There was another outburst from those around her. The dead girl that she and Ed had found here in the basement. That had to be who Bridget was talking about. She hadn’t been sacrificed—that’s why there had been so much blood. The beast got her, Samantha realized.
She lowered her hands and closed her eyes, struggling not to send up a prayer of thanks.
“However, she had accomplices,” Bridget said. Samantha’s eyes flew open and she fought the urge to look around her. Who could Bridget be referring to?
“A man on the outside who knows more about witches than he should furnished her with information and has been continuing to ask questions about us. But not to fear—he’s being dealt with even now.”
Anthony, Samantha realized in despair. She half turned toward the stairs. She had to save him. She took a step forward and then stared, startled, as the figure who had been blocking the stairs suddenly spun around and raced up them.
Something whizzed past Samantha’s ear and a moment later the witch fell with a cry, toppling back to the bottom of the stairs. Several people screamed in fear and horror, but no one moved to help. Bridget was on the fallen witch in a moment and Samantha realized it was Bridget’s athame that had flown past her on its way to bury itself in the fleeing witch’s back.
“And so the traitor reveals herself,” Bridget hissed, twisting the knife.
“You killed my cousin,” the dying witch wheezed. “You knew and you sacrificed her anyway.”
Samantha stepped cautiously closer until she could see the fallen woman clearly in the flicker of the candlelight. She bore a resemblance to the pictures of the first sacrifice victim. And now she too was going to die.
And there’s nothing I can do to save her, or Anthony, Samantha thought, struggling with the rage and grief that threatened to envelop her. If only Anthony had told her, maybe she could have helped him.
Another cough and the woman was gone. Bridget straightened, a cruel smile playing across her features. “Make no mistake—that’s how we deal with traitors.”
Her words echoed in Samantha’s mind, strangely familiar, except that she heard them in another’s voice. Abigail’s. She flinched, knowing that she needed to remember but not wanting to.
Bridget strode back to her former place and the coven members again formed a circle around her.
And Samantha’s memories slipped away from her.
“Tonight we find a stranger in our midst,” Bridget said, turning slowly so that she looked at everyone. “But she is not a stranger to our cause. She knew the woman we are all here for tonight. In fact, she is the lone survivor of the original coven who worshipped where we do, whose lives and deaths we honor.”
There was more stirring around her. With terror for Anthony filling her, Samantha kept trying to pierce the darkness and glimpse faces beneath the hoods of the coven members. She needed to be able to identify all of them before anyone else got hurt. She counted twenty-five besides herself and Bridget. The ripples of energy coming off them bounced around the room, gaining strength only to crash back over the circle like a wave. She had forgotten what this felt like, to stand as part of the circle and feel more powerful for the connection and contributions of every member. She could feel each of the others and their energy, their power, fed her as hers fed them. A perfect circle—no beginning, no ending. It was what the circle was meant to be. For Wiccans it represented the cycle of life and of the year itself. For witches it represented the movement and flow of energy. It was intoxicating and she struggled not to succumb to it.
She forced herself to keep thinking, keep questioning everything she saw and everything that happened in a desperate attempt to keep herself separate from the others.
What was happening to Anthony? Was he still alive or had they already killed him?
Why wasn’t the high priestess performing this ritual?
Was it because of her? Bridget had said that she wasn’t quite ready to meet Samantha. Was that true? Or was the high priestess there and simply masquerading as one of the others in order to observe unseen?
“You will notice that there are several missing tonight, our high priestess among them,” Bridget said, startling Samantha into a brief consideration of whether it was possible that Bridget was reading her thoughts. “They are speeding our purpose.”
Samantha felt her heart sink. They’re killing the next victim and I have no idea where they are.
Bridget continued. “And we must do our part as well. The time is now. The sacrifice is prepared. And we shall stand in for it.”
The witch continued to turn in a slow circle, holding the others spellbound.
“Now, as before, one must stand in for the recipient of our sacrifice.”
Samantha felt energy ripples around the room and understood in a moment that no one present wanted to stand in for the recipient. A brief look of impatience crossed Bridget’s face and then she looked at Samantha and her expression turned to triumph.
“Samantha, as the only member of this original coven, do us the honor of standing in for the recipient. Accept our sacrifice.”
She wanted to say no, but knew she couldn’t. She needed to be accepted as part of the circle. And she would gain respect by doing that which no one else wanted to do, which would help her if she needed to break the coven in half to take it down. Karen and Autumn were already hers, but she must win others in case the need arose.
She stepped forward. “I will receive your sacrifice in the name of the other.”
She could feel the relief spreading through the room and also the respect that she had anticipated. The energy flowed to her from everyone else, and it was more than she was giving out to them. She grew stronger while they grew weaker. That was something that would stay with them unconsciously, so that they would always perceive her as stronger.
And because they did, she would be.
Bridget kissed her on each cheek and then knelt before her. The others took their cue and knelt as well.
And Samantha felt… powerful. She closed her eyes and felt her body vibrating with the power.
