by Ben Alderson
“Every day, they would lock me in a room. This man, a hunter, I guess, would ask me the same question. He wanted George’s identity. He promised me he’ll end my pain if I just told him who the boy in the woods is. Every day, I refused to answer. Every day, he did the same thing. First, he struck me.”
My hand moves to my cheek involuntarily. I know I’ve had more than enough blood bags to heal my wound there, but somehow, it still hurts. I wonder if that phantom pain will ever cease.
“When I didn’t answer, he would walk around me, slowly. Each step dragged on. I think he liked that best. The mental torment. He would unravel a whip he kept hooked to his belt and let the end slap the concrete floor. The sound would echo around the room, bouncing off the walls until all I hear is that noise. It would play in my mind over and over until the only thing that could muffle it is the sound of my own screams. He would lash me over and over again, stopping only to remind me that it would all stop if I just told him George’s name.”
My insides are burning, like the darkness that creeps there has been set ablaze and all it can do is burn the hollow remnants of my soul. I left pieces of myself behind at that place, and I’m not sure if I can ever become whole again.
“Only when his arm tired would he stop and, goddess, would that take a long time. I think I’ve counted one hundred lashings on the nights he was really upset with me.”
My back aches. The sharp stings of his whip dancing across my skin are gone, but in their wake, they have left behind ghosts. These reminders may not be as forceful as the first time, but they are real, and somehow, I know they will stay with me until the day I die.
“When he was done, he would roll his whip back into a ball and re-strap it to his belt. He refused to clean it, and he liked to remind me of that. He said he’s broken many supernaturals with this weapon, and he is confident it too would break me.”
I sniffle, wiping my eyes. I don’t dare meet Chad’s gaze, for I fear the anger and hatred that lives there. I know it is as pure and raw as anything I’ve ever experienced.
“He would finish by unsheathing his dagger. Just before he plunges it into my heart, he would tell me that tomorrow is a new day. And I always knew what that meant. Every day, I would wake up on the cement floor of the cage they kept me in, and my first thought was never about freedom. It was to wonder what time it was and how long I have before the executioner would come for me.”
“The executioner?” Chad asks, his voice almost a whisper. I have heard this tone many times before. He’s trying to reel in his emotions, keep a level head. Often, he’d fail at this.
“That’s what we called him. He’s the only one I’ve ever seen torturing and killing supernaturals.”
“Is he—”
“I killed him during my escape.”
“Good,” Chad says plainly.
I nod, and we sit in silence. The sound of footsteps smacking the stairs reaches my ears just as our front door slams shut. Chad and I remain silent, because we both know George was listening from the hallway. I hate that he knows the truth, but like Chad, he needs to hear it, I think. He doesn’t want to know what happened to me at that place, but he needs to know.
“You said you saw him kill other supernaturals?” Chad asks.
“There was a vampire in the cage next to mine. He killed her…”
Chad clenches his fist until his knuckles turn white. “How many are there?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I wanted to save them. You have to believe me. But I was out of time. If I didn’t run, I wouldn’t have gotten out.” I plea with him even though I know he doesn’t care about the others. I’m sure he wishes them well, but his priority has always been me, my life, my safety.
“I know. It’s okay. We’ll figure this out, Savi.”
I smile as he uses my childhood nickname. I welcome the warm, fuzzy feelings it invokes.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispers.
I reach over and thread my fingers through his. “I stayed strong for you. I knew you needed me.”
“You are strong, Savi. Stronger than you know.”
I scoot closer to him until our legs are touching and I can see all the beautiful swirling colors of his crimson irises. He smiles.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re still the same Savi I remember, but at the same time, you’re not.”
I arch a brow. “What does that mean?”
“Your eyes are speckled with gold. Your skin isn’t as cool as I remember.”
“George… He—”
“He saved you. I know. And it did something.”
“It changed me.”
He nods. “Do you know how much?”
I shake my head. “I feel different, like on the inside. And other supernaturals are treating me diff…” I stop myself. How much can I admit to him? Can I tell him about the wolves? About the alpha?
“What other supernaturals?”
I huff, exhaling sharply. I may as well be all in at this point. “I only escaped because Will, the hunter, offered me blood. He gave me just enough to strengthen my compulsion. I was able to get out of my cage right before there was a break in.”
“A break in?”
“They kept us in a facility deep within Wolfsbane Forest. Either George and I have walked by it a hundred times without noticing or it’s so far beyond the wolves’ protection—”
“The wolves? Did they break in?”
I swallow hard before nodding. “We fought side by side. I’m not sure I could have gotten out without their help.”
“The alpha, did he—”
“No. He sent others.”
Chad snorts. “Of course he did.”
I don’t elaborate anymore. I don’t tell him I went to the wolves’ village. I don’t admit that I have feelings brewing for the alpha that are forming an undeniable amount of respect for him and all he does for his pack. And I sure as hell don’t show him my scar—the one that’s the aftermath of the wolf’s fangs piercing my skin. But now, as I think about it, it burns. Somehow, I can always feel it. The skin whispers to me in ways I don’t understand.
