by Caris Roane
“I know. But remembering will set you free to forge a better life here in Five Bridges, a life that might be able to include one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”
These words had an effect. Into the depths of her spirit, she wanted a life with Braden more than anything. She’d been alone since Frank died and living out a nightly, horror-filled existence as she brought people back from the dead.
She’d accepted the role she’d chosen. She valued what she did. But she’d also lived alone in her underground rooms.
Then Braden had come along.
Now, she didn’t want to go back to being alone in her burrow. She carried his children and she wanted to be with him. It seemed to her that the only thing standing in her way was this ever-present fog that covered the central killing platform in Veyda’s now-destroyed building.
As thoughts of Braden took hold of her mind, she forced the fog to roll back.
She was inside Veyda’s killing room once more. She could smell the deaths of the witches. Her killing power had torn through each of their bodies.
But why had she done it? There had to have been a catalyst.
She wanted to see it all.
This time, she moved backward into her memories, before the witches had died. She focused on Veyda.
Once she did, the killing room came into better focus. The platform had lost most of its fog now. She could see the woman’s tortured body, but not her face. A remnant of fog still clung to her features. Maeve kept her newly acquired wolfness in a dominant position over her witch senses. It helped a lot.
She urged the memories to come forward.
She could hear Veyda’s voice in her head, prompting her to do something. But what?
Like a train whistle far away, she heard it, a shrill agonized scream.
The terrified and painful cries of the tortured woman had started peeling her drugged stupor away.
That’s when she’d come to a full awareness of what was happening in the killing room. The drugs Veyda had given her had prevented her from seeing the full horror of what the witch expected of her. These memories, she’d blocked completely.
Until this moment.
The two witches stood on the opposite side of the killing platform. Maeve’s back was to the bank of one-way mirrors.
The witches were painting the poison on the woman’s skin. The poor woman screamed over and over. She writhed, trying to shift away from their tools, but she was strapped down along her arms and legs. Blood and dissolved tissue boiled from the wounds. Maeve couldn’t understand why she was still alive.
Veyda’s voice had entered her mind, the sound serpent-like. My specialty poison. It only affects the skin and muscle, but takes a long time to penetrate the organs. Isn’t it beautiful?
Maeve’s heart had pounded in her chest. The woman screamed and screamed. Her whole body shook. When it looked like she would pass out, the witches backed away to let her recover. The choir of witches, positioned in the risers to the right of Maeve, began to chant.
The woman begged for mercy. She begged to be killed.
The last bit of fog rolled away from the woman’s face. She turned her head and looked directly at Maeve. She begged her to take her life. “Please. Kill me.”
In that moment, as Maeve finally saw the woman’s face, she felt as though her sanity was balanced on the head of a pin. She didn’t know if she would ever recover from what she now knew to be the truth.
She’d killed Laura.
She’d killed Braden’s wife.
She wept.
She hadn’t known she was the one who had ended Laura’s life until this moment.
“Please. Please. The pain.”
Though Maeve stood several feet away she could smell the poison and understood its caustic base. She had a strong sense of just how much suffering the woman had endured and would still endure at the hands of these witches.
Laura kept calling to her. “Help me. Please, help me. Take my life. Please. Do as Veyda has instructed you. Please, Maeve. Please.”
Laura had known her name. Maybe Veyda had invoked it.
Maeve could now recall how her feet had moved in the woman’s direction on their own. She climbed the three carpeted stairs of the killing platform so that she was right next to Laura.
She saw into one of the long burns on her leg. She could see bone. Tears flowed down her face. What was happening here was vile beyond words.
Laura grabbed her wrist. “For the love of God, set me free from this pain.” Her breaths were high and shallow.
Veyda’s voice was once more in her mind. Yes, you should kill her. If you don’t, I’ll put her on the pyre while she’s still alive. The flames will burn slow and steady and it will be your fault that she suffers.
As if to prove her intention, several men arrived wearing black masks and capes ready to remove Laura.
Maeve felt the grip on her wrist lessen.
Veyda again. I can make this last until dawn, then take her to the pyre.
One of the witches, her eyes dark with evil, brought her a long, sharp blade, curved in at the sides. Rubies glittered on the handle.
Maeve had searched her witchness. Was there something, anything she could do to save Laura? But she’d only been a witch for two short weeks. She had no skills, no understanding of her abilities.
Nothing.
“Please.” The voice was hoarse and weak.
Maeve remembered taking the blade and climbing the final step so that she stood directly over Laura’s body.
“Yes. Straight through my heart. I’m ready, Maeve. You can do this.”
But Maeve couldn’t.
Then one of the witches drew near and in a quick, cat-like strike spread a tiny portion of the caustic poison on Maeve’s arm.
Maeve screamed.
Veyda explained her reason for the poison. It won’t last long and there won’t be a permanent scar. I just wanted you to have a taste of Laura’s pain.
Maeve called on the angels in heaven to give her the strength to end the woman’s suffering. “I’ll do it.”
