Chapter 26
Amara breezed through the portal into a dark chamber with an ancient presence.
The magic of this place radiated raw energy.
Pillars adorned this room with crude pictographs of demons in odd stories of old, forgotten artwork.
The floor was made of dirt and stone. The walls were rough and rigid like a cave, yet the ceiling was polished porcelain marble.
Glowing sigils were carved across the ceiling, forming strange spells.
“Where are we?” I whispered in Theodore’s head, hoping the question alone would spark an involuntary answer from him.
Unfortunately, Theodore’s mind was far too trained, too controlled, to share revelations unintentionally.
He tilted his head, following Amara obediently. “You could learn all about this place if you delve a bit deeper into my thoughts.”
I ignored his offer. Sitting in Theodore’s mind was like dancing on a spiderweb above a tar pit. One misstep and I’d go from in danger to dead.
Around the corner of a collection of pillars sat Caleb and Tara. They were locked within the confines of a pentagram similar to the one that held Theodore when I found him weeks back in London. Only this pentagram was held together by a pillar at each of the five points.
“Does this mean I get a reprieve from my timeout?” Theodore asked, a sadistic smile on his face at seeing his sister and the boy he had attempted to kill on their knees.
“Why have you brought this boy, Moire?” Amara asked.
I knew that name from the list of Celestial Coven members I’d identified.
Name: Moire
Branch: Enchantment (Spell Craft)
That explained who was puppeteering Katherine, but it still didn’t explain how the enchantment witch hijacked Katherine’s mind.
“Don’t tell me you’ve grown attached to this girl’s life.” Amara chuckled.
“It is not this witch’s life that intrigues me, but the presence of this boy’s existence.” Katherine gestured—correction, Moire gestured—to Caleb. “Recognize your sacrifice?”
What?
The confusion and fear of that question spiked anxiety in Caleb and Tara as well. It was difficult to fully glean their thoughts while hiding in Theodore’s head. Unlike them, his mind held intrigue over anything else.
“Impossible,” Amara said rather flippantly.
“I know the abomination’s magical frequency,” Moire said, dehumanizing Caleb’s very existence. “Who do you think coordinated your arrangement with Hell?”
Amara stared into Caleb’s frantic green eyes.
“How is the goddess to ascend if you don’t fulfill your arrangement?” Moire asked, accusatory and demanding.
“I do not understand.” Amara tilted her head, studying Caleb, taking in his every feature. “The old gods never showed displeasure with my sacrifice. They didn’t call out and demand a correction.”
“Why would they?” Moire snapped. “Your failure would be more entertaining. Our failure.”
“So, this is my dead baby brother?” Theodore asked, cutting right to the question dancing in everyone’s mind.
Caleb stared wide-eyed in stunned confusion. Tara went to speak, but her mind was a hurricane of questions.
I supposed Caleb looked somewhat like Theodore and Tara, but not that much. None of this made any sense.
“There is only one answer.” Amara opened a blue portal, dragging a body through. “Tobi deceived me.”
Tobias Whitlock’s corpse collapsed on the ground in front of Amara.
“Dad,” Tara spoke softly, choking up at the sight of his body splayed out.
“I always knew he was soft,” Amara said. “But I had no idea he’d go to such lengths to fool me.”
“And you wish to waste time clarifying with him?” Moire had a pointed expression, visibly annoyed with Amara.
“I do,” Amara replied. “The more answers I have, the more likely I will be able to rectify this error with the old gods above and the demons below.”
Moire huffed.
“Prepare the necessary spell,” Amara commanded of Moire, who reluctantly flipped through the pages of her grimoire.
“What are you doing, old hag?” Theodore asked.
Amara responded by snapping her fingers and dropping Theodore to his knees. The crack of bone sent a sharp ache through me. Clearly, I connected too much too soon to Theodore’s mind. I needed to be cautious, avoid sinking too deeply.
“This makes some sense, though,” Amara said while Moire whispered a spell. “I believed the old gods simply worked slowly when cleansing the world of branchless tragedies. When in truth, they’d simply never received the proper tribute.”
“Wait, what?” Caleb asked. “I’m the reason—”
“You’re not the source of branchless witches,” Amara clarified. “Their diseased presence is the price of keeping all of Hell out of this dimension. Sadly, with magic mostly cut off from our world, too many are born weak and worthless, such as yourself.”
Amara’s cutting comment dug deeper into Caleb than any mean word about branchless witches ever had.