“I should shower,” I say, hoping he’s heard enough.
He doesn’t speak as I retreat to my bathroom. By the time I’ve returned, freshly bathed and newly strengthened as the blood from a dozen bags works its way through my system, he’s still sitting on my bed, head resting in his hands as he stares at his feet. He doesn’t have to tell me about the reel of images that play in his mind. I know he’s envisioning the torture they put me through and how he left me in the woods that night. What he doesn’t believe is that I’d want it no other way. Knowing he was safe was what helped me remain silent every time the executioner’s whip smacked my skin.
I need to distract him, so I blurt out the only thing I can think of that will take his mind off of what I told him. “We should call George.”
He sits back and eyes me cautiously. “He can’t come over. Not until he finds a way to reverse the pain side effect.”
“I just… I want him to know I’m not upset with him for hiding your relationship. I’m happy you for you two. If only I could find someone as amazing.”
He smiles, and it lights up my world. This moment is what I fought for, why I held on when everything around me was crashing down.
“He knows, Savi. He understands that you—”
A sharp sting shoots through my body, permeating from deep within me. The shock waves flutter about, swarming with the dark passenger I keep nestled deep within my core. As I keel over, my cell phone vibrates on my nightstand.
“Savi!” Chad shouts. He’s by my side in a flash, helping me to my feet.
“George… It’s George,” I wheeze.
I stare at my phone. Chad dashes over there, picks up the call, and puts it on speaker phone.
“George? Hello!” Chad says, voice frantic.
We listen to chanting, not understanding the meaning behind their words.
By the time we realize we are eavesdropping on a witch’s most intimate of occasions, it is too late.
George’s scream pierces the silence of my bedroom. It is an earth-shaddering shutter that penetrates straight to my soul.
George
I spent the rest of the day locked within my own thoughts. It didn’t help that the strange presence within me buzzed with a nervous energy from the moment I left Mother until she called me down. This meant only one thing: her coven has finally arrived.
I couldn’t eat the meals she prepared because of my nerves. Instead, I slept the day away, choosing that darkness over the one within me.
Before I drifted off, I peered at my phone to see if Chad or Savi messaged me. I did the same when I finally woke, but still, I had no messages. Maybe they didn’t want me around anymore. After all, I’m the reason Savi was killed, changed, and taken.
I listen to the chorus of people entering our house. The front door opens and closes so many times I lose count. Beyond my window, I watch the darkening sky give way to the moon. I wasted an entire day in the grasps of sleep, and I wonder what Chad and Savi were doing. Is she healing faster now? Perhaps she’d drank their entire supply and they’re out fetching more.
I can make out my faint reflection in the window. The fogginess warps my features. Running a finger down my cheek, I am certain I catch yet another ominous smile.
What are you doing to me? I think.
You mean, what am I doing to us? the darkness responds.
“Georgie!” A sickly sweet voice calls to me from downstairs. It’s not Mother, so it must be one of her coven members. “Come and join us, darlin’. We are ready for you.”
Yes, join them, Georgie, the darkness hisses.
I hate that nickname. Even though it’s been years since I last heard it, I seem to despise it more than I used to. Father gave me the name, and he even used it in his final moments. As he was dying, he tried to speak to me, but he was too weak to say anything beyond Georgie.
I shiver, hairs standing on end. I know the coven members wait for me to respond, but words are impossible to grasp. Chad and Savi’s faces flicker in my mind. I’m reminded that this is for them. Even if all I can do with this book is take away her pain when I’m near, then this would be worth it. But I pray I learn more. The dark presence alluded that he was within Savi as well. I need to know if that’s true.
Dressed in the same clothes I slept in, I leave my room. As I expected, a woman stands at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up at me as I come into view.
“There you are,” she purrs, hand on her hip. “We are all waiting for you.” Her fake smile does not hide the malice on her tongue.
She is dressed in her cloak, which is traditional coven attire. The cloak itself is a symbol. It’s a way of blocking the mundane of a witch’s life and solidifying the witch in the mindset of magic for the casting of spells and completion of rituals.
My gaze trails her frame, and my breath catches when I see what she’s holding. “Father’s book,” I say, eyes glued to the worn-bound spine that faces me.
The witch looks at her hands. “Oh, this? Yes, you will have it soon enough. Follow me, Georgie…” She turns her back on me, cloak dusting the flooring.
“Where is Mother?” I call before taking a step toward her. My stomach jolts, so I rest a hand on it to calm the tugging.
The witch doesn’t even look over her shoulder when she responds. “She is waiting for you with the others.”
This time, her voice is less singsong and more commanding. Even if I want to ignore her, I can’t. My legs move, one step at a time, down the stairs to where she waits. Like sheep to a shepherd, I follow her into the living room.
Sage incense waft through the air, clouding my nose and throat. I want to cover my mouth and cough, but I don’t. I can’t. It stings my eyes and makes them water.
I’ve never seen so many coven members in such a small room. I take a second to look around, noticing all of the furniture has been removed, leaving the room sparse enough for this many to fit comfortably.
