The Cruel Coven

by Isla Jones

  “Yeah,” said Hunter. He pulled the diadem from his jacket pocket. “Three are down; her dads and the deputy. It leaves the old woman, the witch’s brother, and the Sheriff. The feeder’s one of them, too. It’ll take more than a gun to bring him down.”

  The gruff man cursed under his breath before he slewed his gaze to Blake. “Get her out of here,” he ordered, tossing keys at Hunter. “Without her, we’re fighting for nothing.”

  Hunter the snatched keys out of the air. He grabbed Blake’s wrist and towed her through shacks to a blue pickup truck with a faded, peeling paintjob. A yearning for her Jeep blossomed within her.

  “Get in,” said Hunter. He swung open a creaky door and she climbed inside.

  Hunter got into the driver’s seat and stuck the keys in the ignition. Blake lolled her head back and gazed out of the window.

  “Hey!”

  Blake jolted off the chair and wheeled around. The dashboard dug into her bag. Wild-eyed, she stared at the source of the preppy greeting. Spud was tucked in the crammed backseat, between two suitcases and a duffel bag.

  Hunter spun around and clapped his brother upside the head. “You were evacuated, you little shit!”

  Spud rubbed his head. “I hid, all right? I wanted to come with you.”

  Hunter smacked his hand against the steering wheel and roared profanities. Blake scowled at Spud and turned back around in the seat.

  “Just drive,” she growled. “I want to get the hell out of here.”

  Gunfire ripped out. Blake ducked and covered her head, and the truck rumbled beneath her. Hunter slammed his foot down and they were all thrown back in their seats by the sheer speed of their take-off.

  They left the battle behind them.

  Blake chewed on the end of a beef jerky stick. Her nose crinkled and her lips curled as the meaty flavour poisoned her tongue. She hadn’t eaten meat since as far back as she could remember, and then some. It must’ve been at the orphanage, before she’d been adopted. Those days she didn’t remember. Abe and Jack had adopted her when she was five years old. Since then, she had adopted, too. The life of a vegetarian, that is.

  As her teeth clenched around the brown stick and snapped a piece off, she realised she hadn’t missed out on much. The taste was smoky, yet putrid. Blake longed for fresh fruit, strawberries and apples. But there wasn’t anything like that in the duffel bag Spud lounged on.

  The glint of dusk bounced off the windshield. Blake flicked the sun visor down, submerging the top half of her face in shade. Hunter relaxed in the seat beside her, driving down the endless dirt road. She had no idea where they were headed. But, with the packed suitcases and bags in the back, she knew that their escape had been planned, or, at least, prepared for.

  Blake handed Hunter the stick of preserved meat. “Here,” she said. “I don’t like it.”

  “It’s high in protein,” he replied. His gaze remained fixed ahead at the endless road. “You need to eat.”

  Spud leaned forward and took the jerky stick. Blake wiped her hand on her jeans.

  She thought back to her last meal, if you could call it that. The sandwich, which she’d only half-eaten. Before that, it had been cereal at Hunter’s house. Her stomach growled for the umpteenth time, but beef jerky wasn’t satisfying her palette or her hunger.

  “I want real food,” she said.

  “Check the bag.”

  The zipper screeched. Spud riffled around the duffel bag before he pulled out a bag of spicy chips. Blake sighed and took the crinkled bag. It wasn’t what she’d call ‘real food’, but it was that or animal remains.

  They stopped at a motel on the side of the road. Plastic flamingos and a murky pond coated the entrance. A petrol station and cheap restaurant flanked the subpar establishment. Hunter bought them a serving of fries and burgers, and brought them back to the motel room. It was dusty inside; the sheets, the air, the single armchair. The gloomy room had two double beds. Spud climbed onto the one Hunter had taken, and fell asleep before he’d even made his way through the burger.

  Blake sat on the bed closest to the crusted bathroom, and stared at the black screen on the tele. Her stomach bubbled and popped and churned. It was loud, uncomfortable, irritating. The burger wasn’t sitting right with her, even though she’d taken out the beef patty, and replaced it with fries.

  “Do you think Rachel is one of them?”

