by Roger Hayden
“I’m so sorry,” Leigh mumbled into the fabric of her sweater.
“For what?”
“For what I’m about to tell you.”
“Leigh, who was it?”
She turned her face up to look at me.
“It was your brother, Morgan,” she said. “It was Wren.”
Chapter Seven
In Which I Find Myself Devastated
I only stared at Leigh in shock, unable to process the words that had come out of her mouth. The name worked its way through the synapses in my brain, and when it finally seemed to reach the point at which I had to decide whether to accept the information or reject it, I had no hesitation in denying it.
“No.”
Leigh nodded, her eyelashes laden with tears. “He was crying, like Laurel said,” she explained. “I don’t think he wanted to do it.”
I sat back, scraping my elbows against the trunk of the yew tree. I hardly felt it. “That can’t be right.”
“I saw him, Morgan, before I passed out.”
A rushing noise filled my head, blocking out Leigh’s voice. Wren’s face swam before me, innocent and simple. He’d always been a quiet kid, his thoughts impermeable, but I thought I knew him. He wasn’t capable of this. My mind took me back to the night I told him about Leigh. He was devastated. He had been shocked at Leigh’s death. He’d—been in his room all night?
“He told me he was in the house the whole day,” I said to Leigh. My voice sounded choked and thick, but I pushed the words out anyway.
“He didn’t answer the door when you got home,” she pointed out.
“Noise-cancelling headphones.”
Leigh raised an eyebrow. “It’s perfect, if you think about it,” she said. “He’s a loner. He’s usually in his room. No one would suspect him.”
“It can’t have been him!” I said.
“Shh.”
I glanced around, hoping the inhabitants of Yew Hollow hadn’t been disturbed by my outburst. I stood up, bracing myself against the yew tree for support.
“I have to go home.” I sniffed and wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead. It was a stuffy night for the end of October. Either that, or the witchcraft had lingered.
“I’ll go with you,” Leigh said.
“No,” I said in a sharper tone than I intended. I attempted to rein in my emotions. “You stay here. I want to talk to Wren alone.”
Back at the house, all was silent. My sisters and mother had gone to sleep. After such a display of their talents, it was normal for them to be exhausted. I, too, wished I could return to the third floor and fall into bed. Unfortunately, I didn’t have that option.
I trudged up the stairs to the second floor, lingering in the hallway outside Wren’s bedroom. Desperately hoping to find him asleep, I pushed the door open.
He sat at his desk, laptop open, very much awake. A small table lamp scattered shadows across the far wall near the window. At the sound of the creaking hinges, Wren spun his desk chair around to face me. My mouth opened. I had intended on handling the situation gently, with at least an iota of finesse. Instead, only one croaked word fell out.
“Why?”
In an instant, Wren’s eyes narrowed and his mouth turned downward. Then, before I even had a chance to react, he threw open the window next to his desk and jumped out.
“Wren!”
I flew across the room, leaning out over the windowsill. In complete stupefaction, I watched as Wren professionally shimmied down the drainpipe on the side of the house and took off at a sprint, heading toward the forest at the edge of the property.
“Oh, no, you don’t.”
My shock quickly morphed into rage. Wren’s escape was a confession, and now I couldn’t believe that I’d been so stupid as to simply accept his act of naiveté. Blood boiling, I burst from Wren’s room, descended the stairs two at a time, and blasted out of the back door. Once outside, I saw Wren’s figure disappear into the trees. Exploding off the porch steps, I dashed across the backyard toward the black abyss of the forest.
Wren didn’t bother to hide his tracks. He’d crashed through the trees, leaving a trail of broken branches and trampled brush in his wake. Laurel would have cringed at the damage. I, on the other hand, felt oddly grateful. It was easy to follow his path of destruction. I ran as fast as I could, chest heaving, until the forest thinned out again. I lingered at its edge, unfamiliar with the territory.
