A growl rumbles in my chest, knowing Astraea’s magic has been tainted like this. She is the only one I still hold even a harbor of feeling toward.
“This is where you bow,” I command.
She drops to the floor, her hands pressed together in prayer. As I grit my teeth, the room submits to my darkness, shadows encroaching on every corner, stealing the woman’s sense.
Shadows ripple out from my core alongside my brother’s magic. “You insult your goddess by twisting her magic,” I state, Cyna’s powers pulling back against my will, but I harness it, my shadows choking the green sparks until they’re forced to obey.
“No, please. I’ve not done anything wrong,” she cries, scrambling in the darkness, her fingers gliding over the stone floor in search of grounding.
A smirk carves my expression as I lean closer, desperate for a release of the anger building ever since the witch. Even thinking about her makes me want to choke someone. “You cannot escape me,” I say, as she finds my silver gaze in the darkness. “Do you enjoy making others suffer?”
Her words come out broken in places, fragments of who she is. “They deserve it.”
“As do you,” I say with a tilt of my head, savoring her blanching face. “There is so much suffering in the Darklands, and my Phovi are always so hungry.”
“No!” She yells, then attempts to run out the door, but my shadows are coiled around her before she can escape.
Cyna’s powers of judgment spark to life, burning through my chest as I drag the woman before me.
My brother’s discernment magic moves inside of me, then arrows from my eyes. Wisps of green smoke leaves me, then slither under the eyelids, blinding her. I feel her emotions alongside my own, and flashes of her past, and the truths she keeps hidden in her heart, are undressed for me to witness.
Sadism lingers on every act of torture she had been ordered to do, harbored by the pain of being beaten as a child. There is a fork in her path, after she underwent such heinous abuse, where she may have turned such hurt into empathy. She chose to walk into the darkness instead, wielding her sorrow into a weapon to ensure everyone else feels the same emptiness she does.
Seeing it resonates with something far too deep for me to acknowledge. I bring my fingers to her throat, placing them against her skin. Usually, I would elate in these moments, but as I close my eyes, feeling her touch under my palms, I realize it is no comparison to Calista’s.
Digging my nails in harder than needed, I squeeze so tight that her windpipe crushes under my grip before my touch consumes her. She’s on her knees as the ash steals the first inches of her limbs and she grasps her torso, as if she can stop the spread of decay. Gray leaks under her skin, her skin tumbling into a pile of ash, her blood and bones now cinders.
Her spirit leaves her in a tidal wave of black. After several seconds, the shadows take the mortal form of her body, and she opens her inky mouth, staring at the mound of ash with disbelief.
My eyes narrow as a cruel grin curls my lips, as the shadowy version of the woman attempts to touch her body, then realizing she has no physical form. The rooms grow darker as she runs out the door, and I let her go. She can haunt the walls until my reapers come for her.
Despite enacting my control over the weaver’s death, my anger is not quenched. I’m still left wanting for more, desperate even.
I turn my attention to Drake. My nose scrunches as I hear his incoherent whispers. “Calista freed you,” I inform him, and her name seems to reach him. His green eyes refocus, and a pang of envy shoots through my chest.
Slowly, he rises, his fingers gripping the stone walls for support. “She… where is…”
“She’s at The Choosing, and we are late.”
“You,” he says, his voice raspy and weak. “You are Death.”
“Move,” I order when he stumbles, struggling to stand upright. “Or my shadows will drag you from here.”
“Why are you helping me? Is Calista okay?”
“I am not doing this to help you,” I spit as we walk. “Now shut your mouth.”
His jaw slacks in argument, but he swiftly swallows his words and obeys. My fingers ache to end the traitor’s pitiful existence, but if I do, then I won’t get to see Poison’s face when I take him away from her.
No, this will be far worse.
The night has dropped several degrees when we leave the Incarcuri. The enforcers scatter, but the few who are caught in my line of sight sink into low bows as I walk with the boy struggling to keep up behind me.
I quicken my pace, if only to hear the struggle in his breath increase. He’s slumped over, his heart beats uneven by the time we arrive at the town.
Countless candles line the cobblestone paths, warding off the midnight hour. Accompanied by a magnificence only the organ can provide, a melancholic, deep sound resonates from the church as we walk through the empty town square and down the path. The heavy tune grows louder as we near a sea of silver-cloaked townspeople, illuminated by the orange glow of their candles.
Either out of fear or respect, their hundreds of eyes stay focused on the path as I approach, but most young children give in to their curiosity and gaze up at me in wonder before their parents force them to look away.
We hit a wall of incense, mixed with smoke from inside as we reach the arched entrance. Whispers sound behind me, as I assume the people finally stole a glimpse after I had passed. I stride through the gold-bricked, protruding entrance, under the spires of a gate, and into the large room, filled with the elder coven, volunteers, and the esteemed members of society.
The organ sings its last note as I enter, and only the shuffling as the rows of people drop to one knee, their heads bowed in reverence, breaks the silence.
As I glide up the center, between the pews of mahogany, footsteps pound through the entrance, followed by heavy breaths. Clenching my jaw, I turn, and Calista stands beside a blonde-haired girl, with the rest of the volunteers at the back of the church.
I stare too long at the sacrifices, consumed by thoughts of prophecy and death, and Calista is the only one glaring back. She slides her gaze to Drake, her expression softening, and one of my shadows shoves him in her direction.
Gasps sound as the traitor is released, but under my stare, they silence.
I cast one last look at Calista before striding up the center to the elders and toward the stone basin. Despite the binding pact between us, the intense desire to punish her only heightens when I sense my magic coursing through her veins. It’s as if it calls out to me, taunting me with the power bestowed upon a mortal from my brothers and sisters.
A fucking mortal.
Snarling, I reach the witch’s father amongst the seven, his face paling upon seeing his daughter.
Taking my place at the altar, high above the rest, I touch the stone basin, where the blood of the sacrifices is cold. “Rise, my subjects,” I command, my deep voice echoing throughout the church. Once more, I spot Calista amongst the gathered, unable to look away as she dismisses my order with a roll of her eyes, and I white-knuckle the basin.
Her arrogance showed the moment she accepted the deal without adding the boys his continued protection as a part of it. Knowing I beat her, if only a minor victory, keeps my anger at bay.
