It was well past midnight. But this was our last task of the evening. We had driven an hour north, and a half hour west. We were well out of Las Vegas. We were well off the ground. The seven of us had been walking up the mountain face for over an hour. Tomorrow morning, the ballots would be divined. But I couldn't think about that. I refused to bring any of my fearful energy into the mix. Fear of losing a friend. Fear of things changing so drastically. I focused on the walk instead. Enjoying the crisp night air.
"I'm freezin' my nuts off out here."
Apparently Dylan disagreed.
I smiled and shifted my backpack again. "Why? You go commando?"
"That's none of your business, Weaver. And keep your sight to yourself." He shuffled up a few steps. "So, do you think they'll punish that witch?"
"Who? The council?"
"Yeah. Are they gonna tie her to a cross and dip her in the nearest river? Or drop a house on her?"
"I doubt it. Probably something much worse. Bind her from using her own magic."
"Holy shit. They can do that?"
"That's what I hear."
"Wow. I almost feel sorry for her now. Oof!" Dylan said then stumbled into me, using my shoulder as an anchor.
"Hey," I laughed. "Careful, I'm in a nice dress you know."
"Oh shit, I'm sorry. I got a little dizzy there."
I stood back and looked at his face. He looked pale.
"You ok?"
"Yeah, I think so. Just a little off today. Maybe I ate something bad tonight."
"It's all that meat," Antoinette's voice drifted down from somewhere ahead of us. "I keep telling you, the average male has up to five pounds of undigested meat in their intestinal tract."
"Ugh," he said, a bit of his color returning. "That woman really knows how to ruin a good steak."
I smiled at him. "You sure you're ok?"
"Yeah, I'm good," he said, smiled back, and took the crook of my arm.
We fell silent again and kept walking, zigzagging through cactus, brush, pines. We finally reached it. The perfect spot. My sight showed the strong elemental lines running just beneath the surface of the alcove. It was time for our ritual. Frankly, an escape from the weird busy week. I was looking forward to it.
"Let's put the fire right here," Newton said after wandering around the alcove for several seconds.
Dylan and I collected the fire wood, one piece from each person, while everyone else brushed away the errant pine needles and dry leaves. There wasn't much. It was almost winter in the desert. Everything was mostly dead already. Though most of the evergreens still maintained some shape and foliage. But the signs of the coming winter–the stillness, the slowed dew, the sleeping insects–infused the air with a peaceful quiet.
"So, why are we out here?" Dylan whispered in my ear.
"Because witches respect energy," Newt's voice boomed across the alcove.
"Because I asked Newt if we could come out here," I said, winking at Dylan. "Honestly, I needed to get away. She wanted to perform a rite, and I thought, why not in the middle of the desert? In the middle of the night?"
He glanced around the arid and rocky alcove. "Sure doesn't have the panache of the ballroom."
"True. But can't you feel it, Dylan? The collective pulse of Vegas? Of the witches? Even just over twenty-fours and I have an almost constant headache."
He paused before answering. I expected a smart-ass reply. But I didn't get one.
"I suppose…it is peaceful out here," he said, bending his head back as far as it would go. "And the stars look so close. I feel like we're on a distant planet. Like these aren't even our stars."
I took a deep breath, inhaling the clean air, bending my head back to get a good look at the blanket of encrusted jewels above us. And nodded vigorously.
Dylan and I prepped the fire, stuffing the fire starters into the bottom of the wood pile. I nodded to Antoinette when we were finished; she created a nice moat of earth and rock around the pile. I struck a match over the wood and dropped it dead-center. Antoinette pulled on the fire, expanding a disc out from the bottom. It was a blue heat, atomic and massive. It crackled and pulled at the remaining moisture in the wood, sucking in oxygen from all sides. She let go and the flames burst into orange and reds. I took a minute with the fire. It felt good, hypnotic.
