Though these sounds echo towards me, the grounds closest to me are silent. Not so much as a branch snaps in the forest unless it’s under my own feet.
I’m only a few steps into the deepest part of the brush when I have to stop.
Though the lake isn’t particularly large, there’s no telling where my mother could be. If she even got inside. She never did explain how she planned to get here. I just trusted that if she said she’d be here . . . she would be.
But here in the silent, breath-fogged forest, now I wonder if I was wrong.
All around me, the forest and the lake lay still. Even the far-off shouting seems to have ceased. It’s so quiet, I think I can hear the gurgle of the water beneath its frozen surface.
My feet sting beneath me, the cold turning my toes blue and numb inside my ceremonial slippers. Still I stand, listening to the quiet—with nothing but the angry bubbling sound of the water to break the silence.
Wren.
If it’s possible to stand stiller than still, I do. The forest around me holds its breath, making not a sound.
I have to shake my head to clear it. The cold must be getting to me. I almost imagined . . .
“Wren!”
The sound of my voice is muffled, but it’s definite this time. It draws my eyes to the lake, where beneath a smooth, glassy plane of ice; a face looks back at me.
“Mother.” I stumble over my own feet as I skitter over to the edge of the lake. My palms flatten against the ice as I fall face to face with the woman trapped beneath.
It takes all of a second to realize she isn’t drowning here, in front of me. The figure floating beneath the ice is just a reflection of her. A spell was cast to bring her here, if only in spirit.
Of course she didn’t physically come. That would’ve been stupid.
Under any other circumstances, I’d be disappointed. Mad, even. But I’ve waited so long for this moment that I can’t bring myself to care.
Hot tears spill over at the corners of my eyes.
“Wren . . .” My mother’s words are garbled through the ice, but the sound of her voice is unmistakable. “I wondered when I’d get to see that face again.”
I stroke the ice where her cheek should be and let out a frustrated laugh. “Mom.”
Though she tries to smile at me, there’s something making her fidget. She’s moving nervously, her eyes checking something only she can see.
“Wren, I have to explain. There’s so much I have to explain.”
I’ve waited so long for this. Too long. I move closer to the surface of the ice, ignoring how it prickles against my exposed palms.
“What happened?” I barely dare to whisper into the ice. “Why’d you go? At the initiation . . .”
“I had to keep us safe. I had to be sure,” she says. She takes on that look again and starts wringing her hands. “Wren. Wren, there’s something you have to know.”
I move even closer, until the tip of my nose brushes the ice. “Yes?”
“Wren . . .”
Her voice speaks my name a breathy whisper, the sound of a secret about to be told. I’m ready for it. God, I’m so ready for it.
If only there wasn’t a second voice calling my name. This one not nearly so poetic.
“Wren!” A male voice cuts out across the lake like a knife, severing the tie between me and the woman beneath the water. We both look up across the flat surface of the lake to spot Abacus sprinting towards us across the grounds.
At first I’m angry. I glance back down at my mother so close. Not just her secrets, my answers . . . but her. I’d started to think I might never get to see her again. And she’s right here, right now, and it’s still not enough.
My mother’s eyes roll wildly in her reflection. “You have to go. Now. I have to—”
“No!” I croak, my voice cracking. I slam the surface of the ice with my palms this time. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair.
Then Abacus shouts my name again, and this time, it isn’t just his footsteps I hear echoing towards me. Earlier I noted the shouting had stopped, but I was too preoccupied with finding my mother to think what it could mean.
But now I understand . . . because it’s been replaced by footsteps. Hundreds of them. Crashing through the branches, crunching across the snow.
I don’t know how they did it, but the Crusaders got through. They’re on the academy grounds, and they’re headed straight for me.
There’s no time to say goodbye. No time to skirt the edge of the lake.
I can’t look behind me once I’ve started. I focus on Abacus headed my way, a straight black line running as fast as he can to reach me. I throw myself to my feet and run straight across the ice.
At first, it’s just the thud of my feet on the frozen surface, drowning out the noise. The ice groans and crackles underfoot. Behind me, I leave a trail of cracks spiraling out across the surface.
Then my pursuers break the line of trees and I can hear them spilling out on the lake behind me just as I reach the far shore.
Abacus and I collide on the lake’s edge. He catches me by the forearms shoves me towards the door.
“Get inside,” he says. “I’m going to barricade the building!” His voice rises to a shout as I stumble the next couple steps.
For the first time I look behind me. I don’t mean to, but I can’t avoid the sight of them following after us just beyond the range of spells. There’s even more of them than I thought. The surface of the lake, already weakened by my flight, gives way. Several Crusaders fall through and are swept out of sight under the ice.
It doesn’t stop them. It just slows them down.
The cold air rakes up the back of my throat. “But . . . but what about you?”
Abacus draws his wand, and all around him settles that unnatural chill I’ve felt around his ancestor’s statue. It’s colder than the freezing air, colder than the ice that’s left my skin blue and blistered. A freezing wind races ahead of me, throwing the door into the back hallway open.
