The Cruel Coven

by Isla Jones

  A fate she couldn’t submit to with Hunter and Spud in the way. Blake had to be ready to die, for her parents, for Hunter and Spud, and for the revenge poisoning her heart.

  16

  The Element of Fire

  Blake hugged the jacket closer to her. The leather wafted up a fragrance of honeyed chemicals and stale smoke. Hunter was in the jacket; he was in the oaky aroma entwined with the trace of campfire embers. A pang of guilt threatened to creep up on her. Blake dismissed the thought of the bayou boy and looked ahead. The reservoir water glittered before her, dancing beneath the glow of the moonlight. It sparkled and glittered, much like she’d expected the diadem to before she’d found it. The ethereal ornament rolled in her hands, her fingers spinning it in circles. She had always found herself drawn to the lake, but the doubt flittered in her mind. Was it because of the diadem, or the location of the portal?

  A crack echoed behind her. Blake whirled around. Her eyes narrowed and slewed over the trees. Nothing moved, no shadows, no animals. It was quiet. Even the crickets that plagued Belle-Vue were silent. Someone was there, she realised, watching her. Of course, that was expected. She’d known that. Bethany would be there, or one of her meat puppets. Blake had planned on it.

  A gleam of headlights washed over the shore. Blake looked up at the ridge where the carpark was. It could be lovers. It could be Bethany. Worse, it could be Hunter, catching up to her. Blake didn’t have much time.

  Exhaling with a whoosh, she turned and faced the water. Her cheeks, rosy from the biting fresh air, puffed out. Her boots stepped onto the wet stones. Water ran over the soles, and consumed them. Fluttering her eyelids shut, she remembered the shower. She hadn’t been thinking in the steamy cubicle. Her mind had been blank; void of compassion and love, merely existing. That’s when she’d tapped into her power, or, when her power had tapped into her.

  Another step, one after the other, until she the water washed over her waist. The diadem rolled in her fingers. Blake winced. Her eyes snapped open and glared down at the diadem. It wasn’t strong, and if she hadn’t been waiting for any signs of her magic, she would’ve dismissed it as a light strike of the cold, or pins and needles. It wasn’t either of those sensations. The diadem had burned her fingertips. A slither of smoke drifted up like a snake from the ornament.

  Droplets of blood splashed onto the water. Her fingers shook around the diadem, laced in crimson. But there weren’t any wounds.

  Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.

  A static pressed down on her mind, enveloping her whole. Her mind’s eye saw a cloud, static and white, like a tele sitting on an unused channel. Warmth trickled down her nose, and dribbled from her nostrils. Her tongue darted out and wiped her lips clean of the falling blood.

  Her shaky hands lifted the diadem, stained with red. The vines absorbed her offering. Her sacrifice. She placed it on her head.

  The earth shook. The water waved and curled in on itself. The blast was strong, stronger than an explosion. Blake remained standing; the burst of white light swept around her, parting like a river around a rock. The trees rattled in the soil, their leaves blown back. Branches snapped and flew through the woods. Water soared up, higher than the ridge, and crashed against the cliff sides. But not a drop touched Blake.

  She wilted, and gave in to the force of the blast. Blake’s eyes remained shut, in a tranquil state, as her body lifted from the water. Her arms, legs, head went limp. An invisible hand tucked under her and raised her up. She hung above the lake, liquid — clear and crimson — rained down from her body into the water. Ruby beads oozed from her ears, and rivers of imperial poured from her lips. Beneath her floating body, the water reddened, and swirled like a whirlpool.

  A whispered croak of an exhale bubbled blood at her lips. The diadem tangled its vines into her hair, wrapping and coiling around the soaked strands. The water fell from the air, and splashed down. It cascaded over her wilted form, but she didn’t flinch.

  Blake remained above the water, even as it stilled, and floated limply in the air.

  Darkness swarmed her eyes. A heavy weight pressed down upon her, but an even stronger one raised her up. Tingles danced through her veins, pirouetting with the adrenaline that pulsed through her. Her finger twitched.

  Blake strained to open her eyes. A thin layer of glue sealed them shut. Or was that sleep-crust? She wrenched her eyes open, and saw the length of her lashes. Beads of blood hung on the ends. Her mind rang with the piercing screeches that penetrated her ears. She blinked and looked past the ruby lashes.

