Soul of a Witch: Chapter 39

“Blood of the dead, resentfully taken. Blood of the lover, willingly sacrificed. Bond made in feral night to call his name. Offer him sweetness, liquor, and pain. Hmmm.”

Grams made a sound as if she was clicking her tongue, then the radio fell silent as she continued to think. We were in the greenhouse, Callum and I seated on the ground before the great tree, with the radio close by. My body was no longer trembling, having ravenously eaten the cake Callum brought me, but my mind still felt hazy.

My vision of Sybil had felt so clear, so real. My hands had been hers and I could see through her eyes. Looking at her encoded language now, I still couldn’t understand it any better than I had before. All I had was this persistent certainty that the words swirling around in my head were the ones I needed.

“I saw a knife in my vision,” I said. “There was magic around it; the blade didn’t reflect any light.”

My grandmother hummed again. If a ghost had feet, hers would have been pacing. “I see. It would seem these are instructions for a ritual, doubtlessly intended to imbue a weapon with magical power. This is dark, dangerous magic; its use of blood makes that clear. Feral night and to call his name…now what could that mean?”

“Perhaps the night of a full moon,” Callum suggested.

Suddenly, laughter rang out all around us, the plants shivering and shaking as Darragh appeared from the leaves. He burrowed up out of the ground, thin roots writhing around him.

“It’s Halloween, you silly demon,” he said, to which Callum growled. “That’s what we fae call it. The Feral Night. When the Veil is thinnest, when all the strange worlds of this dimension come close enough to touch. And to call his name, that part is obvious as well. Who else would be summoned by sugar, alcohol, and pain?”

“Stop speaking in riddles!” Callum snapped, but at the same moment, Winona gasped.

“Of course!” she said. “I should have known. Sybil was referring to the fae king, the Lord of the Forest! Such offerings would be made when seeking his blessing.”

“The Old Man himself,” Darragh chuckled, the sound like rattling leaves. “You witches play dangerous games, making bargains with demons and the fae.”

“It is not a bargain,” my grandmother said firmly, the radio crackling. “That must be very clear, Everly. You are not making a bargain; you are beseeching him for a blessing.” There was another crackle that sounded like a sigh. “As for the blood of the dead, resentfully given…”

“My father,” I said, ignoring the way my stomach churned. “Juniper is going to kill him on Halloween. He would resent his blood being used for this.” I swallowed hard, the taste of bile in my throat. “No one else should have to die.”

There was a moment of silence, and I was thankful for Callum’s hand on my back. Since Juniper had left, I’d done everything I could not to dwell on what she had to do. My father deserved what was coming to him.

But thinking about it made my chest feel hollow and cold.

Darragh rustled his branches, breaking the silence. “What about the blood of a lover then?” He waggled his leafy eyebrows. “I don’t exactly have blood in the traditional sense, but I’m happy to offer —”

“Darragh.” Callum’s voice was dry, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Stop talking.” His wing wrapped protectively around me. “I will sacrifice whatever you need.”

“Then it’s settled,” Winona said. “We wait for Halloween night and make our attempt. You will need a weapon upon which to perform this ritual; Callum, perhaps you could search the old armory. I’m sure there’s still many fine blades in there.”

Staring at the radio in surprise, I said, “This house has an armory?” I’d explored many of the twisting halls and locked rooms over the past few weeks, but with every passing day, there was even more to discover.

“Naturally,” my grandmother said. “The coven needed to defend themselves, and some preferred the sturdiness of a sword over magic. There are very few creatures that cannot be killed with steel and iron.”

“There’s something I still don’t understand,” I said with a frown. “An offering of sweetness and liquor is obvious, but an offering of pain? What does that mean?”

“It’s a mating ritual,” Callum said, his voice rumbling against my back as he pulled me closer. “Sex can conjure highly potent magic; the more heightened the sensations, the more powerful the magic. Pleasure and pain, as you know, can be very intense.”

His claws scratched down my back, making me shiver, and my grandmother coughed loudly. “Well then! I’ll be off before you two decide to start practicing. You too, Darragh! Come, we’ll prune the rose bushes in the garden together.”

Darragh sighed as if he was being terribly put out, but said dutifully before vanishing, “Yes, Grandmother.”

Leaning back against Callum’s chest, I stared at the boughs of the tree above, watching the colorful finches as they flew. His claws stroked over my arm, both his wings now drawn around me. Within them, I felt safe.

“Do you think it will work?”

“We won’t know until we try,” he said. “And it’s always worth it to try.”

My fingers tightened on his arm, my mind spinning in endless circles from everything I’d learned. “What if I’m not strong enough? Sybil was a Grand Mistress when she attempted this ritual. I’m nowhere near that.”

“She entrusted you with her knowledge. Her spirit lingers in this house, although we cannot hear her. Would a Grand Mistress give you something you weren’t ready for?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she thinks I’m stronger than I am.”

His claws scratched lightly over my scalp, and he gripped my hair, tugging it lightly. “If she does not doubt you, you shouldn’t doubt yourself either. Regardless of whether the ritual works, whether we go into battle with a blessed weapon or not, your strength is a force the God fears. Don’t forget that.” He nuzzled against my neck, and he kissed me softly before playfully nipped my skin. “A powerful being from another world fears you. It has tried everything in Its power to destroy you, to keep you weak. But you are not weak, my lady.”

A little red fitch came to perch near my hand, chirping. It fluttered its wings and flew away, effortless in its flight. If only I had as much confidence to rise, to soar without a second thought.

“You must get tired of my worries,” I said. “Of making the same reassurances day after day.”

My demon growled. “Do I think I grow tired of embracing you? Holding you? Fucking you?” I shook my head, smiling at how tightly he gripped me. “Then why would I ever be tired of assuring you? When I can use mere words to make you smile, to give you joy. Why would I ever tire of that?”

My chest felt so warm. It ached in a way I never wanted to end.