Grandma King was the first to move, and she placed a withered hand on Cora’s shoulder. She opened her mouth, and then paused, expression stricken.
Cora snapped upright, her mocking laughter echoing across the field. Her arm swept out, and she batted the old woman aside. Grandma King fell back, off the blanket and onto the grass, knocking her shoulder against the trunk of the apple tree with a startled cry.
Meiner’s grip tightened on Dayna’s arms as Cora paused in the middle of the blanket and stared around at them. Her gaze came to Dayna last and settled there. She smiled.
It was not Cora’s usual smile. In fact, it did not seem like her face at all. It was as if something wore Cora like a poorly made mask. The sight raised the hairs on the back of Dayna’s neck, as some primal instinct inside screamed at her to run, run, run.
“You. Suas ón luaithreach. Suas ón talamh.”
She knew the words ashes and earth, but that was it. Dayna found herself clutching Meiner’s hands on her shoulder tightly.
Cora launched herself forward, and Dayna shrieked as Cora’s hands stretched toward her face, fingers crooked into claws. Then Meiner’s arm shot out, and the heel of her hand crashed into Cora’s face. There was a horrible-sounding pop, and blood gushed from her nose, down her chin and onto her neck, instantly soaking the collar of her shirt. She stumbled back, and then recovered almost instantly, smiling with blood-coated teeth.
Dayna stiffened, half crouched now and ready to run, adrenaline making her blood pump hot. But Bronagh was there, standing stern and tall beneath the apple tree. Her voice thundered through the orchard, impossibly loud, an electric buzz beneath her words.
“A bheith imithe as an gciorcal seo.”
Cora jerked upright and then turned to the Callighans. Her grisly smile stayed in place, her movements eerie, puppetlike.
“You have no power over me.” Her voice was the hum of a thousand voices. It made Dayna want to clap her hands over her ears.
“Leave this place.” Bronagh drew herself up. In spite of the cardigan and the brooch, she was somehow imposing.
“Or we force your name from you…” Faye’s expression was stony.
“And cast you into the underworld,” Brenna finished.
Cora shrieked again, eyes wide as she stared at the three women. Then she was laughing, bloody mouth wide open. “After so long, sisters. This is how you treat me?”
Something crossed Bronagh’s face, a flash of confusion—and perhaps, Dayna thought, fear. Then it was gone. She jabbed a finger at the thing that was not Cora. “Out. Out of the circle. Out of the orchard. You are not welcome here.”
Not-Cora’s smile only stretched wider. “Beidh mé ag ardú. I will see you soon, sister.”
Cora’s grin faltered, then disappeared, and her face went suddenly blank.
“Catch her,” Bronagh barked, and Brenna stepped forward just as Cora crumpled, her body slumping forward into Brenna’s arms.
Heavy silence followed. There was no wind to stir the trees, no birds chirping.
Reagan’s face was pale, and Yemi, who was sitting on the blanket, looked completely shell-shocked. Grandma King was sitting up slowly beneath the apple tree, gingerly dabbing one finger at the bruise spreading near her eye.
Bronagh spoke at last, her voice full of exhaustion. “We should take her inside. She’ll need something to get her blood sugar back up, and I believe her nose is broken.”
They packed everything away, the silence among them heavy. Dayna looked over at Reagan, half startled to see the black symbol of the tree of life on her cheek. They had ascended, she’d almost forgot. She was officially a witch now, had more access to power than ever before.
But, as she looked at the bloody figure of Cora draped between Faye and Brenna, no amount of power seemed like enough.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MEINER
The effects of the potion seemed slow to wear off, and both girls staggered as they made their way to the house.
Since Meiner had been Dayna’s Second, she caught her elbow and steered her straight ahead. Dayna started at her touch, then jerked away. “Hey. What are you doing?”
“You’re going to fall on your face.”
“I’m fine.” Dayna waved her off, and Meiner raised a brow, watching the shorter girl take an experimental step forward. She swayed dangerously, then paused, face flushed, and mumbled something about feeling dizzy.
If the situation hadn’t been so dire Meiner might have enjoyed this. She stepped forward and took her firmly by the arm, and this time Dayna didn’t protest.
No one said much as they walked to the house. Their gazes were repeatedly drawn to the limp form of Cora hanging between Faye and Brenna. Meiner shuddered. She butted heads with Cora at least once a day, but never had she seen that ugly look on her face. That hadn’t been Cora; it had been something that wore her like a Halloween costume. Something that puppeted her, moved her lips and her body and tore at Dayna’s face with her nails.
She looked over at Dayna. Not-Cora had gone straight for her. And the look on her face when she’d spotted Dayna, as if she recognized her.
It should have been impossible. The candles and herbs scattered around the blanket meant protection, a circle that couldn’t be broken. Yet something had. Something uninvited had crept in, slipped effortlessly into one of their bodies. Meiner had seen many disturbing things under Grandma King’s tutelege, but this beat them all.
That thing had addressed the three women of the other coven—Meiner gave Bronagh an assessing look. It had not slipped past her that it addressed the older woman as sister.
More questions, and as long as her grandmother’s behavior continued to swing wildly, there would be no answers. Not unless she went looking for them.
And on top of the crawling, uneasy feeling she got when she looked over at Cora, she felt a sense of horror at her own actions. She hadn’t been afraid when she’d punched Cora, she’d been…excited. It felt good.
It was not the same with a punching bag. There was no give, no result upon impact. No reaction. She had hurt Cora, made her bleed. And something inside wanted more.
Sometimes she scared herself.
Beside her she felt Dayna stumble, and Meiner reached out instinctively, looping an arm around her waist as she would a drunk friend.
“God, you’re absolutely sloshed. What the hell was in that tea?”
The other girl giggled, an abrupt and startling noise in the stillness. She looked immediately horrified, her hand flying over her mouth, and Meiner found herself amused despite everything.
Back in the house, she steered Dayna through the shoe room and sat her down at the kitchen table. At Yemi’s instruction, Faye and Brenna took Cora into the living room.
“Lay her out on the couch.” Yemi looked ashen but fierce, and she hurried over to the sink. “She’ll be needing a cold compress for her head and sugar when she wakes. Meiner, love, will you bring over the cookie tin? I’ll get the cloth.”
Meiner nodded, snatching the pitcher in the middle of the table and depositing it in front of Dayna with one of the empty teacups on the table. “Drink water,” she said, and then when Reagan swayed dangerously in the chair beside her, she added, “Both of you.”