In the clearing before me stood a decrepit house. Paint peeled from its walls, shingles were missing from its roof, and the front door looked as though it had been kicked in several times. Concealed in the darkness of the trees, I surveyed the area, looking for Wren. He appeared suddenly, panting. He approached the broken door and knocked.
Roger Parris answered.
I should have punched him in the face when I had the chance.
Without exchanging a greeting, Parris stepped back to let Wren inside. My heart felt as though it were going to beat right out of my chest. What the hell kind of business did Wren have with Roger Parris?
I waited for a minute or so to make sure they wouldn’t emerge again. Then, as quietly as possible, I made a dash toward the house and pressed myself against the wall. Already, I could hear soft voices emanating from an open window. I dropped to my hands and knees, crawling around to the side yard. I flattened myself out beneath the window, trying not to breathe, and listened.
“She knows it was me,” Wren was saying, his words punctuated by short gasps as he tried to catch his breath.
“How? We shielded the dagger.”
“I don’t know,” Wren wheezed. “She just came into my room.”
“No matter,” Parris said. “She was bound to find out anyway. She’s on my list.”
“What?” Wren sounded panicked. “You said she was safe!”
Parris’s responding chuckle was a dark, ominous sound. “Oh, my boy. Sometimes, I wish you could hold onto your ignorance. It makes you invaluable.”
“I won’t let you use her,” Wren said, his voice wavering.
Parris laughed outright. “Don’t you understand, Wren? Here, read the last line of the ritual requirements.”
The sound of something being pushed across the surface of a table met my ears. I wished that I could peek up over the windowsill, but I couldn’t run the risk of being discovered.
“One with the blood of those whose power he covets,’” Wren read obediently. A shiver ran down the length of my spine. I knew those words. Leigh and I had discovered them that very morning, in the photocopies of the power-snatching ritual. The ritual required three sacrifices: a righteous woman born on the autumn equinox, a boy of unfortunate birth, and the blood of those whose power he covets.
“Remember how they’ve treated you,” Parris growled. “You are nothing but a speck of disgrace in their eyes. They can’t wait to be rid of you. Your absentee sister is no exception. She’s a witch, just like the rest of them.”
“She’s different.”
“You listen to me, Summers,” Parris said.
There was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Then Wren said, “Let go!”
“I did not move to this godforsaken town, play nice with the sorry excuses for human beings here, and spend half my life setting up this damn ritual, only to have a weakling like you derail it,” Parris snarled. “Your sister will be the last sacrifice, and you will have no input on that decision.”
My spine went rigid as Parris declared his intentions so nonchalantly. I should’ve known that Parris’s vehement attacks on me were simply part of his plan, an attempt to cast the blame on someone else.
Wren’s next words were garbled, as if Parris had a hand around his throat. “You lied to me,” he croaked.
“Lies are the basis of my business,” Parris said in a low, dangerous voice. “But one thing remains true. Your family is a scourge. I’ve known it since I was born.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Wren said. His tone was low and s
oothing, but it seemed to have no effect on Parris. I heard Wren stumble toward the window I lurked under. Parris must’ve released him. I flattened myself against the house, terrified that one of them might catch a glimpse of me through the window.
“I don’t have to do this?” Parris hissed. Slow, heavy footsteps made their way to the window, signaling Parris’s approach. “How mistaken you are. Your family slaughtered mine. My fathers before me suffered and died at the hands of the Summers coven. Now, they’ve turned that suffering into a revelry, a triumph to be celebrated every year.”
My mouth dropped open in sudden understanding. No wonder Parris was so hostile toward the coven. He was a descendant of the witch hunter who had so infamously attempted to slay the original Summers coven. Parris was fighting a war long over. In fact, he was reigniting a battle that had been dormant for over two hundred years.
“Has your confidence abandoned you, Summers?” Parris said lethally. “When you first came to me, I admired your determination. I thought that you and I were cut from the same cloth, both outsiders with a desire to put things right.”