  Hunter’s mouth hung open, and a fry hovered near his lips. She’d caught him off guard. Perhaps because she hadn’t spoken for hours. He dropped the fry to the cardboard container and wiped a paper napkin over his greasy fingers.

  “Yeah,” he said after a pause. “Bethany will want to add to her numbers. The more golems she has, the more she can recruit, and faster. One bite from her dead, and you’re one of them.”

  “What about your people? Will any of them … become one of hers?”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he said. “But the Wolves will have taken a few of them down in the fight. The witch needs to repair them before they can fight again. If we’re lucky, she’ll only have one or two left standing, if any.”

  “It’s my fault,” she whispered. Her throat moved as she swallowed a thick wad of saliva.

  “It’s no one’s fault but Bethany’s. Her folks had powers, too, didn’t they? And they never started a war. She made her own path. She did this, not you.”

  Blake blinked back tears. “Hunter, it’s my fault. Rachel is dead because of me.” She looked down and shook her head. “I asked her to come.”

  “For the detector. You needed it. Because of that, we have this,” he argued, and jerked his head to the leather jacket. The diadem was tucked inside the lining.

  Blake hung her head and fiddled with the corner of the takeaway container. It wobbled between her crossed legs. “I asked her to tell Bethany.”

  Hunter’s eyelids fluttered. His eyes and face hardened, his jaw ticking and clenching. “You did what?”

  “When I talked to her on the phone,” she said. “I told her to let Bethany know where I was going. Rachel did what I asked. She made it out like I didn’t know Bethany was there, but I did. I asked her to pretend—she’s always been a good actress, you know. Top of the drama class. The whole time, I knew Bethany was in the woods, waiting until I got the diadem. I set Bethany up.” Blake’s lips trembled as she pleaded up at Hunter with her stare. “Rachel wasn’t supposed to call the cops. I don’t know if she really thinks I killed everyone, or if she was just playing her part.”

  Hunter swung his legs over the side of the bed and smacked the fries off the mattress. “What the hell were you thinking?” he hollered. Spud jolted awake. “You got people killed!”

  “I know,” she whimpered. She gazed up at him with watery eyes. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I wanted, it’s not what I thought would happen.”

  His stony face loomed over her. “What’d you think would happen, Harper?”

  “Theodore said that with the diadem I could kill her,” she reasoned. “He said that if I felt my pain and let it in, I could find the diadem and destroy her. I thought that if I saw my dads, something would happen. I don’t know what, but just … anything.”

  His fingers curled and balled into fists as he glowered down at her. Hunter cursed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The wall and bed shook from the tremor.

  Spud climbed off the bed and joined Blake on the other. He knelt behind her and draped his arms over her trembling shoulders. Blake’s face scrunched up as she placed her hand over his clasped ones at her collarbone.

  Spud said, “Hunter’s just angry. After our dad got the kids out of town, he would’ve gone back to the village to fight. Hunter’s scared for him. He’ll calm down.”

  Blake nodded. If their father died, it would be due to her silly decision. A silly decision that caused the deaths of however many people. No matter what option she chose, or her intentions, someone got hurt. She’d been too late to save Zeke, too naïve to save Rachel, to
o careless to save her dads, and too reckless to save Theodore. Their blood was on her hands.

  *

  Her fingers, tangled in her soaked hair, massaged her scalp. Water poured down her face and dripped from her eyelashes. Blake moaned as the shower stream engulfed her, offering her the first scrap of tranquillity she’d gotten in a long time. She wasn’t content, of course, nor was she at peace. But her mind went blank and she felt nothing but the heat raining down on her. Lathering shampoo onto her head, she lolled her head back and welcomed the onslaught of droplets onto her face.

  They had been in the motel room for two days. Hunter had tried calling his dad and the gang leader on the burner phone. Neither of them had picked up. He hadn’t spoken to her much, either. She could understand that.

  Blake grunted. Her hands slapped to her forehead. An explosion of pain erupted in her head, and thudded behind her eyes.

  Dots danced in her vision as she clenched her eyelids shut. A white, searing agony tore through her skull.