Newt let me pick tonight's ritual. I chose one of my favorites. I call it–Feeding the Famished. The spell is based on vulnerability. On the power of letting go. In accordance with these types of spells, we're getting naked. The nakedness is not just about being physically vulnerable. Though that is one aspect. Something happens to humans when they get naked. Parts of the brain become more active, electromagnetic energy and electrical patterns in the body shift remarkably. As Faith and Dylan were the first out of their clothes, they were the first to change. Dylan especially.
His normally gold rather-geometric patterns slowly shifted to a sort of light aqua with softer edges, expanding a couple of extra feet. Faith's violet patterns widened, her individual lines fattening. I can tell she loves being naked.
Only certain levels of spells, certain levels of power and concentrations of energy, can be reached through acts of vulnerability. Sleepers think of this concept as symbolic. It is. But so much more. We know better. The Fabric contains a lot of hidden keys and doorways. Witches learned long ago that vulnerability is both a dangerous and conversely powerful key.
Tonight's incantation also requires a bit more than hair. It needs a greater sacrifice–blood.
I shed my dress and shoes and grabbed my knife and the wooden bowl that I'd 'borrowed' from the kitchens of the hotel. I walked around the circle of seven witches, cutting a sharp line in the palm of each witches' left hand. I cut myself last, cringing as the blade stung. Then walked back to the fire and carefully placed the bowl in the center, while Antoinette provided the opening. The blood boiled immediately. A soft blue helix, the offering, rose from the flames and hung lazily over the fire.
"Witches of Norwood County," Newton began, then paused. "Friends." Her voice settled into a solemn tone. "Due to a simple matter of logistics, our sisters are not here to share this rite. Though they are here in spirit. Tomorrow morning the scrying will take place. I don't know if I'll be leaving you, leaving the coven, but that doesn't matter right now. Right now, we're here with each other, here in the moment, here together on this beautiful night. On this beautiful mountain."
My eyes slid to Antoinette. Our mutual fear was undeniable…but it passed. I smiled fondly at her. At least I knew I'd be keeping my auburn-haired sister for a good while longer.
Newton stood and started the incantation.
"To eat, to drink, to sleep
These things leave me long
Without hope of losing mine
Feed the notes, sing my song"
As we added our power and voices, the spell made its way around the circle, the pulse of the earth, beating slow and steady beneath us, picked up the same rhythm. A coyote somewhere bayed. I could feel her, all of them, playing, running, hunting.
"Open weary eyes to death
Lose the fight, make me wrong"
Newton approached Antoinette first, still intoning along with the rest of us. Antoinette held out her left palm; Newt trailed the tips of her fingers through the cut, her index and middle finger coming away red. She then tipped a small amber bottle of oil with her left hand onto the bloody fingers, mixing the oil and blood. The oil in the bottle is a mixture of almond, cistus, and angelica, made to keep you grounded and let you fly.
With the new mixture, Newt drew a contiguous line from the top of Antoinette's forehead, all the way down her face, her neck, her chest, to the tip of her pubic bone. Antoinette turned; Newt drew the same line down her spine. She performed the same ritual on each of us. Letting Antoinette finish with her.
"Expose my skin, expose my bounty
Bring me weak, expose my song
Bring me weak, expose my song
Bring me weak, sing my song"
We think some life–humans, animals, plants, even certain types of cells–are aware of their place, their existence, in the Fabric. They don't need anyone to sing their song.
"To eat, to drink, to sleep
These things leave me long
Without hope of losing mine
Feed the notes, sing my song
Open weary eyes to death
Lose the fight, make me wrong
Expose my skin, expose my bounty
Bring me weak, expose my song
Bring me weak, expose my song
Bring me weak, sing my song"
As I knelt down in the dirt, the powerful spell ran, faster and faster, around the circle of seven. It wasted no time. It bound itself to the Corpalm immediately, flashing like new life, bursting tendrils of blue and purple light.
