“What is it?” she asked.
“Your eyes. They’re so . . . dead. You’re not Samantha.”
“Very good,” she said, allowing herself to revel briefly in the pleasure of watching his panic.
“Who are you?”
She shrugged. “I’m who she should have been.”
“Castor witch,” he hissed.
She laughed and took a step toward him. “Oh, I’m much more than that.”
There was something about his presence that excited her, made her think things she’d never thought before. She leaned in closer to him. His warmth, his scent, they filled her senses. She slipped her arms around his neck and pressed against him.
She might never have had these types of thoughts before, but Samantha certainly had, and they were all about Anthony.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Desdemona purred in his ear. “I’m the witch you’ve been looking for all these years, the last witch alive from the coven that killed your mother.”
Anthony gritted his teeth. “I want you to tell me what you did to Samantha.”
So he did know and apparently he cared for her deeply enough that it didn’t matter.
“I simply took back what she stole from me all those years ago. Now she’s the one banished, forgotten, nothing but a bitter memory.”
“I will find a way to get her back,” he vowed.
“So very noble of you, but why bother? She wasn’t very much fun.”
She leaned forward and kissed him hard. He shoved her away and she laughed. “You can play it that way if you want, but I know that you want this body. What does it matter who’s inside?” she asked.
“It matters,” he spat at her.
“Really?” she asked. “You know, my mother told me all about sex magic, but I had never had a chance to try it for myself. Maybe you’re just what I need to help me find the witch that keeps eluding me.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Anthony snapped.
“Am I? You know the great thing about being a witch?” she asked. “I can make any tree the right tree.”
She stepped back up to him, invading his space, reached out, and traced her finger down the line of his jaw, sending tiny electrical impulses through it. And then she asked, “Who do you belong to?”
“Samantha,” he said in a strangled voice.
She made the electrical impulses slightly more intense and tilted his head so he was staring into her eyes. She reached into his mind, looking for the triggers she needed, the ones that would make him desire her uncontrollably. Just a few more seconds and he would think of nothing but her.
Something began screaming inside her mind.
• • •
Samantha was trapped in the tiniest corner of her own mind and had been for days. She was only vaguely aware of what was happening on the outside, but she knew she had to keep fighting, pushing. Now that Anthony had shown up, she had to fight that much harder. She had to protect him.
Desdemona was trying to do something to him. She was trying to compel him to do something, and Samantha had a feeling it had to do with sex magic. Terror gripped her. Desdemona had no right to do that to Anthony and she had no right to do it to Samantha’s body.
Samantha began to scream at the top of her lungs and she could feel Desdemona hesitate.
“Get out of my body!” Samantha shouted.
“It was her body first.”
Samantha spun around and saw one of her younger selves. She believed it was the girl she’d been when she was ten, staring at her. Communing with those younger versions of herself was exactly what had led her to accidentally unleash Desdemona in the first place.
“What?” she gasped.
“Before there was Samantha Ryan, there was Desdemona Castor,” Ten said.
Samantha blinked and she was standing again in the part of her mind where there was the corridor of doors. These were the doors behind which she had locked away all her childhood memories, the ones she’d been forced to open one at a time until she had gone too far. Doors five through twelve were all open. Seven of the girls were present, but Twelve was missing.
That’s because Twelve was off running the show. Samantha had opened that door back in the cemetery in Salem because she thought she needed the other girl’s knowledge, insight.
Instead, she had let loose a monster. The others had tried to tell her, to warn her. They had said that it took all of them to lock up Twelve and in order to do so, they had to go away, too. In order to keep her from becoming a monster, her mind had literally shut away her entire childhood.
She felt a tug on her arm and she looked down. Five was looking up at her with solemn eyes.
“What is it?” Samantha asked.
“You’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
“About which of you came first, about whether it’s her or you in charge.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
“Tell me,” Samantha urged.
Five crossed her arms and shook her head. “You don’t get it. She is you. You are her. It’s not her doing this right now to that boy. It’s you.”
And suddenly Samantha wasn’t in the corridor of doors in her mind anymore. She was there, in her body, looking out through her own eyes and seeing the fear in Anthony’s.
“Anthony?” she whispered.
“Samantha? Is that you?” he asked, his voice desperate, pleading.
“I—”
Then she snapped right back into the corridor and was staring back down at Five, who was looking angry. “You still don’t get it. It’s you being mean to that boy. It’s you doing everything. You’re just trying to hide in here because you won’t take responsibility for yourself!”
“But you locked her away—”
“No! Not her! Your memories are what we locked away.”
“I was Desdemona and then I changed. I became Samantha.”
“That’s what you’d like to think,” Five said. “Why is it you opened my door first?”
Samantha blinked. “Because I thought you were old enough to teach me about magic but not old enough that I’d have to remember the really terrible things that happened later.”
