Chapter Thirty-Eight
THIRTY-EIGHT
MY PULSE IS POUNDING IN my ears.
I think back to my dream all those weeks ago, and how Gigi said I was fated. I think about the years of withholding stories from me. About how she waited and waited until it was too late. And how I’m so much worse off for it.
At first my sorrow was too big to feel anything else.
But in this kitchen with my grandmother’s secrets spilling out all around me, and a vast and complex and infuriating history contextualizing this unfathomable power, I think some of that sorrow is turning.
Simmering into a boil. Blooming into a feeling that’s much more akin to rage.
Power thrums at my fingertips, an artificial wind whipping through my hair. Outside, the rain I brought with my earlier grief has turned torrential, beating violently against the windows.
I jerk my head back, bracing my palms against the table. “I’m sorry? The what now?”
Maureen grimaces. “A divine war, prophesied to come between our people and the creatures born of the bastardization of our power. Monsters that have been after us for nearly as long as we’ve existed.”
The dream. The cloaked men with raven faces, their burning, pointed crosses, the cries of the women as they chanted. I think of my own hooded attacker and their desperation when my power wouldn’t manifest in front of them.
I shiver.
“Under the Daughter, with our new magic, our tribe was thriving. At least until the pale people came. Their leader was a man they call the Origin.”
Though I’ve never heard the name before, something deep within me recoils.
“The Origin was, for lack of a better word, obsessed with the Daughter. In the beginning, he took her as a conquest. He desired to worship her as a god, but he was overcome with envy. So much so that he went into the forest that eats and made a deal with the river himself.
“To this day, no one knows what he gave, what he had to sacrifice, but when he came crawling out of the woods, the tides of our power had changed.”
My hands tremble beneath the table as she speaks.
“The deal he made bound him to the Daughter. It intertwined the threads of their fate. Now, he could feel her power, he could taste it. But he would not stop until he could wield it, too.
“Terrified of what this would mean for our people, the Daughter met the Origin at the mouth of the forest, and she finally turned her magic against him. Until this, she’d withheld her wrath, because though we were powerful, we were not equipped to take on an entire army.
“What she didn’t know, was that she was walking right into his trap.”
I gasp, tears springing to my eyes as I listen to the story. I can see it all playing out so vividly in my mind, and it hurts.
“The Origin unsheathed an iron blade crafted from the land on which our people were made, and he plunged it into the Daughter’s stomach.
This combination of the iron infused with the power of the land, and the ley lines beneath, and the blood of the bound witch—altered by the influence of the Origin’s bind—spilled upon the ground, and in its place sprouted a strange, starborn fruit dripping with crimson sap.
“Drunk on triumph, the Origin plucked the fruit from its stem and bit into it, desperate to consume her fully. Though he was intending to manifest the Daughter’s power, what was birthed from this tragedy is something far more sinister.”
As Maureen tells me all she knows about these hunters, I imagine horns and claws, eyes of all black and razor-sharp teeth.
“These days, hunters come of age at around fifteen.
They develop heightened hearing and sense of smell, unusual strength and speed, and an insatiable hunger for magic.
Unlike the Origin, they do not need to make a deal to bind themselves to their target, they need only to make physical contact with an aligned witch with the intention to take her power.
This bind, born of the one between the Origin and the Daughter, shackles the witch to the hunter, and allows him to sense her, to feel her, to track her.
“In turn, the hunter develops a mark, a symbol that is only visible to those with the power to see.
Other hunters, marked witches, and certain beings with an insidious magic of their own.
Each marking is unique, and they are said to depict the threads of fate, intertwining the two lives, for better or worse.
“And once the hunter’s mark appears, they will stop at nothing to wield an iron blade forged from the land on which our people were created, to spill her blood upon the earth and consume the fruit of her power.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “So that’s it? All those women sacrificed their lives to save our people, to give us power of our own, and these men can just… take it? Use it for themselves?” My lips are pulled back against my teeth. So many lives lost, and for what? The greed of man?
