21. Willow
Iwake with a jolt, breath heaving and skin flushed as my eyes dart around, taking in my surroundings. I’m in Azrael’s bed, but he’s not here. A glance at my phone confirms it’s three o’clock in the morning—the witching hour.
A cold chill moves over me as I try to shake off the nightmare that pulled me from sleep, but Elizabeth’s voice curls around my ear like a whisper of dread.
Careful, child.
Her warnings have increased lately, but it makes little difference if I can’t understand what she’s trying to protect me from. It could be any number of things. Salomé. This house. The fate that’s been written for me from the moment I was born a marked woman.
I’ve felt off balance, and no amount of energetic work has helped. There’s been a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach from the moment I saw the news articles Raven sent me. Two local witches had been tortured and mutilated, their bodies found dumped in the street like trash.
While it’s always possible it could have been a random act of violence, I can’t help thinking it has something to do with Caleb Church’s associations and the group that calls themselves The Disciples. Before they set their eyes upon our family, rumors had abounded for years that they were hunting women around New Orleans… women who were known to dabble in witchcraft.
When I met Caleb Church, I didn’t know about his affiliation with the group or their reputation for performing violent exorcisms and baptisms alike—if you could call nearly drowning those they wish to convert a baptism, that is.
A shudder moves over me as I recall that feeling of suffocation. The choking, burning, clawing as blackness dimmed my vision.
I was young and naive when Caleb snuck me into his place of worship. Foolishly, I had believed it was because he wanted a quiet moment together. A stolen kiss, maybe. He’d only ever been sweet. But instead, he stripped away the charming persona he had carried and showed me who he really was.
He told me he wanted to ‘get the Devil out of me,’ and in his mind, rape and murder were the only ways to absolve a sinner like me. If I hadn’t been wearing my ring that night, he would have succeeded.
That was the first time I truly felt the power of Elizabeth Wildblood in my veins. I’d channeled her strength somehow, and I survived. But I’ve never been the same since. The experience changed me, and not for the better.
I learned after that night that my parents” warnings about the evils of this world weren’t just talk. Now I feel those evils everywhere. The men and women who burned and hanged witches aren’t extinct. They just hide in the shadows, feeding their murderous appetites in the dark among their own kind.
For well over a decade, bodies have been turning up on the streets. Women who were mothers, sisters, daughters. Women who were members of the magic community.
It was undeniable that someone was targeting them. The police kept insisting they would find whoever was responsible. But then, one day, not long after Caleb had been sentenced to prison, the murders just… stopped.
Time passed, and people moved on. They forgot about those other women. But I haven’t. I still think about them every day, connected to them in a way I can’t explain. Maybe because I was almost one of them.
After what happened with Caleb, I couldn’t help but believe they were responsible. His group of Disciples was insane, and they didn’t hide the fact that they were targeting witches. But I knew it couldn’t have just been Caleb involved in their murders. He was only nineteen when I met him, which means someone else had been carrying the torch long before he came of age.
When things died down, I suspected it was only a matter of time before it started again. They were under a microscope during Caleb’s trial. They had to lay low. But now, I fear they have chosen to make a return. Sure enough, when I roll over to check my phone, there’s a new message from Raven.
Did you see?
I eye the news article she attached, my stomach somersaulting when I read the headline.
Local voodoo priestess murdered, business torched.
My hand trembles as I click on the link, scanning the details through blurry eyes. I only make it halfway through the article before my phone rings and Raven’s name flashes across the screen.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asks when I answer.
“No,” I murmur.
There’s a long, heavy pause before she speaks again. “I don’t like this, Willow. This has The Disciples written all over it.”
“I know.”
“I think we should do another binding spell,” she suggests. “This week. Do you think you can get here?”
I consider it, deciding it doesn’t really matter what Azrael says. This is important. “I’ll see what I can do.”
More silence fills the line before I ask the question I’ve been dreading. “Have there been more letters?”
Raven’s hesitation confirms it. “Yes, and that’s not all.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“There was a message spray painted on the front door.” She swallows audibly. “It said ‘come out, witch. You can’t hide forever.’”
I squeeze my eyes shut, clutching my stomach as I shake my head, feeling like I’m going to be sick. “Raven.”
It’s all I can manage, but that one word conveys everything my sister needs to know. She understands me. We’re all connected this way.
“We have protection,” she assures me. “Mom and Dad have issued a lockdown on the house. We’re not even going outside unless it’s during the day, and we’re together.”
