by D. G. Swank
“Ask nicely,” Donall admonished, and a whimper came from Bran’s exhausted body.
Donall must have removed the spell that had sealed Bran’s mouth, because I heard him suck in a mouthful of air a moment later.
“Our father,” Brandon finally said, enunciating each word with careful precision, “was a monster. He hated our mother for her talents and made her life miserable for using them.”
“It was her fault!” Donall screamed, whirling on Brandon. “She lorded her power over him. Always reminded him of the family tree, how important her parents had been. How lucky he’d been that she’d agreed to marry him, to give him children. All the while assuming I’d never amount to anything because I wasn’t a girl. Barely taught me anything about magic at all. Well, it didn’t work, did it? I’m just as powerful now as she ever thought she was.”
As I listened to Donall, a picture began to take shape of what their childhood must have been like. Brandon, being eight years younger, hadn’t seen much of his parents’ relationship until things had already gone far downhill and their father had become abusive. Donall remembered a disgruntled father and a dismissive mother. They’d had the same parents but completely different lives.
Maybe losing Donall had changed Brandon’s mother. Perhaps she’d sworn to be a better mother to Bran, to give him a serious education, even though he was a boy.
“Why are you torturing them?” Brandon asked, his eyes raking over me. I could practically see him assessing how much time I had, fighting against the idea of my possible death. “Just dump the rest of the blood and have it done.”
“Are you just stupid, little brother, or purposely obtuse? It’s a sacrifice.”
“And what are you sacrificing, Donall?”
Donall pushed out a sigh. “Apparently, you.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Bran pleaded.
“Of course I do. I’ve been planning this for twenty years. This was our father’s dream, you know. Get access to that book, shake up the world of magic all over again. You think I’m going to rush this thing now that Phoebe has expended the last of her power?” Donall shook his head, looking disappointed. “Once Gage wakes up, he’ll fortify the rune with an amplifying spell, one that will make sure we get the most out of their blood. We’ll never need more, so we won’t need them.”
“You’re going to spark another era of witch trials.”
“Yes, though of course it would be much more modern. Televised. On a grander scale. Everyone will love it. Eventually, we’ll expose the Council, get rid of it, and implement a regulatory structure that actually makes some sense. And then we’ll control the nonmagics, just as the Dark Set intended when they came to the New World.”
“Wait,” Bran said. “This was our father’s plan? Is that why we moved to—”
“Of course it is,” Donall snapped. “I think our father sensed that he wasn’t going to live long enough to see his dream realized, but he ensured we lived close to those girls. That I’d be prepared to strike while the iron was hot.”
“And now is the time to strike? Why? The Council is as powerful as ever.”
“Is it? Its reliance on a small, isolated coven to protect its most valuable possession doesn’t scream power to me. When the strongest member of that coven is weakened by using her magic, and the other two are weighed down by the burden of being all alone out there, well…the pickings were surprisingly easy.”
I shoved down my guilt and lifted my head just enough to glance down at the floorboards. Blood was everywhere, pooling and swirling between Celeste and me like some gloomy modern art painting. Wooziness took over, and I glanced at Bran, grateful beyond belief that he caught my eyes.
If you want to help us, we have to work together. We have a bond—I don’t know how—but we can use it.
Bran tilted his chin down a millimeter, then back up again. A barely-there nod.
If it works like a coven bond, we should be able to combine our spells if we cast at exactly the same time to achieve greater strength. If you can break out of your restraints, I can use Grandma Corlew’s kinematics to keep Donall busy. Between us, we can get Celeste to the car.
Bran let his eyes drift shut, and I could tell he was visualizing how this whole thing would work. His eyes darted down to the floorboards.
The book will come to me. Just keep your brother busy long enough for me to call it.
I hoped I was right.
I let my own eyes drift closed again as Donall lurched in my direction and leaned over the mess of blood, then smeared a fingertip’s worth onto a piece of parchment and cast a spell on the smudge that told him something about the quality of the mixture.
Blood magic was among the darkest of the dark—the fact that he manipulated it with such confidence was unsettling, but then he had experience. I suspected he was the mage who’d escaped from the group Caroline had interrupted. And I suspected it was Donall, not Markus, who’d kidnapped Celeste and stolen the book, using Markus’s potions. The vial of Rowan’s blood was still tied around his neck, swinging back and forth just inches from the blood-soaked floorboards.
He looked up at a scratching sound and smiled. “Ah, Gage. You’ve returned to consciousness just in time.”
We couldn’t wait any longer. I heard Bran’s voice counting down in my head and knew he agreed. We didn’t need any more mages waking up, and Gage was the Druid needed to complete the sacrifice.
Five… Four… Three…
I could feel Josie gathering power from our ancestors along the chain, until it once again filled my body to capacity. Then, before I could stop her, Josie took power from Celeste.
Two…
Celeste’s power was like pure energy, frying every nerve ending until I felt like my blood had been replaced with electricity. No wonder Celeste was in such torment. I gritted my teeth, trying to contain a cry of pain. Somehow, I managed to stay conscious and in the moment.
One, Josie shouted.
