Chapter 55
Chapter
Fifty-Five
Oh my God.
Donovan’s tattoo, cavea ad tenebras continendas … All along, he thought he was caging the darkness that led his father to kill himself. He believed it so deeply, he inked it on his skin. But no. Donovan’s father was murdered, just like mine. And that darkness? It’s what comes from living a lie. From having two kinds of magical blood inside him, warring with each other for dominance until they canceled each other out.
I didn’t think it was possible for me to hate Ethan more. But he just keeps on proving me wrong.
Donovan chokes and coughs behind the gag as he fights to escape his bonds, nearly toppling his chair. He has to know it’s pointless, but he struggles anyway, the blood flowing more freely from the wound beneath his chin. When Cooper grips his shoulders, grimly holding him in place, Donovan glares, fury sparking in his eyes…and beneath it, a deep, abiding hurt. His mute accusation is clear: Did you know about my father? Have you been keeping it from me, all this time?
Cooper stares back at him, silent and impassive, and I decide it’s a tossup between who I despise more: him or Ethan. When I get loose—and I will—I will put an end to both of them.
And then an agonized shriek shatters the air of the meadow. It’s the cry of a wounded animal, soul-deep and raw.
Mina.
The elderly Blood Witch falls to her knees in the grass, wailing. The tears slipping down her face have become a torrent, falling hard and fast. “You...you…” she sobs, pointing at Ethan.
“Don’t be dramatic, Mina.” Ethan’s lip curls in contempt. “It doesn’t become you.”
She takes a huge gulp of air. “You’re a murderer,” she howls. “And you’ve made me into one, too. You…you killed my…”
Her what? What the hell is going on here?
“Watch your mouth,” Ethan warns, gripping the hilt of the blade.
Mina gives a bitter chuckle. “What are you going to do to me? You’ve already taken everything I love. It was bad enough when Jonathan was shunned. I thought that was why he took his own life…because we’d turned our backs on him. But he didn’t. He didn’t!” She pounds the ground with her fists. “He wanted to live. To have a chance to raise his child. And you killed him and lied to me about it! All these years, you let me believe I failed him. And the whole time, it was you. ” She’s shaking all over, sobs ripping from her throat.
I don’t understand. Why does she care so much? Who was Jonathan Frost to her?
“He betrayed us, Mina.” Ethan’s tone is condescending, like he’s explaining the facts of life to a small child. “What kind of example would it set if we let him live? It’s not my fault you were na?ve enough to believe I would tolerate such disrespect. Consorting with a Coven Witch…siring a null…” He spits in the grass again. “He was a blood traitor.”
Mina rises from her knees. Tiny and wrinkled though she is, the sheer rage emanating from her small body is formidable. Her hair lifts, the strands buoyed by an invisible breeze, and when her voice comes it is ice cold, each syllable a dagger. “He. Was. My. Son.”
Holy shit. Mina—the woman whose prophecy led to my parents’ deaths, who foretold the connection between me and Donovan and engineered his sacrifice, who cursed me—is Donovan’s freaking grandmother.
My heart aches for Donovan, whose gaze is fixed on Mina. She’s staring back at him with undisguised longing, as if she’s waited his whole life to be reunited with him. Which would be sweet, except he’s bloody, gagged, and about to be killed. And it’s her fault.
Everything…this whole fucked-up situation…can be laid at her feet.
“How could you do this?” I demand, my voice so choked, I hardly recognize it. “You didn’t have to share your premonition about my parents with Ethan. You didn’t have to destroy my life! And now…now you’re going to be responsible for the death of your own grandson.”
Mina knots her hands together, crying harder. “You must understand. I owed Ethan allegiance,” she says, shifting her teary gaze to me. “When you were born, when I foretold your destiny… Yes, I saw you marrying Donovan, but I didn’t know who he was. I had no idea Jonathan had gone outside the fold. That he had sired a child with a Coven Witch.” Her eyes are huge and wet and pleading. “You know as well as I do how unpredictable our powers can be.”
I strain against the ropes that bind me to the chair. “I don’t know anything, because you cursed me. You’re right, you’re a murderer. Because of you, my parents are gone. Because of you, I’ve been a pariah my whole life. And now, because of you, Donovan is going to die!”
The old woman’s lips set in a thin line. “No,” she says. “He isn’t.” She turns to Ethan, her shoulders set. “You took my son from me. I won’t let you take my grandson, too.”
