Bright Young Witches & the Restless Dead

by Beth Byers

  “You want me. Think of what we could be together.”

  “You’re impressed with yourself.” She was speaking to the ghost inside of Harvey. Whoever he’d found on the other side of the thinning had not been a good creature. “You think you are worthy of note.”

  He slammed both hands into the pentacle, trying to reach for her, but he couldn’t cross.

  “Come in here and say that,” he told her.

  She glanced at Echo, who shook her head frantically. Ari needed this ghost running. She needed it afraid of her, so she stepped into the pentacle.

  “I’ve got you now,” Harvey giggled, slamming his hands into her face. Her magic was already burning through her and stopped him before he could hurt her. His giggle faded as he threw everything he had at her.

  She heard the shouts of the other witches, she felt Echo struggling to feed magic to her, but she was the Wode, and this ghost would fear her. Because this fellow was not Circe and that battle needed to be fought mentally first.

  Harvey tried again and this time her magic wound around his wrists. It was visible to the naked eye now. Going from her to him. He gasped as he felt it reach into him.

  “This is what magic is supposed to feel like,” she told him. “This is what power feels like.”

  Harvey tried to yank his hands away, but he couldn’t. His scream was otherworldly and she placed both of her hands on his face and order the infection from him with magic, will, and her status as the Wode.

  The struggle was far shorter than it should have been. She cruelly cleansed his aura, yanking the dark magic from him and leaving him wounded, but clean. When she stepped back out of the pentacle, his eyes were blue once more and he was shaking.

  “Is he clean?” Mrs. Langford asked. Ariadne hadn’t noticed when she returned. She should have been ashamed at how viciously she’d ripped the infection from Harvey, but she wasn’t.

  Ariadne nodded.

  “You’re terrifying,” Mrs. Langford told Ariadne. “You listened to my children scream and didn’t falter.”

  “Faltering is failure,” Ari said. “It’s not kind to be gentle and slow with something like this. Think of it as gangrene. The disease has to go so the man can live.”

  “Will my son live? And my daughters?”

  “Yes,” Sybil said from the doorway. “Yes. They’ll live. We’ll train them, and they won’t be undefended again.”

  “What about Circe?” Mrs. Langford asked.

  Ariadne looked at Echo, who stared back. Together the two sisters turned to their third. Echo replied softly, “She’s quite a different animal.”

  “A dangerous creature,” Ariadne replied.

  “You said she was fluttery.” Mrs. Langford reminded her.

  “Circe unaffected by ghosts is sweetness and light. She’s soft, kind, thoughtful, and rather inclined to spend a day playing instead of working.”

  “But for her,” Echo added, “playing is working.”

  Black hair, flat black eyes with no white left, skin that was nearly gray and showing the infection, and it was growing. Black veins criss-crossed Circe’s once beautiful skin.

  Her mouth moved as if she was laughing but all they could hear was a growl.

  “Oh my Hecate,” Echo breathed.

  Circe laughed a shrill, ear-bleeding sound, and Mrs. Langford dropped to her knees, covering her ears. Ariadne glanced at Echo, and Echo stared back with stark, hopeless eyes.

  This was not a battle that they could win the way that Ariadne had just crushed Harvey Langford, the untrained, infected witch who had the misconception that one dark spell and the influence of a ghost was somehow more powerful than the head of a family line with the magic in her soul trained since she’d first caused a flower to bloom with a glance and an idle thought.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Echo asked Ariadne.

  Ari’s lack of reply was answer enough.

  “What you did was stupid,” Echo told Ariadne. “It was dangerous, and we need you.”

  Circe’s high-pitched laughter left Echo rubbing her arms.

  “We need to consider what can be done for Miss Wode,” Mr. Dominic Blacke said. “Her ghostly infection is full-blown. Perhaps her magic needs to be bound.”

  “That is a rather drastic step, Dom,” Lucian replied. “We can hardly advise such an action without trying everything else first.”

  “Miss Ariadne Wode just ripped a ghost infection out of Harvey Langford and hesitates to approach her sister. That tells us what kind of witch we’re dealing with. We need to be careful. We can’t set off another witch hunt because these Americans don’t want to do what is necessary.”

