AN shout out to all of those people who were asking me to continue this story during the huge break. you know what kind of awful you're after.
The days felt like tar passing over Katrina's skin. Each one was slow, painful, heavy, and oppressive and almost too much to bear. Every night Abraham took up his silent post beside her in bed, and every day she studiously avoided him.
Silence was the definition of the coach house. Silence and the staunch war of wills she was never entirely certain she would win. The Horseman's steps echoed through the coach house, and Katrina's unruly resentment whispered after. She didn't speak, not to him or his horse or herself, and he never attempted to make her.
This was what Katrina thought Death's domain should be like. Eerie, quiet, miserable.
And then, one day he walked into her room. Katrina stabbed him with her gaze, waiting to see what he wanted. He wasn't wearing the weapons, or the coat, or the trappings of a traitor. He was not dressed for battle.
Abraham stepped closer to her chair and stopped before her.
"I believe I have found a solution to our predicament," he said. Katrina deigned to look at him a second more, then glared at a wall.
"You crave magic, and I…require your aid."
Katrina waited. She had become so dreadfully good at that, these last few hundred years.
"Your magic proved helpful last time we used it. That again could be used to benefit our cause. And if you agree…you will be able to use it whenever you wish."
Katrina looked back at him, begrudgingly interested. Abraham considered her for a moment and then settled on his knees next to her.
"Katrina," he murmured, like he was stroking her face with the words, "I wish to help you. Your happiness…"
He looked up at her with genuine pleading in his eyes. Katrina's mouth twisted as she looked at him, still refusing to let out a sound.
It was a very strange thing, her situation. Here she had Death on his knees, and yet she felt so very not in control.
He reached out, hesitant, and took ahold of her hand.
"Please, Katrina. Let me make you happy."
She swallowed, and let in a breath.
"What is this solution?" Her words were formed entirely out of bitterness.
"It is a ritual," he began, and instantly Katrina felt her expression darken, images of being turned into whatever ungodly creature he was flashing through her mind. "Not the one I had in mind before," he amended, "but a new one. One that will, ideally, suit both our needs."
"It would allow me the use of magic," Katrina said, giving a slow nod, "but what about you?"
"You would…be bound to me. We would be united in a bond not often found in this world. We would gain power from each other, be influenced by each other. It is an alternate route," he said, leaning a little closer. "Rather than forcing you to become like me, to be beholden to me, Katrina, you would be able to choose. You would be just as you are, free to think and feel as you always have. You would be my equal."
"Bound to you…what does that entail?"
Abraham tilted his head at the question, and for a moment, Katrina was certain she saw Death flash through those ice blue eyes. The hopeful tenderness slipped from his voice when he next spoke.
"We would share a limited number of powers. You would become stronger, be more difficult to kill, and I would become immune to your magic."
Katrina frowned, weighing the options. She could not curse him, even if she got the chance.
"And that is all?"
"I am not entirely certain of all the effects. It has never been attempted between such powerful beings like you and I."
Katrina looked down at their hands, still clasped together.
"Yes, Abraham," she breathed. It was difficult to meet his eye, but she did. "I will do it. I will be bound to you, and I will perform magic for you."
He broke into a truly pleased smile and straightened to his full height while still on his knees. Abraham reached out and pulled her into his arms. Katrina wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her fingers slide through his short blonde hair. She stared at the wall, feeling their hearts fight back and forth, pushing at her chest in turn.
There was something caught in her throat, and it sounded very much like 'Ichabod'.
Katrina smoothed her palms over the trousers she had been lent for the ritual, trying to fight back her anxiety. Jeremy was there to perform the spell and seemed wickedly amused by it all. He at least had the grace not to comment on it to Katrina.
The silence, she had decided, was much worse. He had walked in, said hello, gave a mocking 'it has been a long time, hasn't it?', and that was it. Katrina eyed him down, wishing it would just be over. That way she would have less time to think about how she was marching head long into a terrible mistake.
"Please get on the table," Jeremy said, breaking the quiet. He gestured to the large table that had been cleared for the ritual. Katrina swallowed back her hesitations, then walked over. She glanced back, hoping to see Abraham at the edge of the room. Instead, she only saw the Horseman, arms tightly folded, mouth hard, eyes clinical. He was there to make sure she wouldn't try anything, not to reassure her.
