Witch Myth Super Boxset

by Alexandria Clarke

  “Go, go,” Gwenlyn ordered softly.

  I hoisted myself over the ledge and tumbled gently into the room. Gwenlyn followed suit, but she misjudged the distance and her boots thudded against the wood floor. We both froze in place, our breaths shallow and restricted, listening for signs of waking witches.

  “We’re good,” Gwenlyn breathed. She unzipped her parka and took a small wooden box from the inner pocket, and then pointed to Alana. “Take the left side. Closer to her heart.”

  I shrugged off my coat. My skin was flushed and damp. The room was too hot. Either that, or my craft was already heating up this close to Alana. I knelt next to her bed, my hands folded together over the duvet like I was praying. I had expected to feel different during this visit. Knowing that Alana was my mother changed everything. I hadn’t known who I was for most of my life. I was lost and confused, but all of my unknown history was starting to piece itself together. Seeing Alana again was supposed to be monumental, but her frozen, sallow face inflicted a sense of doom on me instead.

  “Ready?” Gwenlyn whispered, stirring me from my reverie. She knelt on Alana’s other side, the small box open and at the ready. I gulped and nodded. The box contained small pouches of herbs and spices. Gwenlyn introduced them one by one. “Turmeric to repair brain cells, cinnamon to increase cognitive functioning, ground sage for boosting memory recall, and cedar wood oil for purification of the spirit.”

  I watched, somewhat skeptically, as Gwenlyn dipped her first two fingers into each of the packets, mixing an oily, fragrant concoction. In her opposite palm, she drew a curved triangle with the mixture. Then she took both of Alana’s hands and did the same. Finally, she reached out to me, but my fists remained firmly at my sides.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” she said, waiting for me to proffer my palm.

  “The last time I touched Alana, her heart practically exploded,” I said. “And Nora’s not here to save her if it happens again.”

  Gwenlyn’s oily fingers unfurled my fist. “It won’t happen again. That connection wasn’t monitored or controlled. This one is. I’m going to be there for you.”

  The spicy scent of the mixture wafted up to meet my nose as I allowed her to draw the triangle in my palm. Then she threaded her fingers through mine, interlocking our hands, and did the same to Alana.

  “Take Alana’s other hand,” she instructed. “Make sure your palms are touching.”

  With a deep breath, I lifted Alana’s limp fingers from the bedspread. They felt frail, like if I squeezed too hard, they might crumble into dust. Thankfully, no whirling vortex of fire descended. Instead, awareness of Alana’s soul washed over me. Gwenlyn whispered a rhythmic incantation, and I got lost in the cadence of her voice. The bedroom melted away, and we were born into a world of the past.

  Owen McGrath, thirty years younger, was the epitome of carefree and handsome. He strolled through a livelier version of Yew Hollow, flipping his sandy hair out of his warm, hazel eyes. It was summer, and Owen tilted his head back to admire the blue sky, whistling birds, and passing butterflies. I’d never seen my father like this, so adoring of the world around him, so casual in a loose-fitting shirt and shorts.

  “Owen!”

  In a blur of red hair, a young woman tackled him from behind. He laughed, scooping her onto his back, and ran toward the yew tree in an erratic pattern, ducking just low enough under the branches to avoid bashing Alana’s head. As he spun her around, I saw her entire face for the first time.

  We were practically identical. From the almond-shaped, icy blue eyes, to the heavy but not too heavy jawline, to the arch of her brows, Alana had passed almost every one of her remarkable genetic markers on to me. The only difference was that I had inherited my father’s height and broad build, rather than Alana’s willowy one.

  Owen set her down on one of the stone benches, where she draped her legs over his knees. He drummed a pattern on her shins. “Do the thing again.”

  In a heartbeat, Alana traced patterns through the air. Colorful sparks flew from the tips of her fingers before solidifying into a perfect, shimmering replica of Van Gogh’s “Cafe Terrace at Night.”

  Owen grinned. “I’ll never get tired of that.”

  Alana swiped her hand through the painting, sending the witchcraft swirling away. “You’ll always have it.”