The last descendant of the First Dark Witch doesn’t look at me. He faces the horde head-on, wand drawn.
“I said go.”
And so I do.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I expect the academy to have dissolved into chaos. The outside barriers have been breached. The Crusaders are on the grounds.
But aside from the haunting chant of the solstice ritual, the hallways remain silent.
They must not know. They’re too focused on the ceremony.
I pick up the pace. The slippery floors skid out from under my feet, sending me skittering into walls and turning over vases as I race to reach them before it’s too late.
The closest doors into the dining hall are locked. I have to cut through the courtyard to the antechamber, where a dozen pairs of eyes turn to me in a frenzy the moment I burst through the doors.
I have to stop.
If they’re all waiting in here, the first part of the ceremony must have ended already.
“The Crusaders,” I gasp through chattering teeth. “They’re here. They’re—”
“We already know.” Headmistress Evanora steps forward to the front of the room. She wears her own set of flowing black robes. “There’s no need for everyone to go rushing about the school at the last second like chickens with their heads cut off.”
I falter, hesitating a second as I look around the gathered witches. Now that I’m here, the sound of the wand-duel only dying as the door to the courtyard clicks shut behind me, I realize I’m the only one who seems concerned.
Evanora takes another step towards me, holding out her hand and ushering me to stand beside Veronica. I move like I’ve been turned into one of the school’s zombies myself. It’s half out of cold, and half out of overwhelming confusion.
“But the fight . . . the Crusaders . . .” I mumble.
The headmistress claps her hands together, and everyone straightens to attention. “Abacus has the matter in hand, and I’ve been in
formed that the city guard has called on the council for backup. The rest of them will be here shortly,” she says, shooting me an especially pointed look in case I plan to argue. “We’ll not give these witches the satisfaction of derailing our ceremony. We proceed as planned, as Dark Witches have done for centuries.”
She waves her hand to Professor Hardbloom, who steps out to fetch the ceremonial blade from her office.
I feel like I’m in shock. I still feel the cold, frozen ice beneath my fingers. I can hear the rush of footsteps in the trees, and the adrenaline of my own blood coursing in my veins.
A minute later, Hardbloom returns in a swirl of gold-trimmed robes, his face already hidden by the dark folds of his hood. The knife case glitters in his gloved hands.
It’s time.
One by one, the rest of the faces around me disappear into hooded darkness.
The school nurse steps up to me before putting on her own hood. As practiced, she takes out her wand and briefly mutters a few protection spells over me. I feel a sweeping, warming sensation spread out from the base of my spine.
Though it heats my body, it does nothing to shake the chill at my core.
For a minute earlier, I knew death was imminent. One slip of a foot, a particularly canny spell, a thin patch of ice—and it’d all have been over. Now that I’m here, standing in a warm room beside a primping girl and a host of teachers in ornate robes, my body refuses to believe the danger is passed.
Abacus might be out there casting a literal shit-ton of spells to keep the Crusaders out of this school, but that doesn’t stop me from knowing they could be pressing outside the glass, looking in, even now.
My breath quickens, and Veronica darts me a look to her side.
Is it just me, or does she look nervous?
There’s no time for me to wonder at this further, however, before we’re herded inside the transformed dining hall for the final stage of the ceremony.
The Dark Witch Winter Solstice Ceremony.
I’ve read about it, practiced for it. Every night I’ve prepared my body for my part in it.
But I never quite imagined it. Not, at least, like this.
The moment we’re plunged through the door we’re met with an unnatural darkness. It fills the space from floor to vaulted ceiling, pressing against the light of a thousand candles so that they barely appear like distant pinpricks.
Two altars have been set up in place of the head table. Their dark marble glistens with blood dripped down from the ceiling.
The air is thick with the scent of it. There are others—juniper, pine, allspice—but first and foremost is the blood.
It turns my stomach. Of all the Dark Witch practices, this is one I may never get used to.
Our procession doesn’t stop until we’ve reached the base of the altars. Headmistress Evanora steps up behind them, the rest of the robed teachers fanning out behind her as Veronica and I step up to stand in the space between the two stone blocks.
I’m supposed to fix my gaze to hers, focus on the “transfer of powers” from the virgin to the goddess, but my eyes keep flickering to the crowd. I’m looking for them. For familiar faces peeking out from beneath the sea of hooded cloaks.
Merlin. Puck. Nicholas.
I’m still reeling from my interrupted meeting with my mother. I was so close. So close I can still taste it. She was right there, looking back at me through the glassy surface of the ice.
I just want to see one face among the confusing, swirling darkness that I recognize. Something that’ll reassure me it’s going to be okay. That despite the fact that all my months of planning have come to naught, that though I still have no answers, and even with an army of witches literally pounding at the doors and windows—I’m going to make it through.
I just want to be reminded that, like when I first lifted my obsidian wand from the pool at the initiation rites, my life doesn’t have to end tonight.
Though I can’t make out their faces among the hoods all around me, I step forward when my name is called and fulfill the duty I promised to uphold.
