Decimate

by D. Fischer

  “I know,” I say. Death is a part of life, especially a part of mine. This isn’t my first encounter with it, I remind myself, and it won’t be the last. “My brain is having fun making up the scenario anyway. Scenarios of how it went down, of how it happened. Of how I could have been there to make a difference. Vampire bites are painful.”

  I didn’t know Victoria and Romaine well, but I feel the ache as though I had. They came to the pack just before my first life expired, but even strangers don’t deserve that kind of death. We buried them last night, late in the night as the stars twinkled their last before a blanket of clouds covered them in a shroud of puffy gray. We laid them in the ground next to my own gravesite. The feeling was eerie. Wrong. Even the crickets refused to sing.

  For a moment, I allow myself to wonder if we’ll see them again if they’re shades and already dwelling in the Death Realm.

  “I’m just tired of all the death,” I mumble, shifting uncomfortably. Death itself doesn’t wind me this tight, but selfishly, it’s the fact that on the night we mated, on the night we took a few minutes to ourselves, chaos broke our friends. Are we never meant to have a moment’s peace? Anger seizes me at the unfairness of it all, and my fingers curl into my palms. This wasn’t how I pictured the beginning of our mating.

  “It’s everywhere, and we can’t escape it.” I thump my fist against the side of the door. “It follows us. It takes down everyone we love while we’re helpless to stop it.”

  “I know,” she whispers. Within our link, I feel a wave of sorrow grip her. Her thoughts must echo my own. She has more to grieve for than I do with all of the losses she’s endured. Invading the thoughts that drive her to sadness would be intrusive and slightly controlling, so I make no comment on it. I don’t want to be that kind of mate. I want to give her the privacy she needs.

  I reach over and rub my hand along her slender arm. “But we’ll get through it.”

  She nods, biting her bottom lip.

  I turn my attention back out through the windshield. “Are you nervous?” I ask, switching the subject.

  She takes a deep breath and blows it out through loose lips. Tears are blinked into submission. “Yeah. I was kicked out of the Demi Lune coven. Seeing them again could go one of two ways. Either they’ll blast me from the house, or they’ll accept me with open arms. The second part seems less likely than the first.”

  “I won’t let them,” I say, growling the words. My wolf flashes in my eyes, agreeing with my decree. I’ve had enough of prejudices, and I’ll be damned if it’s directed at my mate. Especially at a time like this and especially when we all need to be banding together.

  She chuckles without humor, a dead little sound. “We’ll have no choice but to accept their decision. We can only try to ask for their help in the coming battle. We can’t make them, and frankly, I’m not looking to rekindle what I once had. That part of my life is over. I’m no longer that witch in need of her coven. I’m not even sure I’m a witch anymore.”

  Honestly, I’ve been wondering the same thing. Her life keeps pointing to something bigger, something grander than just a simple witch who made a deal with the fee. Sometimes her fate scares me, not because of the majesty of it but because I worry I won’t be a part of it. Not the way I want to be a part of it. What if whatever her destiny is, is something that doesn’t involve me? I used to think that I didn’t want to be someone she ran from, but what if I’m the one she has to leave behind? Not by choice but by necessity? Fear constricts my heart, and I can feel the blood thickly thumping in my neck just thinking about it.

  “I know,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling it into my lap. I twine my fingers in hers. “But I won’t let them treat you like that. No one deserves to be disowned.”

  “This realm is full of assholes,” she says, a hint of a smile on her lips as she tries to lighten the mood. “What’s one more? Or a few more.”

  I smile. Though it is full of ‘assholes,’ I know she’ll never stop saving it. She has a heart of gold, born for compassion. Someone could emotionally burn her a hundred times, and she’d still show up to save them. I envy this quality that compliments my shortcomings so well.

  She pulls onto a dirt path, and her face hardens with determination and nervousness. I can feel it through our fragile link, and I squeeze her hand. Her face is shadowed when the trees block the morning sun, and when she straightens the wheel, she licks her bottom lip.

  I turn to the front, observing through the front window. The house is large and probably was once a beauty to behold. But now, it’s faded and crumbling, falling apart. It looks like it holds absolutely no residents at all and hasn’t for ages. It’s a two-storey structure with broken windows and a falling porch. Paint is peeling off the length, what little is left of it anyway, and weeds have taken over while vines crawl up the side to consume the entire structure whole.