  Blake heard a scream as her legs gave out beneath her. She dropped to the tiled floor and cupped her head. The scream ricocheted through the bathroom, bouncing off the soap scum. Her kneecaps pulled up to her bare chest as she curled into a ball. Her vocal chords shook, trembled in her throat, and all she saw was the devil—Bethany’s face, warping in her mind, red hair gleaming like rivers of blood.

  The door burst open. Hunter raced inside and ran to the shower. He yanked back the slimy curtain and looked down at Blake. Her body shuddered, blood trickled out of her nostrils, and a wretched scream tore from her throat. Hunter grabbed a towel from the rack and turned off the water. Draping the white towel over her body, he shimmied her into his arms. But before he could lift her from the floor, he was thrown back against the tiles. Hunter’s body crashed into the wall and dropped to the floor with a sickening crunch.

  Spud stumbled into the bathroom. Bewildered, he glanced from Hunter, rubbing his head in a heap on the floor, and Blake glowing. Her skin whitened and shone. Rays of light danced around her quivering body, as if lightbulbs were pressed against it from the inside. The glow faded, and as it did, Blake stilled.

  Hunter pushed himself from the floor and stumbled toward her. Spud followed, but Hunter held out his hand. “Don’t go near her,” he said. “Stay back.”

  Spud backed away to the door and watched as Hunter reached out for Blake. His fingertips grazed over the hair plastered to her temples. Nothing happened. With increased confidence, Hunter tucked his arms under her body and scooped her up. He carried her out of the bathroom and placed her on her bed. As he draped the thick duvet and sheets over her, her eyelids fluttered and she gazed up at him.

  Spud grabbed a hand towel and gave it to Hunter.

  “What happened?” asked Hunter as he sat on the edge of the bed. He folded the hand towel and wiped away the trickles of blood from her nose.

  “I saw her,” she said weakly. “In my head. It … hurt.”

  Hunter thinned his lips. “Saw who? The witch?”

  Blake nodded. He wiped the clean part of the cloth over her forehead.

  “You were glowing,” he said. “I tried to help you, but—”

  “I know,” she whispered. “I was awake. I just … don’t know how that happened.”

  “It must be your magic,” he said. He traded the cloth for a glass of water on the nightstand. Holding it near her lips, he waited as she leaned forward and sipped. “Maybe you’re tapping in to her. The diadem might be making you stronger.”

  “Or weaker,” she said, falling back down on the pillow. “I thought I was dying.”

  “Dying people don’t glow brighter than the sun.”

  “Maybe elementals do,” she murmured.

  Spud hovered near the bedside and suggested, “What if the witch knew you were seeing her?”

  Hunter and Blake looked at him.

  He twisted his hands together. “What if she felt it or something? She might’ve hurt you to get you out of her head.”

  Hunter slowly dragged his gaze from Spud to Blake. “If you can see her …”

  Spud finished, “She can see us.”

  “If that’s true,” said Blake, “then all she saw were my bits and a shower. Nothing she hasn’t seen before, mind you.”

  Hunter raised his brow.

  “Not like that,” she added with a scowl. “We were friends, remember? Sleepovers, locker rooms.”

  Blake sat up in the bed and tucked the sheets to her damp chest. Her hair had soaked the pillow, and her body had saturated the mattress. “I’m ok,” she said as Hunter made to push her back down. “I just need to get dressed.”

  Spud lay in front of the radiator. He’d fallen asleep watching cartoons, and Hunter had covered him in a blanket some time after. He and Blake stood at the curtained window, looking through the gap at the sun-scorched carpark. Their pickup truck was parked out front. The other vehicles were a guest’s car and the owner’s beat up van. Blake almost expected to see a giant ball of tumbleweed roll across the lot.

  “You said I can end it,” whispered Blake. She glanced at Spud, ensuring she didn’t wake him. Returning her gaze to Hunter’s stony face, she added, “You said I can sacrifice myself to end this whole thing. How?”

  Hunter’s eyelashes moved, their shadows sweeping over his cheekbones. His coffee-brown eyes fixed outside, and his dimples dipped in his cheeks.

  “Tell me,” she urged.