“Morgan wasn’t meant to be involved,” Wren said, the amount of venom in his voice startling me. “The rest of the coven treated me like dirt, but she was the only one who ever cared about me.”
“Yes, I realized your unfortunate attachment to her as soon as she returned to town,” Parris said. “I thought it would throw quite a wrench in my plans, but it turns out that she represents everything I care to eliminate. It makes her a perfect sacrifice for the ritual. With her blood, I can take out the entire coven, including that righteous bitch you call your mother. When their powers transfer to me, I’ll burn Yew Hollow to the ground. The Summerses will cease to exist, and I intend to make their deaths as painful and as humiliating as my forefathers’.”
“And what about me?” Wren asked. He had backed himself against the open window, so close that I could see where his pale fingers clung to the sill. “You promised to make me your partner.”
Parris’s answering laughter was bone chilling. “The fact that you ever believed me proves your absolute lack of worth to me,” he said. “It was so easy to convince you to kill Leigh, despite your fatuous attachment to her. Would you like to know why?”
Wren remained silent, though I saw his grip on the windowsill tighten.
“Because,” Parris continued, taking Wren’s silence as acquiescence, “I wanted the same thing as you. Do you not agree that the whole concept of witchcraft is inequitable? Only passed on through females? The entire system rests on the backs of the men who are unlucky enough to allow themselves to be drawn into a witch’s web.”
Forgetting for a moment that my life was in mortal peril, I rolled my eyes. Parris’s chauvinistic bullshit was nauseating.
“I intend to right that concept,” Parris continued. “I will gain the power that the Summers women coveted, and I will use it to avenge my family. But don’t worry, Wren, you’ll serve your purpose.”
“As what?” Wren bit back. Despite his betrayal, I felt a swelling of pride in my chest at his sarcastic tone.
“A boy of unfortunate birth,” Parris said, and once again, his footfalls seemed to be nearing the window. “The second ritual requirement. It pertains to you, born into a family that cared nothing for you, that found no value in your life. Unfortunate birth, indeed.”
Wren’s breath whooshed out of his body. “You’ve been planning this the whole time,” he said to Parris. “Ever since I came to you. Before, even.”
“It does seem rather convenient, doesn’t it?” Parris said. “Unfortunately, due to your incompetence, I’ll be forced to move your ritual up. How does tonight sound?”
I heard the explosive crash of a table being knocked aside. Wren’s body rocked backward as Parris careened into him, obviously with the intention of taking Wren down. As they scuffled, I edged away from the window, at a loss for what to do. Horrified, I watched as Wren’s elbow pulled back. I heard the smack of his fist meeting Parris’s face, a grunt, and several choice swear words from Parris’s mouth. Wren wrenched himself free, and in the same fashion as his escape from his bedroom earlier, he vaulted out of the decrepit house through the window.
He landed catlike beside me. His eyes widened to an impossible amount at my presence, but I stood, grabbing the collar of his shirt, before he could say anything.
“Run,” I ordered.
We took off at a pace that Olympians would’ve marveled at, stumbling over the uneven ground surrounding Parris’s house. As I dragged Wren along behind me, I refused to look back to see if Parris was following us. There was no need. His voice thundered out.
“Run!” he roared, echoing my own advice in a bizarrely motivational way. “Tell your sisters I send my regards, Ms. Summers!”
We plunged into the shadows of the forest, the dilapidated house disappearing behind us. Parris’s threats faded, swallowed by the trees, but I didn’t slow my pace. Breathing raggedly, I hurdled a fallen log. Wren, his long legs much more suitable for flight than my own, drew ahead of me. As we neared our own backyard, I snagged the back of his shirt.
“Not that way,” I gasped.
Without arguing, Wren followed me as I shot past the house, delving deeper into the woods. In a few minutes, we reached an old, abandoned stable. When I was growing up in Yew Hollow, the stable had been one of my favorite places to escape to. Unlike the yew tree, it was far away from any prying eyes or personalities. As far as I knew, my family was unaware of its location, which made it an ideal hideaway for a desperate teenager.
