Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bridget Winslow
Behind the Red Door
Emma trembles beside me, her face ashen, and I fight the urge to scream against the binding that seals my voice.
“Almost home,” Mira chirps from the driver’s seat, her cheerful tone a mockery of everything that word should mean. Home isn’t here anymore. Home is a cabin in the mountains, the scent of pine needles, and golden eyes that see straight through to my soul.
Emma’s hands rest protectively over her stomach, and my heart twists.
They can’t know about the baby. Can’t discover that she carries Meredith’s magick, passed down to an unborn child.
The Mathairs would… I can’t even finish the thought.
I press my shoulder against Emma’s and give the smallest shake of my head, looking down at her hands.
She moves them immediately.
We turn onto Essex Street, and my stomach lurches.
Everything looks exactly the same—pristine colonial houses with their manicured lawns, American flags fluttering in the morning breeze.
Such a perfect mask for the horror that lies beneath.
Tourists will be here in a few hours, snapping photos of “historic Salem,” never knowing that real witches walk among them.
That real monsters sit on thrones of power just yards away.
The SUV’s turn signal clicks like a countdown as we pull into the driveway.
My throat closes at the sight of that house—so perfectly mundane with its white clapboard siding and glossy black shutters that match every other colonial on the street.
The brass numbers catch the light, mocking me with their cheerful shine beside that bloodred door.
My hands shake—such a pretty cage. But I know what waits in the backyard. What lies behind the perfectly normal facade.
“Out,” Nia orders, yanking open my door. The morning air is crisp with early autumn, carrying the salt-tang of the nearby ocean. Such a different scent from the mountain air I’ve grown to love.
I force each step to be measured, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me stumble up the brick path. The autumn mums nod their bronze heads in the breeze, as innocent as I’d once been in this place.
When Emma trips beside me, Carmen’s fingers dig into her arm like talons, making her whimper. I keep my face blank, though my jaw aches from clenching it—showing weakness now will only make things worse for both of us.
Bast’s presence feels strangely close, but it’s probably just me reaching for any comfort I can find. Soon it will be over for me. The Mathairs will kill me for what I’ve done. Or do something to make me wish I was dead.
The front door swings open, and I recognize the women immediately—Sarah Seiver and Lisa Roberts, both third-years who used to practice combat spells under my instruction.
Their heads bow to Delta Team with the same perfect submission I’d praised them for last spring.
Now their downturned faces twist something in my chest—how many times had I stood at this threshold, watching other witches dragged in, telling myself they must have deserved it?
How could I have been so naive?
Inside, nothing has changed. The hardwood gleams. The tasteful artwork, the careful illusion of normalcy that once made me feel so superior to the ordinary world beyond these walls.
They hustle us through the house, each step toward the back door winds the tension tighter in my chest. The deck’s weathered boards creak beneath our feet like the last planks of a gallows, stretching out over that deceptively peaceful yard.
Emma’s breath hitches. A circle of white stones is set into the center of the perfectly manicured lawn. To human eyes, it looks like nothing more than unique landscaping. But we know better. This is a gateway. A threshold between worlds.
Mira’s singsong voice slithers through the familiar incantation, and my stomach lurches. Emma lets out a broken sob. The vocal binding spell keeps me from offering comfort, from telling her it will be okay. But maybe that’s for the best. Because I know what waits on the other side of those stones.
And “okay” isn’t part of that future.
Reality softens and flows around us as we cross the threshold, like watercolors bleeding into new shapes.
The suburban facade dissolves into mist, and my chest constricts at the sight of those looming stone walls, the watchful towers, the vast courtyard where I’ve spent countless hours perfecting spells.
Above us, that eternal lavender-blue sky mocks me with its artificial perfection.
I’d once found comfort in its unchanging beauty.
Now I understand it for what it is—another form of prison bars, as rigid and controlling as the Mathairs themselves.
Emma’s sobs fade to hiccupping gasps beside me. In the distance, young women train in neat rows, their synchronized movements as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. The sharp crack of practice spells echoes across the grounds, and a bitter growl rolls in my throat.
I’d spent years in those rows, perfecting every gesture, believing that if I just tried harder, achieved more, I could keep Brianna safe. All that blind devotion had earned me nothing but more invisible chains—and yet.
