Terror flared through her and for a moment she was a child again, having to face those who would sit in judgment on her. This time, though, the stakes were much higher. It wasn’t a matter of when she’d be initiated into the coven. It was a matter of whether she would be killed before she could be.
She placed her right hand on the table moments before another shadow bound her left to the arm of her chair. She sent out a light electrical pulse with her right hand, determined to keep it free. The shadow that slid toward it across the table was momentarily rebuffed.
We are here to judge you, Samantha Castor, and see if you are worthy.
The voice filled the space, though she knew from experience that the words had not been spoken out loud. There was extra emphasis placed on the name, and she could feel it pull her. But she was not Samantha Castor, not truly, and she was able to keep her wits about her despite the spells that were seeking to strip her bare so that her soul would be exposed.
She drummed her fingers lightly on the table, focusing on the sound, the feel, the sight of the rhythmic tapping. It would help to save her.
The air was filled with the sudden screaming of dozens of tormented souls, making her eardrums throb and her heart race. Wind rushed through the room close behind, lifting her hair and plucking at her clothes with icy fingers.
If you are not worthy, you will die.
One by one the others repeated it.
You will die.
You will die.
You will die.
The tallest figure produced a poppet and began wrapping a dark cord around it. We bind you, Samantha Castor, that you may tell no lies and do no magic while you are tested.
She struggled with her fear, the feelings of helplessness and despair that crept over her. She reminded herself that they had bound Samantha Castor and that wasn’t her, not really. The spell was only partly effective. She sent a small burst of energy out of her free hand just to reassure herself. But she knew she had to be careful. If they suspected it was not her true name, then nothing could save her.
You will tell us who you are.
She could feel the truth and the lies colliding in her brain, the boundaries between them eroding. She opened her mouth and carefully measured the words as she said them. “I am a daughter of the darkness. Born a witch. I was one of the Castors but now I am—” She bit her tongue hard to keep herself from saying the next word and betraying her adopted last name and everything that went with it.
Now you are what?
Sweat beaded on her forehead, dripping into her eyes. Her pulse skidded out of control, more than enough to reveal her as a liar on a mechanical lie detector. But this wasn’t mechanical; this was magical. And they were counting on the fact that she would be compelled to tell the truth.
“Now I am the only Castor left,” she forced out with a gasp.
The pressure inside her head became unbearable and she choked back a cry of pain.
You will tell us why you have come here.
“I am the summoned. I seek my summoner,” she said. “I have the mark of my coven and now someone else has it too.”
One of the witches waved a hand and Samantha’s tattoo appeared in the air for all to see. The symbol had frightened the three witches the day before, but there was no such flurry of fear now.
We all bear that mark. We honor the coven that came before us in this place and we carry on its traditions.
“Then all of you summoned me.”
She tried to close her burning eyes against the pain. She could feel warm liquid leaking from them down her cheeks and realized from the smell that it was blood.
Pain and blood had constituted the majority of her childhood. and now she could feel the part of her that had never forgotten it wanting to curl into the fetal position and sob.
Why have you come now?
“Because you endanger everyone with your carelessness, your stupidity. Those girls… they haven’t gone unnoticed and it’s only a matter of time before the whole world knows who we are and where to find us. The first and greatest rule is that we must protect the secret.”
The words came flowing out of her in a torrent and she listened to herself, amazed at how good it sounded, stunned that the truth was still hers alone. She drummed her fingers harder, unable to stop herself from sending up a prayer that the nightmare would be over soon. As soon as she did that, she felt time slow down. Her new religion also believed in power. The power of prayer. They would surely sense that she had done something.
The figure to the far left cocked its head as if listening to some distant song. And then a man’s voice spoke the words out loud. “There’s power coming off her. She’s not fully bound.”
And in that moment Samantha knew that she was going to die. Voices screamed in her head. The witch on the right lunged forward, an athame gripped in a strong hand with wicked daggers for fingernails. The slithering shadows rushed her, flowing over her, through her, driving the life out of her.
She felt her heart slow, felt her body spasming in shock as something dug sharp talons into her chest.
Going to die, going to die, going to die!
It was the same voice that had spoken in the house. Panic consumed her. She was still in the house, trapped with Ed. A scream was ripped from her throat and white-hot pain raced down every nerve ending.
She looked down and saw a hand gripping her arm, pulsing with killing energy. Blood was flowing from her own eyes, ears, and nose, running down her face and spattering on her shirt.
She tried to stand up, but her feet were still lashed to the chair. She tried to jerk her arm out of the witch’s grip, but it too was bound.
But her right one wasn’t, she remembered. It was still drumming on the table. She slammed her hand down flat and pushed with everything she had in her.
There was a crack and then the table exploded outward in a thousand shards as sharp as daggers. One witch fell silently, a four-inch chunk of wood embedded in her eye. Another was knocked off her feet and hit the ground hard with a dozen projectiles sticking out of her chest.
