Before I even had the chance to react, he raised the chalice to his lips and tipped it back. Immediately, the flames roared higher than ever. The coven’s craft dimmed, engulfed by Parris’s power. Parris drained the chalice, tossed the cup to the side, and grinned madly at me. He spread his arms wide in triumph, advancing toward me as I backed against the trunk of the yew tree.
It was like standing at the gates to hell. Fire raged behind Parris, his face now distorted into something that was not entirely human. The witchcraft had all but evaporated, despite the coven’s laborious efforts. Parris took agonizingly slow steps toward me. I was frozen with terror, watching the devil take his last stand. Then he lunged.
Instinctively, I raised my hands. Cerulean craft exploded from my palms, the physical form of a defense spell that I had learned as a child. I had no idea that the ability to perform that spell still lingered within me, but with the aura of the yew tree boldly pulsing through my soul, there was no doubting its effectiveness. It slammed into Parris, halting his attack. It seemed to pull at his features, stretching his infernal face from the mouth outward. My craft grew and grew, fed by the unyielding power of the yew tree. It saturated the town square, illuminating the citizens of Yew Hollow, eyes widened in awe, and the coven, still wielding their own protective spells to add to mine.
Parris’s flames raged once more. Abandoning the pentagrams, the fire funneled around Parris instead, encasing him within its blaze. With a terrible scream, Parris began to burn away, his very being perishing before my eyes. Then, as the last of Parris’s body fell prey to the flames, the inferno burned like the sun for one more moment before extinguishing completely.
My arms fell back down to my sides. I swayed, steadying myself against the yew tree. Light returned to Yew Hollow, the pink hues of sunrise peeking up over the horizon. My mother and sisters stood with the coven, reeling in the leftover craft racing through the air. Wren was still unconscious but seemed unharmed except for the gash in his arm and the bruise on his temple. The townspeople stood about in shock, mesmerized by the entire event. Across the square, I caught Leigh’s eye. She smiled at me. I nodded back. And then I fainted.
9
In Which Yew Hollow Becomes Home
For the second time in a matter of hours, I awoke to find Leigh hovering over me. I lay in my own twin bed, staring up at the ceiling of my attic bedroom on the third floor of the Summers house. Midmorning light streamed in from the window, passing through Leigh’s ethereal face.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I said to Leigh. My voice was hoarse. The events of the previous evening had taken its toll on my body.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m dead,” I groaned, attempting to roll over to one side. To be honest, I felt kind of dead. I was sore all over. Someone had dressed the deep gouges on my back, but that didn’t stop the wounds from stretching and cracking as I tried to sit up. Someone had also been kind enough to replace the shredded remains of my own shirt with a clean, white V-neck. “What happened?”
“You passed out,” Leigh said, keeping a watchful eye on me as I propped myself up against the pillows. “We brought you back here to take care of you.”
“No, what happened at the square?” I clarified. “The townspeople?”
“Everyone’s fine,” she said. She smoothed out a few lumps in the duvet. “A little shaken up, maybe. They’re all waiting to thank you for saving the town. The police, too. You should have seen them groveling in front of Cassandra. I don’t think the coven has to worry about getting kicked out of Yew Hollow anytime soon.”
“Where is everyone?” I asked, aware of how quiet and peaceful the house was. The Summers house was never quiet.
“Banishing Wren.”
“What?”
I kicked the duvet off, ignoring the pain in my back as I pulled on a pair of boots. I hobbled out of the room, determined to reach Wren before the coven had its way with him. Leigh called out after me.
“Morgan, wait!”
“Why?” I asked, thundering down the staircase.
“You’re not even wearing pants!”
After I donned pair of jeans and a jacket, Leigh allowed me to leave the house. As I swung open the screen door and surveyed the situation from the back porch, I could see that the coven had gathered in its entirety in the backyard. They formed a wide circle around Wren, who stood alone, his arm and head bandaged, with a bloated backpack slung over his uninjured shoulder. My mother occupied the space nearest to Wren, my sisters close behind. My mother’s voice drifted out toward me.