“I still don’t like it,” I tell her. “We don’t know what they might do.”
“They want you,” she reminds me softly. “We’ll be okay here. And you will too. As strange as I think it is to say, it’s probably good that you’re where you are right now.”
“I’m not worried about me,” I argue. “And we don’t know what they will do. You can’t get complacent. You have to stay vigilant.”
“I know,” she assures me. “We will. I promise.”
“I’ll talk to Azrael,” I tell her. “I’ll let you know what day I can be there this week.”
“Okay,” she agrees. “Try to get some rest.”
I tell her I will before disconnecting the call, but that’s a lie. The last thing I want to do right now is rest.
I set my phone aside, glancing over at Fiona. She blinks back at me with sleepy eyes, shamelessly keeping Azrael’s spot warm for his return.
“Traitor.” I give her a quick pet, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be team Willow.”
She yawns, boops my hand, then goes back to sleep before I slip out of bed and into my room to grab my black silk robe. There’s a draft in the house tonight.
I finish tying the knot at my waist, sneaking a glance at my altar, when I notice Elizabeth’s portrait has been knocked down. As I pick it up to examine the cracked glass, something twists in my gut. This was no accident. It was intentional.
A glance around the room confirms my suspicions when I notice the metal garbage bin full of burned remnants. On closer inspection, I can just make out the faint outline of a letter on the Ouija board I left downstairs. And beneath that are some of my crystals, charred herbs, and the vials of elixirs I planted throughout the house.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this was Salomé’s doing. Azrael didn’t seem to care, or if he did, he hasn’t said anything to me about it yet. But I can’t see him being this petty. This has the old hag written all over it.
I toss the ash back into the bin and wipe my hands. I guess that’s a point for her.
Setting the bin aside, I sneak into the hall, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. I can still see the light in Salomé’s bedroom at the opposite end of the hall. It’s no surprise the woman doesn’t sleep. Evil rarely does.
I set out in search of my husband, the house”s silence an eerie feeling around me. I tiptoe down the stairs, cautious that one noise might summon Salomé, and move around the house like an apparition. Every room I pass through is empty, but as I near the library and step into the darkness, I can hear that faint melodious sound again.
I pause to listen, realizing it must be a piano. But for reasons I can’t explain, this seems to be the only room in the house I can hear it. I know it’s because it must be in the dark wing, as Bec called it. But I haven’t yet figured out how to get to that part of the house.
Given the age of the house, I consider that there might be a secret door, but as I run my fingers along the shelves, I don’t notice any discrepancies. In the movies, it’s always a book that has to be removed or something equally as dramatic, so I take note of the Delacroix collection. There seems to be a vast array of books, many of which appear to be leather-bound first editions of the classics, along with French titles I’ve never seen. A large selection of old tomes rests on one shelf, their spines battered from years of carrying their hefty weights.
I drag my fingers over them, pulling out a couple to inspect them. They are bound with leather straps and untitled, so I don’t know what they contain, but I’m curious. Just as I’m about to untether one to see for myself, a faint voice behind me nearly scares me half to death.
“What are you doing?”
I shove the tome back into place, whipping around with a sheepish expression to meet Bec’s gaze. I half-expect to find a look of reprimand in her eyes, even though she’s been nothing but sweet to me. I can only imagine how strange it is for her to have someone snooping through her house.
But a strange expression flickers across her face when her eyes dart to the tome I replaced, which only makes me more curious.
“I heard music,” I confess. “I can hear it in the library but no other part of the house.”
“It’s Azrael,” she tells me. “He plays the piano at night.”
“Oh.”
There’s so much I want to ask about that, but I don’t want to look too eager, and Bec seems uncomfortable with the notion of explaining. I imagine it’s because the piano is in the dark wing, and she knows it’s a place we aren’t supposed to venture.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says. “I came down to get a glass of water and saw the light on in here.”
“Are you feeling alright?” I ask cautiously.
She nods reluctantly, shifting her weight while she works up the courage to ask me something. “Could you…” She hesitates, her hands twisting in front of her nervously. “Could you fix my necklace for me?”
“Did it break?” I ask, concern bleeding through my voice.
It’s never a good sign if a protection necklace breaks.
“Something like that.” She dips her gaze, leading me to believe it had some help being broken.
“I can fix it,” I assure her. “Where is it?”
“I’ll go get it.” Her eyes light up with relief. “Can I meet you in your room?”
I nod at her, and she slips out of the library, barely making any noise as she goes. It makes me wonder how much practice she’s had sneaking around these halls, trying to stay hidden.