  “Not if my father has his way,” Owen said. His hands absentmindedly roamed over Alana’s long legs. “He keeps threatening to send his valet to collect me.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. “What does he want with you? Doesn’t he understand that you aren’t interested in taking over his business?”

  “It doesn’t matter if I’m not interested,” Owen replied. He deepened his tone to mimic his father’s. “It’s my duty as a McGrath man. Ugh.”

  “Stay here.” Alana nuzzled against him. “Tell me about your mom again.”

  He played gently with her hair, letting the strands float through his fingers like a strange liquid. “She’s like you. Beautiful and strong. Full of life. I have no idea how she ended up married to my dad. No wonder they got divorced.”

  “The fact that she was a witch probably didn’t have anything to do with it,” Alana quipped with a mischievous smile.

  Owen kissed her nose. “She was so relieved when she gained sole custody of me, and to be honest, I was too. There were conditions of course. My father forced her to put me in private schools, but at the end of the day, I went home to a loving family rather than a cold businessman of a father.”

  “Then you found Yew Hollow.”

  “I did,” he confirmed. “And it’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. This is what life should be like. This place is full of free, positive energy. It reminds me of growing up with my mom. I don’t want corporate culture or office politics or loads of cash. I just want you and this place.”

  Alana tilted her chin up, and Owen kissed her lightly. As the breeze ruffled the sleeves of Owen’s shirt, they snuggled closer to each other, and the picturesque scene dematerialized to rebuild itself into something else.

  The second setting was far less peaceful. Alana sat in a large tub of warm water with her legs wide. Her hair was drenched with sweat, her face drawn in an expression of intense pain. She yelled in agony, clutching the sides of the tub, hardly aware of Owen’s presence. He knelt beside her, tears streaming down his face, as he supported the back of her head and murmured words of support. Other witches were there too, tending to Alana’s various needs. She was giving birth, and from the looks of it, it wasn’t going well.

  “I don’t understand,” one of the younger witches said in an undertone. “Shouldn’t the healing spells have taken effect by now? She shouldn’t be in this much pain.”

  The second witch winced as Alana let loose another howl. “No, she shouldn’t. Something isn’t right.”

  Auras crisscrossed throughout the room, mostly the standard bright blues and violets of the Summers coven. Alana’s was the most profound, her cherry red color standing out. Another aura caught my eye. It was darker than the rest, a navy blue that looked almost black, and while the others wavered in unison as the witches attempted to help Alana, the dark aura wove its own path, entwining itself around Alana’s legs and snaking toward her womb.

  Another witch monitored the situation below. “Nearly there,” she said. “Another big push, Alana.”

  “Come on, baby.” Owen pressed his lips to Alana’s soaked temple. “You’re almost done.”

  Alana screamed and pushed and all hell broke loose. The dark aura met Alana’s red fury and exploded. The resulting blast was bright orange. It blew through the room like an atomic bomb, knocking Owen and the witches away from the tub. Tile cracked, porcelain shattered, and a tidal wave of water washed across the bathroom floor as the vessel holding Alana gave way. The witches fought to regain their footing, wading to the young woman hunched over in the destruction. Their fear was tangible as they checked on her. Owen shoved his way to
Alana, and upon seeing her, collapsed on the wet floor in relief.

  Despite her struggle and the demolished bathroom, Alana was unharmed. In her arms, she held a squalling baby with a shock of fiery hair and an aura to match.

  10

  Gwenlyn

  The sound of a door creaking open jolted me from Alana’s memories. Footsteps echoed down the hall, but Kennedy didn’t notice. She was bowed over Alana’s bed, her forehead resting against the duvet cover as she squeezed Alana’s hand tightly in her own. I severed the connection, collected the spice packets, and wiped Alana’s hands clean of the mixture. Then I shook Kennedy’s shoulder.