Katrina climbed onto the table and laid down on her stomach, being careful to center herself over the diagram drawn on the top with chalk. The quick glimpses she stole of it mentioned stripping and then melting two souls together. Katrina pressed her cheek to the wood, and slid her eyes shut.
She gasped when she felt Jeremy pull up her shirt to reveal her lower back. Katrina dug her nails into the wood and kept silent. He spread oil onto her skin and whispered a spell over her. This time, the air didn't hum with his magic. Instead it became heavy with it, weighing down her thoughts and smothering her body. She focused on dragging in a breath and not that her son was condemning her to an unknown fate.
She was being bound to Death. The pointed memories of her attempted second burning came back to mind, clawing up all of the anxiety she had been ignoring. Those men had accused her of conspiring with the Horseman of Death, of giving up everything and becoming his pet. She had been so desperate when she denied it, needing them to understand it all was a wicked farce. And now she was doing exactly what they claimed and she had no idea why.
Jeremy stopped whispering, but the oppressive feel of the spell continue to swirl about her head. Katrina grit her teeth as she stared at the door, wondering what was next, what was left. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. This was okay, she was going to be okay, she would be okay.
Katrina bit out a choked yelp when she felt the burning pain on the small of her back. Death shifted, sliding into something a little more battle ready. Katrina clenched her fists, forcing the muscles in her back to relax as her son sliced magic into her skin. She tried to unclench her hands but found herself unable to move, frozen by the spell. Her heart was hammering, shrieking against her ribs as Jeremy continued, making long, arching lines on her flesh. Each figure, each mark carved into her skin was like being tied to the stake all over again. A part of her wanted to reach out and grab Death, to catch hold and shake him until Abraham appeared and saved her from the dysphoria seeping across her body. Then she gave up hopes of being rescued from the pain, all she wanted to do was cling on for dear life, because he at least would be steadfast while her whole world heaved around her.
Katrina closed her eyes, breath hissing in through her teeth. She couldn't take it anymore, she couldn't do it, she wanted to take it all back, she would give in to whatever chaos and darkness she was being sealed to if only the pain would stop. Then Jeremy punctured her haze with a sharp word and something seared into the freshly carved seal on her back. She gasped out a shriek, the sound stifled between her teeth and her shock as her back arched with pain.
Instantly, she fell back, hands clutching edges of the table. All of the magic in the air drained into her, slinking in through the wound and making her blood snap and writhe against her bones. She was too agonized to even cry.
Abraham shifted back into view, and she saw with dull surprise that his hand was bleeding, a single black gash stretching across his palm.
His blood. It had been his blood that had been poured over her skin, to seep into the seal and complete the spell. That was how she would be able to do magic. His blood would grant her power. And would control her.
Jeremy murmured something above her, but Katrina felt herself drifting. She was vaguely aware of someone wiping off the black blood from her back, the new wound protesting, but not burning as it had moments before. Then the weightless feeling of being picked up, and then the solid comfort of her bed. She lay on her side, content to let her mind wander, to avoid the horror of today by stumbling into some world not soaked in despair.
She couldn't remember her dream, but she had the impression of cages and being bathed in blood. Whose, she refused to guess.
"Katrina," Abraham whispered, pulling her back into a reality that was not far off from the fantasy she had just escaped.
Katrina stirred, then grimaced when she felt her lower back throb. A sound must have escaped her, because Abraham's hands were there instantly, smoothing over her arm.
"It's alright," he murmured, voice right in her ear. "War said it would take several days to heal."
She tried to respond, but her tongue seemed dense and useless. Katrina grimaced again and cracked open an eye. Immediately she spotted a pitcher of water and tried to reach for it. Abraham obligingly picked it up for her and poured a cup. Katrina leaned against him, too exhausted to force herself upright as she drank.
"How—how long has it been?" she asked, voice raspy even after her drink.
"About a day. War said it would help you heal."
Katrina nodded, and hesitantly reached around to touch the seal on her back. Abraham settled his hand over hers, as if he understood the dread now living in her stomach. Katrina bit her cheek and took hold of his hand instead. She leaned her face against his chest, and closed her eyes.
"I appreciate what you have done," he whispered into her hair, then pressed his lips against her neck. It was a simple gesture, one that asked for nothing else.
Katrina pressed her lips tight as he settled his arms around her. Abraham held her close, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Any tears that fell could easily be blamed on pain. And yet, none felt fit to leave her eyes. Katrina almost wished they had. That, at least, would have been right.