"Bring me weak, sing my song"
The line of blood and oil on my chest and back ignited. I gasped as a snaking fire ripped through my body, bringing tears of strange elation to my eyes and bowing my torso back. It felt…terrifying and delicious. The spell, the rite, finally settled into a small and orderly hurricane.
I wanted to dance, sleep, fuck, run. Minutes, hours, days passed. I lost myself again. But not at all.
Something opened my eyes. Something that wanted my attention. But every witch was rapt, busy in their own, and our, world. A breeze picked up on the nearby hill. It rushed at the fire, billowed the flames and blew strange howls into the night air. Something was coming. Or was already here.
There was a strange and familiar essence to it: transformation and change, mortal change. But it stank of selfish intent. Death and destruction.
Yes.
I looked to the left as my eyes caught the movement. There at the edge of the alcove, between the brush, over the sand, skittering beetles, and fluttering moths, a ripple floated up over the cliff. A ripple. The second one I had seen in my life. It had the same frothy opaque edges. It moved through space like it was warping the Fabric.
I looked back around the circle. Each witch was still peeked in rapture, consumed by the essence of the rite. Not one was feeling what I felt. Seeing what I saw. It was only me. Death was coming for me.
I suppose we all have to die some time. I don't know why it's my time. But I won't fight it. Not like my father did. I will embrace the next dimension and leave this life with some grace and dignity. Not with terror and bile.
I closed my eyes and breathed in fully, thinking on my last taste of this mortal life.
…wait a minute. I'm not ready to die. I'm too young. I still have to turn in my papers. Open my bookstore. And I have friends… sisters…a brother. Not by blood but they may as well be. I wanted to have kids of my own someday. Or at least have the chance to decide. And…I'm not ready.
A wash of terror and panic flooded my system. One that was so familiar. The same feelings that had consumed me the night of the accident.
"No!" I screamed, breaking the circle. The gathered witches all turned to me. Except Newton. She was knelt over Sarah. Who was lying on the ground.
I scrambled the ten feet to them both. Newton held Sarah as the witch convulsed and twitched. I reached out to touch Sarah's sweating face. It was cold and damp. I jumped, my sight and power pulling instinctively back in, as the muscles in Sarah's body gripped and tightened. She was having a seizure. I didn't know she was epileptic? I looked to Newton, who was trying to hold her down, but she looked just as confused as me.
Antoinette and Faith were suddenly there, holding onto Sarah as if they could stop whatever was happening. Sarah's body gave one last spasm then fell silent, still. Newton felt her pulse then began CPR. We all watched as Newton blew air into Sarah's lungs, then pumped her chest. Lungs, chest. Lungs, chest. She listened for a heartbeat. After a number of seconds, a number of minutes, she stopped and sat back heavily. She stared at Sarah, as if she couldn't believe what had happened. I know I couldn't.
Newton looked to me, the fire reflecting the question in her eyes. The desperate and impossible question. I didn't answer her. I didn't tell her no. Because I could, at least, try. I called my power back. The lines in the Fabric glowed brightly above Sarah's body. But the line connecting her to it waned. The previous complex pattern of threads and fibrous movement that made up Sarah were gone. The last light was centered in her head. It flickered on and off, like a flashlight sucking on the last bits of its battery power. I reached out to touch it, to coax it, but it disappeared too. Now, there was nothing to pull. Nothing to change.
I gave her a small nod, "I…I'm sorry." Maybe if I had tried this a few minutes ago, I could've stopped Sarah from leaving. Or gave her body a chance to recover. Why didn't I help her? Why didn't I step forward when I heard it coming?
Death, fate, had beaten me again. And it had not come for me after all. But for Sarah. And I'd been so distant to Sarah. I hadn't tried to get to know her beyond the façade she showed the world. I hadn't tried to make her feel more welcome. Now, I wouldn't get the chance.
"Faith?" Newton asked of the necromancer.
Faith touched the air with her fingertips, moving left and right, up and down. She held still and listened. "Sorry Newt. She's not here. She's probably in another dimension by now."