One of the witches carried an antidote and spread it over Maeve’s wound. The pain fled.
Maeve recalled the rest of it now, what it felt like to lift the blade high overhead, to stare at the place in Laura’s chest she intended to hit, then to strike with the full force of her strength.
The sharp point had penetrated the bone and in a split-second, Laura’s life was ended.
She’s grabbed Maeve’s wrist once more as the last of her life-force left her body.
Maeve met her gaze. Laura smiled and mouthed, ‘Thank you’. The light in her eyes dimmed then vanished. Her hand fell away.
It was over.
Silence held the evil space for a long moment, then the witch-choir began a celebratory chant.
But that was the moment Maeve became a true witch. Rage flooded her mind and her body at what had been done to Laura and to herself. Yes, she’d ended Laura’s suffering but she’d also taken her life. Now that she remembered it, she would have to live with what she’d done the rest of her days.
A fury had possessed her and a desire to destroy this room and the women who had given themselves to the darkest part of the human spirit. These witches didn’t deserve to live. They’d abducted an innocent woman and tortured her.
With her killing power at full bore, she’d swept her arm in an arc over the two nearby witches. Each had screamed.
Maeve had then turned on the choir and done the same. Women fled in all directions.
She went berserk and burned the drapes on the walls, just as she had done when she’d rescued Kiara.
She tried hard to locate Veyda, the one responsible for this coven and for Laura’s death.
She couldn’t see her, so she went around and blasted the entire room, piece by piece with her killing power.
When her energy began to fail, a new voice entered her mind. You must leave, or Veyda will return and kill you.
It took her a moment to recognize who it was. Laura?
Yes. It’s me. I’m going to get you out of here.
But you’re dead?
I’m a ghost now. Let’s go. You need to leave the back way, the way the witches departed. Take the hallway to the right.
So, Laura had led her out of Veyda’s compound.
Once outside, Maeve had no idea where she was. I don’t know where to go and Veyda will find me if I return to my house.
I know a place. You’ll stay with Kiara. She’s a good woman and will teach you what you need to know.
Maeve came back to the present fully. She sat back in her chair and wiped her cheeks. Once more, tears had appeared without her realizing it.
“Are you okay?”
She glanced at Kiara, but barely saw her. “Remember the night I showed up on your doorstep?” Maeve rubbed her left wrist where the poisoned paste had touched her a year-and-a-half ago. As promised, she didn’t even have a scar.
“Of course, I do.”
“I didn’t remember until just now how I’d gotten there. Did I talk about what happened? Have you known all this time?”
Kiara nodded slowly.
“Oh, God. What have I done?”
Kiara sighed heavily. “It’s been a huge burden, but I was convinced you could only know in your own time, when you were ready to understand and accept the truth.”
Maeve kept shaking her head back and forth. What she’d done was too horrible to process. She’d killed the wife of the man she’d fallen in love with.
She felt numb and wished she could scream and cry it all out. But somehow it seemed like the perfect end to the whole thing. She’d arrived in Five Bridges with apparently more inherent ability than any other alter witch in a long time. Veyda had wanted her in her dark coven, she’d wanted to train her in the ways of sacrificial torture and death.
Maeve had refused. An abduction had followed. She had little memory of how much time had passed from the abduction to Laura’s murder. Maeve had been drugged and only brought out of the stupor when Laura was being tortured.
She rose to her feet. “I have to go.” What more was there to be said.
Besides, she had a poison to create.
As she turned to leave, Kiara caught her hand. “Maeve, you did the right thing. At the point you killed Laura, she couldn’t have been brought back. She’d already reached the tipping point. The poison had penetrated the bones and entered her blood stream. But it would still have taken hours of agony for her body to perish. Laura valued what you did. That’s why she came back to get you out of there.”
“Thank you for that.”
She gently pulled her hand from Kiara’s grasp.
“Maeve.” Kiara called after her. But her feet were already in motion.
She had to tell Braden the truth.
He had to know.
But before she told him, there was one more thing that needed to happen.
She went straight to her spellroom and got to work.
Chapter Ten
Braden stared at Greg. He didn’t quite believe what the wolf had asked him. He stood in the center of over thirty shifters, male and female, who lived in Maeve’s refuge. “You want me to stay in Elegance and create a pack of Landing wolves?”
“That’s what I’m saying, yes. As much as each of us would like to be back in Savage, we’re committed to supporting Maeve however we can. We’d all be dead but for her diligence in the Graveyard every night. Besides, we’ve gotten a taste for getting rid of dark coven witches and we think we might have a mission for our pack. What do you say?”
It was simple. “I have a pack waiting for me in Savage.”
Greg’s lips grew into a tight line. “Permission to speak freely?”
Braden nodded, though he steeled himself.
Greg’s nostrils elongated and flared. “You haven’t lived in Savage for a long time now. Seems to me, maybe you’ve already made a change. You just haven’t seen it for what it is. That, and we all think Maeve could use some grit like yours.”