“You shall not return,” Cassandra was saying. “You shall not contact any member of the Summers coven. You shall not claim the Summers name...”
She was reading Wren the parameters of his banishment. I abandoned the porch, shoving my way through the throng of witches until I reached Wren. I stepped in front of him.
My mother sighed dramatically. “Morgan, you couldn’t have stayed asleep for another five minutes or so?”
“This is wrong,” I said. “Parris used Wren.”
Karma stepped forward from her place beside our mother. “Morgan, he killed Leigh,” she said. “He was in his right mind. He had a choice, and he chose to betray our family.”
“But—”
“Morgan,” Wren said from behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I turned to face him. “I can accept the consequences of my actions. After all, they could’ve decided on a worse fate for me.”
This was true. For a witch, banishment from your own coven meant a lifetime alone, but for Wren, it was only the natural process of things. He would’ve left Yew Hollow eventually anyway. The thought didn’t stop my eyes from burning, threatening tears.
“But I’ll never get to see you again,” I said to Wren, my lower lip trembling.
He reached down to hug me. “Don’t worry,” he mumbled. “I won’t forget my favorite sister.”
It was an impossible, dichotomous feeling that washed over me then. I knew Wren had done atrocious things. I knew that he had to leave, but I didn’t want to let go of the littlest Summers sibling. Nevertheless, I detached myself from Wren and stepped back into the frame of my sisters. My mother cleared her throat.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “you shall not claim the Summers name. You are no longer a member of this family. This is not the place for you, and so you shall take your leave.”
It was an archaic speech, one that had been nearly unaltered throughout the passage of time. The banishment ritual, itself, was outdated as well. I watched as Laurel presented my mother with a small ramekin of black salt. A blend of sea salt and yew ash, the mineral was meant to ward off those who were unwelcome. Cassandra scattered it in the space between Wren and the rest of the coven. It was more symbolic than ritualistic, but I still felt a wave of energy disappear from the Summers side of the line as Wren’s aura was rejected from the property.
“May you live the life you deserve,” my mother finished, dusting the rest of the salt from her palms.
“Preferably one that doesn’t involve murder,” Laurel chimed in. Malia elbowed her in the ribs, shushing her.
Wren ducked his head, an acknowledgement of the completion of his emancipation. Then, without any kind of parting words, he turned on his heel and set off across the yard. We watched until his silhouette faded and disappeared over the crest of the hill.
With Wren gone, the coven returned their attention to me. I was caught in a swarm of gratitude as each witch of the Summers coven grasped my hands tightly or pulled me into a hug. The magnitude of my actions at the yew tree hadn’t sunk into my brain yet. I allowed the coven to dote on me, but in the back of my mind, I felt oddly guilty. I had drawn on the yew tree’s powers accidentally. My defense against Parris had been intuitive, not proactive, yet the coven heralded me as some kind of savior. I couldn’t stand it for more than a few minutes, so I politely excused myself and gestured for Leigh to follow me. As the group of witches thinned, filtering bac
k to their own homes, Leigh and I strolled off toward the swing set.
I plopped down in one of the swings, wrapping a hand around its rusted chain. Leigh leaned against the set next to me.
“You handled that rather well,” she said, nodding toward the dispersing witches. “I’m starting to think you might not actually mind being a member of the Summers coven.”
“I don’t deserve the praise,” I admitted, squinting through the sunlight to look up at her. “I didn’t do that spell because I was trying to save Yew Hollow. I did it because I was afraid to die.”
Leigh only smiled knowingly.
“What?” I demanded.
“I don’t believe that,” she said and gazed off toward the house. “Whether you’re aware of it or not, you performed that spell instinctively to protect what’s most important to you. It wasn’t selfish. It was selfless.”
“But—”
“You aren’t Parris, Morgan,” Leigh said before I could protest. “I know you’re scared you’ll end up like him, or like Wren, but I promise you won’t be bitter and alone your whole life.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. What, you don’t believe the dead woman?” she added jokingly. “I have a whole new perspective on this kind of thing.”