  “Dom,” Sybil cut in. “We have to at least try.”

  “Why aren’t they trying yet?” Dominic demanded. “They can’t. They’ve accepted it in their hearts. There’s nothing to be done for Circe Wode except to take her magic.”

  Chapter 20

  MAY 1922, LONDON, ENGLAND

  ARIADNE EUDORA WISTERIA WODE

  Ariadne’s head tilted, and her hand snaked out, quick as lightning, and she threw him into a pentacle. He rose, furious, and then tried to step out, but he was unable to pass the border of the pentacle.

  “What the hell?” Lucian demanded, then his eyes widened in realization. Before his sister could step away, he pushed her into the pentacle with Nanette Langford.

  His sister, however, rolled her eyes and stepped back out, bringing Nanette with her.

  Silence followed until Sybil spoke. “Dom.” She studied her brothers, one trapped in the pentacle, the other watching in horror, then drew in a long breath and led Nanette from the room. There was nothing to say if Dominic was infected.

  “I believe we’ve found our engineer,” Ari said unnecessarily.

  Lucian was staring at his brother, who stood as still and silent as death. Ariadne could well imagine the way his thoughts were going.

  She faced Harvey, still prone in his pentacle. “Where’d you get the spell, Harvey?”

  Harvey Langford rubbed his eyes—still blue—and hesitated. But he looked at Dominic Blacke.

  “How long did you work with him?” Ariadne asked, command in her voice. Whatever ability Harvey Langford had before to fight the command in Ariadne’s voice was exhausted, and he answered.

  “He gave me the spells before I left. He told me I would be able to use the power I achieved to get out from under my father. I knew about witches because of my aunt and I guessed what Dom was. To my surprise, he admitted it.”

  “Who sacrificed the animal that you used?” Echo asked, knowing that the life force of an animals was used too often to access the thinning.

  “The what?” Harvey asked, eyes wide. “I didn’t sacrifice anything.”

  Ariadne’s examined the truth runes, which were still strong despite their battle.

  “Can you leave the pentacle?”

  Harvey hesitated.

  “Try,” Ariadne said, gently.

  Slowly he simply rolled out of the pentacle.

  To Lucian, Ariadne said, “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded as he stared at his older brother. His voice cracked as he asked, “Why?”

  “Jessamine left.” Dominic’s hands were clenched. “She’s not visiting her mother. She went home to her mother.”

  “Who is Jessamine?” Echo asked quietly.

  “My wife. I just wanted my wife back. I needed power to gather her attention.”

  Ariadne stared at Echo, who shook her head. Lucian was white-faced and his sister hadn’t returned. Ariadne had to wonder if they were as willing to sacrifice Dominic as he’d been to sacrifice Circe, but Ari didn’t ask. They’d used an argument on her that she wouldn’t repeat to them. She wasn’t sure how willing she’d be to help Dominic given his new status as a knowing manipulator, but for now, he was contained.

  Movement in Circe’s pentacle caught Ariadne’s attention. Circe’s smile spread over her face as their eyes met.

  “Normally
you’re so vain,” Ariadne said to Circe. “Look at you.”

  No reaction other than the haunting smile.

  “You look terrible,” Ariadne told her. Still nothing.

  She looked around to see that Hadley and Margot Wode had helped Harvey from the room and were, no doubt, giving him the potions and dried herb bundles. Mrs. Langford would flit from one child’s bed to another’s. Circe and Dominic were another story.

  Ariadne knelt outside of Circe’s pentacle and traced the peace runes with her own blood and crumbled acanthus. Circe’s black gaze narrowed as Ariadne lit henbane and wormwood and blew the smoke towards her sister.

  “You can’t beat me,” Circe said, but it was the ghost inside of Circe that was speaking.

  Ari considered the last time Circe had seemed like Circe. It had been when she wept over Lindsey lighting the cross. “I was right about Lindsey being no good.”

  Circe’s dark gaze narrowed and in her fury, she flew at Ariadne, only to slam against the pentacle.

