JEGUDIEL: A Deadly Virtues Novel

by Cole, Tillie

  Noa felt the air heat between them. She didn’t know if it was from the fire casting its warmth around the room, or the story she was telling. “History has bastardized the true nature of pagans, Wiccans, people who worship the earth rather than one God found in an old book. Witches were made to be the villains in fairytales—the crones, the hags, the monsters that would come for children if they misbehaved.” Her body tensed. “We all know who is responsible for that narrative. The Brethren has been around for centuries, Catholic priests by day, their true evil secret sect revealed by night. They sullied the view of pagans. They were instrumental in the witch trials, in the ruined reputation of anyone who worshipped the earth and the elements.”

  Noa blinked fast as the pictures built in her brain. Her family’s circle; the dense, secluded forest; the lit fire; the songs; the drums; the white robes; the flowers; the wine; the candles …

  “It was a small coven, mostly made up of vagabonds, people with no real prior home, poor people who made a family for themselves away from the ones they were born into.” Tears built in her eyes. “They raised me. And I loved each and every one of them as my own. They were harmless. They were good people. They cared for me, for each other. It was … it was a beautiful way of living …”

  “But?” Diel asked, as if hearing her unspoken words hovering between them.

  The vine of thorns returned, slicing into Noa’s flesh, flooding her with their poison. Its slithering length tightened around her neck. “But the Brethren had turned their evil fucking eyes on them. They’d heard of the small coven of misfits, worshipping the Triple-Headed Goddess and the Horned God, holding so-called ‘satanic’ rituals in a secluded forest not too far from one of their headquarters.”

  Diel breathed faster, his chest rising and falling too quickly, and his fingers tightened around hers. Noa practically vibrated with the anger, the scalding wrath her memories invoked in her soul. Her eyes lost focus as she said, “And on Samhain, one of the biggest and most treasured celebrations of our calendar, they came for us … they came for them.”

  “And did what?” Diel’s gruff voice pulled Noa’s attention. When she met his eyes, she saw they were simmering with fury.

  His rage on her behalf filled her with enough strength to finish a story she had rarely told, rarely reflected on for fear it would tear her apart, ruin the person she had fought for so many years to become.

  “They attacked,” Noa said, teeth clenched and skin burning as though she were standing in that fire that her family had circled around, paying tribute to deceased ancestors and welcoming in the winter season.

  “That was the first time I ever met Father Auguste. Father Auguste and the twin priests that one day I will kill with my bare hands.” She closed her eyes, and she was back in the forest. The scent of pine swirled around her, a fragrant, earthy perfume. The wet mud on the ground was soft and sludgy beneath her feet from where it had rained the night before.

  And after years of blocking that night from her mind, she was back there, twelve years old, and her world about to splinter apart forever …

  Chapter 16

  “Darling, you sit here.” Noa’s grandma guided Noa to a tree with thick roots that made a seat of sorts. Noa sat down, and her grandma wrapped her in a blanket. She leaned down and pressed a kiss on Noa’s forehead. Noa smiled as she smelled patchouli and lavender on her grandma’s skin.

  Her grandma backed away toward the fire that Heather had lit. William had already started banging the drum, and soft voices hummed along to familiar songs, songs that Noa adored. She hummed along too.

  Every time her grandma’s coven gathered for a circle, it was like watching magic in real life. The freedom, the love, the welcoming of life, death and nature—Noa loved it and couldn’t wait for the day she would participate too.

  Tonight was Samhain. It was the most important night of the year. While other kids were dressed up, trick-or-treating and neglecting the ancient reason for the celebration, Noa was watching Wiccans honoring death with the respect it deserved, on the night when the veil between worlds was thinnest, bringing an end to the harvest season and welcoming the beginning of winter.

  Noa smiled as her grandma’s hands rose into the air, joy and purpose on her face. The rest of the small coven, only six in total, held up their hands too, except for William, who kept beating the drum, his eyes closed and tilted up to the clear night sky. The moon and stars were out in full effect, and their glow kissed his cheeks.

