The Witch's Wrath: Supernatural Suspense Thriller with Ghosts (Jigsaw of Souls Series Book 2)

by Ian Fortey

  “You’re alive,” she said. Maggie nodded, and Abigail took another step forward.

  “You even took my purpose. You gave her life. My sisters are gone. My power is gone. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore,” Abigail said, looking at Vincent.

  She collapsed to the cave floor, slumped down in a sitting position. She stared at Maggie as though truly seeing a ghost for the first time.

  “All I wanted was to save you. And now it doesn’t even matter.”

  “I’m sorry, Abigail. I’m sorry for what I made you do,” Maggie said.

  Abigail shook her head.

  “I wanted to do it. I wanted to save you and the other women. And I wanted to hurt the people who hurt you. I wanted to hurt everyone who made you and the others suffer. I wanted to hurt everyone who ever made anyone…”

  She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Who ever made anyone hurt,” she said quietly.

  “So did I, Abigail. I’m sorry for what I did to you. It was my fault. I twisted your heart with the darkness of things beyond this life. With their lust for blood and pain. I brought that to you and I’m so sorry.”

  Abigail looked at Vincent then. He felt tense. There was still primal magic swirling around her, but it was far less intense than it had been.

  “She said you didn’t kill her,” Abigail said.

  Vincent nodded.

  “She told me that as well.”

  “But you don’t know.”

  “No, I don’t. But I trust her word,” he said.

  Abigail nodded.

  “I trusted her, too. And she trusted me.”

  “So what now?” Vincent asked.

  “Charlotte is dead because of me. Selena is gone. The townspeople... I’ve harmed so many of them. I feel like a monster.”

  “I understand,” Vincent said. “I thought I murdered Selena until she told me I didn’t. I still don’t know what happened.”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  “Keep looking for answers. Selena wasn’t the only person there. There were others. Maybe I hurt them, maybe not. But I need to know what happened to them all. I need to know why they died.”

  “She died in search of hope,” Abigail said. “Someone told her that they could help her unlock the key to bringing Maggie back—to saving her and the other women. All Selena wanted to do was help.”

  “And she did,” Maggie said then. Abigail looked at her.

  “I didn’t fully believe it was possible.”

  The witch looked at Vincent then.

  “How did you do it?”

  “Selena showed me. With her power, she helped me see the connection between necromancy, primal energy, and Life itself. I can see how it all flows together. I can weave it together again.”

  “They say only the Goddess has such power,” Abigail said. Vincent shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t understand why I can do it.”

  “Charlotte,” Maggie said then, reaching out and grabbing Vincent’s wrist. Abigail’s eyes widened.

  “Can you save her?” she said. He looked back towards the mouth of the cave.

  “I can try,” he said.

  He stood and helped Maggie to her feet. Abigail remained on the ground. She stared up at them both.

  “I should just stay here. I can’t go back after what I’ve done.”

  “You must go back to undo what you have done,” Maggie said. “And help me fix the damage we both caused. It is a debt we owe to the people of Burnham. And to Selena.”

  “Second chances for everyone,” Vincent said. Maggie held out her hand, and Abigail took it. She pulled the younger woman to her feet, and the two stared at one another in the pale light.

  “I wish we could have met under better circumstances,” Abigail said. Maggie smiled at her and wrapped her arms around her.

  “I do as well. But we must deal with what we have.”

  The two women hugged, and Vincent looked away, feeling out of place. They separated, and he began walking. Abigail produced her own light, outshining Vincent’s considerably, as they walked out of the cave and back into the night.

  Dezzy was still in the woods with the two other witches. Both Sandra and Mary-Ann were unconscious. He heard Vincent and the others approaching and stood up.

  “Didn’t expect you guys to come out together. Everything okay, man?” Dezzy asked.

  “Almost,” Vincent answered. “I’m glad you’re okay, Dezzy.”

  “I’m glad you’re not—you know—dead,” he answered. “So, are we all friends... somehow?”

  Vincent looked at Abigail and then down at the body of Charlotte on the ground.