With a shout, the witch farthest from her hurled an athame at her head. She reached up with her free hand and yanked the woman who was holding her into its path. She fell, the dagger lodged in her throat.
Samantha lifted her hand toward the remaining attacker, but before she could do anything she was thrown backward. Still lashed to the chair, she slammed into the wall behind her so hard she felt bones crunching on impact.
Bridget stood in the doorway, her eyes glowing, her face twisted in malice. An unseen force grabbed Samantha’s free hand and crushed the bones. She tried to scream, but something scaly and slithery moved swiftly across her shoulder and clamped itself over her mouth. She breathed in the stench of death and decay and began to gag.
“Enough!” Bridget thundered.
The witch who’d thrown the athame slunk behind her like a cur while the one with a chestful of shrapnel dragged herself across the floor using only her fingernails until she could touch the toe of Bridget’s shoe.
And Samantha understood just how desperately she had underestimated Bridget’s power.
“Do you yield to me?” Bridget demanded.
All Samantha could do was make a gurgling sound as she struggled to free herself from the things that were binding her.
Bridget snapped her fingers and the unseen serpent slithered away from her mouth.
“Never!” Samantha hissed. She closed her eyes, preparing for death.
And Bridget chuckled.
Samantha opened her eyes and stared at the witch. The light was slowly fading from her eyes and her features were twisted in amusement. “Do you join me?”
Samantha waited a beat and then nodded.
Bridget waved her hand and the shadows retreated from the room. Samantha’s arms and legs were suddenly free and she lurched out of the chair, standing on unsteady feet as her starved lungs gulped in fresh air.
“You have proven a
worthy adversary, Samantha. It is my wish that you prove yourself an even worthier ally.”
Samantha nodded again, not yet trusting herself to speak. The truth spell had dissipated along with everything else, but she was too shaken to chance saying the wrong thing.
Bridget leaned down and plucked a piece of wood from the one witch’s chest. She examined it closely. “Inspired. I never would have thought of turning the table into a bomb,” she admitted.
“I’ve never conjured a spirit snake,” Samantha said, thinking of the thing that had silenced her.
Bridget shrugged. “Once you learn how, it’s as natural as breathing. It’s one of the first things my high priestess taught me.”
“Are you sure you’re not the high priestess?” Samantha asked.
Bridget smiled. “I’m sure.”
She turned to the man behind her. “Randy, see to her,” she said, indicating the woman at her feet. “And bury them,” she said, casting a single glance at each of the bodies.
He nodded.
“Samantha and I are going to get to know each other better,” Bridget said.
She extended her hand and Samantha took it, shuddering inwardly at the contact. She felt as if she were holding hands with the devil herself.
15
Samantha walked beside Bridget as they left the Witchery, struggling to control herself every step of the way. Every instinct she had screamed at her to arrest the woman. But they didn’t have any evidence to convict her in the girls’ deaths. Worse, there wasn’t a jail anywhere that would be able to hold her, even if Samantha could succeed in arresting her.
Better just to kill her. Do it quick before she knows what hit her.
The voice inside her head tempted her and the harder she tried to ignore it, the louder it got. The truth was that even if she did kill Bridget, and then ran back inside and arrested or killed Randy and the other witch in there, the coven would still exist. By her own admission Bridget was not the high priestess. Not only would killing her not stop the coven or its plans, but it would make the rest of them that much harder to find.
So, as much as she hated it, she had to walk hand in hand with the other woman and hold her tongue until she could find out enough to take everyone down.
“I was watching you in there,” Bridget said as they moved away from the restaurant. “I could tell they hadn’t fully bound you. It was sloppy of them not to notice. What I didn’t catch, though, was what tipped them off.”
Samantha couldn’t tell her that she had prayed and the others had felt that surge of power from her. She had to come up with a plausible alternative. She took a deep breath and was relieved when an answer came to her.
“My body started to fight back because of the pain and the damage they were inflicting. It was an autonomic response, but one that used my powers. I couldn’t stop it.”
“That makes sense.”
Samantha was relieved that Bridget didn’t question the lie. Although the prayer had functioned much the same way—it had been her soul’s response, something she had no control over when it happened.
“So, why the test? It just pissed me off and got two of your coven killed.”
Bridget chuckled. “There are always more to take their place. Besides, it was more a test of my people than you.”
“So they failed, then.”
She nodded. “No matter. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And now we have you on our side. You’re easily worth a dozen of them. It’s like getting an entire coven wrapped up in one.”
The other woman was deliberately flattering her. Samantha decided to let it go.
“Bridget—one of the names of the goddess. Interesting choice,” she said, subtly fishing for information as to whether it was her real name.
“Not really. My mother was a Wiccan. She had a whole list that she was going to name her daughters. I was the only one, though. I heard what you said back there,” Bridget said, changing the subject suddenly.
