“There’s someone downstairs, a woman, I think. We’d best be on our way.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CORA
Cora stared around the empty parking lot. In the distance she could see the sloping concrete walls of the skate park across the lawn, through the thinning forest.
She knew the reason she’d been banished here, why she hadn’t been allowed to go with Dayna and Meiner to find the brothers. Because she’d disobeyed Grandma King; she hadn’t followed her instructions like a good little witchling.
And the other reason. Because she was supposed to be hunting her sacrifice. She still hadn’t picked someone, and the goddess was stirring within her, restless. This was the last step before her ascension, and she was running out of time.
The thought made her throat tighten, and she swallowed hard and stalked across the concrete lot. She’d picked this spot because it was an older skate park. No one came here anymore, and she needed to be alone to work up her nerve.
She crossed the lawn, the strap of her duffel bag heavy on one shoulder, the silence of her surroundings filling her head. The sun had dimmed now, and fog was beginning to roll in as she passed through the forested area, but there were lights above the park. Enough light to set up an altar.
The ritual would calm her, she told herself, help her find her center. Prepare her for what she had to do. It was almost out of habit that she started to set up the ceremony, drawing the six-sided star with chalk from her bag, dragging the knife across her wrists one more time, feeling the blood drip between her fingers. Once again, as she got to the last few words in the chant, she felt the surge of power and stumbled to a halt. For a minute she considered spitting out the last word, just…finishing the spell. Gran wouldn’t tell her what it would do, but she was sure it was the next level after her ascension. A way to get more power than the others would have. So maybe she could just skip straight to it….
But Gran kept saying she would know when the time came. That she had to be patient. Cora drew in a deep breath and let it out, frustrated. She opened her eyes, letting the last word wither on her lips.
The place was eerie in the evening, its concrete ramps casting long shadows into the center, her every move echoing off the grafittied walls.
She finished the next ritual faster than usual, less carefully. Probably the crimson liquid had stained her teeth in her hurry. She didn’t care.
Her hands were shaking.
Give me the strength to do this, she begged.
There was no answer, and Cora curled her fingers in the fabric of her dress, resisting the urge to smash the glass basin on the concrete. Why was the goddess always showing up at the least opportune times, but when she wanted her, she was nowhere to be found?
A few minutes of silence and then she shot to her feet, snatching up the candles. I can’t do this.
She’d just thrown the contents of her altar back into the bag when the heat blazed through her, making her double over, palms on her thighs. Cora gasped, blinking back tears. It felt like molten lava had been pumped through her veins, and she staggered forward, knees striking the pavement hard.
It took longer to fade this time, and Cora was finally left on the pavement on her hands and knees, shaking and gasping for air. The anger that surged through her was almost as bad, and she ground her teeth, letting out a low growl.
She had to do this soon.
The echo of voices across the open space jerked Cora upright, and she blinked around at the cracked concrete walls. The nearest one had been emblazoned with Tiocfaidh ár lá. Our day will come.
She remained completely still. In the silence, the sound came again, laughter and the clamor of deep voices. She scrambled to her feet and snatched up her bag, and then relaxed as a group emerged from the trees. Kids, nothing more. Barely out of high school.
There were four of them, three boys and a girl. The boys were one and the same, sloppy replicas in matching wide-brimmed hats and torn jeans, passing a cigarillo back and forth as they moved across the grass, smoke leaking from lips and nostrils. The girl was in the midst of them, a sheep among wolves, tall and fine-boned in a low-cut powder-blue sundress. The boys ringed her as they walked, subconscious body language all turned in on her, honed like hunting dogs scenting blood. It made Cora’s skin crawl.
The group was halfway across the lawn before they spotted her, and the tall girl in their midst was forgotten as their gazes refocused on Cora. She kept her expression blank, feeling their eyes trail across her body, hungry and unapologetic. Together they were brave.
Cora hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. She kept walking, meeting the tallest one’s gaze. His smile was sharp-edged and a little horrible if you looked past the boyish features and down to the truth of him.
Cora did not correct course. She did not look away. The magic pulsed inside her, and she could turn him to ashes if she pleased.
They passed one another, and the conversation died. The tall girl glared at Cora as they moved by. She did not like her dogs baying after another fox, Cora thought. Her mouth tasted sour.
The tallest boy paused, still smiling that smile. Smoke trailed from his nostrils as he flicked the stump of the cigarillo into the grass between them. “Smile, beautiful. Your face is too perfect to scowl at a bloke like that.”
Cora’s mouth was still filled with the copper-and-rust taste of blood. Her teeth felt coated in it, as if the gore had stuck in the cracks.
She smiled.
The boy’s smirk faltered. His skateboard hit the grass soundlessly at his feet and he froze on the spot. His friends didn’t seem to notice the way he was staring; maybe the dim light hid his expression. They barked with laughter and elbowed one another.
“Pete, you dog.”
“Get her number, yeah?”
She could do this, couldn’t she? The final step to ascension.
The others kept walking, leaving their friend frozen, blinking in shock, his eyes wide and white in the dim light. His gaze was locked on Cora’s face. He looked somehow paralyzed. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he were desperately trying to move his body. Cora frowned at him.
For one beat, two, she didn’t understand.
And then the voice in her head came, like the rasp of scales against silk.
Give him to me. He is perfect.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
DUBH
It had been too long since he’d last killed a witch.
The urge was back, and as they sat outside the house of threes, he almost trembled with anticipation. He had a score to settle with this one.
“I want the final blow,” he said. Again, his tongue went back to his chipped tooth, probing the sharp, uneven edges. He wasn’t particularly happy the other two were coming with him. He did his best work alone, and this was personal, but they’d insisted.
“If you can even get close enough.” Olc twisted in his seat to sneer at him. “I’ll wager she breaks your jaw and sends you squealing again.”
That wasn’t what happened. He remembered it all too well, the farm on the Isle of Man, the red barn. The burning pain as she’d turned and lashed out at him.
Dubh sat back, stretching his legs the length of the seat, running his fingers along the raised symbols along Witchkiller’s sheath.
Olc may have been a brutish oaf, but he was right about one thing: This witch wouldn’t go down easily.