Where is Mother? Better yet, who is Mother? Everyone who watches me has her dark cloak hood up, covering her face, just revealing a chin. Some are men, and some are woman. I can see the difference because of the wiry hair that covers jawlines.
But which is Mother? I want to call out for her, but fear I would sound like a child. And this fear imprisons me.
Do not fear them. We are far more powerful than they will ever become.
The dark voice is louder than ever, bouncing around the candle-lit room in an overwhelming echo. There must be hundreds of candles around. A flickering amber glow dances around the windless room.
Candles cover the carpet, and the melting wax drips onto it. I’m surprised Mother would allow such a mess. Even dark mauve and midnight blue candles clutter the bay window and the mantle above the fireplace.
As I take in my surroundings, my heart begins to sink. This is not a normal coven meeting.
No, it is not.
“You are here for your father’s book.” Mother’s voice greets me from somewhere in the room. The witches part to allow her through. She does not lift her hood as she speaks to me. “As promised, I have brought it here, but first, you must understand the contents.”
“What is going on?” I ask, willing Mother to sense my anger and fear as I cut holes into her with my eyes.
Mother removes her hood and turns, blending into a sea of witches.
“Blessed be, Abraxon,” a witch says before bowing and giving Mother the book.
Abraxon? I’d never heard that name before, but the darkness’s reaction to it scares me. The coven chants in unison. They are one ominous voice of mixed pitches and tones, and the darkness within me moans in response.
Mother tips her head to look at me when she takes the book, and she sucks in a harsh breath as if the book burns under her touch. “This grimoire belonged to your father and his mother and her mother before that. For generations, the Alcott line has written secrets inside these pages for those who harness the bloodline’s power. George, this power has been passed down to you. But I warn you just like your father was warned by his mother: this is no ordinary book. The shadows within the pages tell of a new story, a new power that grows stronger with every generation’s sacrifice. Are you ready to embrace Abraxon?”
I’m shaking. No matter how hard I fist my hands or bite into my lower lip, I can’t cease the tremble that runs through my body.
“George, I need an answer for us to begin,” Mother says.
“Begin what?” I say, hoping my voice shows confidence but failing miserably. I squeak like a child.
“The ritual, my darling son. For you to fully embrace this book’s power, we must complete the ritual.”
I take several steps backward. “Ritual? I didn’t agree to this. I want the book, and you said you would give it to me—”
“And I will. In time. First, you must do this for me, for us. We have all waited for you to come into your power. Do not deprive us any longer.”
Deprive us? Waited for my power?
No, they have waited for me, and now, I have returned.
I step back for the door, but I hear it click shut behind me. I turn frantically to see more coven members cornering me inside the room.
“We are not here to hurt you, Georgie,” one whispers. “Let us help you.”
“No,” I fumble for the handle, trying to push them out of my way. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Let me leave.”
Mother sighs from behind me.
“Believe me, George, I never wanted it to happen this way, but you leave me no choice.”
My heart misses a beat.
“I am afraid we are not going to let you leave, Georgie. You have two choices: either do as we say willingly or by force,” a male witch threatens. He’s blocking me from leaving the room. As he speaks, the flames jump on the many candles. It’s a showcase of his power and control over the fire element
.
My tongue swells in my throat, stopping me from arguing, but my hands work. I put my fingers into my pocket and grasp my phone. Like anyone else my age, I do not need to see what I am doing to complete my task. I rely on muscle memory to place the call. Leaving my phone inside my pocket, I pray they’ll answer.
I lift my chin high and pin my shoulders back, hoping to exude strength. “If you know of my power, then you know not to try and stop me from leaving.”
Mother simply raises a hand in response, and the entire room of coven members shift stances. A group raises clawed hands my way.
In seconds, I cannot breath. Air fails to fill my lungs, blocked by the witches control over the element. I try and grasp control on it, to block their attempts, but all I can do is scream as I try to breathe. The darkness spasms inside of me, willing me to let it help, but I’m suffocating. I claw at my throat and drop to my knees, submitting to the many hands that lift me from the floor and carry me into the middle of the room.
Once they release me, I am allowed to breathe again. Although they’ve granted me air, they’ve removed my ability to move my body. My limbs completely ignore my orders as the coven’s magic holds me down. I am sprawled on the floor, arms and legs pinned wide beneath an invisible force, as if the earth beneath me is tugging me down, clinging to my life’s energy.
Mother stands above me, holding the book over my body. Is it my delusion or do I see the book quiver under her touch? On the worn cover, I see a symbol. It’s the very same one that is on all of the cloaks. It’s the same symbol I’ve seen over the past few days.
“We call forth Abraxon to command the new host.” Mother is screaming. Her voice causes the house to tremble beneath her words.
Agony courses through me. My spine lifts off the floor, bending uncomfortably. I scream, but no sound escapes. No matter how much I try, I cannot move my arms and legs.
“Bless us, great Abraxon, with your presence and power. Fill this vessel to the brim. Live through—”
The darkness swirls around my body like a vicious storm. The more it grows, the more pain I experience. It laughs within me, blocking Mother’s words.