Without their mission to Colorado, I’d never have found Bast, never known what real love felt like.
Never understood there was more to power than their rigid perfection.
The memory of his golden eyes burns behind my eyelids.
Maybe that alone was worth every bruise, every punishment, every hour spent dancing to their tune.
Even knowing I’ve lost him forever. It was all worth it. He was worth it.
Our escorts march us toward the castle that dominates the eastern wall.
Its dark stone seems to absorb the artificial sunlight, windows glowing with an inner fire that never dies.
My bare feet stumble on the cold cobblestones—they didn’t even let me put on shoes.
The T-shirt I stole from Bast’s drawer feels like armor now, his scent still clinging to the fabric.
I can barely sense his presence now. It will be better this way. Maybe it will hurt less.
The castle’s wards press against my skin, ancient and oppressive. They recognize me, welcome me home like a prodigal daughter.
“Home sweet home, naughty girl,” Rhyn sneers, then says a quick reversal spell to remove the seal on my voice. “Wouldn’t want you to not be able to say hi to your sweet sister.”
I say nothing and keep my gaze below hers.
As we approach the big doors swing open to the familiar entrance hall, where floating orbs of witch-light cast their eternal glow. The tapestries lining the walls mock me now—scenes I’d once revered as sacred history. I know now it’s all built on lies.
But we don’t climb the grand staircase. Instead, they guide us to a smaller door, almost hidden behind a heavy curtain.
The dungeon entrance. My heart pounds against my ribs as we descend the narrow spiral stairs.
The temperature drops with each step, the light grows dimmer until shadows press in from all sides.
Emma’s fear pulses through the darkness, mixing with my own dread. I know these cells. Know the horrors they’ve witnessed. And now we’re just two more prisoners.
The cell they choose is larger than most, with three sets of chains mounted to separate walls. When the door creaks open, my heart stops.
“Bridget?” The voice is raspy, disbelieving.
No. No, they promised—“Brianna.” Her name comes out in a sob. My sister sits huddled against the far wall, her face a mess of bruises. One eye is swollen completely shut, and dried blood cakes the collar of her thin shirt.
I lunge toward her, every instinct screaming to protect my little sister, but Nia’s iron grip holds me back. The burn of her fingers matches the fury blazing through my veins.
“Now, now,” she tuts. “You know the rules. No touching.”
Brianna’s good eye meets mine, and I see the same rage there, buried beneath layers of fear and exhaustion. She looks back down at the floor, careful not to draw Nia’s attention.
Rhyn pauses, shoving Emma against the third wall. The magick-dampening manacles clank as she secures her. Emma’s quiet weeping is the only sound in the cell for a few moments.
“What happened?” Brianna’s voice cracks.
“I couldn’t—” The words stick in my throat.
My mouth goes dry. “I couldn’t do it,” I force out.
The truth tastes like ashes, but it’s mine.
“I couldn’t carry out the assignment. I’m so sorry.
” The memory of Bast’s trust, his kindness, his love pushes away any lingering doubt.
But I know what my choice will cost me…and her.
“And then I fought against it. Against them.”
Brianna’s good eye widens. “Are you insane? They’ll—”
“Ah, that’s quite enough, dear.” Nia hisses. “We have to get your big sister straight to the Mathairs.”
Rynn opens the cell door again and Nia drags me backward.
Fuck.
“No.” Brianna lurches forward, chains rattling. “No, please.”
“It’s okay,” I say, though we both know it’s a lie. Nothing about this is okay. Bast’s presence flickers inside, growing stronger, like he’s getting closer. No. No. No. You can’t come for me. I push the thoughts to him, warning him away.
They lead me from the cell, Brianna’s protests fading behind us as we climb back into the light. I know these halls. Know exactly where they’re taking me. The throne room awaits, and with it, a reckoning I’ve feared since the moment I first realized I loved Bast.
I close my eyes, holding onto the memory of his smile, his touch, his love. They can’t take those memories. They can’t take his love from me. But as the great doors of the throne room swing open, I realize how wrong I am.
They can take everything.
And they will.
Golden light spills across polished marble as I’m marched down the center aisle. Three thrones rise on the dais ahead, carved from white stone that seems to glow from within. And on those thrones sit the women who have ruled my entire life.