With one glance at the tome, I make a mental note to return later to examine it before I switch off the light and go back upstairs. Thankfully, when I reach the top floor, Salomé’s light is off. I don’t know if she’s asleep or lying in wait, but I’m hoping it’s the first.
In my room, I do a quick job of hiding the burned remnants Salomé left for me. I have about a minute to pick up a few stray pieces of clothing before the knob twists quietly, and Bec peeks her head in.
“Can I come in?”
I offer her a reassuring smile, sad that she feels she needs permission for every moment of her existence.
She closes the door and bows her head as she clenches the necklace in her fist. Her body language is guarded, like she’s afraid I might get angry. And when she reaches me, it falls upon me to offer her more encouragement.
“Let’s see the damage. I’m sure whatever it is, we can find a fix for it.”
Reluctantly, she opens her hand, revealing the bent wires and shattered amethyst that’s now in three pieces. Definitely not an accident. Wherever the chain is, I’m sure that’s in pieces too.
I consider it for a moment before returning my gaze to meet Bec’s. “Why don’t we make something interchangeable instead? You can wear it as an anklet or bracelet, depending on the clothes you choose that day.”
I don’t have to say it’s so she can hide it because Bec seems to understand, and her smile is my answer.
“I would love that.”
“Okay, first, we need a new stone or crystal. Come here. I’ll let you pick.”
She watches me curiously as I move to my altar, pulling my jewelry box from beneath it. When I open it, I choose a few pieces that will all work equally well for protection, laying them out for her to choose from.
“How do I decide?” she asks.
“Try feeling them,” I suggest. “Whichever one speaks to you. You’ll know when you feel it.”
Her eyes brighten as she takes her time, examining each offering before returning to a piece of black tourmaline several times. I can tell that’s the one, but I give her time to reach that conclusion on her own.
It takes her several minutes to work up the courage, a sure sign that she’s not used to making decisions of her own accord.
“I think I like this one.”
“Perfect,” I tell her. “Do you want to see how it’s made?”
She nods, sitting beside me on the floor as I get to work, cutting wire and carefully wrapping the stone. This time, I use a length of rope to secure it, pausing to measure her wrist and ankle, which are equally tiny. It concerns me, and I know Bec can see it when she hastily covers them back up. There’s so much I want to ask her about her condition, but I know I need to build a relationship with her first. Trust has to be established before she’ll tell me the truth about what’s going on here, which I suspect is far more than she’s divulged.
“I think this will do.” I extend the bracelet when I finish. “Do you want to try it on?”
She slips it onto her wrist, her face lighting up as if it’s one of her most cherished possessions, and for some reason, that only breaks my heart more.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I love it.”
“Of course.” I smile. “If you have any more trouble with it, don’t hesitate to come back. There’s always a way to fix these things.”
She nods, her eyes moving over the other jewelry in my case with interest. She doesn’t ask, so I push the box in front of her in offer.
“Do you want to look through it? I have a lot of pieces in there.”
“They’re so pretty,” she remarks, her dainty fingers picking up a few pendants and rings to examine them. “What do you do with all of them?”
“I sell them,” I tell her. “Mostly. I also make some for friends and family.”
“Where do you sell them?”
“There’s an apothecary shop in New Orleans. Solana, the owner, has a space for my jewelry and some of my candles and the elixirs I make.”
“That’s so cool,” Bec says. “I wish I could do something like that.”
“You can help me anytime you want to.”
“I would love that.” Her words are genuine, but I can’t help noting the sadness in her voice. I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t think Salomé will ever allow it or if there’s another reason.
“Hey, I have an idea,” I tell her.
“What?” She blinks up at me.
“Are you tired?”
She shakes her head.
“Good.” I get up and walk to my closet, searching the hangers for something I think will fit her. “My sisters used to do this when we couldn’t sleep. We’d get all dressed up with nowhere to go. It passes the time.”
Bec seems to like the idea, and when I notice her eyeing one of my black Wednesday Addams-style dresses, I pluck that one from the hanger.
“Here, try that one.” I rummage around for accessories, choosing a red headband and heart-shaped glasses to accompany my robe.
While Bec puts on the dress, I grab some makeup, too, picking out a few items that will work well with her skin tone. She laughs when I turn around, and she notices the glasses on my face. It’s such an innocent thing, but it makes me happy because I think it’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh.
“How does it look?” she asks, peering down at herself.
“Perfect,” I tell her. “I think it suits you. Have a look in the mirror.”