Bran and I cast a strengthening charm at the same time, and I sent him part of my power, busting him free of Donall’s restraints.
Bran launched himself across the room, sliding partway through the slick mess on the floor, tumbling head over heels with his brother and pinning him to the windowsill.
I’d barely tapped the energy flowing through my veins. Using Grandma Corlew’s magic, I tore loose a handful of boards from the side of the farmhouse and flung them toward Gage. He barely had time to fling his arms in front of his face before the boards slammed into him. One went clean through his gut, pinning him to the far wall of the farmhouse.
I swallowed bile and sat up, freeing my arm, then turned my magic on Celeste’s bonds. There were layers and layers of magic holding her down. I struggled to focus as the sound of Bran’s fight rung in my ears, but I had to trust he could handle it. I needed to get Celeste out of here. I needed to get the book.
Her bonds snapped free and I pulled her to a sitting position. She wasn’t conscious, and her slight weight felt like a thousand pounds against my own weakened frame. It would take help or a serious feat of will to get her out of here, but right now I had to get the book.
I centered my power, which had considerably weakened after the burst I’d used to attack Gage.
“Come to me, Book of Sindal,” I said out loud with an outstretched hand. “Come to your rightful guardian.”
I could feel it beneath us, stronger than ever before. I could sense it was trying to come to me, fighting something holding it back. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and I felt my power and physical energy begin to wane. I’d done too much. Lost too much blood.
No… I had to save my sister and the book.
“Come to me,” I whispered.
Celeste clasped my bloody hand with hers, catching me off guard as she began to chant something I didn’t recognize.
I could feel the book struggling.
“Come to me,” Celeste whispered in a cooing sound. “Come to me and I will give you what yo
u want.”
What did it want?
The book burst up through the splintering floorboards and hovered in the air. I stared at it in shock.
“Get Ro’s blood,” Celeste whispered.
Pain rippled through the arm I held outstretched, seeming to tear my muscles into fibers and then into individual cells as I summoned the vial of blood hanging from Donall’s neck. It immediately answered my call, returning to the familiar, blood answering the call of blood.
Furious, Donall lunged for me, then stopped short when he saw the book hovering in the air, now glowing as bright as the runes on the floor.
Brandon lunged forward suddenly, pressing his elbow to Donall’s throat and stopping him from going after Ro’s blood. In the next instant, Donall threw Brandon to the ground and got to his feet, standing before the Book of Sindal, his gaze worshipful.
Celeste got to her feet as well, standing at Donall’s side. She shot me a nervous glance, begging me to take charge, to take on the same coven role that always seemed to fall to me. What other choice did I have?
“Let the book choose, Donall.” The words floated out of my mouth, like something otherworldly had been holding them there and all I had to do was release them.
“Let the book choose its own master?” Donall asked. “You think it will choose you? It knows you are weak. It reeks of power. It needs a strong master.”
“You’re telling the wrong person,” Celeste said, standing before him, smeared in blood. “Convince the book that you are the rightful owner. Let the book decide.”
“You’ll come after it,” Donall said. “You won’t give it up so easily.”
“I swear on my sister’s life that I will accept the book’s decision,” she said. “If it chooses you, we relinquish all claim. But you must do the same if it makes a different choice.”
“Celeste!” I cried out, but she held up a hand to silence me.
“Agreed,” he said with a grin. “I’ll go first.”
Donall turned fully to face the book, bowing his head in supplication. “Oh, Book of Sindal, I offer you power and glory like you’ve never seen before. I will make you the most revered, most feared object to ever exist. I offer you armies and death, war and destruction, and I will place you on a pedestal of gold. Come to me.”
After a beat of silence, he turned to Celeste, allowing her to plead her case.
She gave the book a look of pity, then said in a soft, meek voice, “I do not offer you riches or glory. I can only offer you the one thing that all beings crave. Freedom.”
“Celeste!” I protested. What exactly did that mean?
The book wavered in the air before flying to my sister. She captured it with one arm and held it to her chest.
“No!” Donall shouted, then lunged for her.
A surge of energy hit him and he slammed into the wall, causing a dent in the plaster.
Donall struggled to get to his feet. From his position beside me, Bran raised his arms, ready to do battle.
Ready to fling a spell that would allow us to bring his brother to justice.
Then Brandon hesitated. And in that lightning-fast moment, Donall collapsed inside his cape, just like the mage who’d attacked me in the hotel lobby. A crow emerged, staring daggers at us with its beady eyes, and took off for the horizon.
“The darkness lives,” it cawed, then flew through the open glass window and into the night.
Brandon let out a shaking breath. “Phoebe, I’m—”
I cut him off, whirling back toward Celeste, who had slumped to the ground, the book still clutched to her chest. Her body had been ravaged before this, and I doubted Donall had thought to feed her. “You can feel guilty about letting him go later. Right now, we need to work together one more time,” I bit out, trying not to cry. “I need you to lend me your power so I can find a relative with the power of healing. I think it’s the only way we’re going to get her back.”