Helen, the eldest, sits in the center. Her silver hair is bound in elaborate braids, her white robes immaculate.
To her right, Margaret’s beauty hasn’t faded in all these decades, but her eyes hold the cold calculation of a predator sizing up wounded prey.
And Emily, barely older than me, perches on the leftmost throne like a bird ready to take flight.
My hands tremble in the cuffs. They’ll take everything from me—my magick, my memories, my love for Bast. Our link pulses with his determination, his rage, but it only feeds my terror. Because there’s something worse than losing him.
If they discover what he truly means to me, they’ll use our bond to draw him here. To break him. To enslave him. The thought makes bile rise in my throat, but I coerce my face to stay blank. I can endure whatever torture they devise, but I cannot let them reach him through me.
Nia forces me to my knees twenty paces from the dais, then backs away and leaves the room with the Delta Team witches. The marble is hard against my bare knees, and I’m suddenly, painfully aware of how I must look—wearing only Bast’s T-shirt, hair wild, feet dirty from the cobblestones.
“Our wayward daughter is returned.” Helen’s voice carries easily in the vast chamber. She rises, each movement graceful despite her age. Her soft footsteps echo as she descends the dais. “Though not by choice, it seems.”
I fix my eyes on the marble floor, counting the crystalline veins in the stone to keep my anger contained.
Inside, my heart pounds against my ribs like a war drum, but I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
Let them think me cowed—it’s better than letting them see how much I want to tear their perfect world apart.
“Look at me, child.”
I raise my eyes, meeting that ancient gaze. Helen’s face is kind, almost grandmotherly. It’s a lie I learned to recognize long ago.
“Such a disappointment.” She clicks her tongue. “Such a fine student, distracted by a man. And not just any man.” Her fingers grip my chin, forcing my head up further. “A Moonbound wolf. In America, no less. How fascinating.”
Bile rises in my throat. “I don’t—” The lie dies on my tongue. What’s the point of denying it? They already know about Bast. Elsa. My mind races through possible responses, each one more damning than the last. The truth will destroy me, but lies will only make my demise slower and more painful.
Her grip tightens. “Those marks on your wrists—did you think we wouldn’t recognize them? That we wouldn’t know exactly what they mean?”
They know everything.
“What happened to Elsa, dear one? And don’t lie to me.”
I swallow hard. “I haven’t seen her.”
The slap cracks across my face like lightning. “I told you not to lie.” Helen’s voice hasn’t changed, still gentle as a summer breeze. “We know she’s dead. What surprises us is that you were able to do it.”
I was also surprised. I don’t say that, but I definitely thought it. The only thing I want right now is for Brianna to be spared. And Bast. Anything to keep their attention away from them.
“Please.” The word scrapes out of my throat. “I’ll take whatever punishment. Just don’t hurt Brianna anymore. She’s innocent.”
“Innocent?” Helen’s laugh is like breaking glass.
“Your sister tried to leave for a human male. You killed your mentor. And now we find you’ve bound yourself to a monster.
To a lowly being that belongs here in this court as our slave.
” She turns, gesturing to Margaret and Emily.
“Come, sisters. Show her the price of such betrayal.”
The others glide down from their thrones, white robes whispering across marble. My heart pounds so hard I think it might break my ribs.
“The wolf will be dealt with, of course.”
No. No. No. Bast, stay away! I scream the warning in my mind.
But Bast doesn’t stop. He pushes against my warning. He sends me calm, peace, and his promise of vengeance.
No. Stay away. If you love me, stay away.
Helen’s hands are cool against my temples. “Delta Team’s oversight will be corrected. But first, let us remind you what it means to defy the Court.”
Margaret and Emily take positions on either side of me, their hands joining Helen’s. Ancient words fill the air, and pain explodes behind my eyes.
I try to scream, but no sound comes out. The pain is too much. Every nerve ending is on fire. The bond to Bast stretches, twists, pulls taut like an over-tuned violin string.
No. Please no.
Their chanting grows louder, and the pain builds until I think I’ll shatter from it. The bond strains more, stretches further—
Then snaps.
The silence in my soul is deafening.
Then I scream. And scream. And scream.