Witch Myth Super Boxset: A Yew Hollow Cozy Mystery

by Alexandria Clarke

  In one savage moment that I didn’t see coming, he clapped both palms to either side of my head. A burst of light flashed through my head, and then I blacked out.

  8

  In Which the Yew Tree Falls

  “Morgan.”

  I blearily opened my eyes, feeling the light tap of someone’s fingers against my cheek. The world swam above me, rain scuttling through the leaves of the trees. Gwenlyn’s concerned face came into view. A soft raindrop dripped off of her nose and onto my forehead.

  “Why does this keep happening to me?” I asked no one in particular, noticing that my tongue felt cumbersome in my mouth. I tried to sit up, but a flash of pain struck the side of my head, and I groaned heavily.

  “Careful,” Gwenlyn said, cradling my head in her lap so that I wasn’t lying in the mud. “He got you pretty good. I saw you go down.”

  “You saw? Didn’t I tell you to go home?”

  She gave me a look similar to the one Cassandra often afforded me when I had done something I wasn’t supposed to. “Did you really think that I was going to leave you out here all alone with that psycho? I followed you into the woods.”

  “He’s not a psycho.”

  “You’re defending that creep?”

  I made another attempt at sitting up. This time, I managed to at least prop myself up on my elbows. I squinted at Gwen. “He’s stupid, I’ll give you that. But he genuinely thinks he has a right to do this. He’s trying to bring his mother and sister back from the dead.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Unfortunately, that won’t stop him from trying. I need your help.”

  “Anything.”

  Determinedly, I pushed myself up to a full sitting position. I dropped my throbbing head into my palms, willing the pain to go away. “We need to find Dom,” I mumbled.

  “He disappeared after he knocked you out,” Gwenlyn said. She held out a hand to help me to my feet. I staggered upright, leaning weightily on her.

  “We have to get back to the house,” I said, my arm wrapped tightly around Gwenlyn’s shoulders. “Dominic’s going to try and connect himself with the yew tree. The coven is our best chance at preventing that from happening.”

  Gwenlyn hoisted me higher, helping me trudge across the muddy ground. “Let’s focus on getting you home first. Then we can figure out how to stop your lunatic boyfriend.”

  “He’s definitely not my boyfriend.”

  Gwenlyn had apparently given the Summers coven a heads-up to our arrival, because when we reached the house, the coven had already assembled in the dining room. As usual, when the entire coven got together, it was mayhem. Voices overlapped, as did auras, filling the house with a comforting chaos. As Gwen heaved me across the doorstep, Karma and Laurel took me off of her hands and helped me into a chair at the head of the dining room table.

  “What happened?” Cassandra said, pulling out the chair next to me and sitting down. Malia emerged from the kitchen, ice pack in hand, and tended to the bruises on each of my temples. The other witches hovered, aunts and cousins, ready to take action against whomever was at fault for my injury. It was this dedication to each other that made the Summers coven so strong. We were a single entity, and at times of need, we were unstoppable. Dominic’s asinine attempt at necromancy wouldn’t stand a chance against the true power of Yew Hollow.

  “Dominic,” said Gwenlyn tersely. “He’s going to use the yew tree to unleash the original witches’ power in order to bring his mother and sister back from the dead.”

  “He’s controlling the ghosts of everyone who died recently in the Hollow,” I added, wincing as Malia pressed the ice pack to the side of my face. “That’s why those deaths earlier in the year were covered in witchcraft. Dominic was behind all of it. Ronan, too.”

  “How is that possible?” Karma asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Gwenlyn said, saving me from the hassle of answering the question. Undoubtedly, she’d heard Dominic’s version of the story when she had followed us into the forest. “He’s a bona fide witch, though.”

  I raised a hand in protest. “That has yet to be established.”

  Gwenlyn rolled her eyes. “The point is, Morgan needs the coven’s help to stop him. Right, Morgan?”