  “We have to go,” I whispered urgently. The footsteps were growing louder. Kennedy didn’t budge. Her fingers twisted in the bed linens. I pried them loose and yanked Kennedy to her feet, dragging her toward the window. As I shoved her through, I mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

  Just as we landed on the ground outside, Yvette peeked into Alana’s room. Kennedy, whose eyes were blank and unseeing, gasped for breath. I clapped a hand over her mouth, drawing her as close to the house as I could in case Yvette happened to look out the window. Her rapid pulse thudded against my forearm, but she didn’t fight me. After what felt like hours, Yvette’s aura dissipated from the immediate vicinity, indicating that Kennedy and I were safe to flee the scene.

  “Let’s go,” I muttered, coaxing her along the lifeless landscaping. “We need to get you back outside the ward before anyone realizes you’re here.”

  She stumbled along without arguing, her coat limply dangling around her arms. I almost tugged the collar up to cover her shoulders, but the frigid air seemed to be doing her good. Her eyes had cleared, and she looked alert and anxious rather than shocked and catatonic, which was a remarkable improvement.

  “Did you see it?” she asked as we cleared the cul-de-sac and sprinted down the hill toward the town center. “That aura?”

  “The darker one?” I clarified. “Yeah, I saw it. No wonder Alana was in so much pain. One of the other witches was doing something to inhibit her labor.”

  “No one else noticed.”

  “No, they didn’t.” I gritted my teeth at the thought. “Someone was intentionally trying to sabotage your birth, and they did their best to hide their intent from the others.”

  Kennedy’s hair escaped from its messy bun and unraveled like a spool of yarn. As she looked over her shoulder, I saw Alana’s younger face.

  “You think someone tried to kill me,” she guessed correctly. “Then why didn’t it work?”

  We barreled past the yew tree, where I wished things would just go back to normal. Gone were the days of relaxing beneath the needle-like leaves of the tree. Not so long ago, my only worry was figuring out how to accommodate the sheer number of tourists that would turn up for the annual Fall festival in Yew Hollow. I missed the simplicity of it all.

  “That orange blast was you,” I explained to Kennedy. “You created a ward as soon as you were born. It protected you, as well as your mother, from whomever was trying to harm you.”

  Kennedy vaulted over a dead rose bush as we neared the woods on the opposite side of the square. “We still didn’t figure out who did it though.”

  “It had to be one of the Summers,” I said, turning sideways to fit through the narrow gap between two saplings. “Dark magic corrupts the color of your craft until it turns black, but that aura still had traces of blue—”

  My voice cut out when unimaginable pain ripped through my body. It was worse than a bed of nails. It was worse than Camryn’s hex from the other day. It was an immediate dislocation of my mind from my body as every cell screamed for release.

  I collapsed in the dirt, jerking spasmodically. Black spots appeared in my line of vision. The muscles in my leg contracted and relaxed in quick succession, bending it at unnatural angles.

  Kennedy fell to her knees, shaking my shoulders, her eyes wide and panicked. “Gwen! Gwenlyn! Oh my God. Stay with me. Just stay with me.”

  Her hands ended up in mine. It was the only thing that felt real, so I held onto her with all of my might, fighting to clear my vision. I focused on Kennedy’s piercing eyes, the only source of light in the dark woods.

  “I have to get someone,” she said. “Let me go get Morgan.”

  “No,” I rasped, grabbing her shirt and dragging her closer. “Please don’t leave me.”

  “Gwenlyn, I have to.” She tore my fingers from her clothes, where they left imprints in the fabric. “I’ll run. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Morgan will know what to do.”

  And then she was on her feet and halfway across the square before I could draw another breath. As the bright spot of her hair faded into the distance, the witch’s mark clenched around my leg, sending me into another round of spasms. I rolled over onto my stomach, retching, as the pain curled tightly around my abdomen. Panting, I lifted the hem of my shirt.

  Patterns like black lightning decorated my stomach. The witch’s mark was spreading again. I watched as its tendrils reached from one hip to the other, disappearing below the waistband of my jeans as it snaked down my other leg. I wedged a clean branch between my teeth and bit down on it as the mark made easy work of my lower extremities. Finally, the pain culminated in my legs before extinguishing itself entirely. I went limp with relief, my cheek pressed to the cold ground.

  It was minutes or hours before the dirt vibrated lightly with the patter of footsteps. A delicate touch brushed my hair away from my tearstained face as I struggled to open my eyes. A curtain of blonde hair obscured my view of the rest of the woods.

