by A. N. Sage
I have to kill my best friend. “I can’t do this,” I said and forced myself to stand. “Not anymore.”
“B! Hang on!” Peyton shouted but I was already gone.
Lights flashed in my peripheral as I paced the length of my small living area. My fingers twirled the moonstone ring and I watched the fire burning in my left hand with rage and intent. The power I used in the clearing took a lot out of me and my magic was already starting to fade but I wanted to hold on to what was left just a little longer. I wanted some kind of control for at least a few moments. The amber crystal vibrated in my palm and I breathed into it, sending the flames higher and higher in my hand. My eyes twinkled as they took the fire’s glare and if anyone was to walk in, I was sure I’d look like a damn psycho.
I inhaled the smoke and shut my fingers around the crystal to put the fire out.
Near me, my phone vibrated for the hundredth time and I snarled in its direction. Peyton hadn’t stopped trying to text me since I left but I refused to read any of her messages. She lied to me and she did it in the worst way possible. Peyton knew I was a witch—I trusted her enough to tell her—so she knew what I would have to do when I found out who she was. That was why she refused to tell me. Not because we were friends but because we both knew what would happen if I found out. I would have to vanquish her ass into oblivion.
My chest tightened and I rubbed the spot closest to my heart until I felt my skin burn hot.
“What are you going to do?” I asked myself. “You can’t actually go through with it.”
My knees buckled and I dropped to the wooden floor with a thud. At that moment, my future wasn’t looking so great. I went from being a coven witch to someone who developed feelings for everything my kind stood against and it tore me apart. I wondered if anyone else in the coven had ever faced this impossible situation but chances were, I was the only idiot in the bunch.
Knees dragging, I crawled to where my phone sat on the round coffee table and pulled it into my lap. My hands shook as I pressed the home button and swiped Peyton’s messages from sight. Taking a deep breath, I scrolled through the contacts and hit dial.
The phone rang five times before a familiar voice sounded on the other end.
“Hello? Wilhemina?” Rhiamon answered and my heart dropped.
“Rhi,” I whispered. “Rhi, I need your help.”
“Honey, what’s wrong?” The high priestess said, panic rising in her voice.
“I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t.” The line grew silent and I sank to my butt, pressing the phone closer to my ear. “Rhi?”
There was a shuffle of feet and then Rhiamon was back on. “I’m here. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Everything!” I screamed. “Everything is wrong. This is too hard! I can’t do any of it. I’m not strong enough.”
“Breathe, Wilhemina. You’ll be fine.”
Her words were stone and I sniffled my nose, wiping the tears from my face. I shouldn’t have expected anything else from her, Rhiamon was the fighter of the group and I don’t even know why I called her. Maybe I thought she’d care somehow but if I was honest, I was hoping she’d tell me to pack my bags and hightail it out of there to come home.
She didn’t.
“Have you found out the names of the hunters?”
Bile rose in my throat as her question sat in. It was always about the job with this bunch and for once, I wished it was about me. I stayed silent, refusing to give her any information until she told me what I wanted to hear. “I want to come home.”
“That,” Rhiamon scolded, “will only be possible after we secure Shadowhurst.”
“But—”
“Honey, I hope you understand that what we did was a direct result of your own actions. You used magic in front of humans, Billie. Witches have been caged for less. You get that, right?”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me.
“Now have you had any progress in following the fae bloodlines?”
My teeth ground against each other and I pushed down nausea that overtook me. You mean the fae you never told me about? I wanted to demand. “The witch is using the fae elements to collect energy,” I said instead. “I found signs that point to a Drawing Out Life ritual in all the crime scenes.”
Rhiamon gasped. “How many has she been able to secure?”
“Four. She’s missing the Spirit element. But I don’t know who the target is yet.”
“Very good,” she whispered. “This is excellent work, Billie. But listen to me and listen carefully, you must find the last fae line before she gets to them. I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation.”
No shit. Thanks for the stellar advice.
“I understand it better than you think,” I snapped back. “I’m the one dealing with it.”
“And you’re doing a wonderful job. I’m just making sure that your head is in the game. Under no circumstances can we allow this witch to complete the ritual. It would be catastrophic.”
“For whom?”
“For everyone. For the entire world. A witch with that kind of power is not to be messed with. It’s unnatural. She would be stronger than the High Coven itself and if that happens, there would be no controlling her.”
There was that word ‘control’ again. Hearing it made me want to smash my phone into pieces. Was that all the High Coven cared about? I knew we needed witches to protect the humans but all the secrecy still made little sense.
“Why can’t we just tell the other witches what’s going on? They can help. I don’t think I can do this on my own.”
“You can and you will. And you will keep this to yourself.”
“But Rhi—”
“No ‘buts,’ Wilhemina!” She snapped. “You will do as we instructed or Goddess help me, you will leave us no choice!”
I jumped back from the phone. Tears flooded my vision and I could feel the blood rise to my neck. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean it. I’m just scared.”