  A party of crimson moved ahead. It splattered in the air, sprayed and splashed.

  Bethany’s face blurred in the distance. Flailing arms and legs passed over her. A drowsy cloudiness obscured Blake’s sight. She frowned and squinted to better see.

  There was movement all around the shore. The dead were there, savagely clawing and snapping through the air. But at what? Blake’s head lolled back. She realised she was levitating above the lake. The corpses were upside down. No. They weren’t. Blake was; her drooping arms hung down, and her curled fingers brushed over the swirling water.

  Blake’s brows knitted as a series of bangs erupted. Her dazed green eyes dragged over the shore. People in leather jackets coated the pebbles. They aimed guns and fired, bang, bang, bang. Golems jolted from the force of the bullets. Some fell back. But they all kept advancing, lurching forward, every single one of them setting their intense, empty black eye-pits on Blake.

  Bethany raced toward her, a manic delight brightened her devouring eyes. Her legs kicked through the water, her hand outstretched, reaching for Blake; reaching for the diadem tangled in her hair.

  Blake choked on a whimper. The hoarse sound gargled in her scorching throat. With each nearing step of the witch, Blake’s insides seared. Her veins, her nerve-endings, her guts—an internal fire consumed them whole. Flames licked up her bloodstream and smouldered behind her bleeding eyes. Blake expected a fire to erupt and burn all over her body at any moment. Instead, she floated, rotting in silence. It was killing her, the magic—from the diadem or her soul, she didn’t know.

  Her hooded eyes slitted to the golems. They lurched behind the witch, black tar dribbling down their decayed chins. Abe, groaning; Jack, stumbling; Rachel, wheezing. Theodore … He wasn’t with them. She blinked and scanned the shore. Three Wolves had him pinned down.

  Hunter. He was there. Shooting the feeder’s legs. He jerked his head, catching sight of Bethany. His hand clutched the gun as he raced toward the witch. He didn’t make it two feet before the Sheriff knocked him to the ground.

  Landing on his back, Hunter craned his neck and locked eyes with Blake. Panic kindled in his molten gaze. His bloodied lips moved; he shouted something at her, but she didn’t hear it. She heard only the oozing flow of the fire within her.

  Spud dove at the Sheriff, tackling him off Hunter.

  No, no, no, Spud couldn’t be there. He was too young.

  Blake moaned, her fingers jerking, needing to save him.

  The mere thought rattled her brain. It soothed when she rested her gaze on Bethany. She was closer, now. Too close. Blake focused. The witch had to die, had to burn, like Blake’s insides. Spud didn’t matter, Hunter meant nothing to her. Blake had to shed herself of her emotions, her humanity. Her only focus had to be her hunger to see Bethany be destroyed.

  Bethany reached her. The witch lunged forward as her hands shot out for the diadem in Blake’s hair. Her freckled legs kicked through the water and propelled her forward.

  Blake shrieked, a fierce, feral sound. It ricocheted through the reservoir, and rattled the trees in the earth. Boulders blasted from the ridges, and struck the fighters on the shore. Her hands, scorching, whipped out just as Bethany grabbed the diadem. Blake’s fingers coiled around Bethany’s wrists. Her scream shook her entire body, and Bethany felt the force of Blake’s blinding rage.

  White skin illuminated, brighter than the moon. The white glow, pulsating and d
estroying her, seeped through her hands and bled into Bethany’s body. The witch’s hands brightened; glowed and burned. Her flesh boiled.

  Bethany gasped and tried to wrench her hands from Blake’s grip. But Blake didn’t let go. Hers fingers melted into Bethany’s skin, and her scream trapped them in the spiralling pull of the whirlpool.

  Bethany screeched. Her skin, dimpled beneath Blake’s grip, bubbled. It singed, wafting up a putrid stench, and blackened into charcoal. Bethany ripped her hands free, and fell back into the water. The whirlpool splashed up and swallowed her whole.

  Gravity travelled up at her.

  Blake’s body drifted downwards into the spirals of water. Then, swiftly, she dropped and plummeted into the icy liquid. Her sight was obscured by flailing limbs, but they weren’t hers. They were Bethany’s, trying to swim out of the lake. Blake swung her arms forward and flailed her legs to swim after her. Her arms stroked, and her legs kicked out. Stretching out, she snatched onto Bethany’s ankle, but her other foot crunched against her face. Blake coughed blood into the water, where it merged and seeped away.