  “She's in there,” Echo said. “Her heart is engaged.”

  “Mama would be disgusted with—”

  Circe’s shriek was unholy as she threw herself at the pentacle again. Ariadne waited until Circe slid to the ground again and then she pressed her hand against the pentacle as she finished, “me.”

  Circe’s gaze narrowed and Ariadne took the henna paint brush and painted the truth runes on each of her palms, showing them to Circe. Cruelty wasn’t working. Perhaps another approach?

  “I’m jealous of you.”

  Circe’s blinked rapidly, which was incredibly disturbing with fully black orbs. “Of course you are. I’m prettier than you.”

  “You are. And kinder. And softer. And you don’t have to deal with Aunt Beatrix and her stupid sons. And you’re so gifted with music and drawing. Everyone likes you more than they do me.”

  Circe’s body twitched, but none of the black faded from her eyes or her skin.

  Ari knew that she wasn’t going to be able to talk the infection out of Circe, but Ari also knew if she could get Circe on her side working against the infection, they had a better chance at quickly ending things.

  She talked until her throat dried out, but Circe’s darkness didn’t fade. Ariadne rose and slammed her fist into the wall only to hear Circe’s haunting laugh followed by the sing-song call, “You’ll have to do better than that, Wode.”

  “It’s not working,” Lucian told Ariadne. He hadn’t even started with his brother, and Ari had to wonder what his intention was. Dominic was no blind victim, and he didn’t have the black eyes and veins. He’d known the risks, and he protected himself against them.

  “I know.”

  “You won’t be able to rip this out of her like you have the Langfords.”

  “I know.”

  “It might take time. Nature magic does. You’ll need to starve the ghost and use what is more natural to her to pull it out. Something to engage her in the battle.”

  “Did he—” Echo stared at Ariadne, who sighed as she covered her face with her hands.

  “We really are the dimmest witches in all of America and England.” Ariadne raced up the stairs from the laboratory. She found Lucian’s sister helping Mrs. Langford and asked, “Do you have any kind of musical instrument?”

  Sybil paused and then nodded. She led Ariadne to a room with several different instruments, including—thank Hecate—a guitar. Ariadne took it down and tuned it and then said, “Thank you.”

  In the spell laboratory, Echo met Ariadne’s gaze. Together the sisters flipped through their mother’s Book of Shadows and found the healing spells Mama had used just for Circe. They were the same basic spells that had been used on Ariadne and the other girls, but these were set to music.

  Ariadne started humming and Echo joined in. It took Ariadne a good half hour before she was able to pick out the song on the guitar and play it well, but she got there. As they worked, they ignored the raging Circe throwing herself against the pentacle.

  Slowly, the black faded from Circe’s nail beds. Echo nodded to it and Ariadne continued to hum and play as Echo read Circe poetry. The night passed, the sun rose and the warming light of the day came to their aid. While the sisters worked, threading magic and love around Circe, Lucian used ancient mirrors to shine sunlight upon Circe and Dominic. Herb bundles were lit, healing spells and runes were written and adjusted, and slowly the black veins were pulled off of Circe’s skin.

  “It’s still in her aura,” Lucian told Ariadne after hours of work.

  “I know,” she said, her voice raw. “Sweet Hecate, I know.” What she didn’t know was what to do.

  “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

  She nodded, too exhausted to question, and he left. She and Echo returned to telling their sick sister stories of their childhood, humming spells, and playing Mama’s lullabies.

  “Nooooooooo—” Circe screamed when the door opened once again. Tripping down the stairs, little Medea and Cassiopeia hurried to Circe, stopping a few feet short of the pentacle.

  “Help us help you, Miss Wode,” Lucian said. He pushed the girls forward.

  “Please?” Cassiopeia asked. “Circe, please come back.”

  “We’re going to have trouble, Mr. Blacke. Trusting you did not include bringing them here,” Ariadne warned him and then she cried out as Medea stepped into the pentacle with Circe.