She does, and I can see the moment she falls in love with the dress. I wonder if she’s ever been able to choose any of her own clothes and make another mental note to ask Azrael about it later. I doubt he’d let me take her shopping, but it’s worth a shot to ask.
“I look like an actual teenager,” she says.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, wiggling the makeup at her. “Now comes the fun part.”
She sits on the velvet ottoman at my instruction, and I apply light makeup to her face, mostly focusing on the eyes, swiping them with some glittery shadow. She peeks at my makeup case when I reach for the nude lipstick.
“Can we do the pink one?” she asks.
“Bold choice,” I tell her. “I love that.”
I apply the pink lipstick for her and then work on her hair, splitting it down the center and braiding the fine strands. As I work, she examines some of the items from my altar, asking about each of them. I take my time explaining, observing that she’s asking out of genuine curiosity and not fear. But when she picks up Elizabeth’s brooch to examine it, I can sense that she feels the significance of it. She doesn’t ask, but I explain anyway.
“It belonged to Elizabeth Wildblood,” I say. “It’s been passed down to every chosen Wildblood woman since her death.”
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice carrying a note of sadness. “Maybe it’s like a protection stone too.”
“In a way, it is,” I confess, but I can’t hide my sadness. Because the truth is, there’s no protection from my fate.
Bec feels the weight of it in her hand, seeming to sense the shifting of my energy. “Who knows? Maybe it’s even powerful enough to break the curse.”
I don’t know how much she knows about the curse, but it seems like an innocent observation. The observation of someone who still has hope.
“All done,” I tell her. “Want to see?”
She nods, rising to look at herself in the mirror. Emotion steals her voice when she does, but I can tell she’s happy.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “I didn’t even know I could look this pretty.”
“You’re pretty no matter what you wear.”
She pauses while she takes herself in, lost in her thoughts before she answers. “You’ll be a good mother.”
A sharp pain twists my gut. It’s something I’ve known my whole life I’ll never have—a family of my own. It’s a loss I’ve felt deeply every time I considered it. Every time I had to stop myself from even dreaming about it.
Bec doesn’t know. I don’t think she has any idea that Azrael and I are both fated to die tragically, and I don’t know if that’s better or worse.
A wave of grief washes over me as I consider how great that loss will be for her. To lose another brother. And here I am, allowing her to get attached to me, only to have that ripped away too.
Tears prick my eyes, and I suck in a shaky breath, determined not to let them fall. I can’t let her see that pain. But as I’m thinking about it, a new fear alights in my mind. The sudden realization that once Azrael and I are both gone from this world, there will be nobody but Emmanuel left to protect Bec from Salomé.
I open my lips, the question on the tip of my tongue. I want to ask about her illness again, but the door swings open before I can, startling both of us.
“Bec?” Azrael glances at her in concern before his eyes narrow on me. “Why is she dressed like that?”
“You mean like a teenager?” I reply dryly.
Bec’s shoulders slump, and I shoot Azrael a glare, hoping he’ll pick up on what he’s doing. I think it shocks both of us when he actually does.
“You look… beautiful,” he tells Bec, softening his tone. “Just don’t let Salomé see you like that. She’ll have a fit.”
I roll my eyes. He was so close. So close to nailing it, then he had to go and ruin it with that last part.
“I’ll return your dress tomorrow if that’s okay.” Bec gathers up her pajamas, barely able to meet our gazes now.
“Keep it,” I tell her. “I want you to have it.”
She looks equally grateful and terrified because I’m sure she realizes she’ll never be able to wear it in front of Salomé. At least not until Azrael puts her in her place.
“Thank you.” She hesitates, almost turning to go, unsure how to say goodbye exactly.
Even though I’m not a hugger, I hug her, and it seems to relax her. If only it had the same effect on Azrael, who’s glaring at me like I’m trying to convert his sister into a witch.
“Goodnight, Az,” Bec tells him, quickly scurrying past before she closes the door behind her.
“What are you doing?” Azrael growls.
I smile at him sweetly, removing the headband and glasses and tossing them into a drawer. “What’s the matter? Worried I’ll rub off on her?”
He grits his jaw and shakes his head. Any amusement I may have felt dissipates when I recognize the worry in his eyes. It isn’t that I’m rubbing off on her. It’s the same fear I felt earlier staring back at me.
He’s worried about what will happen to her if she gets close to me, only to have it snatched away.
“Come,” he murmurs tiredly. “Let’s get back to bed.”