  “Oh, dear,” an unfamiliar voice said. “It doesn’t look good for you, does it, darling?”

  The speaker was a beautiful woman with apple green eyes, dressed impeccably from head to toe in designer outerwear. She looked stunningly like Nora, but before I could put the pieces together in my head, the thunder of an approaching crowd interrupted my thought process.

  Kennedy arrived first, but she skidded to a stop before she reached me, frozen in place by the sight of the gorgeous, slender woman. “Adrienne?”

  The woman drew herself up to her full height, and I used her shift of focus to push myself across the forest floor and prop myself up against a tree. She oozed power and influence, and not in a good way.

  “Ah, Kennedy,” she said, looking the younger woman over with a distinct sneer. “How are you faring with my disgrace of a family? Terribly, I hope. I see you brought friends to our unfortunate reunion.”

  Kennedy stood dumbstruck as Morgan and her sisters arrived on the scene. The middle-of-the-night hubbub had attracted others as well. The Summerses grew in number, forming a half-circle around the picturesque woman, who studied her surroundings with a satisfied air of nonchalance. She allowed the Summerses to gather in total, save for those who were too weak from the curse to leave their beds.

  “It was you,” Kennedy finally said, still rooted in place. The blood had drained from her face, and she looked at the other woman with horror and disgust. “You did this.”

  The truth was evident in the tremble of Kennedy’s voice. Morgan reacted instinctively, raising her hands to cast a defensive spell against the woman. The other witches followed suit, but just as their auras reached a climax and the clearing glowed with the Summerses’ witchcraft, the woman lifted a single finger. A black cloud descended, extinguishing the witches’ magic in one fell swoop. A murmur of alarm swept through the crowd. The witches’ boots, including Morgan’s, appeared to be glued to the ground so that they couldn't’ move.

  “Ah, ah, ah!” the woman said, as though she was scolding a naughty toddler. “That’s no way to welcome me home, is it, Morgan?”

  “Who are you?” Morgan snarled. Her expression was a mixture of rage and fear. The curse had weakened her too, but she had not expected this woman to overpower her so easily. Now, her entire family was in danger. “How did you get through the ward?”

  “Someone made an opening in your precious ward,
” the woman replied. She swept past Kennedy, caressing her cheek with poisonous red nails. Kennedy recoiled, and when she took a step backward, I realized that she and I were the only ones free of the woman’s influence. “I simply walked right in. As for your first question—” The woman paused in front of Morgan, peering down her nose at the shorter woman, and giggled. “—don’t you recognize your own aunt, my dear?”

  Morgan’s baffled expression indicated that she did not. The woman laughed again, strolling away from Morgan to stand at the direct center of the clearing.

  “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” she said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Adrienne McGrath, once the sister of Alana Summers. The reason none of you recall any of this is because, many moons ago, I laid a curse and an unbreakable memory enchantment over the Summers coven. Congratulations, ladies. You’re all dying.”

  The witches erupted into chaos, shouting profanities and incantations for attack spells that did not come to fruition. Adrienne lifted her hands to the dark sky as if to revel in the insanity. Kennedy shot across the clearing, aiming for Adrienne. For a second, I thought she might actually get the upper hand, but Adrienne blew Kennedy off course with a black jet of craft. Kennedy landed hard on her shoulder, skidding across the dirt until she came to rest at my feet. The coven fell quiet, looking on in panic. As Adrienne stalked toward us, Kennedy scrambled backward until we sat side by side.

  Adrienne casually examined her flawless manicure and sighed. “Oh, Kennedy. You shouldn’t cause any more trouble than you already have. After all, it’s your fault the coven is in this mess to begin with.”

  “How?” Kennedy panted, her shoulder rising and falling against mine. “Why?”

  “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” Adrienne whirled around, her blonde hair moving like a fan of golden silk. She tapped Morgan on the nose. “You were ten years old the last time I saw you.”

  Morgan jerked away from Adrienne’s touch. “You are not my family. I have no idea who you are, but you are not a Summers witch.”