  Dropping the blanket to her knees, Noa held out her hands, her long hair falling down her back as she tipped up her head and closed her eyes, imitating her family.

  “We call on the elements.” Noa’s grandma’s voice rang out into the clearing, and Noa opened her eyes to watch her. She loved to watch her grandma like this. The wind rustled the branches of the high trees around them as if it was responding to her call. Dying leaves dropped to the ground, nature’s autumnal confetti falling on the people who treasured it most.

  The fire climbed high as her grandma called for air, fire, earth and water. As she called for the aether. The coven circled the fire, chanting their thanks to the Goddess. Noa swayed, a wide smile on her face as they moved faster, arms held up in total surrender. Excitement pulsed within her, an energy surge; she could almost feel the ground vibrating beneath her feet. She wanted to join in more than anything. She wanted to join her grandma and her family in that circle; she wanted to feel what they felt, be a part of the ritual.

  Noa’s feet had barely moved toward them when she heard a sound from the left of the clearing. Her body froze, and the temperature seemed to drop around her, like her gut knew there was danger ahead.

  Noa watched, wide eyed and pulse racing, as five men walked out of the trees. They were dressed in long black robes and had red dog collars around their necks. They looked like Catholic priests.

  She didn’t recognize any of them, but her eyes fixed on the man at the back. He looked like he was only his in late teens, and had long brown hair, half of which was tied back off his face. He had done nothing but walk toward them, but the way his eyes focused on her family around the fire, her family who hadn’t even noticed the men, too busy chanting and blessing the Goddess, made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

  The men leading the group stopped, and Noa saw them pull knives from the hidden pockets of their robes. Her voice became trapped in her throat, fear rendering her motionless, squeezing as tightly as if hands were wrapping around her neck.

  The men at the front glanced to the man at the back. With a snarl of disgust on his face, the man with the dark hair—their leader—nodded his head, and the other priests cut across the clearing.

  Noa opened her mouth to offer warning to her grandma, but her scream was too late, and too weak—it was carried away on a gust of wind. Instead, Noa watched, rooted to the spot, as the men charged at her family and plunged their knives into their chests. White robes became sodden with red.

  Noa’s eyes sought out her grandma. One of the men had her in his arms. Her grandma’s frantic gaze found Noa. “Run,” she mouthed, and Noa’s heart sliced in two at the stark fear in her grandma’s eyes.

  “Grandma …” Noa whispered, lips trembling, her voice breaking along with her heart and her soul. Her grandma managed to rip free from the man’s hold, only for another man—identical to the first, Noa realized—to catch her by her hair as she tried to run for her granddaughter, tried to get to Noa.

  Noa’s heart pounded an ominous song, a dirge, as one twin held her grandmother, her arms locked behind her back, and the other stood directly before her. Noa’s knees were weak. One of them spat, “Heretic witch” in her grandma’s face, then plunged his knife into her chest.

  This time the scream that came from Noa’s mouth was loud and savage and carried all of the hurt, the sorrow and the pain that came with seeing her grandma slump in the priest’s arms, but not before her eyes had found Noa, telling her with one simple stare how much she loved her,
how much she cherished her … and to run.

  Noa’s breath was as choppy as a rough sea as she fled into the woods. She didn’t feel her legs as she pushed them to their maximum ability. Low-hanging branches slapped her in the face like wooden whips. But she ran. She ran and ran, searching for a way out of the dense forest. But before she had even made it close to a hiking trail, a hand grabbed her hair, yanking her back. Her scalp felt like it was on fire as she fell to the ground. A strong hand wrapped around her arm and dragged her to her feet. Noa was spun around, and she came face to face with the leader of the priests, the young one with long dark hair. His dark eyes searched her face.

  Tears streamed down Noa’s cheeks; they blurred her sight. She was terrified. In that moment, Noa knew she was going to die. She closed her eyes, but all she could see in her mind’s eye was blood. All she could see was her family splayed on the ground, white robes dyed a bloody crimson. And her grandma … her grandma, the person she loved most in the entire world, slain, a knife through her chest.