The sliding door had all but rusted shut. Wren and I struggled with it for several long minutes before wrenching it open.
“Get in,” I said, slipping inside. I slammed the door shut behind him then slumped down to the dirt floor. My lungs felt tight, and I couldn’t seem to draw in a full breath. Wren, hands on his knees and chest pulsing, watched me cautiously.
“You... asshole,” I huffed, letting my head rest against the barn door. “How... could... you...”
“Why did you save me?” Wren asked, his voice much steadier than mine. “You could’ve left me for Parris.”
I leaned forward, putting my head between my knees to keep it from spinning. It had been a while since I’d sprinted full-out like that. Now that the adrenaline rush was gone, all I wanted to do was to take a nap. Steadily, my breathing evened out.
“We’re family,” I finally said. “That’s what you do for family. What you don’t do is help jackasses like Parris take out your entire bloodline.”
He at least had the decency to hang his head. “You don’t understand,” he mumbled, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.
“I don’t understand?” I repeated incredulously. “Wren, you’re talking to the black sheep of the Summers coven. I never wanted to be involved with this crap. It wasn’t a choice. But did I go off and try to get my family murdered?”
“They treat me like shit, Morgan!”
“THEN LEAVE!” I bellowed. My rage over Wren’s betrayal, which had been building ever since he leapt out of his bedroom window, suddenly overflowed. I was beyond livid. I’d defended Wren in every possible way to our family, and he’d thanked me with the orchestration of my own death. “You’re eighteen!” I continued, my voice bouncing off the walls of the barn. “You could’ve left whenever you wanted. Where is your mind, Wren? What part of you thought it was okay to sell out your family for your own sick ends? It’s vile, immature, and—”
“I get it,” he said in a thick voice. “I’m an awful person.”
“Yeah, you are. And I don’t think you do get it,” I responded, “but don’t give me that self-pitying bullshit. I won’t buy it, and it doesn’t give you an excuse for murder.”
He sat down in a pile of hay and ran a hand through his thick hair. When he spoke again, it sounded much more remorseful. “I didn’t mean for you to get involved. You showed up here out of the blue. You were supposed to be in New
York.”
“It sounds like if I hadn’t shown up, the Summerses would’ve been barbequed by now,” I retorted.
Wren shook his head. “Each phase of the ritual is meant to take place in time with the full and new moon phases. Last week was the full moon, the first sacrifice. Parris has to wait at least another week before he attempts the second one.”
“Then why did he threaten to sacrifice you tonight?” I asked, skeptical.
Wren shrugged.
“What else do you know about the ritual?” I demanded. “Who created it?”
“Parris’s father.”
“Why?”
Wren observed me, as if deciding whether or not to trust me with this forthcoming piece of information. “Parris’s mother was a witch. His father didn’t know at first. When he figured it out, he got involved with dark magic. The ritual was meant to sap her power and add it to his own.”
Another puzzle piece clicked into place. “That’s why he hates witches so much,” I said. “Not only is Parris’s family descended from the Yew Hollow witch hunter, but he was jealous of his mother’s powers and resented her for them. What happened?”
Another shrug. “Parris wouldn’t tell me,” Wren said, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on one knee. “But I think his father died during the final stages of the ritual. Couldn’t handle the power or something.”
“And you thought it’d be a good idea to get in on it?” I asked, wondering about Wren’s sanity.
“All I did was set up the sacrifice,” Wren admitted. “He’s the one controlling the ritual.”
“You killed Leigh.”
His chin wobbled, and for a moment, I saw him as his five-year-old self, asking his favorite sister to make everything better. I nearly gave in. Part of me wanted to shuffle over to him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. The bigger part of me was too pissed off to do so.
“Get up,” I ordered, pushing myself to my feet. My legs felt like jelly. I made the resolution to start jogging on a regular basis if I survived Parris’s wrath.