“Liar!” Five said, stomping her foot on the floor. “You were more afraid of seeing what you were like when you were younger than you were of reliving the terrible times.”
Samantha felt as though she had been slapped across the face. Was it possible that Five was right? She turned and looked around. Six and Seven were nodding in agreement. The others were backing away from her as though afraid something was about to happen.
“What useful magic could I have possibly learned from my four youngest selves?” Samantha asked. “I mean, most people don’t even remember much before they’re three or four.”
“You are not most people,” Six said.
“You’re a witch,” Seven added.
“I’m not a witch!” Samantha screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Yes, you are!” all the girls screamed back at her.
“Always,” Seven said.
“Still,” Six said.
“That’s what you won’t take responsibility for,” Five accused.
“No! I turned my back on that life.”
“You ran away from it. You hid and pretended it never happened. That’s not taking responsibility,” Five said.
“That’s not making peace,” Six said.
“What do you want from me?” Samantha asked, horror creeping through her. Desdemona, the witch, was who she’d been raised as, and Samantha had only changed, become someone new, by force of will in the ritual when she turned thirteen. How could she take responsibility for a life she didn’t even remember? It was as absurd as thinking she was responsible for what was happening now to Anthony and everyone else Desdemona had encountered.
Five pointed imperiously at the four remaining doors.
Samantha shook her head. “No, I w
on’t open them.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . .” The truth was, she didn’t know why. All she knew was that when she looked at those doors she felt terror greater than when she had used to stare at the closed door Twelve. What could possibly have happened to her when she was so little that was worse than that? Were the other children right—had she been purposely avoiding those doors all along?
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Then you will never get out of here,” Six said.
“I just can’t.”
“You will never know the truth,” Seven told her.
“I don’t want to know. I can’t,” Samantha wailed.
“Then you’re going to hurt the boy,” Five said.
Silence fell and Samantha could only hear the sound of her own sobs. When she had started to cry, she didn’t know, but the tears were coursing down her face and she was shaking like a leaf.
“Anthony,” she whispered.
Anthony would be hurt, possibly killed, if she did nothing.
Five kept insisting that it was she tormenting Anthony, that she and the monster in charge of her body were one and the same. She could hear shouting from far away. It sounded like Anthony. She had to help him. No matter what it cost.
She stepped forward and pushed open the door marked .
The little girl who stepped out was actually smiling. Samantha blinked at her, surprised to see her younger self looking so happy. She didn’t remember any part of her childhood being happy except for the quiet moments stolen with Freaky, and those hadn’t happened until she was five.
“Big me!” Four said, clapping her hands in delight.
“Yes, I guess I am,” Samantha said. “You seem happy to see me.”
“Of course! Are you going to show me some magic?”
“You don’t know how to do any magic?” Samantha asked, wondering when it was she had actually begun to learn. Her five-year-old self seemed to know a lot about it, so maybe this was the age she had begun to learn.
Four frowned slightly. “I think I do, but I’m not sure. Mama says she’s going to teach me this year, show me how to be a big girl, a real witch.” She beamed again at the thought.
Samantha felt sick to her stomach at seeing her younger self so excited to become a witch. She wished she could say something, explain to her, stop it all from happening, but these were shades of the past and they couldn’t be changed, only understood and accepted.
“No, I’m not going to teach you any magic today. I’m here to remember what it was like to be you.”
“That’s silly. Why would you forget that?”
Probably because she didn’t want to remember being happy about learning magic, even if it had only been for a brief time in her life. This was her before all the fear and the darkness took hold, her before she’d been forced to learn how to draw protection circles out of her own blood while monsters raced out of the darkness to attack her.
She had been excited and optimistic and hadn’t seen the harm, the danger, or known anything about the darkness to come. Samantha closed her eyes and wanted to cry. She wondered for a brief moment what it would have been like to grow up in a home where a mother and father had taught her to use her gifts for peace and good and harmony, instead of violence and evil and chaos.
That couldn’t be changed, either, though. She’d grown up with the mother she had, and although she might have been innocent and optimistic once, that had changed very quickly. Her five-year-old self wouldn’t have to hide Freaky Kitty from her mother if that weren’t true.
“Thank you,” Samantha said to Four because she didn’t know what else to say. The pain of seeing her was tearing at her. Worse, she didn’t know how feeling this pain or seeing the innocence that had died would help her save herself, let alone Anthony.
She turned quickly to the door marked and pushed it open before she could have second thoughts. The little girl who emerged had big, pouty eyes and her arms crossed over her chest. Samantha was surprised. She’d expected something different after seeing bouncy, excited Four.
“What’s wrong?” she asked Three.
“I got in trouble again,” Three said.
“Why?”
“Doing magic.”
“Your mother punishes you for doing magic?” Samantha asked, thoroughly shocked.
Three nodded.
“Why?”