  A slice of pain slammed across her cheek, and Noa opened her eyes with a gasp. He had slapped her. The priest had slapped her. Without saying a word, he dragged her back the way she came, toward the clearing, by her hair. Noa stumbled, her fingernails snapping as she reached out for purchase on the trees, but the priest didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until they reentered the clearing. A sob ripped from Noa’s throat at the sight that greeted her.

  Bodies … her family’s bodies were everywhere. But she couldn’t see her grandma. Where was her grandma?

  Then Noa smelled smoke, its tendrils drifting up her nose like plumes of acid. As if she were a puppet and the priest her master, Noa was spun around by the priest’s unyielding hold, and something inside her instantly died. Her soul broke, shattered, splintered apart, as she saw her grandma’s body tied to a makeshift stake, fire raging at her feet.

  Hot breath danced near Noa’s ear, and she felt the priest’s mouth lower to her lobe and say, “Watch.” She tried to pull away as the flames crawled higher up the stake, tearing the flesh from her grandma’s legs. But the priest held her head captive in his hands and forced her to watch as the fire began to devour her grandma. Noa was glad her grandma had already died. She could at least take solace in that—

  But terror sailed through her body as her grandma stirred. Her grandma slowly rolled open her eyes. And it only took her a second to feel the fire licking at her skin. It only took her a second more to start screaming in agony and fear. Noa felt her face drain of all color as her grandma tried to fight the rope that bound her to the stake. But she couldn’t get away. There was no way out.

  Noa could smell burning flesh. Tears fell from her face and splattered onto the cold ground. She couldn’t take it. She simply couldn’t take it. Noa pushed back from the priest and tried to run for her grandma, but the priest’s hold was too much. Yet Noa fought. Her ruined fingernails scratched and clawed at the priest, but they only broke further, blood seeping from their beds as her skin was shredded to ribbons.

  “Grandma!” Noa screamed, and even in the agony of being burned alive, her grandma heard her voice. Her pained eyes turned to Noa, and she tried to speak, tried to get to her granddaughter, but she was trapped. Dark smoke crawled high in thick clouds, but Noa kept her gaze locked on her grandma even as the flames grew higher. And her grandma kept her in her stare too, one final comforting cradle from the woman who raised her, doted on her, showed her what unconditional love truly was.

  Noa’s chest was flayed and raw as the flames grew so high that all she could see was a cacophony of angry oranges and reds. The priests who had been around the stake walked toward her. No, not toward her—toward the man who held her.

  She didn’t hear what he said. She could only see the fire now dying down, sated after its consumption of her grandma.

  “And that one?” one of the twins asked, his voice catching Noa’s attention. They had held her grandma. They had plunged a knife into her chest then burned her on a stake.

  An anger, a fury that Noa had never experienced before, suffused her veins as powerfully as the flames had her grandma. Noa wanted to hurt these men. She felt something shift inside her, a shadow stepping around a light, an eclipse over her once beating heart.

  Noa wanted to kill them.

  “This one comes with us,” the head priest said from behind her. He turned her into his arms. She was shaking from rage, trembling from sorrow, from shock and whatever else had just happened. “She’s young enough that we can exorcise the sin from her witch’s heart,” he hissed, lip curling with distaste. “A heathen, a heretic just like that sinner we just sent to hell.”

  Noa’s hands were tied, so she spat in his face. The priest stilled, then pushed her back into the chest of one of the twins and wiped the spittle from his face. He shook his hand, walked toward her, and sliced the back of his hand across her face. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you, witch.”

  Noa barely remembered the journey, too consumed with the horrors replaying in her mind. They had killed them. They had killed her family for being Wiccan. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Her family were good people. They were kind and compassionate people.

  They weren’t heretics. They weren’t evil witches. Satan-worshippers.