We don't know where the soul goes after death. The Mortora's know better than the rest of us. Most of them believe we simply rejoin the Fabric. Becoming pure energy again. Some of us hang around, watching over loved ones. Wherever she went, Sarah's soul had moved fast.
The six of us stood there in the moonlight, looking to Sarah, then each other. Then Sarah, then each other.
"I feel really bad for making fun of her now," Antoinette said, the first to break the silence.
It was a ridiculous thing to say. It was an awful thing to say.
"Oh God, me too." I agreed and laughed nervously. So did she. I was numb and oddly giggly. Something else occurred to me. Something selfish.
My life as a public servant, Newton's life as an attorney, were over. We'd killed someone. And during a ritual no less. This could not have been a worse scenario if we'd written it. Even if it was an accident, and Sarah had had a heart attack, or some other condition, she'd died naked, covered in trails of her own blood, on the side of a mountain, in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night. This was every witches' nightmare. A throw back to more dangerous times for us.
"Holy shit." I heard Elizabeth whisper behind me.
"What the fuck? Did we kill her? Did running the energy kill her?" Dylan voice sounded as incredulous as mine.
"No. I don't think so," Newton answered. Though I wasn't one-hundred percent sure she was one-hundred percent sure.
"So…what do we do?" he asked.
I looked to Newton.
"We bury her. Until we can figure out what happened," she said.
I was suddenly very glad the whole coven wasn't present. At least some of them would be spared this burden.
Snap!
A loud crunching of twigs to the east brought our heads up. My power instinctively reversed itself, kicking back in and brightening into the threads of the desert mountain. A strange blob of tangerine light and blue wisps of snaking electricity jetted through the trees, bouncing left and right, moving away from us.
I stood and turned. "Newton…it's the witch!"
"Antoinette, Dylan, come with us. You two stay here!" Newton said, the four of us beating after the witch.
I was wearing only the blue satin ribbon around my left wrist and the choker at my neck. I didn't have time to put my dress back on…or my shoes. None of us did. Though running through the woods in three-inch heels was preferable right now. As everything on the ground felt the need to stab at the bottoms of my feet. No matter, I could see the mountain favoring the witches of Norwood County. For the terrain leveled out into dirt, and a mass of rock walls blocked out the moon ahead of us.
I slowed down, seeing the trail of light ending just beneath the nearest outcropping.
With Newton, Antoinette, and Dylan at my back, I turned around a grouping of pine trees.
"Oh my god," Antoinette whispered.
I walked slowly forward, the cuts and bits of twig stuck in the bottoms of my feet suddenly forgotten.
"Jane Anne?" I asked, my voice slow and faraway.
"Ladies…and gentleman," she said. "A little cold to be wearing your birthday suits don't you think?"
"What…are you doing out here?" I stammered. "Did you…" I didn't want to ask the question. Not of her. "Did you have anything to do with that?" I pointed back toward our ritual site.
"To do with what?" Her long silver dreads swung to the side as she feigned innocence.
"Did you kill her? Did you do that?"
"Yes," she answered simply, seeming pleased with herself.
"Why? Why would you do this? Why?"
She shrugged. "Why do we do anything?"
"The council?" Newton breathed.
"I don't understand," I said.
"Death is simply a transition. A state of being. It has no more value than birth. We kill when it serves the higher purpose. When the tides demand it." When she spoke, she looked only at me.
I took one unconscious step forward.
"Jane Anne…please. Did you? Did you, the council, have anything to do with my father's death?"
She threw back her head and laughed. Then spoke an incantation in a strange language. Before I could think what to do, the world popped. Like the air had snapped its fingers or clapped once and hard. When I could open my eyes, she was gone, her trail had disappeared.
I turned, dumbfounded. "Newton…I think the council conspired to create me…to kill my father." Horribly, that night, the accident, it now made perfect sense.