“Wren Davies, do you willingly offer yourself up as a virginal sacrifice on this winter solstice?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice surprisingly clear in the thick air.
The headmistress nods once and holds out a hand to me as I take off the now snow-soaked slippers. With surprising strength, Hardbloom takes my hand on the other side and the two of them help lift me up onto the altar. The stone feels cold against the bare skin of my feet and calves beneath the shapeless white gown.
I sit upright with my head facing forward, ignoring the flash of spells cast beyond the glass in the grounds behind me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it’s growing closer to the school.
“And you, Veronica Christie, accept the offer made by the sacrifice?”
Veronica glances over at me. That nervousness from earlier has been replaced by a repugnant, smug smile. I know she’s thinking about all the stupid things I made her do over the past weeks, knowing at last she’ll at least be satisfied by being crowned a deity. At least for the night.
Her lips curl up at the corners as she brazenly announces, “Yes. I find the sacrifice pure.”
Hearing her say that brings me a secret satisfaction . . . because of course, I’m not.
Headmistress Evanora turns to Veronica and offers her a hand as well. Veronica takes it and carefully rises up to perch on the edge of the altar to her side.
Hardbloom moves to take the headmistress’ place between us as she steps back and starts up the earlier chant. The sound of it swells louder as the audience joins in and Veronica and I lay back on the altars to face the vaulted ceilings.
I count the syllables in my head, focusing on the warmth of the protection spells cast over me as the sound of a dagger being unsheathed makes my muscles want to tense. In a few moments this will all be over. Veronica will be the goddess and I’ll be forgotten.
Maybe Abacus will drive the Crusaders away. Maybe I’ll be able to go back out to the lake and look for a sign of my mother. Maybe she left a way for me to find her again.
I take a deep breath. That’s right. Not all is lost.
From somewhere beyond the dining hall, something rattles. It sounds like doors flying open, slamming against the inner academy walls. The audience shuffles, students glancing at one another beneath their hoods.
But no one stops. We’re too close to the end now.
The chanting rises to a near hysteric level. The candles around us glow brighter, their flames burning so high that for just a second, the thick darkness dispels as Hardbloom steps up to my side and raises the knife above his head.
Just as I’ve convinced myself that this isn’t the end, I catch sight of the dagger in his gloved hands and know all at once that I’m wrong.
I recognize that dagger.
And I recognize the man holding it, but it’s not Professor Hardbloom.
“We’ve been breached!” The doors to my right fly open and Abacus barrels in, his black-clad chest heaving with his shouted warning. Footsteps echo after him like thunder rolling through the halls.
The imposter above me tightens his grip.
The gloves. The surprising strength. His face already hidden beneath the deep folds of the hood upon his return with the knife. All the signs where there.
I don’t know how he did it, how he got past the barriers and into the school . . . or how he took the place of the professor meant to be standing above me now.
But he doesn’t wait for me to ask.
Bedford the Crusader plunges the Elder Blade into the center of my chest.
The protection spells cast over me are no match for the ancient magic of the blade. Pain erupts in my core as it sinks deeper, cutting through bone and muscle until it pierces my very heart. Blood bubbles up and over, spreading to stain the snow-white gown.
Bedford presses harder, twisting the blade until my vision goes black at the edges. My mouth gasps open, but I take in
no breath.
Instead, I spit out blood. More and more blood.
I look up into the evil, twisted, mangled face beneath the hood—and I know it’s the last thing I’ll ever see.
All this time I was worried about the danger that lurked outside these walls, when the real threat was right here in front of me all along.
And now it’s too late.
For the first time in a century, the Winter Solstice Ceremony is complete. The sacrifice is dead.
And that sacrifice is me.
Chapter Thirty-Four
There’s a problem with my death, however, because I don’t stay dead for long.
I know I die. I feel my soul leave my body. I sense the void around me, see the darkness. The pain and noise ends, the confusion, anger, frustration—it all stays behind. I’m dead in every sense of the word. That’s a fact.
For an instance I’m nothing more than the very core of my being. It’s not quite at peace, but it’s something close.
Because of this, I feel it all the more acutely when I’m jerked back into my body on the altar. Or, more accurately, on the floor beside it.
Light and sound explodes all around me. My head pounds with a relentless ache as I scramble to get back onto my feet. Something wet and sticky makes my legs slip out from under me and stops my hands from gripping the edge of the altar.
There’s so much movement in the room that no one notices when I finally stand back up. It isn’t until I’m swaying on my feet, my vision slowly clearing to comprehend all that’s happening around me, that I look back down at my body.
I nearly faint face-forward and kill myself again.
There, sticking out of the middle of my bloodstained chest, is the hilt of the Elder Blade. Without thinking, I grasp it with both my hands and slowly, painstakingly, pull it out.
It isn’t until I hold it at arm’s length to admire the long, wickedly-sharp blade still dripping with my own blood, that I realize the commotion around me has stilled.
Dark Witch: A Paranormal Academy Romance (Academy of the Dark Arts Book 1) Page 30
