by D. Fischer
“Mom,” I sob, pulling her closer. A single tear leeches from her own eye and disappears into the neckline of her soaked dress. There’s such a kindness in her gaze, a plea for understanding, and I squeeze my eyes shut to banish the implication. She knows anything I try to do at this point will not save her. She knows this is her end, and I will be the last thing she sees, the last kindness she’ll receive. A daughter holding a dying mother. A mother who fought alongside her daughter. Another loss. The hardest loss. And her acceptance of it. I can be nothing but her greatest love. Nothing but her greatest compassion. Nothing but the daughter she always wanted me to be. Born of compassion.
Squeezing her tighter in my arms, her blood slicking along my bare skin, I whisper, “It’s okay.” My bottom lip wobbles as gurgling sounds come from her, tightly pressed against me. “It’s okay.”
I survey the field littered with black and red blood to Eliza roaring her rage and Aiden trying urgently to make his way to her, to the vampire’s still raiding through the forest to join their troops, to Dyson’s wolf snarling at an approaching group, the only barrier between them and the young witches inside.
With my next breath, I press my lips to my mother’s head as her legs sprawl across the weeds. I pull away, the I love you ready to cross my lips. Her head lolls to the side, her sightless gaze to the clouds, to the rain, to the crack of lightning.
Dead. She’s dead.
“It’s okay,” I croak one last time, hoping she clung long enough to hear it. I kiss her forehead slick with red. “I love you.”
“Kat!” Astrid yells, hobbling to me. She stops short when she sees my limp mother in my arms.
I blink at her. I blink because I know what to do. Because I won’t let my mother’s death go unpunished. Because I won’t let another die. It’s an idea. A stupid idea. A reckless one. “You and the other witches protect the trees. Wrap them in a shield.” My voice is harsh, dense due to the knot in my throat.
Swallowing thickly, she nods as the witches around her join hands with hers. Gently, I set my mother down along the weeds and twigs and disturbed patches of dirt. I shut her eyes and wrap her arms around her middle, and then I stand. It doesn’t feel like me standing though. It’s an out-of-body experience.
Anger ripples through me. So hot and heavy that I shake with the need for revenge.
With one last look at my mother, I turn and walk to the forest on numb legs, blazing brighter than I was before. Absentmindedly, I shoot flames at any vampire daring to approach me and lock gazes with one racing through the trees with his buddies in tow. Just past Aiden and Eliza, I drop to my knees and peer to my palms, at the callouses. The flames are burning away my mother’s blood as it dances across the lines of my palms, a willing friend, an old, wise soul, an ancient magic yet to be fully tapped.
My mother. She’s gone.
Grinding my teeth, I slam my palms into the ground and lift my malicious leer back to the trees, back to the approaching new wave of vampires.
Fire races across the rest of the grass, the weeds, and straight into the forest. It licks up the shields protecting the trunks, the leaves, and hurtles toward the vampires. One, by one, by one, they shriek as they’re overtaken by a wildfire so hot, so bright, my eyes water against it. The wind whistles as the flames drown it, my scales slide through my skin to protect myself, and the magic continues to rage inside me. Again, I slam my fists against the ground, and the flames reach higher, further into the trees. I don’t stop. Oh, no. Not until ash rains against the forest floor like dark falling snowflakes.
This is my compassion.
ALSO BY D. FISCHER
| THE CLOVEN PACK SERIES |
| RISE OF THE REALMS SERIES |
| NIGHT OF TERROR SERIES |
| OTHER |
Grim Fairytale Collections
Christmas Stranger
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author, D. Fischer, is a mother of two very busy boys, a wife to a wonderful and supportive husband, and an owner of two dogs. Together, they live in Orange City, Iowa. When D. Fischer isn’t chasing after her children or creating worlds while sipping coffee, she spends her downtime reading until way past her bedtime.
Known for the darker side of imagination, she enjoys freeing her creativity through worlds that don’t exist, no matter how much we wish they did.
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