“Who has the chalice?” Bridget asked.
“I,” replied one of the men.
“Then stand in for the sacrifice,” she said.
Samantha watched as the man produced his athame and then sliced his palm. He held it out over the goblet and let several drops of his blood fall into it. Then he passed it to the woman on his right.
“Who has the chalice?” Bridget asked.
“I,” answered the woman.
“Then stand in for the sacrifice.”
The woman sliced open her palm and added her blood to the goblet as well before passing it on.
It continued around the circle counterclockwise. With each new hand holding the goblet Bridget asked the same question and the person holding it gave the same answer. And Samantha struggled to focus on them, their faces, and the ritual at hand instead of Anthony.
Slowly Samantha understood. In order for there to be a sacrifice, blood had to be spilled. Depending on the type of sacrifice, the blood of the practitioner might need to be offered up along with that of the sacrifice. The women who had been marked with the octogram had not had their bodies cut in any other way. No blood had been spilled. While the woman was actually being killed elsewhere, she was being symbolically killed here, her blood spilled, and each person took a turn being the sacrifice. That way only one or two witches needed to actually be present to witness the murder. It was safer.
And that’s how they’re manipulating and controlling people like Karen. She might not even realize there is a girl out there somewhere being murdered. She might think it’s all symbolic.
Samantha shuddered. It was an ingenious way of keeping control of the coven, the victims, and the crime scenes.
When the goblet had progressed all the way around the circle, Bridget took it. “And I also stand in for the sacrifice,” she said, slicing open her right palm and squeezing blood into the chalice. “And
I stand in for the petitioner,” she continued, slicing open her other hand and adding blood from it as well.
“Accept this sacrifice on behalf of the one to whom it is made,” she said, lifting the goblet above her head toward Samantha.
Samantha took the goblet from her hand and her fingers tingled where they touched it. She had read in the Bible shortly after her conversion that there was life in the blood of any creature, and it had made complete sense to her. Now, as she stood holding the cup, she could feel the life of each person who had spilled his or her blood into it.
She forced herself to speak. “I stand in for the recipient of the sacrifice and I accept it in their name.”
She felt sick inside. She had just declared that she stood in for whatever creature held the dead high priestess’s soul. That was who they were sacrificing to.
I am the devil’s avatar, she thought with a shudder.
And then she looked down and met Bridget’s eyes. The witch was staring at her expectantly.
And that was when the full horror of her situation hit her. She couldn’t just accept the sacrifice.
She had to drink it.
19
God, I can’t do this! The silent prayer burst from Samantha, desperate and uncontrolled.
A tremor shook the floor beneath her feet.
Bridget’s eyes widened in concern. Samantha knew that she had to act soon or lose everything she had worked to gain.
She closed her eyes and tipped the goblet back into her mouth. The hot, sticky blood oozed over her tongue and down her throat and she willed her body not to gag on it even as it started to. The taste of copper filled her mouth and every muscle in her body vibrated in revulsion and agony.
Finally it was done and she lowered the goblet and wiped her mouth.
Bridget took the cup from her and stood slowly. “Our sacrifice has been made and accepted,” she said.
The others rose. Then, silently, they turned and began to file up the stairs.
Samantha’s legs were shaking, but she hurried to join the others, more than ever determined not to be one of the last ones in the basement. She snuffed her candle and handed it to the witch collecting them in the kitchen, then hurried outside.
She wanted to vomit, but she forced herself to keep it in. She needed to reach Anthony, but she saw Karen beginning to walk away, her shoulders hunched, and she jogged to catch up to her. “Karen.”
The other woman turned, startled.
“Give me your phone number. I want to talk to you about something tomorrow,” Samantha said.
As if in a daze Karen recited a string of numbers and Samantha hastily committed them to memory. Then Karen went on her way and Samantha turned back toward the house. Bridget was the last to leave, closing the door firmly behind her. Samantha readied herself to run as soon as Bridget was out of sight, but the witch waved to her.
“Thank you,” Bridget said when she got close to her. Everyone else had already passed out of earshot.
Samantha shrugged. “Happy to help.”
“The few of the coven with any spine are away at the moment,” she said, making a face.
It wouldn’t take more than one, likely the high priestess, to murder the latest victim. What could the others be doing? Participating? Cleaning up the crime scene? Or perhaps they were spreading more fear and hatred to keep the witch frenzy alive.
“I’m surprised that there are so many… weaker… members. Especially given the size of the coven. I would think you would need only to choose the strongest.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not just about power; it’s also about the body count. We need to keep it high. But that won’t always be true and then we can afford to thin the ranks.”
“By my count we have one more sacrifice to make,” Samantha said, deciding to risk revealing how much she knew.
“You never cease to surprise me,” Bridget said with a laugh. “Yes, one left.”
“So, when are we holding the ceremony?”
“Very soon. I don’t know the exact time yet, but I’m telling everyone to be ready with half an hour’s notice.”
“That’s not much time,” Samantha noted.