  But then, I gasp. As we cross some sort of invisible barrier, the house transforms with a ripple in the air. Pressure squeezes my head and pops my ears, and I yawn to ease the ache. It’s the same structure, but paint actually exists on the siding, gleaming and bright. Windows are unbroken, possibly new, and they sparkle reflections. The door is intact, sturdy and solid. Lights are shining through every window, and the driveway has many cars parked in it whereas before, the entire place looked abandoned. The vines are still there, but inviting flowers are budding along them. This overgrown vegetation somehow adds a sort of charm, and my wolf stirs inside me, longing to sniff and smell, to categorize scents that once belonged to his mate.

  “It’s an illusional shield,” Kat whispers helpfully. “Helps keep curious eyes away.”

  “I see,” I mumble. Her nervous energy stretches further across our bond and mingles with mine, now in the presence of such magic, such legend, and folklore. The effect makes my nose itch, and I scratch it feverishly. Never in my wildest dreams had I suspected the witches held such magic. And what they could do with it . . .

  Her judgement flicks to me. “It’s just a spell. Nothing serious. A young witch could cast it, though probably not one this big.”

  “Mmhmm,” I murmur, swiveling in my seat to look out the back window. From the other side, the air warps and shifts like gently flowing water. “And all I get to do is howl at the moon.”

  She slaps me lightly on the chest.

  “What?” I grumble, mocking her by rubbing where she connected. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Let me have my moment.”

  She smirks and shrugs. “We keep our power hidden. We – they – keep themselves well hidden. Everything about them is surrounded by secrecy. So, because I love you, I will give you one piece of advice.” Slowing the car’s approach, she parks behind another car that’s rusted and with muddy tires and shuts the engine off. “Don’t ask too many questions if you enjoy having your balls attached to your body. They don’t particularly like men. Add in the howling at the moon part, and I’m basically their best friend compared to you.”

  We stare at the house. The only sound inside the car is our breaths fogging the windows and distorting our view. Wind chimes dangle from the porch, and Wicca ornaments decorate the lawn. They each jingle in tune to the other, creating an eerie, unwelcoming melody. A swing rests on the porch, ancient and worn and swaying with the same breeze that shoves the ornaments.

  I startle when a face peers from one of the main floor windows but rushes away before I can make out any of her details. I’d been soaking in the oddity of the entire place, the magic, and I hadn’t expected to see two eyeballs staring back at me.

  Katriane hisses as she sucks in a breath.

  “What is it?” I ask, grasping the handle and preparing to exit the car.

  “My mother. I forgot how strong she was as a psychic. It’s almost painful.”

  I clear my throat, nervous for a whole new reason. If she’s psychic, she’s powerful. No secrets can be hidden from her, and the makeup Kat used to hide our mating mark won’t stay hidden under her
witchy eye.

  “Is she –” I swallow. “Is she using her erm . . . magic against you?” The words are awkward on my tongue. I feel out of place, unprepared for this adventure of Kat’s.

  She shoots me a sidelong glance, reminding me of what she deems my ignorance. I purse my lips as she whispers, “She’d never do that. Being around someone so powerful can be a shock if you’re not used to it. It’s like a pulse in the air, and it vibrates right here.” She points to her temples. I concentrate and dive into my body’s senses, but I don’t feel the pulse at all.

  Pulling the handle on the door, I wrench it open, stride around the car, and open Kat’s. I feel eyes daggering my spine as I do so, and I know we have an audience. Inside me, my wolf bristles at the peering gazes.

  She accepts my offered hand with a shaky one of her own and steps into the morning’s crisp, chilly air. The clouds’ cover dulls her usually glowing skin, and I raise her hand to my mouth, kissing the back of it in hopes of returning some color to her cheeks.

  “It’ll be okay, Kat-” I begin.

  “You’re not to be here!” a woman shouts as she exits the front door of the house.

  “Hello, Astrid,” Kat mumbles, annoyance thinning her top lip. I turn reluctantly and peer at the rude woman who greeted us in such a manner.