  “Right,” I said, still fighting off the haze of being smacked over the head. I was starting to wonder if I had a mild concussion. “Can someone do a quick healing spell or something? Still feels like I’m underwater.”

  “I got it,” Laurel said, disappearing into the kitchen to gather the needed ingredients. When she returned, it was with a small bowl full of thick orange paste, which she proceeded to smear across the bruises on either side of the head. The smell of turmeric invaded my nostrils, but as Laurel began to sing softly in Latin, my head finally began to clear. I sighed, relieved.

  “Thanks,” I said. I propped myself up in the chair, determined to come up with a plan to stop Dominic from turning Yew Hollow into a living hell. “First order of business. I want a round-the-clock watch on the yew tree. If we’re there to stop him, Dominic won’t be able to pull off his ritual. Get down there and detain him.”

  Cassandra pointed to a handful of witches, directing them to head out toward the town square right away.

  “And then what?” Karma asked.

  “Once we have Dominic in custody, it shouldn’t be too hard to put the ghosts down,” I said. I massaged the orange paste into my temples with the tips of my fingers. “Mom said that we need five witches to channel the originals’ power through the tree, but I’m thinking if we get the whole coven down there, we’ll have an even better chance of handling it. Who knows what’s going to happen when we disconnect from the tree. I’d rather we have more witches there to take it on.”

  The coven murmured in agreement. Wiping the excess paste off my fingers and onto my pants, I stood up.

  “Mom, did you find anything else about the ritual in Mary Summers’s diary?” I asked.

  Cassandra snapped her fingers, and the small journal popped into existence from out of nowhere. “Indeed, I did.”

  “Good. You can brief the coven at the town square,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Chairs scraped across the floor as the coven collectively moved out. Gwenlyn made to follow them, but I took her by the arm.

  “Not you, Gwen,” I said, pulling her back. “I’ve put you in enough danger as it is.”

  “There is no way in hell I’m staying here while the rest of you risk your necks trying to contain Dominic,” she argued and yanked her arm out of my grip. “I don’t care if you think I’m too young or whatever. I’m doing this.”

  And without further discussion, Gwenlyn turned and followed the rest of the coven through the doorway. I sighed, hanging my head. Behind me, I heard my mother chuckle.

  “What?” I asked.

  Cassandra shook her head, still laughing. “When you were growing up, I constantly wished that you’d have kids who would challenge you the way you challenged me. Looks like I got what I wanted.”

  I glared at her. “You know, Grandma used to say the same thing about you.”

  “I guess mischievousness is genetic,” she said. She clapped me on the back as we left the house together, trailing behind the coven. “In all sincerity, though, you should know that I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the state of the coven.”

  I kept an eye on Gwenlyn, who was deep in discussion with Laurel. “What’s wrong with the state of the coven?”

  “Nothing, actually. That’s why I’m bringing it up.” She clasped our hands together. “Morgan, ever since you arrived back in town, the coven has come together in a way that hasn’t been possible before. The thing is… I think that you should take over as the head of the Summerses.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks, stunned by this sudden proposal. “Are you sick?” I demanded. “Are you leaving?”

  “Neither,” said Cassandra firmly, squeezing my hand tighter. “But eventually, my time her
e will pass, and someone will need to take care of the others.”

  “Make Malia do it,” I said, as though taking over the coven was just another household chore that sisters were meant to fight over. I couldn’t fathom being the head of the Summers coven. I had barely begun to get a handle on my own life. “She can do it.”

  “The coven trusts Malia, sure, but they listen to you,” Cassandra said. “You have the audacity to make hard decisions and the ability to get the coven behind you. Look at the way they followed your directions just now.”

  “Well, it was either that or let Dominic take over the whole damn town,” I replied grumpily, kicking at a rock in the road.

  “Even so,” said Cassandra. “You should consider it.”

  I didn’t answer right away, but the thought of Cassandra stepping down to make room for me as the new head of the coven pervaded my mind throughout our entire walk to the town square.