A thin thread of hope winds its way through the anger and fear that threaten to consume me. If she cursed me, then maybe she can undo the curse. And if she does, then maybe I can access the ley lines, not just the pool of blue light inside me. Maybe I can somehow use their power to free the Sinsters, and they can help me save Donovan and defeat the Blood Witches. Sure, the ley lines also apparently drive people power-mad, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Please help—” I begin, but Ethan cuts me off.
“Just how do you plan to stop me, Mina? Rune’s right—we owe all of this to you. But you’ve outlived your usefulness. I think I’ll keep you alive just long enough to see the fruit of your labors.”
He turns to me, a too-bright grin splitting his lips, still stained with Donovan’s blood. “She had to curse you, Rune. You see, you’re very powerful. The child of a gifted firewitch and a persuasio…well, one never does know quite how magical blood will mix, does one? It’s one of life’s great surprises. But you…” He brings his fingers to his lips in a chef’s kiss. “Too bad you’ll never know what it’s like to harness that power. At least you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that your gift gave rise to a dynasty.”
“That’s never going to happen,” I hiss at him, but he just steps forward, blade in hand.
“Receptacle, please,” he says to Ellen.
Efficient as always, Ellen reaches beneath one of the tables that holds the food, coming out with a small silver bowl. “Here,” she says, handing it to him as reverently as if it’s a religious chalice.
“What is that for?” Panic bubbles beneath my breastbone.
Ethan doesn’t answer me. Instead, he closes his eyes. “ Non sine sanguine gloria, ” he intones. And the other Blood Witches echo him: “No glory without blood.”
Ethan’s eyes flash open, their brown irises gleaming. “Hold her,” he snaps at Rosa.
I try to twist away from him. To sink my teeth into any part of Rosa I can reach. But she and Georgia grip me tight, holding me still. And so there’s nothing I can do but watch as Ellen kneels, silver bowl cupped in both hands, and Ethan lowers the blade.
With my arms bound behind my back, the tender skin of my inner forearms is exposed, and that’s where he slices me open. The pain is immediate and agonizing, and I bite my lip to stifle a scream as hot blood trickles over my skin. A moment later, I hear the plink-plink-plink as it drips into the bowl. Its rust-rich scent rises, filling the air.
“Good girl,” Ethan croons. “You see, there’s no point in fighting. It will just hurt more if you do. Come, now… Just a little more…”
The greed in his voice is unmistakable, and my stomach churns. Chin held high, I fix my eyes on Mina. She is their weak link. If anyone can save us now, it’s her.
She watches me bleed, her chin trembling, tears still coursing down her cheeks. “Help us!” I shriek at her, but she doesn’t move. And then the premonition comes.
One second, I’m holding the crimson tide at bay. The next, it sucks at me, washing over my field of vision. I can feel the grass tickling my feet and the bite of the rope into my wrists. But I can also feel the hot rivulets of blood licking at my toes as the premonition shifts to accommodate my new reality: the Blood Witches in street clothes, Donovan not in a tux waiting for me beneath the arbor but in jeans and a t-shirt, bound to a chair, his eyes darting back and forth and his muscles straining, rock-hard, beneath Cooper’s grip.
I need to stop this. To be here, in the present moment, if I have any shot at saving us all. I refuse to be helpless, trapped between realities, as Donovan dies.
And so I do the only thing I can think of: I reach deep inside me for that blue light. Help me , I think, as if it’s a living entity that can hear my plea. Please, help me stop them.
For an instant, nothing happens. And then I feel it: a spark igniting in my chest, kindling and spreading outward. Giving me strength.
The premonition retreats, driven back. I’m here again, back in the meadow, bound and bleeding, but fully in my body. I can hear the voices of the crowd in my head now: Mrs. Grant, telling me to fight. Mrs. Hernandez, begging me to hold on. Mrs. Fontaine, insisting I have the strength to defeat the Blood Witches. Their faces are blank, their eyes giving nothing away. But they’re still in there, I know it. If I free them, then they can help me.
But how?
Dizziness makes the world tilt sideways as Ethan stands back and crosses to Donovan, Ellen trailing in his wake, knife in his hand. It’s not Cooper holding the blade, like in my vision. But so much has changed; why wouldn’t this change too?
They’re going to kill Donovan. Oh God, it’s happening happening happening?—
He turns his head to look at me, and in his eyes, those beautiful reflections of the ley lines, I see such sorrow. I see the life we could have had together. I see his helplessness and his rage. “Let him go,” I plead, even though I know it’s a useless effort. “You don’t have to do this. There has to be another way.”
“There is no other way,” Ethan says, his tone almost pitying.
And then the blade comes down.