  A head full of gray hair is the first thing my sight lands on. It’s piled atop her head in immaculate curls, not a strand out of place. Dressed in plain clothes – a black skirt and boring pale pink top – she shrugs a shawl tighter around her shoulders and then jabs a boney finger in our direction. Astrid’s heavily wrinkled face scrunches, and power leaves her fingers as she murmurs a spell. The car door opens, hitting the back of my leg. I bite back a grunt against the dull throb it leaves behind.

  “Leave, traitor!” she growls.

  “Astrid, see reason,” another woman pleads, rushing from the house and placing her hands on the frail woman’s shoulders. She looks just like Kat except taller and more aged. Where Kat has tattoos and a bold short and spikey haircut, these women I wouldn’t have picked out from a crowd. Their nature reminds me more of an Amish life than a Wiccan one. Kat wasn’t lying when she said they keep themselves well hidden.

  “Dyson, this is my mother, Janine, and the Demi-Lune high priestess Astrid,” Kat says, sweeping out a hand and ignoring Astrid’s demand.

  “A shifter?” Astrid snarls, and I instinctively inhale. My wolf categorizes her scent mixed with herbs and perfume. Automatically, I tuck each aroma into the pocket of my mind, labeled as an enemy.

  Behind the windows, faces begin popping into view. They watch the exchange with blistering interest. I meet some of their gazes, unflinching despite the uncomfortableness. It isn’t their magic that makes me uncomfortable but, instead, the fact that we’re very, very outnumbered, and already we’re met with such hostility.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I greet as Kat begins walking to the porch. My voice was a little louder than necessary, believing Astrid is hard of hearing, and I receive a tucked smile from Janine before she turns her head away to hide her amusement. I shrug internally. How the hell am I supposed to know Astrid can hear just fine? The woman is aged next to her grave and as shaky as a newborn fawn.

  I follow Kat dutifully, plastering a charming grin on my face in hopes of swaying the old woman’s first opinion of me. It doesn’t work.

  Astrid murmurs again, and an invisible wall stretches in front of Kat. It halts us right in our tracks, and Kat bounces against it. I place a hand against her shoulder, steadying her as she tips off balance. My smile fades as quickly as it came, and I growl, my eyes glowing over Kat’s head. Inside, my wolf echoes his rage.

  “I know I’m not welcome here, Astrid,” Kat grits. “I’m not here to rejoin the coven. I’m not here for pleasantries. And I’m not here for forgiveness.”

  “Then why are you here, sweetheart?” Janine asks before Astrid can spit her loathing spew of utter nonsense.

  Kat squares her shoulders. “To talk.” With a swipe of her hand in the air, the wall dissipates. Surprised – though I don’t know why I’m surprised at anything Kat can do anymore – I blink as the wavering air pops from the atmosphere. Astrid blanches until every wrinkle of age is smoothed, and her face pales to the color of a corpse.

  Automatically, an invisible force, an intense curiosity compels me to I look at Katriane’s mother. Janine’s irises are completely white while she stares at the two of us. Goosebumps rise across my skin. It’s an eerie look, one that belongs in a horror movie. I stiffen as I wait for some sort of magic to throw us off the property, but nothing happens. What the hell is she doing?

  “The vampires,” Janine says, her eyes returning to normal. She blinks. “You’re here about the vampires.”

  I turn my head away, blinking hard and holding it for a brief moment as the sorrow sweeps through me once more. Behind my eyelids, all I see are Victoria and Romaine’s bodies in a bloody heap. It douses my anger, my feral instincts to protect my mate. My wolf pushes against it, refocusing my attention as quickly as it had been redirected.

  “They’re of little consequence to us,” Astrid hisses. “We don’t need you filling the coven with ideas of saving the human race.”

  “So you know what’s happening?” Kat asks, taking the first steps up the stairs. There’s so much blame behind her words, and each stomp she makes punctuates the intent.

  “Of course, we do,” Astrid spits. She holds up a shaky finger and points. “Don’t you take a step closer, Katriane DuPont.”

  “Kat,” I whisper in warning, feeling the anger rise to another level. But it’s too late. Kat whips her arms out in front of her on her next step and pins the frail woman to the house’s siding. Astrid doesn’t scream, doesn’t make a sound over the force of it.