  “I think so,” he answered.

  Maggie made her way to the tree where Vincent had been imprisoned and found Charlotte’s head. She carried it back gingerly, placing it on the ground with the woman’s body.

  The weaves of necromancy were simple now, but infusing true Life was still a great effort. As Vincent pulled the weaves together, he felt the power slipping slightly from his grasp. It was becoming harder to manage. He wondered if perhaps it was a diminishing effect caused by Selena’s absence. If that was the case, then it may only have been a temporary skill.

  He worked quickly, winding the power through Charlotte’s body. The Chaos injuries resisted his weaving, and he had to put extra effort into repairing the damage Marchosias caused. By the time he was done, the bright white filaments had begun to separate again, leaving the purple fibers exposed while the rest of the power slipped away.

  He could feel a kernel of Selena’s power still rooted in him. Even his phantom light hung in the air still. But the witch’s influence over his power was fading away quickly. He pushed as hard as he could, and Charlotte gasped, rising quickly as he felt the last of the energy fade away.

  She looked from Maggie to Abigail to Vincent, her eyes wide and shocked. Her hands rose to her neck, where the terrible wounds had once been.

  “Vincent,” she said, looking up at him again. He held out a hand, and she took it, getting unsteadily to her feet.

  “Abigail—” she began.

  “It’s okay,” Vincent said. “She is… okay.”

  Charlotte put a hand on Vincent’s arm.

  “Selena has a message for you. She said you need to find the cultist. If you want your answers, if you want to know what happened that night, you need to find him.”

  “What cultist?” Vincent asked.

  “The man who brought all of you into the field,” she answered.

  “Where do I find him?” Vincent asked. He did not know who the cultist was or what he had to do with anything, but if he was out in the world somewhere, Vincent was willing to track him down.

  Charlotte lifted her hand and extended a single finger. She pressed it against Vincent’s forehead.

  “You already have him with you,” she said.

  “Of course,” Fix said.

  “But you need to go back. Back to where it all started. Find Sofia Beckett. She’ll tell you what you need to know.”

  “Who’s Sofia Beckett?” Vincent said. Charlotte shook her head.

  “That’s all she told me. She said you’ll find your way.”

  Vincent sighed and looked at Dezzy. He at least knew where the field was. He’ll start from there. But he was still in the dark about who or what was behind anything.

  “We hitting the road again?” Dezzy asked.

  “If you’re up for it.”

  “Always, man. But can we grab something to eat and some sleep first?” he said.

  Abigail invited them back to her home. She woke Sandra and Mary-Ann. Vincent helped explain what had happened to the three witches, who had missed most of what occurred.

  The seven of them walked back through the woods and returned to town. Charlotte and Mary-Ann cooked a meal with Dezzy’s help. Abigail and Maggie tried to explain how they had felt and what had p
ushed them to do the things they had done. Their sisters forgave them.

  After they ate, Abigail gave Vincent and Dezzy rooms in the enchanted house, which seemed to have as much or as little space as it required from one moment to the next. Vincent laid back on his pillow, feeling an ache through his entire body. His face still hurt from Marchosias’ attack, his back still hurt from the puppet. His ribs still hurt from the previous day. He wanted to sleep for a week.

  “Do you think he’s listening to us?” Fix asked.

  Vincent stared at the bedroom ceiling. He didn’t need to ask who Fix meant. There was another spirit in his head. The cultist.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Vincent said. He would find out who the man was and what he knew. Somehow.

  “Goodnight, Vincent,” Fix said.

  “Goodnight,” Vincent replied.

  They’d get it all sorted in the morning.

  Epilogue

  Vincent sat in a chair, rolling a battered silver coin between his fingers. The room was dark. There was no moon in the sky tonight. Pure darkness was a condition of this meeting. Pure, endless darkness.

  “You’re nervous,” Razul said.

  “I’m fine,” Vincent answered.

  “You know you can’t lie to me.”

  “Funny, you lie to me all the time,” Vincent said.