  Hunter sighed and released the curtain. It fell back in place and doused the room in dusty darkness. He dropped onto the side of the bed, and clasped his hands between his thighs. His tanned skin blurred in the darkness as he said, “It can kill you. If you’re not strong enough, you’ll die.”

  Blake sat beside him and shrugged. “You didn’t care about that part when you first told me,” she said. “What’s different now?”

  The tele, still playing cartoons on mute, shone brightness into the room. It illuminated the pools of dark cinnamon on Hunter’s face. Blake observed the flecks of black and amber scattered around his irises.

  “Hunter,” she pressed and scooted closer to him. Her hand rested on his clasped ones.

  Hunter tilted his head toward hers. Thick eyelashes flittered above the ponds of mahogany as he settled his gaze on her face. His eyes moved, draping down the shape of her fine nose, the defined bow of her plump lips, the blossoming flush on her high cheekbones—until they lifted to behold her hooded gaze.

  Blake licked her lips. Her bum shifted on the mattress and her fingers loosened on his clasped hands, the tips almost stroking over his smooth skin.

  Gravity warped between them. It tugged her closer to him, and him to her. Blake drifted forward, the hues of his melted chocolate eyes softened, luring her in. She suspected the answer to her own question; she knew what had changed. It simmered between them. It smouldered and brewed like hot water in a kettle, in danger of boiling over at any moment.

  Tingles prickled at her parting lips. His nearing breath, warm and sweet, brushed over them. Their lips almost touched, a whisper of soft skin grazing together. The taste of soda swept into her parched mouth from his sweet breath. Blake’s lips tinged with the tingle of his skin; their lips connected, heat pooled within her.

  Spud yawned.

  Blake jerked back. Her fingers dug into the duvet, twisted around the crumbled sheets she sat on. Hunter closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. A soft sigh breathed from his mouth as he pulled away.

  Spud, blissfully ignorant, stretched his arms over his head. He licked his tongue against the roof of his dry mouth, and wilted. “I’m thirsty. Is there anymore soda left?”

  Blake waited until Hunter fell asleep. Spud was tucked under the blankets beside him, while Hunter sprawled out on top of the duvet. The burner phone was loose in his grip, and a gun lay beneath his pillow. The leader of the Wolves had called the burner phone a few hours earlier. Most were safe, he’d told Hunter. But not their dad. Blake wanted to feel sorry for Hunter and S
pud. She wanted to explode with empathy and shed tears for their loss, like she had her own. But she only thought of one thing when he’d received the news. She had to do this on her own.

  Blake’s arms pushed through the sleeves of Hunter’s leather jacket. The moment she fastened the zip, a warmth spread at her waist. The diadem pulsed through the material. Almost affectionately, she patted it, as if to comfort the natural tiara, and soothe its woes. She fished the keys out from the pocket and crept out of the motel room. The door clicked behind her.

  Blake knew what she had to do. She had to leave them behind to remove the distraction. With Spud and Hunter in the way, she would be distracted by the concerns of their safety. It was an interference she couldn’t afford. Not if she was going achieve what she truly desired, what she was fuelled by, thirsting for—revenge.

  Blake climbed into the cabin of the pickup truck. Her face crinkled as the door groaned and slammed shut. Her hand moved in a blur as she stuffed the keys into the ignition and kicked the old hunk of junk to life. Before the sound could wake Hunter, or give him the chance to run after her, Blake wrangled the gearstick into reverse and rolled out of the car park. She left them behind.

  Blake had thought that with the diadem, she could kill the witch—that’s what she’d been led to believe. Theodore had said as much, Hunter had suggested it. It had all seemed rather straightforward, uncomplicated, easy, almost. But, after days in hiding, with no plan or next step to take, Blake grasped the one thing she hadn’t done. She hadn’t resigned to her fate. She hadn’t accepted that she needed to die, and she hadn’t been prepared for it, either.

  In the short battle, she’d been useless, controlled by her love for Rachel, and the horror of seeing her dads. She had fought to survive and flee. She hadn’t been prepared to die for the diadem, or for the cause.

  And, now she knew; the diadem would work if she sacrificed herself for it. She had to give in to the diadem completely, and all that came with it. Total destruction of everything she knew.