“Mama says I do it wrong, that I need to learn different.”
“What are you doing wrong?”
“I don’t know. She says it’s not focused.”
“Not focused?” Samantha said, feeling confused.
Three nodded. “She says she’s going to take my powers.”
Samantha blinked. Was it possible to take power without the killing that had happened at the abandoned theme park?
“That’s . . . that’s not very nice,” Samantha managed to say.
“I do magic good.”
“Well,” Samantha unconsciously corrected the girl.
“Better than Mama.”
Samantha stared at her. “You’re better at magic than your mother?”
The little girl nodded and Samantha’s mind raced. Her mother had been a fearsome witch, a powerful practitioner, second only to one or two people in the entire coven. Only the high priestess and possibly Mr. Black, who did a lot of the teaching, were stronger. Both had figured prominently in her nightmares, although it wasn’t until she started regaining her memories that she’d remembered Mr. Black’s name. His face and voice had featured in her nightmares for years, though.
“You’re stronger than your mother?” she asked again.
Three nodded.
“Show me.”
“Not supposed to.”
Samantha thought about arguing with her, trying to convince her that it would be okay, but she heard Anthony shouting again from far away. She didn’t have time to argue with the little girl. She had to move on.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and turned to the door marked .
She pushed the door open and the little girl who came out looked very sad indeed. The eyes that she turned on Samantha made her want to cry.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Mother did a spell. Took my magic for a while.”
Samantha blinked. “She did that to you?”
The child nodded and Samantha felt sick inside. Had she not been so afraid, had she started with the younger children back when she was hunting witches in Salem, she would have known that was possible and she might have been able to spot the high priestess of the coven in time to save so many people.
She closed her eyes, hot tears burning them. Her fear had caused untold pain and suffering.
“What’s wrong with you?” Two asked.
“Nothing, nothing, Desdemona,” Samantha said.
“No! I don’t like that name. That’s not my name. That’s not what my Daddy used to call me,” Two said.
Samantha blinked in shock. “You . . . you remember your father?”
Two nodded. “He had to go away. He said I could go, too, but then something happened. Mother wouldn’t let me go. She told me to forget about him. I forgot most. All I remember is that he wanted me to go with him and he never called me Desdemona.”
“What did he call you?”
“I don’t know. It was pretty. Ask her.” Two pointed toward the door marked .
With a shudder Samantha realized this was truly the door she’d never wanted to open. There was a secret behind it that she never wanted to learn.
The shouts got louder and louder. Anthony was going to die. It would be all her fault.
Crying harder, she stepped forward and pushed open the first door. Out toddled an adorable little girl with pigtails who looked up at her with huge, innocent eyes. Suddenly she spat fire out of her mouth and it set Samantha’s pants alight. She hastily put it out as the baby giggled.
Magic had always been part of her, she realized with a shiver. Des
tructive, harmful, dangerous. “What’s your name, sweetheart? What does Daddy call you?” Samantha asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
The baby sat down and looked up at her. “Samantha.”
It felt as if the entire world shuddered to a halt.
Samantha fell, landing flat on her back. She stared blankly upward as memories roared through her head. She heard a man’s voice calling her “Samantha.” She’d always thought she’d chosen that name for herself because of Samantha on Bewitched and how she’d wished she’d had her for a mother instead of her own. But the name Samantha had always been in there. It’s what her father had called her. It’s what she had called herself when she was very young.
She was Samantha long before she embraced the name of Desdemona, the name her mother gave her. She was Samantha when she was young and innocent and used magic as if it were nothing, breathing fire as though it were air.
“It’s not true!” she wailed.
And above her she saw all the little girls, circling her in a ring.
“It is,” Five said.
“How am I supposed to live with this?”
Five knelt down beside her and conjured Freaky Kitty, who leaped onto Samantha’s chest and began to knead her shirt.
“By realizing that the power isn’t bad, it just is.”
“It’s what you do that’s good or bad,” Six said.
“Be good,” Three said.
One giggled and then opened her mouth to spew more fire. Samantha quickly blew on it, a mighty gust of wind that she forced out of her lungs, and the flame was snuffed out. One clapped her hands in delight.
Samantha hadn’t known she could blow out the fire. She hadn’t remembered that she could breathe fire like some sort of insane dragon. “This can’t be happening.”
“It is happening, and you know it. Choose what you will do about it,” Seven said.
From the distance she heard a scream of agony. Anthony.
“I have to go,” she said.
She closed her eyes, opened them again, and she was back in control of her body. Anthony was lying on the floor, Freaky the panther pinning his chest down with a massive paw.
Samantha waved her hand and Freaky shrank down until he was once more an adorable little kitten. He mewed and looked up at her. Then he jumped off Anthony and bounded over to her, where he made himself busy wrapping around her ankles.
Circle of Blood: A Witch Hunt Novel Page 9
