing the witches as a whole. “Listen up, everyone!”
With only half of the coven in the town square, our meager number did not exactly inspire confidence. In fact, as I observed each pale face among us, I had to beat down the feeling that we were going to lose this fight. Dominic had a whole host of the undead at his service. I had fifteen witches who’d never really experienced this level of combat before.
“The rest of the coven is on their way to us,” I began. I took a deep breath, hoping to steady my wavering voice. “But it looks like Dominic might beat them here. We’re going to have to hold our own for a few minutes. Remember how many different talents you now have in your arsenal. Use them to your advantage. I’ll do my best to put down as many ghosts as I can, but until I can get to Dominic, you’re going to have to be relentless.”
The witches—some doe eyed and frightful, others glaring determinedly toward the forest—latched on to every word. Even so, my ability to make a coherent speech was beginning to fall flat. Dominic’s incoming army weighed on my mind, the anxiety of it all egged on by the trees’ updates.
“Protect one another,” I said. “Defend each other. I love you all.”
A clamorous crash echoed through the town square from the forest, and the coven drew in a collective gasp as we felt the trees nearest to the square dissolve into mourning. Dominic was powering through the woods with no regard for the nature around him. The glimmer of his ghosts was now visible through the shadows, growing brighter and brighter as Dominic’s army advanced on the square. Moans of his demons met my ears, and the disturbing drag of their decaying feet across the dirt was more than enough to set my teeth on edge.
They’re here, I said to Gwenlyn, hoping that the rest of the coven would arrive soon. We were outnumbered, plain and simple.
Gwenlyn’s response was terse. Nearly there.
The first ghost stepped out from the tree line. It was Carter, Dominic’s replacement for Ronan, and his shimmery face stretched into a wide grin at the sight of such a small number of witches lined up to greet him.
“Oh, you have to be joking,” he called out gleefully across the square. “Just look at you! How many of you are there? Fifteen? If that! Dear God, what a laugh.”
“Joke’s on you, bitch,” I said. I raised the pistol, took aim, and fired. The blue bullet shot across the square, smacking Carter right between the eyes. It seemed impeccable aim was another happy benefit of being the pistol’s master. Just as Ronan had, Carter disintegrated with a surge of blue light, leaving no sign that a ghost had ever occupied the space.
There was a beat of silence, and then Dominic’s army erupted from the trees. Ghosts and demons alike hurtled across the stretch of grass between the forest and the yew tree, a tidal wave of hate and dark magic. I fired shot after shot, taking out nine or ten ghosts in the front line. Beside me, Karma and a few other witches worked furiously with the voodoo dolls. Demons stumbled over one another, tripped up by Karma’s witchcraft, or halted in their progression to seize one another by the throats. Tree roots shot up from the ground in a firework show of sod and dirt, wrapping around the decomposing ankles of another group of demons and holding them fast. Dark clouds gathered as another witch summoned a lightning storm. Great bolts struck the ground, frying a few more members of the undead. Unfortunately, there was no way to stall the oncoming swarm of ghosts.
There was no sign of Dominic yet. As the ghosts closed in on us, encircling the yew tree, I kept an eye out for him. I didn’t expect to see him, not until he thought his ghosts and demons had control of the situation, but if he did decide to show his face, I wanted to be the first person aware of his presence.
The witches and the ghosts clashed together in a spectacle of auras and attack spells. The spirit of a young woman, her shadowy eyes set with malicious intent, and another of a lean, muscled teenaged boy leapt up to my bench on either side of me. I flung out a force field—another ability that I had gained from one of my coven—blasting them away, then shot each of them with the handgun. A wild feeling of pleasure rushed through me as the ghosts vanished, and I whirled around to pistol whip another attacker.
Below me, a gaggle of ghosts had overwhelmed Karma. She had dropped her voodoo doll in an attempt to subdue them, but despite a number of vicious attack spells, the ghosts were closing in on her. One of them had managed to lace an arm around Karma’s neck, dragging her away from my position. As Karma’s face reddened, I took a flying leap from the bench, surging through the spirits, and pushed the barrel of the gun to the forehead of Karma’s captor.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to play nicely?” I asked, and pulled the trigger before the ghost had the o
pportunity to answer.
Karma, now free, drew in a deep gasp but wasted no time in conjuring another aggressive attack spell. As the hex expelled the spirits from Karma’s personal space, I gifted each of them with a bullet to the face, my mouth twisting upward in a satisfied smirk.
“You’re enjoying this too much!” Karma called over her shoulder as she danced off to defend another witch.
She was only half right. I relished every single shot of the handgun, knowing that each recoil represented one more ghost that had been sent back to the otherworld where it belonged. On the other hand, no matter how many times I fired the pistol, it seemed that more spirits appeared to take the place of the ones that had fallen. The coven was doing better than I expected, but as I fought through the throng of ghosts and demons, I couldn’t help but notice that many of the witches already looked exhausted. I shoved a demon into the trunk of the yew tree, not bothering to watch as the fire devoured the corpse, and shot one of the spirits that was harassing Laurel in the back of the head. I spared a glimpse for Laurel’s relieved expression, then rushed to the other side of the yew tree to break up another mob. Despite how quickly I moved, I couldn’t be everywhere. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I jammed my elbow into a demon’s neck. Its head detached and rolled off, and I held back a surge of nausea as the decapitated body ambled off. I raised the gun and put the corpse out of its misery.
“Morgan!”
I spun around at the sound of Gwenlyn’s voice, relieved that it had reached me through my ears rather than my mind. The remainder of the coven charged toward the yew tree from the top of the high street, with Gwenlyn and Malia in the lead. Gwenlyn whooped with perverse delight as she joined the fray. Somewhere along her route to the town square, she had acquired a baseball bat, which she now swung heavily through the first demon that dared approached her. The metal bat made quick work of the demon’s rib cage, effectively dismantling it. The demon crumpled, and Gwenlyn leapt over it to aim another swing at the head of her next victim. At Gwenlyn’s side, Malia fought with slightly more finesse. It appeared that she had enchanted a number of throwing knives to damage ghosts and demons alike. With every toss, her daggers either tore through the tendons of a demon or ripped a black hole through the silvery glow of a ghost, only to boomerang back to Malia’s hand to be thrown again.
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