  Bethany scrambled out of the lake. Her shoes slipped on the pebbles as she screeched, “GET HER! GET THE DIADEM!”

  Golems whirled around to face the water. Crouched down, the Sheriff jerked his face from a Wolf’s neck and glared at the water. Zeke stood from Spud’s uninjured body and leapt over him, tilting his head as he stared at the lake.

  Blake emerged and sputtered as she clambered onto the shore, eyes locked on the witch.

  The golems left their victims and ran toward Blake. Spud chased Zeke with a fiery torch and whacked him over the head with it. The corpse crashed to the stones. Hunter sliced a machete through the air. It glinted before it struck the deputy’s throat, and hacked a hole into it. Hunter’s dad and a silver-haired woman cocked shotguns and blasted the shells at Peggy Prescott and Rachel. They were hurled through the air from the force. But Theodore, even with severed legs, scrambled toward her, using his arms.

  Blake glowed, stronger than the stars above, and sprinted at the witch. A feral shriek tore through her fiery throat as she propelled herself from the stones and grasped out for Bethany. She crashed into her back, and they crumbled to the stones with crunches. Bethany wailed and flipped onto her back. Blake reached out for her. Her hands clutched onto the witch, and a searing singe swept over the freckled skin. Bethany shrieked and flailed beneath her. Blake was hit in the side and hurled off Bethany’s body. Theodore had tacked her, and dragged her away from his puppet master.

  A flamed torch spun and whacked Theodore’s mutilated face. Spud raised the torch and struck him again. Theodore roared and threw himself at Spud. Blake didn’t spare them a single glance. Her stony eyes fixed on Bethany running up the shore. She scrambled to her feet and followed.

  “GET BACK HERE!” bellowed Blake. She leapt at Bethany and snatched fistfuls of her red hair. Flames swallowed the locks and licked up to her scalp. Bethany cried out, trying to tear Blake’s hands from her head.

  “Don’t!” shrieked Bethany. Her hands shot up to shield her face. “Blake, please!”

  Blake looked down at her, both sopping wet, but Bethany’s hair had been cooked off at the roots. Blake’s chest rose and fell as she panted; the diadem surged power and adrenaline through her tense body; her fingers curled and shone at her sides, but her legs melted within. Blake realised, she didn’t have long.

  “We can fix this,” pleaded Bethany, quivering on the stones. “We can figure this out, Blake. You don’t have to kill me—”

  “Did you stop when my dads begged for their lives? Or your own parents? Zeke? Your grandmother?” Blake’s lips curled into a sneer. “You slaughtered innocent people. And for what? Power?” She paused, and barked a bitter laugh, consumed with the urge for revenge. “And now look at you. All that power, and you’re still just as pathetic as you’ve always been.”

  “We’re friends,” whimpered Bethany. Her hands rattled over her face as she peered up at Blake. “We have been since we were kids, Blake. We can work together, share our power. Together, we’re unstoppable.”

  “I’m dying,” said Blake. “I can feel it, killing me—the magic you wanted so badly. It’s rotting me from the inside out. You have nothing to offer me. Because of you, I have nothing left. You threw everything away—your family, your friends, people who loved you—and for what?”

  Bethany shivered and dropped her hands to her sides. She laid on her back and pleaded up at Blake with watery eyes. Blake booted her leg and Bethany yelped. “TELL ME,” hollered Blake, striking her. “WHAT DID YOU GAIN? WHY DID YOU DO IT?”

  “BECAUSE I COULD!” she roared up at her.

  “Because you could,” repeated Blake, bitterness slicking her words. “You killed how many people? Innocent people. Because you could.”

  Bethany exhaled heavily and propped herself up on her elbows. Blake’s fingers twitched, ready to consume her with flames should she run. “My dad told me what I am,” she explained. “He told Zeke and I what we should expect. But he ignored his own powers.” She paused before she spat, “It’s pathetic. To hide what you are when you’re extraordinary. Zeke accepted our dad’s explanation, but I didn’t. I wanted to know more. So, I researched. I connected our family to the witch hunt in the settlement. I talked to my grandmother—she told me everything I needed to know.”

  “And what was that?”