  As we rounded the town hall and the square came into view, a sense of foreboding came over me. Something had gone wrong. The yew tree was surrounded by spirits once again, but Dominic was nowhere in sight. The ghosts circled around the tree, like moths to a lantern, and the yew tree itself was barely visible through the spirits’ moon-like light. The majority of the coven had already reached the yew tree—I could see the various colors of witchcraft working itself into the air—but the witches looked worn down already. The craft was weak, sparks instead of fireworks, and it didn’t seem to have much of an effect on the ghosts at all. It probably didn’t help that the witches were working blindly, unable to see the spirits.

  I let go of my mother’s hand to sprint into the square. Gwenlyn, having arrived several minutes before I did, lingered near the outer edge of the throng of witches and shouted instructions to the coven on where to place their spells.

  “What’s going on?” I asked her as Cassandra caught up to us.

  “It’s sapping our strength,” she said. In demonstration, she attempted to add her own power to the craft in there but only succeeded in producing a tiny flicker of dark green at the tips of her fingers before it flamed out.

  Out of curiosity, I tried my own hand at a protection spell. As soon as the navy blue of my craft appeared, I felt a pull at the center of my chest, toward the yew tree. It weakened me immediately—my headache returned as if I were fighting a hangover—and I cut off the witchcraft out of pure fright.

  “Shit,” I muttered, examining my fingertips.

  Cassandra conjured her own spell, sending it toward the ghosts around the yew tree. She had better luck than Gwenlyn and I, producing a strong-enough spark to create a space between the spirits. A gap appeared, and a tiny part of the yew tree became visible. The rest of the coven focused on widening the rift, but a hollow laugh echoed from the edge of the woods. Distracted, the witches lost hold of their craft, allowing the spirits to close around the tree again.

  “Having difficulty?” Dominic said, strolling out toward the square from out of the woods. He seemed to have no fear of the coven’s powers. In fact, he looked downright amused by our antics.

  At his appearance, a few of the witches attempted to send attack spells at him, but with a flourish of Dominic’s fingers, several spirits broke away from the yew tree to hover around him. They absorbed each attack spell, preventing any harm from coming to him. Smiling, his soft eyes still deceivingly kind, Dominic walked out to the yew tree and sat on the bench beneath it. He patted the space beside him. “Take a seat, Morgan.”

  When I stepped forward to join him, Gwenlyn seized my hand. “Morgan, no way. It’s probably a trick.”

  “He won’t hurt me.”

  “He already has.”

  “Gwenlyn.” I took her firmly by the shoulders, trying to impart some sort of reassurance through what I hoped was a confident facial expression. “Keep an eye on the spirits. The coven can’t see them. If any of the ghosts break away from the tree, let someone know. I have no idea what Dominic has planned next.”

  “Don’t die,” Gwenlyn ordered.

  “I don’t plan on it,” I replied. With a nod at Cassandra, I broke away from the rest of the coven in order to meet Dominic at the bench beneath the yew tree. Hesitantly, I sat beside him.

  “You’ve got a little something…” He reached out to brush the dried turmeric paste from my hair, but I smacked his hand away.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  He held up his hands in acceptance. “No touching. Got it.”

  “Call them off, Dom.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  In a rush of emotion, I found my hands around Dominic’s throat, pouncing on top of him and bending him backward over the bench. It was only the sheer surprise of my attack that prevented Dominic from defending himself.

  “Call them off.”

  “Okay, I’d officially like the ‘no touching’ thing to go both ways, please,” Dominic choked out.

  I tightened my grip, watching as Dominic’s face turned purple. Bizarrely, he seemed unconcerned with my hold on him.

  “You don’t want to kill me, Morgan,” he huffed. He didn’t look quite so handsome when he was the same color as a ripe plum.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”

  Dominic snapped his fingers together and, in a flash, a horde of spirits yanked me off of him with no effort at all. Ronan, one of Dominic’s chosen cronies, snapped his teeth at my ear. He held me securely around the waist, preventing me from attacking Dominic again, while the other ghosts stood between Dominic and me like a spiritual shield.