So much of this overwhelmed him, unable to wrap his head around being related to Tara, being an abomination meant for sacrifice, being adopted by a mother who left when he was four, raised by grandparents who lied to him his entire life.
Unless they didn’t know. Who knew? Was this true? How was it possible?
“You were merely meant to serve as a cure to the cancer those witches bring to our world,” Amara continued. “Powerless, useless, broken things. You were supposed to put an end to that when gifted to Hell.”
Caleb’s face turned a stark, ghostly white. “Gifted to Hell?”
“Of course,” Amara continued. “An abomination such as yourself was only brought into this world to descend into Hell. And as you descend, the goddess shall ascend.”
“You’re disgusting,” Tara spoke with pure hatred for her mother and abject horror for Moire’s actions.
The enchantment witch controlling Katherine used a knife to carve open Tobias’ chest, then reached inside and pumped his heart, still chanting some spell.
“Don’t you see, Tara? This thing is the source of your stagnant troubles.” Amara described Caleb as a thing, delight in her venomous green eyes. “I believed your father’s poor tutelage led to your slow understanding of your gifts. It is simply because the abomination still walks this world.”
“Stop calling him that,” Tara shouted, the effects of her Banshee’s Wail cracked the air around her.
It wasn’t enough to break her free from the pentagram trap, but perhaps if Tara applied more of her magic, she could overpower the confinement.
“You’ll see.” Amara smiled at Tara. “When we properly fulfill the ritual, the old gods will bestow their blessings on you, and your magic will amplify a thousand times over.”
“I don’t give a fuck about being your stupid goddess,” Tara screamed, cracking another layer of the barrier containing her and Caleb.
“If you were stronger now, not held back by that thing you were forced to share a womb with, you could break this barrier now.” Amara tapped her fingers along the cracks, more amused by Tara’s efforts than concerned by the potential threat.
Caleb sank into himself, barely comprehending the unearthed revelations of his existence.
Never in his life had he felt so truly useless, but knowing his breathing held back Tara, held back thousands more.
It devastated him. For so long, Caleb had believed that if he worked hard, he could achieve so much.
Now, he questioned every choice, every desire.
Katherine’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as Moire chanted louder, running her bloody fingers over her face. The droplets moved of their own accord, following the guidance of this bizarre ritual, and formed bloody symbols across Katherine’s cheeks.
“This is necromancy,” I whispered.
“How dare she?” Theodore’s nostrils flared, contempt and fury ate away at him as he believed his father was being granted a second chance.
“That’s not how necromancy works,” I clarified. “There is no true resurrection, no second chance.”
After losing Finn, I scoured the world a hundred times over researching ways to bring him back, to fight against my grief and avoid ever having to face the horrors of his absence.
Necromancy didn’t bring the dead back to life, so much as it turned the corpse into a puppet for whatever memories were stored in the body. They were just animated, rotten flesh that could parrot old times.
In the countries where they’d legalized necromancy, people went to great lengths to resurrect their loved ones.
They’d use rejuvenation magics to keep the corpses healthy and life-like; they’d use necromancy to keep as many memories as possible intact; they’d use enchantments to keep the memories from deteriorating.
The longer a corpse rotted, the more memories faded away.
It was a foolish endeavor, the most desperate attempt to hold onto their lost loved ones. I couldn’t fault them, having come close to considering the rituals and practices, but never having anywhere near the funds for such abominable magic.
Tobias’ eyes glowed with a black hue, and his jaw cracked as he opened it wide to wheeze a pitiful breath of life into his corpse.
“Tobi, it seems you kept a secret from me.”
“Many, my love,” he gasped with a foul echo of something sinister crawling inside to help utter the words.
“You didn’t kill the abomination.”
“Tried,” Tobias wheezed. “Theodore was far too crafty, surviving despite my best efforts to cleanse the world of his rot.”
That cut deep inside the infected wounds of Theodore’s soul. He’d always known his father despised him, but to see this resurrected corpse confuse the abomination Amara referenced as Theodore, purely because he knew his father found him utterly disgusting.
“I am referring to the Slave King of Hell,” Amara snapped.
That horrifying moniker sent a shiver through Caleb.
This title of king, of slave, of Hell itself belonged to him, and he had no idea what it meant.
What it truly meant. Was he supposed to rule over the demons?
Was he meant to serve beneath them? Would he reign or suffer if Amara completed this wretched ritual?