“I agree with the last part, but not the first. I came to Elegance to get justice for my wife’s death. Once I have it, I’m committed to return. I’ve seen my wolves every month. They’re expecting me to resume my duties and I want to. I’m also now convinced Veyda’s my wife’s killer, so it’s only a matter of time before I draw my investigation to a close.
“Sorry, Greg.” He glanced around the group. “But my decision stands.”
For the first time, however, he wondered just how hard it would be to pry Maeve from the Landing. Whether she understood it or not, she’d established herself as a force in Elegance.
Greg, and his pack’s bond with her, was no small thing. He would have offered for them to join his Savage pack, but he already knew the answer. Maeve was it for these fur-bearers.
He thanked the wolves for their dedication and for their offer. Greg said he understood. The wolves nodded in accord.
He’d already turned to head back to the main building, when Maeve’s voice entered his head. I’m in my spellroom. I have something to tell you.
On my way.
His first reaction to hearing her telepathic voice involved a swell of affection and excitement. Maeve had wanted to spend some time alone with Kiara, though Braden had been reluctant to leave her side. Now that he’d committed to her, he didn’t want to be apart, especially not until he’d persuaded her to bond with him as his alpha-mate.
His second response, as he entered the main building and walked down the broad central hall, was that he knew something was wrong. Had Kiara told her things about Veyda that Maeve didn’t know? If so, this could be a good thing. But why was his woman so distressed?
He’d already decided Veyda needed to be hunted down and the truth forced from her. He’d seen Maeve in action. If she wasn’t already, she would soon become Veyda’s equal in power and ability. It was no wonder Veyda had tried to force her into her dark coven early on.
But why had Veyda want him dead?
As he approached Maeve’s apartment and harnessed his new warlock powers, suddenly the pieces fell into place. He’d been the instrument of bringing Maeve’s powers to the fore. Veyda must have tapped into the future enough to discover his role in Maeve’s life.
He located the protective spell outside Maeve’s apartment and this time crossed the boundary easily. As he descended the spiral steps, he felt something brush his shoulder. But when he turned to face the intruder, no one was there
He took a moment to reach out with what warlock senses he’d developed, yet he found nothing.
He grew very still. His cheekbones elongated as he sniffed the air. But all he scented was Maeve’s soft lemon and lavender fragrance.
He put his feet back in motion, crossed the living room then headed down the second curved stairwell.
By the time he reached the bottom, he knew something was terribly wrong.
For one thing, he’d never seen that particular expression on Maeve’s face. Her cheeks looked drawn, almost sunken and the light blue of her eyes had dulled out, clouds on a usually sunny day. “What’s wrong? Are you upset about Kiara? She’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
She shook her head. She didn’t meet his gaze either. For a half second, he wondered if she was drugged.
She gestured with an uneven wave of her hand toward her workbench. The wood surface was pristine except for two small ceramic dishes, one black, one white. “I made something for you.”
He sniffed the air. “It smells bad.”
“I know. But it’s for you.”
He found it difficult to read either Maeve or the situation. She definitely wasn’t herself. And why had she made something for him that smelled like it could eat through metal? The stench at Veyda’s kill room had carried a similar odor.
He approached the table. She drew close as well. Using a bay leaf, she swiped it over what looked like green toothpaste. “Hold out your arm.”
He
trusted her, so he did as she commanded. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Please turn your arm over, palm up. Good. That will do.”
She drew close and flipped the bay leaf over, paste down. She pressed the substance onto his arm.
He didn’t feel anything at first, then the paste began to heat up. She peeled the bay leaf off and suddenly the mixture began to burn. “What have you done? Maeve? Get this off me.”
The burn became a flame eating into his skin. The pain had him shouting. She moved out of the way as he ran to the sink. He turned on the water and slid his arm underneath, but the flow seemed to intensify the spell. He grabbed a paper towel to try to get rid of the paste, but by then his skin was bubbling and bleeding. The pain was so severe, he shouted.
He turned to her. “Maeve! Help me! Get this off me!”
She stood very still. Tears poured down her cheeks.
“Maeve!”
He held his arm. He shouted. He screamed.
Finally, she moved to the white dish. Using another bay leaf, she scooped up a creamy substance the color of eggshells. She approached him. “Hold out your arm. This will stop the spell.”
He had no choice.
The moment the cream touched the burn, it eased quickly into all parts of the wound and the pain ceased. He watched the tissue heal swiftly and his skin come back together as though nothing had happened.
When the pain was gone, he had sweat pouring off every inch of his skin. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his t-shirt. He was breathing hard and his heart pounded. The residual effect of the pain had him shaking with adrenaline. He could smell the poisonous paste, as well as his burned flesh, hanging in the air. He hadn’t imagined it.
He stood very still, staring at her. “What’s going on? Why did you just do this to me?” He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to trust her again.
Maeve grabbed tissues from the box on the counter, wiped her face and blew her nose. “That’s what Veyda did to your wife. To Laura. I was there. I’m remembering now. I remember it all.”
He still struggled to breathe. Why was she talking about Laura? He already knew she’d been tortured.