Bridget shrugged. “At least we’re local. It’s harder on those coming from other cities.”
It was so surreal. They might as well be planning a business meeting or an office party, the way they were speaking. Given that lives were being taken, it all seemed far too casual, like Bridget was playing witch and no one had ever told her the stakes were real.
But when Samantha looked in her eyes and saw the darkness there, she knew that Bridget was very much aware of just what she was playing at.
Her stomach lurched and she clamped down on it even harder. She needed to leave, to find Anthony. But it was going to take forever to walk and almost as long to have a cab come pick her up.
“Do you need a ride to your hotel?”
Even though she didn’t want to spend another second in Bridget’s presence, she was intensely grateful since that would get her there sooner. “Yes, please.”
As they drove, Samantha struggled not to vomit up the blood she had drunk and tried to get her fear under control. Anthony was likely already dead and there was nothing she could do about that. But another voice in her mind refused to believe it and kept screaming at her to hurry.
Was he at the museum? If not, where was he? She thought of her candles in her room. Compelling him to come to her would be worse than useless if he was dead or imprisoned.
When Bridget finally pulled up in front of the hotel, it took all of Samantha’s willpower to step calmly from the car. She walked inside the lobby, waited until she saw Bridget’s car pull away, then sprinted back out to the street.
She raced up Essex, legs pumping, terror spurring her on. At last the museum came into sight, but it was dark and locked. She grabbed hold of the door and tried to feel Anthony. He wasn’t inside. Unless he’s dead already.
She thought about breaking down the door, but she forced herself to stop and think. If he was already dead, they could have dumped the body anywhere; they might even have used it in some way that would draw more attention to witchcraft. But if he was still alive, they’d likely kill him somewhere more private, less public.
His home.
But she had no idea where he lived. She yanked her cell phone out of her pocket and called Ed.
“Come on, come on,” she breathed, waiting for him to pick up.
“Hello?”
“I think they just killed another girl. I don’t know where.”
“What happened to you?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
“Long story—talk later. Right now I really need you to get me Anthony’s home address. His last name is Charles.”
“Give me a second.”
She stood, agony gripping her as she could hear Ed typing. She was lucky he’d been at the precinct and not babysitting Katie. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to anticipate which way she was going to need to run.
“Got it. Ready?”
He gave her the address and she repeated it hastily, then ended the call. She spun to her left and dashed off at a sprint. Anthony lived just a couple of blocks from the museum. When she turned onto his street her eyes gravitated instantly to one house, a blue Victorian with white trim. Something dark was stirring inside it; she could feel it. She raced up the steps and shoved open the door, which was already ajar.
“Anthony!” she screamed.
Only the groaning of the floorboards beneath her feet answered. And there was something else. She tilted her head, listening. The sound was coming from upstairs. It was the sound of running water.
She put her foot on the first step of the narrow staircase that hugged the left-hand wall and leaped up the stairs two at a time. At the top, she ran toward the room at the back of the house. She burst into a large bedroom with an antique four-poster bed and flew across it into the bathroom.
She skidded
to a stop as her mind froze in fear.
Before her was a monstrous gray dog-shaped creature, similar to the thing that had chased her and Ed out of the basement of Abigail’s old house. But this one was fully corporeal. It turned to look at her, blood and saliva dripping from its jaws, a demon from her nightmares made flesh.
Only it wasn’t the exact one from her nightmares. This one was smaller, and gray instead of black. She knew from her memories of the one she had seen as a child that when these creatures were in this state, they weren’t just so much energy that she could disperse like the snake or the kitten. Rather, what stood before her was a real creature, summoned from the bowels of hell to do its master’s bidding.
She looked past the creature and saw the bathtub, filled with water, and Anthony struggling at the bottom of it, bubbles escaping from his nose and mouth. The creature held his chest down with one massive paw, drowning him. And even as she stared, Anthony ceased to struggle.
“No!” she screamed.
The creature pulled its paw off Anthony and turned fully toward her, its eyes glowing. She couldn’t outrun it, she had no time to draw a protective circle, and she had no idea how to banish it.
It must have realized that too, because it grinned at her in the most wickedly human way as it took a slow step forward.
“I will kill you!” she shouted at the creature, more fear than rage making her voice shake.
It opened its mouth and a deep laugh echoed from it. It began to speak in a language she did not know, the words thick and oily and sliding over her. Its hot breath stank of sulfur and the stench drove her to her knees in a fit of coughing. Water spilling over from the bathtub swirled around her on the floor.
Think!
The creature moved impossibly fast for something so large. She threw herself to the side, slamming her temple against the doorframe, to dodge it. Pain exploded behind her eyes and she smelled blood. She glanced down and saw that the beast had slashed her chest with its razorlike claws. In an instant what was left of her shirt was soaked with blood.
The sight was enough to send adrenaline pumping through her body and she could feel a swift buildup of energy unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. She dared not release the energy increasing inside her, though, because she would be electrocuted there in the water.
The Thirteenth Sacrifice Page 20
