4. Willow
“Willow?”
Raven’s voice breaks me from my thoughts, but I can’t seem to drag my gaze from my reflection in the mirror. I feel numb. Hollow. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
The black silk robe draped over my skin, covering the chemise beneath, was meant to be a statement—an act of rebellion against the decree that we should be dressed in white. A representation of purity.
There is nothing pure about what’s to take place, but while we may not be able to alter the outcome of this curse, we are clutching to the smallest details we can control.
My sisters and I have all worn our hair down this evening, wild and free like our spirits. Another broken rule. While our faces are meant to be free of makeup, we have no intentions of bowing to that indignation either.
If I shall go, it will be on my own terms. While I still have a voice. While my heart still beats, and blood runs wild in my veins, as wild as our heritage.
“Are you ready for your makeup?” Raven asks gently.
She doesn’t ask if I’m okay, and I’m glad for it. I don’t want to lie to her, and she doesn’t want to acknowledge that I never will be.
“Come.” She gently pulls me away from the mirror, turning me and directing me to sit on the velvet vanity stool before her.
I watch her silently as she retrieves an assortment of items from my drawer, taking care to do my makeup exactly how I like it. She dusts my face with a thin veil of near-translucent powder as pale as my skin. Raven has perfected the art of winged eyeliner, and she draws it steady and sure even as her hand trembles with nerves. When it’s time for our signature blood-red lipstick, she applies two coats for extra boldness before offering me a shaky smile.
“Beautiful,” she murmurs.
“Just like you.” I manage to find my voice to utter the familiar retort.
It’s always been a joke in our house. All of the Wildblood girls are so similar in appearance that there are only minor differences to set us apart. Since Raven and I have only two years between us, we look as if we could almost be twins. The most notable differences are a couple inches of height and her curlier, slightly shorter hair. It wasn’t uncommon for people to mix us up when we were younger, but now our personalities differentiate us.
She’s the lighter half of me: the confident, social, unshakable one. I’m the locked vault–the one who never lets her guard down, the one who knows all too well the evils in this world.
I used to smile like her. I used to trust like her.
Sometimes, when I look at her, I find myself grieving the loss of that innocence. She’s beautiful in a way I can never be because she hasn’t been touched by evil. She hasn’t had its shadow following her, waiting to wrap its ugly claws around her and pull her into the darkness. But I’ve never begrudged her for that. Raven has always been my biggest defender and the light in my world when I thought none could exist. I would never want her to feel the way that I do.
After what we refer to as the ‘incident,’ I retreated within and cut myself off from most of the outside world. I let go of friendships. Goals. The foolish idea of happiness. But my sister has never let me push her away, even at my lowest. She has always been there for me, as she is now, and I know she will continue to be that steady, reassuring presence in my life for as long as I”m alive.
I don’t doubt that tonight, the moment I’m gone, she’ll be nose-deep in the family spell-book, searching for ways to curse the Delacroix name anew.
“You can still run,” Raven whispers, her eyes moving over my face. “We can go together. Start a new life. We can take Cordelia, Winter, and Aurora too. Then they will have no choice but to leave us alone.”
I force a smile that feels exhausting, shaking my head. “You know we can’t do that. They would find us. And I won’t let the rest of you suffer over my fate.”
“But we will suffer.” Emotion cripples her voice. “We will suffer without you here, regardless. If I die, I want it to be by your side.”
Despite the heaviness in my bones, I find it in me to rise to my feet and pull her in for a rare hug. It’s something I seldom offer these days but something I want to give her now.
“I love you,” I whisper. “But you know I can’t let you do that. I can’t let any of you do that. This is my fate, and I can’t and won’t try to escape it.”
She releases a shuddering breath and nods, too choked up to speak. We always knew it would come to this, and entertaining any other notions is just a fantasy. I learned the hard way not to indulge in such girlish dreams. I live in the real world, and there are no escapes from this reality.
A knock on the bedroom door separates us just as Cordelia’s voice rings out from the other side.
“Can I come in?” she asks.
Raven opens her mouth to reply, but I stop her with a hand around her wrist. She glances back at me with wide, curious eyes.
“Promise me if anything ever happens to me, you’ll get Fiona and bring her back home.”
Raven’s eyes settle on the black cat curled up at the end of my bed, determination steeling her voice as she responds, “An army couldn’t stop me.”
Cordelia knocks again, calling out one more time. “Hello? Willow?”
“Come in,” Raven and I call out in unison.
My little sister enters the room with a somber expression on her face, trying for my sake to hold back tears, and I’m glad for it. I don’t want to cry anymore.
“How is Mom?” I ask.
“She was resting,” she answers quietly. “Nan gave her more special tea to calm her.”
I nod, relieved, until Cordelia swallows and squares her shoulders. “The assholes have arrived.”
“Cordelia!” Raven tries to scold her for the language, but it comes out more like a laugh, and I start laughing too.
“What?” Cordelia shrugs innocently. “That’s what you always call them.”
Raven looks at me and smiles, and I can’t help smiling too. Leave it to Cordelia to inadvertently lighten the moment.
“Well?” Raven asks. “What do they look like?”
“Huge.” Cordelia’s eyes flare as she lowers her voice. “They’re like… trees.”
I swallow and nod, not in the least surprised. The legends of their height have long since echoed through my mind. I’ve often heard it said the Delacroix spawn look like gods among men, although, if it were up to me, I’d use a different term.
“I could probably kick him in the knee,” Cordelia says thoughtfully. “When he comes to inspect us.”
“Don’t you dare.” Raven snorts. “Remember what we’ve told you.”
Cordelia sighs in annoyance. “That would make me as bad as them. We don’t use violence. We use magic.”
“Exactly.” I tap her on her freckled nose. “Now, let’s get this over with before their energy stains this house.”
Raven and I move to go, but Cordelia steps in front of us, whisper-hissing a command for us to wait.
“What is it?” I ask.
She glances between us nervously before removing an envelope from her pocket. It’s a cream-colored missive with familiar black handwriting.
Dread curdles my stomach, and the energy shifts as Raven reaches for my hand.
“I didn’t want to say anything with Mom already upset,” Cordelia explains. “And you said to always bring them to you if I found them in the yard.”
I nod, reaching out with stiff fingers to grasp the envelope. My sisters watch me carefully as I open it, eyes moving over the message before my hand falls limp to my side and the paper flutters to the floor.
“What does it say?” Raven asks.
I open my lips to respond, but nothing comes out. I can’t give voice to the words. I can’t repeat them, even though they are burned into my brain. The threat is as clear as any other my attacker has sent.
On this day, the day of the Tithing, without even knowing it, he has proven that Azrael Delacroix isn’t the only devil I have to contend with. Because Caleb Church still lives and breathes, biding his time in a prison cell, waiting for the day he gets out.
The day he can come back for me.
These eight words confirm it.
Watch your back, witch. Your days are numbered.