I scuffed my boots into the ground then trapped a wayward leaf beneath one foot. “Why are you still here, anyway?” I asked. “Parris is gone. You should’ve moved on.”
“I’ve been fighting it,” she said, and sure enough, when I looked back at her, she seemed to flicker like a fluorescent light bulb.
“Why?”
“I wanted to say good-bye.”
Without warning, my eyes overflowed. “Damn,” I said, wiping them with the back of my hand. “Sorry, I have a leaf or a tree in my eye.”
Her knowing smile returned. “Thank you, Morgan, for everything that you’ve done,” she said. “Thank you for coming back to Yew Hollow and for taking the time to figure out what happened to me. I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”
I let out a garbled laugh, no longer bothering to hide the fact that I was crying. “It’s only been a week.”
“I know.”
I stood up from the swing to face Leigh at eye level. “I wish I’d known you sooner,” I said. “Yew Hollow feels different than it used to. Not quite so… provisional. That’s your doing.”
She shook her head. “Yew Hollow feels that way because it’s your home,” she said. Then, to my great surprise, she reached out and pulled me into a warm hug. I settled into a wholly corporeal form of her, somehow solidified in her last moments on earth. I had been right about her aura. It was all pale pinks and oranges, that inexplicable blend of sunset hues unable to be captured on camera. You could only appreciate it in real life before it faded to darkness. In that moment, Leigh was utterly mortal, so I squeezed her tightly and pretended that this was only a temporary good-bye.
Too soon, she began to pale. She turned cold, and her figure sank through mine for a moment before she separated herself from me. With a mischievous smile and a wave of her fingers, she began to ebb away, deliquescing into the hazy sunlight until she disappeared entirely.
I allowed myself a few minutes to come to terms with Leigh’s final departure, staring at the place in the damp grass that she had so recently occupied. Then I looked back toward the house.
Cassandra, Malia, Karma, and Laurel stood on the porch steps. It was clear they had watched my last interaction with Leigh. I suddenly understood how Leigh had been able to hug me. My family had made it happen, combining their powers to lend strength to Leigh. I raised a hand to them in thanks.
A swift breeze blew through the yard, rustling the orange and red leaves of the surrounding trees. I tipped my head back, taking a great breath of the crisp autumn air. The sky was clear, its azure expanse stretching out beyond the Summers property. I stepped away from the swing set, across the whispering grass, toward the house.
Toward home.
Many thanks to everyone who read my story!
Writing is the best way I know to express myself, and I’m so glad that you all have rewarded me with the opportunity to share my imagination with you. As an author, I learn and evolve from the input of others, so if you have a spare moment and you enjoyed the story, please leave a short, spoiler-free review of the book. As readers, your personal opinions are often the best references for a writer. Your commentary allows me to further provide you all with fun, engaging material.
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Again, thank you all for diving into mine and Morgan’s world. May we meet again!
All the best,
Alexandria Clarke
Witch Myth Book 1
1
In Which the Story Begins
In Which the Story Begins
Teagan Riley woke out of a dead sleep. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. She lay in bed, frozen, the horrific face of her nightmare lingering on the insides of her eyelids. It was a face Teagan had loved once, strong and stoic, but life had rained down hard on them, and Teagan had tired of it. Now he was gone, only present in dreams, and Teagan thanked whatever god above had made the decision to separate them.
She counted her breaths. It was a meditation technique she’d learned from her therapist, the one Teagan had sought out after her husband’s death. Four counts to inhale, four counts to exhale. Clear your mind. Focus on breathing. Focus on breathing. Focus on—his face—breathing.
After another set of breaths, Teagan gave up. It was crap advice, she thought. A joke, even. Meditation was for yogis and the Dalai Lama, not an elementary school teacher who’d been widowed at the ripe old age of twenty-seven. She sat up in bed, unsticking herself from the sweat-soaked sheets. The nightmare had been particularly violent tonight, and Teagan had to stop herself from reimagining the familiar pair of fists beating down on her, catching a glimpse of her bruised face in the reflection of his wedding band. She pressed her face into the cold side of a pillow and waited for her pulse to slow. Over, she thought. It’s all over.