  Circe both dove at Medea and grabbed herself by the wrist to protect her youngest sister. Ariadne leaped into the pentacle just as Circe shoved Medea out.

  “I know you’re in there, Circe Euterpe Magnolia Wode.” Ariadne had only meant to free Medea, but now she knew she was where she needed to be.

  “You’re mine now,” Circe laughed with a haunting tone as she grabbed Ariadne by the throat.

  “Circe?” Medea’s voice was thin and trembling. Ari had little doubt that Echo was holding both girls tight and safe.

  Circe’s black gaze turned to Medea even as her nails dug into Ari’s throat.

  “Why are you hurting Ari?”

  “Don’t worry, poppet,” Circe growled. “You won’t need her anymore.”

  Medea gasped as Circe’s nails dug harder into Ariadne, but Ari didn’t fight. Instead, Ariadne went for the infection, trusting in her sister to fight from doing true harm. She wasn’t sure she’d allowed Circe that trust given the problems between them.

  Trust. How long had they gone without it?

  Ariadne reached out with her magic and grabbed at the infection. If she had been cruel with Harvey and Nanette, Ariadne was beastly with Circe and it worked. Circe went from choking Ariadne to clutching her own throat as Ari yanked at the infection without regard to Circe’s reaction, trusting in her instincts and trusting that she knew her sister, her true sister, and what Circe could survive. And what she would want. There was no scenario where Circe would allow any harm to fall upon her sisters. It had taken Ariadne far too long to realize it.

  A black gunk poured from Circe’s throat while Ariadne used her own magic to burn the ghostly infection from Circe. The infection tried to cling to Circe, but as it weakened, Ari could feel Circe helping from within. And when she heard Circe begin to hum, she knew they would win.

  When the last tendrils of black faded from Circe’s aura and skin, Ariadne slumped to the floor. Circe fell unconscious next to her. Ari was covered in bruises and scratches and felt as feeble as a newborn kitten while her sister was shuddering.

  Echo stepped forward with her magic, athamé, and a flame in her hand, banishing the gunk and the ghostly influence that remained behind.

  Mr. Blacke stepped into the pentacle, picked her up, and carried her out.

  “Your throat looks like you were nearly killed,” he told her. She shoved him off of her with a burst of fury that he’d brought their little sisters into this mess.

  “I don’t care,” she rasped. “Echo?”

  Echo, holding back Medea and Cassiopeia, examined Circe and commanded in p
roto-Romanian, “Present.”

  Circe’s eyes opened, but they were the black that they should be. Black eyes with the framing white. Her thick lashes contrasted against it all. Circe had a sick glint as if she were quite ill combined with shame-filled guilt. Horror poured from Circe’s gaze, but they were her eyes. Circe’s skin had traversed from grey back to white, but dark circles shadowed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Circe groaned. “I’m so sorry.” Circe stood on shaking legs and stepped forward, out of the pentacle. “Oh, Ari—”

  “It’s all of our faults,” Ariadne told her, relief pouring from her as she pulled her trembling sister into an embrace. “If you can forgive me, I can forgive you.”

  Circe clung to her and nodded.

  “I know we have our differences, but I love you, Circe.”

  The tears started the second Circe replied, “I love you too, Ari.”

  Ariadne had called for a black cab and was taking her sisters home. Lucian followed them to the auto.

  “I—”

  It was the beginning of a lame apology. Ari shook her head. Her fury had not waned, but Circe had been able to leave the pentacle. The same could not be said for Lucien’s brother. She knew Lucian had intended to help, and she knew that he couldn’t know that Medea would dive at any of her sisters to help regardless of the warnings she’d been given. It wasn’t fully his fault, but Ariadne was going to have nightmares of Circe fighting to hold herself back from what the ghost infection wanted to do to Medea.

  “I can’t heal your brother,” she told him. She had to fight with herself to add, “But I’ll do what I can to help.”

  “I’ve called my father,” Lucian said. “He’s coming with the head of the Blacke line.”

  Ariadne didn’t know what had driven Dominic to do what he had done. She knew that she would want answers and soon, but not now. Now she wanted rest and peace and her sisters.