  As if in a dream—a nightmare—Noa was taken from a van and into an old building. She was led down to a basement of sorts and flung inside. As Noa lay on the stone floor, panting and disorientated with shock and grief, a hand hovered before her face. She glanced up and saw two girls in front of her. One was a beautiful Black girl with deep skin and a kind smile. The girl holding out her hand had tanned skin and jet-black eyes that looked like eclipsed moons. Her hair was jet black too and fell to the middle of her back in loose waves.

  “Take it,” the girl with the hypnotic dark eyes said. Noa did as she said and was hauled to her feet. She felt cold. So bone-shakingly cold. Confusion lay thick in her in mind like molasses.

  Noa scanned her surroundings. There were several narrow, uncomfortable-looking beds, stone walls boxing in the room, and one tiny barred window that allowed virtually no light in.

  Noa still reeked of smoke … smoke that had killed her grandma.

  “No tears,” the dark-eyed girl said sternly. Noa snapped her head up as though the girl had slapped her. Noa must have shown her immediate fury in her face, as the girl smirked, showing off her breathtaking beauty. “Good. Feed that darkness. Own it.” She walked to one of the beds and slumped down to the mattress. “In this place? You’re going to need it.”

  * * *

  “That was how I met Priscilla,” Noa said. “Dinah was there too.” Noa’s skin had broken out into a cold sweat just recalling that night in so much depth, the haunting visions still crystal clear in her mind. “Jo, Candace, Naomi and Beth came later.” Her teeth gritted together. “They named us the Coven because of the backgrounds we came from. They were mocking us. Taunting us for not being like them, for being from differing faiths and cultures.”

  “What were those backgrounds?” Diel asked, completely focused on what she was saying.

  Noa sighed. “Priscilla is a Romani traveler. They took her from her family too. A gypsy, some would say. That’s what the Brethren called her, alongside ‘heretic.’”

  “And Dinah?”

  “Her family were from New Orleans originally. They moved to Boston when she was young. The matriarchal side of her family stemmed from a long line of voodoo queens.” Noa felt the rage on behalf of her sisters, at how they were all robbed of their families, their beliefs, traditions and practices, all because the Brethren believed them to be sinners. They thought they had the fucked-up God-given right to destroy them because their doctored scripture told them so.

  “And the others?” Diel asked.

  Noa shook her head. “Those are my sisters’ stories. I shouldn’t have said anything about Priscilla and Dinah. I just …” The lump moved back into her throat. She startled when Diel’s hand cupp
ed her cheek. She closed her eyes as the warmth of his touch traveled through her body, a balm, a calming tincture. “We were all segregated from society and homeschooled. When they took us, no one noticed.”

  “What did they do with your family’s bodies?” Diel asked. Noa tried her best to block out the memory of her loved ones on the ground of their sacred circle. It was a blood sacrifice no element, triple-headed goddess or horned god had ever, or would ever, ask of them.

  Noa leaned into Diel’s hand. She didn’t overthink how much strength this man she had just met brought to her broken soul, how much peace the simplicity of his touch brought to her warmongering heart. “When we left … when we had escaped the Witch Finders, I researched that night. I never knew what they had done with them all.” Noa breathed deeply to stop herself from losing it. “A man had been arrested and charged with the murders.”

  Diel frowned. “What man?”

  Noa shrugged. “Some murderer they pinned our deaths on.”

  “Our?”

  “I was mentioned in the newspaper write-up. It claimed he confessed to killing me too. They never found the body, of course.” Noa closed her eyes. “They said he had stumbled upon the Samhain ritual and killed them—us—through insanity.”

  “Fuckers,” Diel spat. Noa nodded. When she opened her eyes, Diel was sitting right in front of her. He searched her eyes. In that moment, she felt completely vulnerable. She felt weak.

  She couldn’t tolerate feeling weak.

  “I never tell anybody this. About my past,” Noa whispered, her voice trembling.

  Diel was silent for a second, then said, “I’m not just anybody.”

  Noa’s heart flipped in her chest. Because he wasn’t. She had known that from the minute he had held her up against the wall in the priest’s home, the collar around his neck a beacon to her darkness. Diel pulled Noa across his lap and pushed inside her. Noa’s breathing stuttered as he entered her again.