A loud creak interrupted her thought process. She peered around the room, squinting through the hazy moonlight that filtered in through the gaps in the curtains, but all was still. It was an old house. Floorboards buckled, doors swayed open and shut of their own accord, and occasionally things creaked for no reason at all. Nothing to be paranoid about.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, Teagan saw the floor-to-ceiling bookcase next to the bed teeter forward, ejecting novels and old education textbooks from its shelves. Frantic, she tried to move out of its path, but her legs were tangled up in the twisted sheets. She kicked herself free, heaving herself off the far edge of the bed and rolling to the floor. The bookcase crashed down, right where Teagan had so recently lain, splintering into several pieces. The sharp corner of a wayward dictionary caught Teagan’s scalp, digging a gash into her hairline. She ducked her head, curling up into a ball, and shielded herself with her hands until the bookcase settled.
When she dared to look up again, it was with the expression of a defeated soul. Nothing could go right. The bookcase was irreparable. The luxurious satin sheets Teagan had found on sale were torn and dirty. Dust and debris littered the entire bedroom. Teagan’s head pounded. She lightly prodded her temple then held her fingers close to her face. Even in the dim light, she could see that an alarming amount of blood poured from the results of the dictionary’s escape attempt. With a resigned sigh, she stood, picked her way carefully through the disaster area, and switched the light on in the adjoining bathroom.
She avoided looking herself in the eye as she leaned in to the mirror to inspect the cut. It was deep and possibly worthy of stitches, so Teagan pressed a wad of toilet paper to it to stem the bleeding while waiting for the tap water to warm up. Then she rinsed the laceration out over the sink, splashed her face to rid herself of any leftover sweat, and looked up.
Until death do us part.
The message, dabbed on the mirror with her own blood, caused Teagan to take a hasty step back. She tripped over the lip of the tub and fell backward, pulling the curtain and its rod down with her. She squeezed her eyes shut. It had to be a nightmare. She was still trapped in her dreams. She opened her eyes. The vow was still there.
Until death do us part.
Without warning, the mirror lifted off the wall and crashed to the floor near Teagan’s feet, showering Teagan with broken glass. With a shriek, she jumped to her feet, hurdled the majority of the glass, and raced back through the bedroom. Behind her, the house seemed hell-bent on self-destructing. Windows shattered as Teagan blew by them, furniture upended itself, doors slammed shut, and as she took the stairs two at a time to the first floor, the banister exploded as if someone had planted an IED in the old wood.
“Wake up, wake up!” Teagan pleaded with herself, tearing into the kitchen toward the back door of the house. She ducked as a vase of flowers levitated from its place on the kitchen table and threw itself at her. It smashed against the wall behind her, splattering water and lily petals across the floor. Teagan slid across the slippery tile, grasped the handle of the back door, and tried to wrench it open.
It wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard Teagan yanked at it. Then every burner on the stove roared to life, sending a wave of heat across Teagan’s body. The door to the oven banged open and spilled a mouthful of flame and smoke out as if the oven had been on the entire night. In seconds, the kitchen had become an inferno, trapping Teagan against the unmoving door. Sweat soaked her flannel pajamas. Her body frozen with fear, her mind raced, rifling through her limited options for escape.
In one swift movement, Teagan seized a nearby frying pan. The metal handle nearly seared her skin off, but she chucked it through the small window at the top of the back door, pulverizing the glass. Then, planting a knee on the nearby counter, she hoisted herself up and out. She felt her palms slice open as she heaved herself through the window headfirst. The broken glass caught at her hips and legs, ripping through her pajama pants, but she wriggled forward, almost free of the raging fire in the kitchen. Then someone or something grabbed her ankle and pulled.
Witch Myth Super Boxset Page 9