“Which thing?” Samantha asked, instantly on guard.
“About being here because you were worried that we were being careless, stupid.”
“Oh.”
“We’re not,” Bridget said, a note of pride in her voice. “It’s all part of a plan. A glorious plan.”
“Who are you trying to resurrect?” Samantha asked.
Bridget stopped walking and turned to her, clearly startled. “How did you know about that?” she asked, the color draining from her face.
Samantha smiled slowly. “I might have been gone for a few years, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know when big things are happening in my town.”
Bridget chewed her lip for a moment, and that sign of distress in a witch as powerful as she was unnerved Samantha a bit.
“You deserve to know. You should know. You of all people could help us so much.”
“I agree. So, tell me who.”
“Abigail Temple.”
Samantha began to shake from head to toe as she stared in horror at her.
Bridget mistook the emotion and reached out to grip Samantha’s hands. “I know—amazing, right? And so very exciting. Samantha, I cannot wait to meet her. Imagine, your high priestess alive again!”
Samantha could imagine, all too well, the death and destruction that would follow as night to day. The woman she’d feared for twelve years. The ghost who had haunted her dreams nearly every night since. They were trying to resurrect her old high priestess and then she would likely try to take over, restore her way of doing things.
And risk killing them all once again.
“I can’t imagine,” Samantha whispered.
And from the blissful smile on Bridget’s face, Samantha knew that neither could she.
“When?” Samantha forced herself to ask.
“Soon. I promise,” Bridget said.
“You’re going to need more girls to sacrifice,” Samantha said.
Bridget smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ve got that all taken care of.”
“I want in.”
“Of course you do,” Bridget said. “And you will be. But first…”
“What?”
“Well, the high priestess wants you to go through a few more tests.”
Samantha snapped, “No more tests. I think I’ve proven who I am and what I’m capable of.”
“I agree. But she has a way she likes things to be done,” Bridget said with a sigh. “Patience. We’re doing some spellcasting tomorrow night and you can join us then.”
“Where?”
“At Abigail’s old home. You remember it, of course?”
She would never forget it. And after her brief trip there with Ed she was pretty sure the house would remember her too.
“I can’t wait,” she forced herself to say.
The pain from her injuries was kicking into high gear as the shock wore off. She gritted her teeth against it and willed herself to keep walking. The injuries were extensive enough that doing some quick, minor healing wouldn’t help. It was going to take everything she had and she didn’t dare let her guard down that much in front of Bridget.
“Several of your coven members are wearing the tattoo that was the mark of my coven without having belonged to it and earning the right to do so. Abigail will not be as forgiving as I am.”
Bridget smiled, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “We figure that by raising her from the dead we will have proven our worthiness to be her new coven and she will forgive us the premature use of the symbol. Besides, we’re raising the dead. Who is more godlike than us?”
Giving life to that which was lifeless was the ultimate act of creation and spoken of in most religions. But what they were attempting could hardly be called creation; it was more like reanimation.
The pain was becoming so intense that Samantha had to concentrate hard just to keep from screaming. “But why my coven?” she asked. “Why even bother resurrecting her? It seems like you have a fully functioning coven on your own.”
; “Please, you’re being too modest. Surely you know that the dark feats of your coven are legendary? Every witch with any shred of imagination would give almost anything to have that type of power. When our high priestess called us together it was clear that she had the power, the will, and the vision to re-create the most dangerous coven that ever walked the earth.”
“Power is a double-edged sword. It also cuts the one who wields it.”
“Which is why she is so cautious, even with you,” Bridget said.
Bridget left her when they reached the Hawthorne. Samantha hadn’t been able to glean anything else from her comments.
Samantha made it to her room and then collapsed, feeling sick and exhausted and overwhelmed. Bones in her right hand had been broken, along with a couple of ribs. She had been barely able to stave off the pain while she was with Bridget. Now it overwhelmed her.
She reached deep inside herself and called up the reserves of strength she needed. She screamed into a pillow on the bed to muffle the sound so hotel security wouldn’t show up while she was fixing her bones. Healing them by magic was fast but far more painful than letting them heal on their own. It leached the strength and the energy out of her entire body, leaving her shaking uncontrollably. Her body temperature began to drop and she crawled under the down comforter, her teeth chattering.
Though she desperately hoped for warmth, the thermostat on the wall across the room mocked her. She didn’t have the strength to walk to it to raise the temperature, nor did she have the magical energy left to push the button remotely.
As she lay shivering and healing, tears ran down her face, washing away the blood that she had forgotten was there and staining her shirt and the pillow.
At last the healing was over and she lay, half conscious, unable to go to sleep like she wanted to so badly and also unable to wake up enough to get to the bathtub. It was the cost of magic, the terrible burden that most people never dreamed of.
I can’t do it, she thought. I was crazy to think I could come back and handle all of this.
The Thirteenth Sacrifice Page 16