Katrina held tight to Abraham, teeth set on edge over what she was about to do. The freezing air bit at her nose and throat, bitter in the dark. She could feel the dark thrill going through him as they came closer to their goal.
When his horse came to a stop, Abraham lifted her down. She waited, nervous as she watched the house before them. He had only told her that an ally of the Witnesses lived there. She could feel the sleepy murmur of magic, something exposed to power but not necessarily containing it. Katrina glanced at Abraham, suddenly nervous. The need to do magic felt muted under her anxiety. She didn't want to hurt anyone, didn't want to hinder the Witnesses anymore. But there wasn't much else to do.
"I can't hurt anyone, I refuse," she said, watching Abraham heft a hatchet. He cast her a hard look. It wasn't unkind or annoyed, just hard. Her words had been water tossed onto a stone and splashing off, not a drop absorbed.
"Then keep them from leaving," Death told her, and stalked toward the cottage. Katrina bit her cheek, nervous as he faded into the murk. He learned back, supporting herself on Death's mount. He shifted, thinking about stepping away, about heeding his master's claim of dominance. But he stayed still and let her brace her hand against his flank.
Death kicked the cottage door from its hinges, eliciting screams from inside. Katrina sucked in a breath, feeling the prospect of death thrill through her, sick and agitating and intoxicating. Katrina's head swam as she felt Death stalk deeper into the cottage, cutting off a man's screams with a splash of blood. Katrina gasped, knees buckling slightly as she felt the blood on her hands and the seal on her back throb.
The horse shuffled against her, practically holding Katrina upright. His huffs of breath were loud in her ears, great smoky plums in the cold air. The vaguest whisper sounded in her head, sliding through her brain death blood faint witch as Katrina tried to right herself, tried to understand what was going on.
Gunshots punched through the air, painfully loud in her ears, louder than they should have been from outside of the house, offering senseless flashes of light in the dark. Katrina panted, completely disoriented, the image of a woman and child climbing through a side window swinging back and forth between her eyes.
She didn't think. Katrina could barely breathe, but she heard the quiet whisper very clearly, cutting through the haze of senses.
Fire erupted in a gruesome ring around the cottage, nearly igniting the woman and child. The child, a boy, shrieked in terror and the woman grabbed him, then prepared to leap through the ring.
The fire bit out at them, big and wild and hissing like animals. The woman yelled and staggered back, eyes frantic. She looked at Katrina, terrified.
"Turn away," Katrina told her, in the same harsh voice that had made the fire appear.
"He's going to kill us!" she screamed, holding the little boy tighter.
"Give him what he needs, and turn away." Katrina said. More gunshots from inside, more flashes of light that she could not see.
"I refuse to give it to him!" the woman screamed, clutching at something around her neck. Katrina raised her hands, another stream of magic tumbling from her lips. Her tongue felt heavy, fumbling, but each word was clear and sharp in the air before her.
Death stormed out of the cottage, broad axe now in hand. The boy screamed, clinging to the woman even tighter. The woman shoved the boy away, screaming at him to run, and after a few stunned steps the boy was sprinting along the line of fire. The woman was fumbling with something, a gun, then fired off two shots at Death. Katrina sucked in a breath at the phantom impact, watching Death's steps hitch. Then he settled into a more aggressive gait, axe raised high.
The woman turned the gun to Katrina, but a hand wave and a spark of flame reached out to burn the metal from her hands.
Katrina's second spell finished with a rush, and the thing around the woman's neck, a pouch attached to a cord, lifted away from her skin. She gasped and grabbed it back, then started running, clearly hoping for more time.
A hatchet sank into the woman's chest, the blade disappearing almost entirely to the shaft. The little boy screamed from where he was, flight forgotten as he let out a wordless scream. Death stalked over to her, steps shaking the ground. He pulled the pouch from her hand, and then tore the hatchet from her back. He strode back to the edge of the flames, which cleared for him. He mounted his horse, then lifted Katrina up behind him. Katrina let the fire fall away as they pounded down the road, hearing the little boy's shrieks, the whisper of Death's horse smoke fire tears blood death witch witch death, and the dull murmur coming from the cottage. Katrina was confused at first, whatever magic object they had come to fetch was in the pouch, then she realized.
It wasn't the magic rustling against her mind. It was the death.
AN Less bad relationship stuff and more bad decisions/actions stuff this chapter, but just wait. Bad relationship stuff is coming. Boy howdy is it coming.