  In his head, Razul chuckled. It was not a pleasant sound at all. His laugh was like snakes in dry leaves.

  “Sometimes, I worry about you. Sometimes, I think you might be thinking about betraying me,” Razul said.

  Vincent frowned. More lies. Razul was worried about no such thing, if for no other reason than Vincent having no thoughts that were inaccessible to Razul. If he plotted betrayal, Razul would know. And he had plotted betrayal in the past. Each time, it ended in humiliation and punishment. There was no escaping Razul. There never would be.

  “That’s right. There never will be.”

  “Not until I’m dead, hmm?” he asked.

  Razul chuckled again. The air grew cold. Vincent didn’t need not see it to know that there were deadly little tendrils of Chaos magic creeping around the darkness.

  “IF I let you die. Or let you stay dead.”

  “Why must it take so long? I’ve done everything you wanted. Why can’t you just end it?”

  “I think you know why,” Razul teased.

  “Because you’re hate personified? Because you revel in my pain? Because you’re sadistic and cruel and I am a complete idiot?”

  Now Razul laughed fully. It was the sound of genuine mirth. The only time Vincent could surprise Razul was during these conversations. When he spoke out loud, his mind created thoughts too fast for Razul to see ahead of time. He could only surprise the demon when he did not plan. All he could do was react. And Razul knew this as well as he did.

  “You are partly right. I will grant you that. You are an idiot. Utterly and completely. You are the sorriest bag of meat I have ever encountered from here to the Void and into the farthest reaches of the Dimensional Rift, where the most paltry and pathetic of your species are ground into meal for creatures that would harrow your very soul. But no. I am not hate. I am not cruel or sadistic.”

  Now it was Vincent’s turn to laugh. He did not know what Razul truly was. Not anymore. He just knew he had been played for a fool and would continue to do so, perhaps for the rest of eternity. And he knew that Razul was sadistic hate through and through.

  “Oh, come now. So narrow of thought. So limited. I do not hate you. I don’t care about you. Even after all this time, you still think I am invested enough in you one way or another to care if you feel pain? That is almost adorable. You’re like a three-legged dog. So sad, yet so plucky.”

  “Shut up,” Vincent grumbled. He wished he could drink. He wished he could drown the voice in his head with vodka and whiskey, But Razul didn’t allow it.

  “It’s almost time. Be on your best behavior.”

  “Always,” Vincent said.

  The door to the house opened. Vincent could hear the lock click as one of his servants moved it aside. He heard muffled voices in the room beyond. He sat up in the chair, straightening his robes. The room was pitch black, and so it would remain. But some of them could see in the dark. He needed to look the part.

  A knock came at the door.

  “Master, they have arrived,” Coleman said.

  “Enter,” Vincent replied.

  The door to the meeting chamber fell open. Light should have spilled in from outside, but it did not. Razul’s Chaos magic kept it at bay. His magic ate light as sure as it ate Life. It made Vincent’s own magic pale in comparison. And that was exactly why he had agreed to this stupid bargain in the first place. He had been greedy.

  Three of his servants escorted the remainder of the quinumvirate into the room. They glowed like fire to Vincent’s eyes. Purple and white necromancy. Oily, black Chaos. Fierce, blue primal. Rich, umber psychokinesis. And Vincent’s own deep, red blood magic. They were like oil and water, the lot of them. Until today.

  “Welcome,” Vincent said from the shadows. “Are you prepared?”

  “I am already growing impatient,” Dalca said.

  “I’m always ready to play,” the boy said.

  The lanky man simply grunted. The witch said nothing at all.

  “Then let us make the bargain whole,” Vincent said. He lifted a hand.

  Bursts of red energy rose from the floor like fireworks. The others saw nothing. He watched the child flinch and could tell that he sensed something. The boy’s magic was so like Razul’s. But he would say nothing. Of all of them, the child was the one Vincent and Razul trusted the most.

  Blood magic enrobed each of them in turn. It seeped into their flesh like water into dry soil. The witch gasped but did not speak.