  Dominic rose from the bench, massaging his throat. I felt oddly pleased at the sight of his reddening neck, though I wished I had thought my actions through. As I glanced around, I noticed that several members of the coven had dropped, drained completely of their craft. The ghosts, on the other hand, only seemed to grow stronger, as if feeding off of the coven’s power. I suddenly understood. Because Dominic was using the originals’ power to strengthen his spirits, the present Summers coven wasn’t able to defend themselves. They could only add their witchcraft to that which stemmed from the yew tree.

  “Everyone, stop!” I ordered.

  The coven needed no other persuasion. With a collective sigh of relief, the remaining witches withdrew their magic, each witch catching her breath. The ghosts dimmed, proving my theory correct.

  “Caught on, have you?” Dominic said, smiling.

  “How are you doing that?” I asked. “It’s my family’s power, not yours.”

  “You’re not wrong there,” he said. He ran a hand over the new finger-shaped bruises on his neck. “Fortunately for me, your family chose to channel their power through a natural entity. Any witch is able to connect with the yew tree, as long as they have the proper ritual.”

  “And I assume you discovered this ritual in Mary Summers’s diary?” I prompted. I resisted the urge to pull away from Ronan’s grasp, knowing that he would only take the opportunity to restrain me through an alternate method. “Why did you even give it to me?”

  “You forget that I still hope you’ll help me with raising my mother and sister,” Dominic said as he approached Ronan and me. “Connecting with the yew tree is only the first step. I’ll need all the assistance I can get to pull my family back to this earth.”

  “You can’t do it, Dom,” I gasped, exasperated. “It won’t work.”

  Gently, he caressed my cheek. “Oh, Morgan, of little faith.”

  “I thought you weren’t playing God,” I said, wanting more than anything to separate myself from his touch.

  “No, you thought that. I, on the other hand, have complete faith in myself.”

  And with that, he turned from me and stepped up onto the bench beneath the yew tree. It had begun to rain again, transforming Dominic into a silhouette against the streetlights behind him. He stood loosely upon the bench, his hands relaxed by his sides, his eyes closed, and his head tilted up toward the upper branches of th
e yew tree. Then he took a great breath and began to sing.

  Dominic’s singing voice was just as polished and tranquil as his regular tone. He crooned a strange hymn in Latin, which echoed throughout the square as though it lived in every raindrop. The tree, as if in response to Dominic’s song, began to glow with a steady white light. It grew from the roots upward, illuminating the town square with a fair, crystalline magic. The sight of the yew tree, alive with a power that seemed brighter than the sun, was breathtaking. I was stunned by the beauty of Dominic’s ritual, taken aback by the way my heart seemed to lift toward the yew tree, as though my soul were offering itself up in return for a spare bit of the tree’s purity.

  And then the light shifted. As Dominic’s song grew louder, resonating within my very being, the light drained from the yew tree. It was then I realized that Dominic had pressed his hands to the trunk of the tree, and the light was transferring from the tree to Dominic. As the light filled him, Dominic began to glow as well. Transfixed, I forgot that Ronan had a hold on me. I forgot that Dominic was planning to raise the dead. I forgot that this entire incantation was a sign that things, yet again, would undoubtedly change within Yew Hollow.

  There was only Dominic, whose beautiful blue eyes now shone with the light of the tree, whose skin seemed to radiate with sunlight, and who looked more like a god than ever before.

  9

  In Which My Best Efforts Fail

  As the light subsided, leaving the town square illuminated only by a few streetlights and the stars, Dominic removed his hands from the trunk of the yew tree. For a few moments, I only watched his shoulders rise and fall with the action of his breathing. The square had gone quiet, all of us entranced by the organic beauty of the spell. It was nothing like my previous experience with power transference. Despite Dominic’s skewed intentions, the ritual itself was too sublime to discount. Now Dominic embodied that elegance. It seemed to emanate from his very pores.