Chapter 78
Chapter 78
“Evil doesn’t die. It never dies. It just takes on a new face, a new name.”
Tess Gerritsen
Somehow, Joseph swallowed down the bile in his throat long enough to shout, “If you think I’d play any part in this ritual, you’re wrong.” He pointed a finger at Elder Marjorie. “I wouldn’t open a door for you, let alone harm a…”
He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
The old woman didn’t look the least bit deterred by his disgust.
None of them did.
He pleaded with the child one last time. “This woman is a liar. Whatever she said, whatever she promised you would happen if you sacrificed yourself tonight, kid, it’s a lie. Everything she says is a lie. You don’t know what you’re doing.” If the ritual truly did require a *willing* sacrifice, that meant the child couldn’t be under any kind of enchantment or spell. She had to be cognizant, so maybe there was a small chance he could still reach her.
The girl just blinked at him, her voice as tinkly and child-like as she looked, “I know what I’m doing. My sacrifice will protect my family, and the rest of our people.”
“You’re not protecting anyone,” he shot back, “Your sacrifice isn’t a sacrifice at all, you –”
“That’s enough, Joseph,” Elder Marjorie sighed, but there was a dangerous edge to her voice. “I would’ve hoped for your cooperation, but I was prepared otherwise. It’s only the sacrifice that needs to be willing.” She muttered something under her breath, and then, she was blowing something in his face.
He didn’t have time to dodge the gray-ashy dust she threw in his face, but his brain registered one last thought: it looked like *coactus* dust.
Or, better known by most witches as “puppet dust.”
Suddenly, it was as if he’d been dunked underwater.
Everything was hazy and far away, the faces around him, the voices in the circle, even his own emotions. Deep down, some part of him knew this wasn’t real and that he was still in trouble, but…he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
He tried to grasp anger or horror, but the feelings evaded him.
He was just sinking.
And then, through the haze, a single voice broke through: *pick up the knife, Joseph.*
He wasn’t sure where the blade came from or who’d presented it to him, but his fingers gripped the hilt of the sharp metal without hesitation.
*Stand up.*
In the back of his head, some small part of him was screaming that this wasn’t right, he shouldn’t do it, he was about to do something irreversible.
But he might as well have been a stringed puppet – not a single muscle in his body obeyed that screaming voice in his head.
He didn’t know when he’d stood up – or even that he was able to do so – but he could vaguely see someone half his size standing in front of him.
*Slit her throat.*
That little voice in the back of his head got even louder, and just for a moment, his fingers shook. This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t do this. He didn’t want to be doing this, he was –
*Slit her throat.*
His fingers steadied.
He moved the hand gripping the knife, positioning it just over the junction of her jaw.
A tremor ran through his hand. He shouldn’t do this. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this.
One last time, the voice, clear and direct, rang through his head.
*Slit her throat.*
And he did.
With dexterity he didn’t even know he possessed, he ran the blade along her throat, cutting deeply into soft flesh.
There was a small gasp as the knife cut through her skin like butter, a gush of something hot and warm over his hand, and then a thump.
The screaming voice in his head went silent.
And just as his mind had been submerged underwater, he was suddenly pulled from the haziness with an abrupt jolt.
*What the hell happened?*
One moment he’d been lying there on the ground, trying to convince that little girl not to do this, and then –
*Oh God.*
He glanced down at his hand in horror, the long, sharp knife dropping from his grip. His right hand was covered in warm blood that certainly did not belong to him, and…
His stomach flipped when he caught sight of the small, crumpled form lying at his feet. Blood pooled around her, blood that he –
*Oh God.*
*I did this to her.*
A strong wave of nausea rolled through him, and he barely had time to bend over before he was heaving up the remnants of his last meal. He retched until he was choking up nothing but air, and when he tried to straighten up, his muscles turned to jelly and he collapsed on the ground, barely missing the puddle of spreading blood.
But before his thoughts could spiral anymore, the chanting started.
The crowd spoke in perfect unison, although he could make out Elder Marjorie’s croaky voice leading the mantra if he strained his ears.
*“Nos vetus unus ex mortuō, Nos vetus unus ex mortuō, Nos vetus unus ex mortuō…”*
The wind began to pick up the longer they spoke, the trees seeming to dance in harmony with the loud chant.
He didn’t recognize the spell, but whatever it was, it was *powerful.* The air started to get dense, weighed down by heavy, dark magic that made it hard to breathe.
*“Nos vetus unus ex mortuō, Nos vetus unus ex mortuō…”*
There was a large snap as part of a massive tree broke off and fell, nearly wiping out two witches standing at the edge of the circle. Not that any of them noticed – all of their eyes were closed, hands clasped tightly together in concentration.
Joseph wanted to run, to flee from whatever darkness they were unleashing right now, but he couldn’t.
His body was frozen – whether through magic or just his own shock, he wasn’t sure, but all he could do was watch as the covens accomplished whatever evil they’d set out to do.
Their voices picked up till he could hear their chanting over the wind crashing through the trees.
“It’s happening!” Elder Marjorie shouted, and he could make out the maniacal glee painted on her face. “I feel it, it’s working! Keep chanting, brothers and sisters!”
And they did.
Louder and louder until he was sure their magic must’ve been rocking the entire clearing.
The air got thicker, and Joseph could’ve sworn it was choking him.
And then, all at once, something shifted.
The clearing went still – the wind, the chanting, the magic. If any sort of life had managed to survive the dark ritual, he was sure it was dead silent now too.
He went still, his eyes trained on Elder Marjorie. Just like everyone else.
She was silent, basking in some sort of dark afterflow, before the sadistic smile grew on her face and she said, “The spell is complete. You may rise now, sister.” It was barely more than a whisper, but as quiet as the clearing was, her voice rang through the crowd like a bell.
Joseph nearly jumped out of his skin when the lifeless body lying only feet from him suddenly jerked. His horror only grew when the little girl’s limbs jerked again, like gears turning back to life one at a time.
And just as she’d started to move, the little girl’s body began to change too.
Her legs and arms lengthened, her hair grew into a deep, long red, her shoulders broadened – she was shapeshifting into something else.
Someone else.
The transformation didn’t take more than a minute, but when she turned around, Joseph knew he wasn’t looking at the little girl anymore.
There was nothing innocent or childlike about this person. Her eyes were cutting as she took in the rest of the circle, resting on him for a beat longer than the others.
He’d never wanted to hide from another person’s gaze like he wanted to hide from this woman. Something about the way she looked at him, the way she looked at them all, made him want to turn to dust.
What kind of evil had they conjured here tonight?
Finally, the redheaded woman addressed the crowd. “You’ve done well, my descendants,” she said, her voice sultry and low in a way that sent a chill down his spine. “You do not know me, but you will. Long ago, a boy, not much older than some of you, stole something from me. My power, and the rest of my coven’s power. Today, he threatens you with that power.”
Her eyes slashed over the crowd with a darkness that made Joseph’s stomach roll.
“My name is Amara,” she said, “And with your help, I’m going to take my – our – power back.”