  “Have we a bargain?” Vincent said.

  “Power for blood,” the four replied. The words were meaningless. The intent was all that mattered. The willingness. The hunger.

  The blood bargain was solidified. Their powers became bound. The five of them were linked and would work as one. The ritual would be unlike anything the mortal world had ever seen before.

  “It’s time to go, then,” Vincent said, standing up. He gestured to the darkness. Blood magic and Chaos ripped a hole into the very fabric of reality. It punched a hole to the ritual site.

  “Where is our vessel?” Bogdan asked suspiciously.

  “Driving himself there as we speak,” Vincent said.

  “You let him roam free?” the necromancer said.

  “What a small-minded man,” Razul said.

  “Nothing could keep him away, Mr. Dalca. Don’t worry so much. Now come on, we’re having a bonfire!”

  The hole in space expanded. The pyre was being built behind the altar in the field. Razul had picked the spot himself. Vincent had assumed a Font would work best, but Razul insisted. This spot, this field, was a Convergence. It was a transdimensional soft spot, a place where reality itself became muddy. It was one of only two on Earth. It was the perfect place for the ritual.

  The others traveled through the rift to the field. Razul’s Chaos magic fizzled out behind them in the house. The lights came up and Vincent looked at himself in the mirror.

  “Feeling blue, are we?” Razul mocked.

  He felt old and tired. He ran a hand across his bald head, staring at himself. Time had worn far too many lines in his face. Time and stress, he supposed. To think, he had once been so excited by the very idea of what they were doing. Long before he realized the truth of it all. Long before he realized what Razul really was.

  “And what am I?” Razul asked.

  “Like I said. Hate. Madness. Chaos,” Vincent said.

  “Oh, Samuel. You know nothing. But you’ll see.”

  ***

  “Holy crap, man, did you just fall asleep?” Dezzy asked. He was holding the wheel of the car. The squeal of tires brought Vincent back t
o his senses. They were on the highway. He was driving; or had been.

  “Did you just see that?” Vincent asked.

  “What?” Dezzy said.

  “I did,” Fix answered.

  “Who the hell is Samuel?” he said, looking at himself in the rear-view mirror. He was not old. He was not bald. He was not the man in his memories.

  “What?” Dezzy said again.

  “It was you,” Fix answered. “Or, rather, it was not you. It’s never been you.”

  Vincent pulled the car over to the side of the road. Dezzy leaned back in his seat, turning down the Guns N’ Roses song on the radio.

  “So something’s up, man. What’s going on?”

  “It’s not me,” Vincent said. “It was never me.”

  “Wait, what?” Dezzy said.

  “I didn’t kill them. I didn’t assemble them. Someone else has been pretending to be me in my head.”

  “Oh, bravo, Vincent. You are a pip,” a new voice said.

  “Who was that?” Vincent asked.

  “I don’t know,” Fix answered. There was a pause and Vincent listened to a faint, dry sound that he couldn’t place. After a moment, he realized what it was. The voice was laughing at him.

  “Don’t be obtuse now, Vincent. You know who I am by now,” the voice said.

  Vincent looked at himself in the mirror again. He saw nothing in his own eyes.

  “Say it so Dezzy knows,” the voice insisted.

  “Say what?” Dezzy asked. Vincent looked at his friend.

  “You heard that?”

  “The scary death-voice coming out of your head when your lips aren’t moving? Yeah, I hear that.”

  “Introduce me, Vincent,” the voice said. Vincent took a deep breath.

  “Razul,” he said. “It’s Razul.”

  Razul laughed again, and Dezzy grimaced.

  “I don’t know what the hell a Razul is, but man, you laugh like the Cryptkeeper on speed.”

  “Keep driving, Vincent. The others will be thrilled to see you,” Razul said.

  “What’s going on, Vincent?” Dezzy asked.

  “I need you to get your uncle,” Vincent said.

  “Oh, come now. We don’t need that tired, old man, do we?” Razul asked. Vincent felt his hand move on its own to the ignition. He pulled his hand back again.