My voice broke, and Brandon helped me hold my sister up and away from the sticky, iron-smelling mess on the floor. My head spun. I had never felt this weak in my entire life, nor this determined to follow through on something.
“How is that possible?” he asked. “Aren’t you limited by where we are?”
“Trust me.” Closing my eyes, I called out my request, until my ancestors found a boy who had the gift, but had been killed by a bucking horse, an accident that had happened too quickly for him to heal himself.
Pulling from Bran’s energy, the boy, who refused to divulge his name, knit Celeste’s tissues back together, hastened the creation of red blood cells, restored her electrolytes, and repaired bones I hadn’t realized were broken.
Finally, after several long minutes, Celeste let out a couple whimpers, and what felt like a million moments later, her eyes fluttered open. I laughed in utter joy, though I didn’t have the strength to do so. It was like once I finally knew Celeste was going to be okay, my body gave itself permission to shut down. Black engulfed my vision and I slept.
When I came to, my eyes blinked open to a world cloaked in white haze. Celeste’s white-blond hair nearly camouflaged into the faded white walls. I blinked once more, and my vision cleared enough for me to see that Celeste’s eyes were open, and the cuts on her arms looked nearly healed. Paranormal light glowed at the top of what I presumed was the ramshackle house’s living room.
I was laid out on the floor, which had somehow been cleaned of our blood. Instead of pressing into the splintering wooden slats, my shoulder blades were cradled with a blanket. Bran lay on his side, facing me. His skin looked deathly pale, but his smile lit up the whole room. The sight of him stayed my fight-or-flight response, even if momentarily.
“You’re awake.” His voice broke as his hand lifted to stroke my hair.
“Yeah,” I croaked, making a face at how weird my own voice sounded.
“Bee,” Celeste sighed from across the room.
“CeCe,” I replied, smiling at the names we used to call out while playing tag in our sprawling backyard as kids. We could never go back to that carefree life, but at least we had each other. Bran wouldn’t have that, not from his brother, at least. “Where are we?”
“I moved us to the next room. We’re safe for now, even if we’re weak,” Brandon said. “And I’m not all alone in this world. Look. I’ve got you… I think.”
I gave him a soft smile and leaned over to press my lips to his. “You’ve definitely got me.”
Brandon leaned back. “The Protective Force will be here soon to take over the investigation and cleanup. I’ve already notified them.”
I pushed myself up on one elbow. “I want to see it before we leave.”
“See what?” Celeste asked softly.
But Brandon knew—he got to his feet and gently pulled me up.
“No protest?” I asked in surprise.
His face was pale and his eyes haunted, yet he still managed to pull off an amused grin. “Would it have done any good?”
I gave him a small grin back. “No.”
Slipping an arm around my back, he cradled me as though I were a piece of cracked glass. I almost pushed his arm away, but I suspected he needed the touch more than I did.
His knowing glance confirmed it.
“We’re going to need to find a way to block this,” I said as we walked into the room at the back of the house that had contained a nightmare earlier.
“We’ll find a way,” he said, then fell silent as we took in the scene.
Blood was smeared everywhere on the floor—mine and Celeste’s, but also blood from the three other guards and the Druid who was pinned to the wall with a board.
“I killed him,” I said in a monotone, not quite believing it. “I killed other witches and mages too,” I continued, putting the information out there, silently asking Brandon to help me cope with the sudden, intense realization of how much life I’d taken from the world.
Taking life was a deadly sin, and I had taken many. Did that mean I was do
omed?
“You did what you had to do to save yourself and your sister,” he said in a firm tone. “Don’t you ever second-guess that decision.”
I nodded, even though I knew that was easier said than done.
Bran gently pulled my face back. “Phoebe.”
It was a single word—my name—but it was so much more. The inflection and tone, the warmth… that one word carried love and concern and pride and hope.
It carried the promise of a future.
I reached up and gently kissed him, then turned back to take in the horror I’d lived through earlier.
A large circle holding a pentacle had been drawn on the wooden floor with something black. Thick black lines formed two interconnecting triangles like the Dark Set symbol in the center, along with multiple intricate runes drawn in and around it.
“What are they?” I asked, not sure if I even wanted to know. “Druid, right?”
“The rune of change is at its heart,” Brandon said as he pointed to the center.
It was the least bloody part of the design, and I realized Celeste had been lying on top of it. She had been intended as the sacrifice.
“It’s for getting rid of something old and unwanted,” he continued. “It destroys what was to make way for what will be. But it’s also something more. Something older, and darker.”
“This isn’t over, is it?” I asked. “They’ll come back for the book.”
“It’s going to take them time to recover. I think the Small Council has time to figure out what to do to protect you, your sisters, and the book.”
I nodded, but I still felt anxious.
“Did you know the book could choose its owner?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Then how did you know to try it?”
I lifted one shoulder into a shrug. “I don’t know. It just came to me.”
“Do you think we can take a look at it?” he asked. “You know, before the Council decides what to do with it?”
“They need us to look at it anyway,” I said, then headed back into the living room.
Celeste was still propped up against the wall, cradling the book like a baby against her chest. “I will be the one to open it,” she said. “I’m its rightful owner now.”