  Shit. I scramble up to the porch, skipping a step as I do.

  Kat creeps to the old woman, passing a shocked Janine. Her gait is slow, and somehow, this has a greater effect than if she were to stomp to her with the anger fueling each and every movement she makes. “You sit here on your throne of superiority while others die. It’s no wonder Erline didn’t save you. It’s no wonder it took a sacrifice to save a coven undeserving. Pathetic. Simply pathetic. I’ve had enough of it.”

  “And yet, you took the sacrifice upon yourself and endangered all of the realms,” Astrid responds quickly, unafraid of Katriane Dupont’s power.

  Snarling, Kat inches closer to the woman’s face. “Someone had to.” Her voice dips. “You know, I used to think my deal with Erline was a mistake. Not because it saved you and the coven and my mother but because I was isolated. I was alone. I had no one. But now, now I’m grateful.” She pauses, observing a stray hair out of place on Astrid’s perfect head and pinches it, tucking it back into place. I run my hand over my mouth, fear trickling down my limbs and pricking each nerve. Somehow, that careful gesture seemed more threatening and deadly than it should. Just like that, Kat’s sweet and caring demeanor dipped into a dark, dark place. Sometimes, I forget she has one. Sometimes, I forget how easily she can call upon it.

  “If I hadn’t,” Kat continues. “Do you know how many would still be enslaved? Do you know what mischief Corbin, the fee of the Demon Realm, would be doing at this very moment? I’m not here to ask for forgiveness for what you did to a young witch, Astrid. But,” she tilts her head to the side. “Maybe you should be.”

  They stare at one another for several seconds, one witch challenging another. “Kat,” I caution. I wordlessly plead to Janine for assistance, but her fingers tremble against her bottom lip. I don’t think she was expecting this visit to go down this way.

  I look back at Kat and tug on my earlobe. “Put her down.”

  “Why?” she snarls, stiffening. “So she can lead all of the witches to their death in favor of surviving above the others? That’s what you’re doing, Astrid. By sitting here in this house, not lifting a finger to what plagues this realm, you’re condemning it, and in turn,
condemning those under your roof.”

  “No,” I mumble, approaching her. Carefully, I place my hands on her shoulders and lightly squeeze the tense muscles there. “To stop yourself from doing something you’ll regret.”

  I must admit, this isn’t how I thought today would go either.

  “Honey,” her mother mumbles from behind her fingers, snapping from her stupor. “Put her down so we can talk.”

  “We can’t punish everyone,” I whisper during the tense pause. “Or there will be no one left to save.” The words are true down to my heart, and I still as they ring back in my own ears. Everyone has sat back for too long, knowing in their heart of hearts that something isn’t right. Even me. I sat back. I knew. I could have acted sooner. I could have done something. I’m as much to blame as Astrid. If I could go back in time, there are many things I’d do differently, even as a shade.

  With a tick of her jaw, Katriane releases her. Astrid’s feet thump back to the wooden deck, and she grasps her throat as if Katriane was choking her. I angle my hands forward, ready to catch her, but the old bird is sturdier than she looks.

  “You don’t use spells,” she says, her tone tinged with awe and envy.

  “No,” Kat utters. “I’m not what you think I am.” She moves away from the high priestess and allows me to fold her in my arms. I wrap them around her middle, quick to oblige the comfort she seeks.

  Astrid hisses. “I know exactly what you are. You’re an abomination. The coven is all the better for being rid of you.” She shakes a bony finger at Kat. “You were trouble from the day you were born. I just knew you’d bring about this – this – this catastrophe. And then you bring this beast on to our lands, a man, no less!”

  “We know about the dragon, sweetheart,” Janine says calmly as though the old bat didn’t just offend my mate – her daughter – and me. I snarl at Astrid for extra measure. Screw charming this woman. That ship has sailed and sunk before it went over the horizon.

  “Did you know Myla is dead?” Katriane asks, receiving stunned looks from the two women. Behind the windows, murmurs begin, and my shifter hearing quickly picks it up. “Dead, dead. As in, there’s not a spirit to resurrect.” She crosses her arms over mine. “Corbin has her now.”