“It’s all right to be scared, honey,” Rhiamon said, her voice lighter. “But you need to remember that you have a job to do and trust me, we will all feel much better when you’ve done it. Now, with that said, I am not blind to your feelings. If you need me and other high priestesses to come there, we will.”
“No!” I yelled out a little too fast. “I mean, it’s okay. You’re right, I have to get my head in the game.”
The idea of the high priestesses coming to Shadowhurst made me uneasy. So far, I’ve been able to hide the wicked secrets I’ve been keeping without a hitch but with them here, everything would fall apart. Once they found out I lied about not knowing who the witch hunters were, I was done for. Not to mention the fact that I was hoarding feelings for one of them or that my best friend was a soul sucker. Uh-uh! No way could I let them come here. I made this mess and I had to clean it up on my own before I landed myself in a cell next to Beatrix.
“You’re sure?” Rhiamon asked again.
“Hundy,” I answered. “I can do this. You trained me well.”
“That’s wonderful! And don’t worry, once we put this to bed, I’ll talk to the rest of the coven and convince them to let you come home. We miss you, Billie.”
A few loose tears escaped me and I choked back a sob. “I miss you too.”
“Oh! Luna is here! Let me get her on the phone!”
“No, it’s okay!” I yelled out before she could pass the line. “I gotta go anyhow. The Chandlers are having dinner soon and I have to keep up appearances.”
“They’re treating you well?”
“Uh-huh.” I smiled. “Great, actually.”
“That’s wonderful, Billie. And make sure to let us know as soon as you track down the last element.”
“Will do,” I said and pressed two fingers to my forehead in salute. “Tell Luna I said hi. See you guys soon.”
The line went dead and I had to close and open my mouth to release the tension in my jaw. In my hands, the
phone vibrated again and I rolled my eyes when I saw Peyton’s name pop up. Before I could click the phone off, her message caught my attention.
READ YOUR TEXTS. THIS IS IMPORTANT!
Whoa! All caps. I sighed and clicked on the text thread. This better be good.
The first gazillion messages were all her asking me for forgiveness followed by prayer emojis and sad faces. I scrolled through them—refusing to let her get to me—when my gaze landed on a longer text.
Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me and I don’t blame you but you have to hear this. I know who Graves is.
My eyes widened and I sucked in a breath before reading the next bubble.
The Graves family moved to Carriage Hill before the burnings started as we thought. There were a few family members but then the trail went cold. So I did some digging and (fireworks emoji) it turns out that they killed the entire family for suspected witchcraft.
So far, this sounded like a dead end but I read on.
No one survived but there was a name that kept popping up so I followed it. Turns out there was one survivor. A girl. I dug up some old paperwork and this chick was adopted into another family. Then she got married and as per uzhe, she took her husband's name (barfing emoji).
Abigail was right, suspense seemed to be a strong suit of Peyton’s. I scrolled through the next few texts that were all her railing about women taking on a man’s last name until I saw one that piqued my interest. As I read, my hands clammed up and my stomach turned. The ring on my finger pressed into my skin as I squeezed the phone to my face. This can’t be right! I reread the message and dropped the phone in my lap.
Graves became Stonewall?!?
No, no, no! How was this possible? I was this girl’s descendant? I had to have read that wrong. I checked the text again, but it stared back at me with the same incessant declaration. A bomb went off in my chest and I felt myself roll onto my side, melting into the hardwood floors. Pulling my legs into my chest, I focused on my breathing for fear of tossing my lunch to the floor. I wasn’t sure how many more surprises I could take, this day was already a shit-storm and it seemed to have just gotten worse.
My family was a descendant of the fae. Not just any descendant, the last one this damn witch needed complete the ritual. There had to be some mistake. I didn’t even know I had a family but not only was I way off base, I was also the witch’s new target.
Tears stung at my eyes and I blinked them away before peeling myself off the floor.
I had so many questions—more than I could list off the top of my head—and no way to get answers. The High Coven were useless and it was looking like even if they knew about this, they wouldn’t tell me the truth if I lit a fire under their asses. There was only one way for me to get the answers I needed and whether I liked it or not, it had to be done. I had to find out the truth about my past before this witch got to me.
I had to talk to Beatrix.
Is That What They Told You?
The smell of mugwort and thistle drifted through the small waiting area I was dumped in while someone retrieved Beatrix from her cell. That was over forty-five minutes ago and my patience was now about as thin as the chipped nail on my index finger. I was so nervous, I actually made myself nauseous. To make matters worse, there was nothing to do in this stupid room but wait. And chew my nails down to the cuticle.
The prison that held the witches who disobeyed High Coven rules was not what one would imagine. Aside from the concrete that made up most of the surroundings—seriously, it was everywhere—the prison itself was nothing more than an old iron casting factory refurbished to cram in as many holding cells as possible. The building was massive but there were enough concealment spells around the perimeter to keep the humans away and prying eyes back in their sockets. As far as everyone was concerned, the factory that now housed the magical prison of the High Coven was just that—an abandoned building that was deemed unsafe by the city. What made the prison such a hellhole were the spell blocks the High Coven put into the walls and flooring to prevent any elements from seeping through and unless you had a bulldozer handy, you were royally screwed if you landed yourself here. Sitting in the waiting room, I could feel the pressure of the coven’s magic all around me. It was heavy and thick, like a fresh coat of oil paint on a canvas, and it was everywhere. My eyes glanced around the dull walls and I choked on my spit when I took a sharp breath in; being here for a lifetime would be excruciating.