  “That I could take magic from others. It was a passing comment; it wasn’t an invitation. My power alone wasn’t sufficient. The ability to conjure spirits from other worlds, but in a ghostly form. It’s useless, worthless. Nothing tangible, or concrete.”

  “So, you killed your parents,” said Blake, simmering beneath the surface. “Because you were jealous of their magic.”

  “I knew that someone in my family had the power of necromancy,” she said. “It was a matter of probability. Mum … Well, she just got in the way. I found out later that it was my grandmother who had it. And now, that magic’s mine.”

  “And Zeke? Were you that jealous—”

  “Zeke killed himself,” snapped Bethany. “He did it when he gave you that note. When he tried to help you, and tell you what I was doing. He knew it wasn’t safe to be around you. Not with the rotten stench of other beings on your clothes, in your hair … You were dangerous, and you didn’t even know it. But he did, and he betrayed me for you.” Blake saw the shadow of delight in Bethany’s masked eyes. She was bragging about it; proud. Bethany sighed and added, “It wasn’t a total loss. I have his power, now, with me. Thanks to Zeke’s weakness, I can project. It came in useful when I wanted to scare you—”

  Spud cried out. Blake swerved her stare to the boy. Spud and Hunter tried to restrain Theodore. He’d lost limbs, but lashed out at the younger Wolves with his one arm. Blake looked up at the others. The Wolves blocked the ghouls. Zeke was sprawled in a pool of tar, headless; Peggy lay in pieces around the shore; Rachel screamed as an old woman tore off her head; Abe and Jack were mere torsos and head—their limbs were nowhere in sight.

  “Now!” shouted Spud. “Do it now, Blake! N—” His voice cracked. It choked into an agonised gurgle. Blood spewed from his lips, and a hand protruded from his chest. Theodore ripped his hand from Spud’s body and his heart along with it.

  “NO!” Hunter’s cries billowed in the breeze that brushed through the battle. He dropped to his knees and threw himself over Spud’s lifeless body.

  A fierce cry tore through Blake. The trees trembled at the roots, in the wobbling earth. Water spewed up from the reservoir, and crashed back down like the blood flowing from Blake’s eyes.

  Blake dove at Bethany. The witch wailed as she collided with her body. Blake straddled her waist and slammed her radiant palms down upon her panicked eyes. “Your power is mine, now,” spat Blake, a sinister gleam bleeding through her eyes. “Everything you did was for nothing. And now, I’m taking it back.”

  Flames spat from her hands and burned out Bethany�
��s eyeballs. Blake roared as the fire soared over her own flesh, and danced up her arms. She sprang back, and landed on her bum. The flames extinguished, from her arms, and from Bethany’s charcoaled eyes.

  Blake raised her hands and looked at her singed palms. “I have to do it,” she mumbled to herself. “I have to burn with you.”

  Bethany shrieked and kicked out her feet. It was pointless. Blake was resigned to her fate.

  Blake lunged on top of Bethany and scrambled onto her waist. “I’m not sorry,” she spat before she slapped her hands onto the witch’s cheeks.

  An echoed shout reached Blake’s ears. Hunter, she realised. He called out to her, but his cries were engulfed by the sizzles and roars of the fire. The orange licks of death spread over Bethany and Blake, and shot up in a blaze to the stars.

  The golems dropped to the ground, or hung from their restraints.

  Bethany’s scream, entwined with Blake’s, trembled, until they screamed no more. Only the fire carried cries to the sky, in a scorching inferno.

  The fire stopped. It dropped back down to the earth, and blasted into the water. It died. And in its wake, two charred bodies lay entangled on the shore.

  The witch and the elemental. At one in their deaths.

  * * *

  Hunter’s arms tightened around the flaccid body. His brother, too young for death, wilted in his embrace. Hunter’s shoulders shook, his head bowed, and chest quivered. The sobs reached the silent Wolves around the shore. The Wolves prodded the corpses, prepared for their sudden return to life. But the puppets were now mere corpses. Their strings had been severed.

  Hugging Spud’s corpse to him, Hunter glanced up with watery eyes. The despaired brown, encircled by bloodshot, swept over to the burnt bodies. Bethany, unrecognisable, lay beneath a second charred corpse. Their flesh was matted in a coarse black decay, with red boils and craters cracking the surface. Hunter spotted the diadem, melted onto the head of the second body.