My grandmother’s power formed a solid, impenetrable wall, and she used it to compress every inch of my torso. My bones gave way, something broke, and the pain radiated through me with a ferocity I have not experienced in months, thanks to my former vampire strength.
But now, as I press more firmly against my rib cage, the pain is gone.
Is it possible that the pit within me is not a void after all? I think about Mamá’s words. She explained that the spell would sever my link to the vampire, but does that mean the vampire is truly gone? I cannot access its strength or heightened senses, and Mamá’s spell was meant to leave only the witch. If I am the witch, then I am not powerless. I should still be able to summon magic. Maybe I was not trying hard enough. Maybe I just needed a little push—or, in my case, a little compression—to tap into my power.
My mind is spinning, my thoughts racing as I consider this newfound knowledge. I assumed I was tainted by this dark spell. I thought my magic was forever out of reach. It was so close, but I could not quite connect to it. I was beginning to think Mamá expected my reaction and used this specific spell to punish me.
But my magic was there, and unlike my assumptions, it was not simply to tantalize and remind me of days past. I just needed to stretch a little further in order to grab on to it. I just needed to believe in myself again.
Mamá hacks a wet, raspy sound that catches my attention, and I blink away the many thoughts swarming my mind. Still planted firmly on the ground where my grandmother left me, I look up at my mother. But she still does not look at me. I wonder if it is shame, embarrassment, or disgust that keeps her from meeting my gaze.
Mamá is walking beside Liv, and I find myself loathing my former best friend. She has never been better at choosing the most inopportune time to make her presence and distaste in me known. She judges me for my choices and believes the worst of me, even though she was never in my situation.
How can she know she would not have made the same choices I did? I made mistakes, but I have always done what I thought was right. And the witches punish me for it. But no more. It is time I fight back.
“Perhaps we should bring our guests with us,” Abuela says, breaking the silence. I hate the way she emphasizes guests, as if this is how she would actually treat someone she cherishes and respects.
A knot forms in my chest, clenching my heart so tightly I fear I will actually pass out. My mouth runs dry, my breath hitches. The darkness in my grandmother’s voice is undeniable. Whatever is upstairs excites her to the point of risking our escape.
Slowly, Will and I ascend the stairs. He leans against me, offering more weight than I can handle. My forehead is damp, my chest heavy, as I carry weight for two up the long, narrow staircase.
When Will trips on a step, tumbling forward, I fall with him, fearing what will happen if he must catch his fall on his own. I let him slump against me, using my own arm to prevent smacking our foreheads against the sharp edges of the steps before us.
Will mumbles something under his breath—an apology, I think—but I ignore him. He does not need to apologize for the damage the witches have done. His embarrassment pains me.
Instead of responding, I help him up, letting him rest against me once again. I knew he was in bad shape, but I did not realize he was so cut off from his magic that he was not healing at all. Clearly, he has not experienced what I have, and I consider using the strength I have left to try to heal him.
I glance at Will and smile softly. He looks so different now. He is tall and lanky, his skin pale and taut. His hair is caked with dirt, his clothes are torn, and his eyes are dark and sunken. His body is bruised and bleeding, but his blood is not red. It is as black as the evil residing within him. I pray Holland will find a way to reverse this spell, because Will can only handle so much pain before he completely succumbs to it. And it is only a matter of time before I fall victim too.
Once again, we climb the steps, walking nearer to the bright, luminescent hallway ahead. Something about emerging above, joining the witches who await us, makes me nervous.
My heart is beating rapidly in my chest, and I am certain Will feels it. Our bodies are pushed up against each other as we work our way through the dozen or so unused coats that clutter the closet. When we emerge, the doorway to Will’s basement prison slams shut behind us, and I jump at the sound.
Abuela is there, smiling at me, only inches behind us. Her eyes glimmer in the dim lighting, and her lips curve into a devious grin. It makes my blood run cold to see her be so…ruthless, so deranged, so unloving. Does she even realize how far gone she is?
She does not look at me the way a grandmother looks at her granddaughter or the way a high priestess looks at a young witch. I imagine she looks at me the way a hungry lion looks at a wounded gazelle. Somehow, I know I have only seconds before she feasts.
Will whispers something to me, and I glance up at him. I frown, giving him a puzzled expression. I was too busy worrying about my own problems to have heard his confession.
“I have…to sit,” Will says softly.
I nod and look around, knowing I will find nothing acceptable for him to use. My grandmother will refuse him comfort, even as he sucks in his dying breath. I never knew she could be so cruel, but I am grateful to have seen this side of her. Once we make it out, there will be no going back for me. The witches are so desperate to sever something—why not our familial ties? Even if all I have is a dull, rusty hatchet, I will hack through those myself.
The house is nearly empty. Besides Abuela, Mamá, and Liv, there are only a few other witches. They watch us cautiously, far too eager to aid my former comrades should my grandmother give the ultimate order. I know we must be on our best behavior if we want to make it to nightfall.
I glance through the kitchen and out the window, hoping I can assess the time by seeing the sun’s position, and I freeze.
Darkness has befallen Darkhaven. It is night. The moon is high in the sky. What happened to the sun? To the day? How long was I down there, trapped in time, succumbing to magical torture at the hands of my own blood?
I nudge Will with my shoulder and immediately regret my actions. He opens his eyes, still overly drowsy; his brief moment of reprieve was definitely not enough to dull the ache. I can tell his lids are still heavy even without truly looking at him. He needs food, water, rest—and he desperately needs a shower.
“It is night,” I hiss. I never had a chance to divulge the plan with him. He was too busy trying to convince me that things could be worse. I snort at that thought, catching Mamá’s glare.
“Come, children,” Abuela says.
She leads us from the hallway, through the kitchen, and to the sliding glass doors. We step outside, finally witnessing what caused such a ruckus.
Several feet away, standing near our family altar, the very one I have decorated so many times I have lost count, is Hikari. Her black pixie locks are slicked back, shiny against the moonlight. She is dressed in all black, and the sheath at her hip is empty. Her gaze darts from witch to witch, as if she is focusing intently on looking alert.
Another witch walks over to us and hands a sleek silver dagger with a wrapped black handle to my grandmother. I do not have to ask Hikari to know this is her weapon. It is almost identical to the one the others use. I assume this blade has brought many rogue vampires to their end, and now, my family intends to use it to send Will and me a message. Either we fall in line, or she will cast us out one final time.