The thing they don’t tell you when you’re a young witch is how much you need magic to survive. Not just need it, but demand it like the air you breathe. I didn’t find out until much later in life of the repercussions Beatrix and other traitors like her had to suffer but when I did, I almost fell sorry for her. To rot in a ten by ten-foot cell with no access to the elements and no magic rushing through your blood did not sound like fun at all. In fact, it seemed almost inhumane. But after the crap she pulled to get locked up I couldn’t blame the High Coven for taking these measures. Every witch caged in this prison deserved what she got and seeing it first hand only confirmed my decision to stay on the coven’s good side no matter what it took.
I traced a finger over the armrest of the chair I nervously sat in, grazing the letters stamped into the metal. Stamwick Metalworks. The coven kept as much of the original building as they could in case a health and safety inspector showed up to check the premises. It rarely happened, but every once in a while some overachiever came knocking and one of the warden witches had to tour them around. The story was always the same—the factory was bought by a wealthy investor who used it as a filming location for an upcoming feature film. It was a pretty decent cover, the place reeked of creepy energy that would have been an ideal setting for some B-rated horror flick. Too bad the horrors inside were very real and more gruesome than even Hollywood money could buy.
Footsteps echoed beyond the waiting area and I jolted to attention.
The, not surprising, concrete door at the far end of the waiting room swung open and I was greeted by one of the witch wardens. She looked to be in her late thirties and her grim facial expression told me she was not someone I wanted to mess with. Her dark brown hair was tied into a low chignon and there was not a lick of makeup on her face. With a low growl, she trained her silver eyes on me and I gasped before sinking into the metal stool I sat in. The witch had only one eye! Well, one eye and a black socket where the other one should be.
Bile crept up the sides of my throat and I gagged into my hand.
“Miss Stonewall?” She asked, arching one eyebrow.
“Y… yes,” I stuttered. “That’s me.”
“Follow me,” the witch said and gestured to the door. “The prisoner has been secured in the visitation booth.”
I hesitated but forced myself to get up.
We walked down a narrow corridor with bright overhead lighting that pierced my vision and I cringed as our footsteps echoed behind us. For someone with only one eye, the witch was quick on her feet and I had to run up several times to keep pace with her. When we reached the end of the corridor, she popped a piece of lotus root under her tongue and waved her hand over the door we stood before. There were a few clicks on the other side and then the door swung open to let us through.
I expected to see Beatrix chained to a chair with a muzzle over her face like that movie about the guy who ate people for fun. Instead, we faced yet another corridor, this one even more narrow than the first.
“Go straight through and knock three times on the door. You’ll be let in.”
“Wait, you’re not coming with me?” I asked.
I turned, but the witch had already slipped through the doorway and slammed it shut behind her. My temples pulsed and sweat dripped down my neck, soaking the back of the new band tee I put on that morning. This was it. I was about to see my mother for the first time in Goddess knows how long and I didn’t know how to react. Suddenly, I was a kid again, eager to gain her approval. Would Beatrix even recognize me? I knew
I looked a lot like her but it’s been over ten years, what were the chances she knew who I was anymore?
Shaking, I raised my hand and knocked three times as instructed.
There were more clicks before the door opened much like the first and I felt myself waver. My hand pressed at the doorframe for balance and I stumbled through, drunk on my own nerves and fear.
The room I entered was wide with no other entrance points besides the door I used to enter. As soon as I was over the threshold, the metal scraped against the concrete floor and shut with a bang—trapping me inside. I pushed the mane out of my face and looked up. In the middle of the room was a large round table with two chairs, on one of them, a woman sat with her gaze downward. Her blonde hair was shaggy and looked like it’s been cut by a blind person and the gray suit she wore was wrinkled so thoroughly that it resembled crumpled linen. There was a number stitched to the lapel of her left shoulder and I memorized the numbers. Prisoner fifty-seven.
The woman stirred in her seat and raised her pointed chin my way. Her hazel eyes met mine and my breath hitched. “Wilhemina?”
I cleared my throat and nodded before forcing myself to sit down in the empty chair opposite her.
“Hello, Beatrix,” I choked out. “Long time.”
“Long time indeed, baby,” she smiled. “Goddess, how I missed you! You know, just the other day I was thinking about that time we got stuck in that elevator. After I vanquished a soul sucker, remember that?”
I scowled. “Not your baby and I’m not here for memory lane. Thanks.”
Across from me, Beatrix’s body tensed and she stretched her hands over the table toward me. I instinctively pulled away, the chair creaking under my weight. Not that I was afraid she’d hurt me, she had no magic in this place and I was certain we were being watched, but I still didn’t want to be anywhere near her.
“Then why did you come?”
My mother’s voice grew sharp and serious and her eyes narrowed to slits.