“Not exactly,” Maureen sighs. “Our stolen power does not manifest in these monsters the same way. Where we are light and abundance, growth and intuition, born of love and sacrifice, an awakened hunter is something entirely different.
“Some covens call them shadow demons. Desecrators. Light eaters. By whatever name, they are the antithesis of the stars, and through the theft of our power, they wield a necrotizing, complex control over darkness, over shadows, and all the things that hide within them.”
I gulp. How many of these people are there? Where are they? The more she speaks, the more static builds in my core until it’s nearly bubbling over.
“What happens if the witch kills them first?” I ask, because I refuse to suffer this fate. I do not waver as I watch the surprise flit through her eyes.
“Well, as far as I know, though a hunter could bind and kill as many witches as he wants, growing more powerful each time, a witch can only be bound once. So if the witch were to kill the binding hunter, I suppose she could live out the rest of her days knowing she couldn’t be bound again.
“But, if a hunter kills a bound witch that isn’t tied to him, her fruit is a poison that drives him mad until he dies by his own hand.”
“And if he kills a witch that hasn’t been bound at all?” I ask.
“Well, I guess that’s just plain old murder.”
Nausea roils in my stomach.
Silence stretches for eons between us. There is nothing but the rapid swell of my chest, the sweat rolling down the back of my neck, the thunderous beat of my heart.
“That’s… terrifying,” I say, blinking. “But if there are these—these hunters out there, if a war is coming… why would Gigi wait so long to tell me this? Why would she leave me to deal with this alone if she knew how it felt? I’ve spent months drowning in this power, scared for my fucking life, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, and this whole time—my whole life—y’all knew? You knew I would end up like this?”
I slam my chair back, nearly hyperventilating as I jump to my feet.
Maureen clears her throat. “Honey, I promise I will explain everything I can for you, but you’ve got to control yourself.”
“YOU CONTROL YOURSELF!” I scream, pointing at her. “You show me your magic. You want me to control it so bad—I don’t know how! No one has taught me! So go ahead! Teach me! You claim to be like me, so fucking prove it!”
She holds up her palms like shields against me, her face crumpling. “Harper, please.”
“What?! You said you were like me. You said I’m not alone anymore—”
“Sweetheart, you’re not alone. I promise you’re not alone. But I can’t do that.”
My heart stutters. “What do you mean you can’t do that?”
I search her face. Is she even who she says she is?
“Fuck this!” I pant. “You’re—you’re lying to me! Why are you lying to me?”
Turning, I slap the chair out of my way and it goes flying against the wall. I pull at my shirt, there’s too much too much too much on me, near me, crowding me. My hands twitch as I bring them to my face, the static jumping from fingertip to fingertip, desperate for an escape.
I am held captive by the music screaming in my veins.
“Harper, focus! Breathe! You must maintain control!”
She rounds the table and blocks the only exit. “Focus on me. Look at me. Take a deep breath.” She models it for me, sucking in a long stream of air, encouraging me to do the same. “Okay, now let it go.” She purses her lips, exhaling slowly.
I know I should want to do what she asks. Should want to listen to her. But right now I don’t want to control my power. I want to let it consume me.
For sixteen years I lived a certain life with certain goals and certain beliefs.
All I wanted was to finish school and get the hell out of Pine Grove.
Maybe go to college and settle back in Earnest. Take care of Gigi as she aged.
I wanted to forge my own way in the world.
I wanted to see what I could be, and I wanted to do it with my best friends by my side.
But now I’m a Zodiac Witch on the verge of some ancient war?
“Harper, listen to me. You are powerful, but you haven’t had your catalyst yet. You’re going to hurt yourself!” Her grip on my arms has grown firm, her fingers trembling with fear.
I hiss through my teeth. Reel it in. I’ve got to reel it in.
I keep breathing the way she showed. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I slow my heart rate beat by beat.
I peel the static from myself, winding the gilded rope of power into a knot and stuffing it back at my core where it belongs.
In the uncomfortable silence that ensues, I’m still too overwhelmed and angry to apologize for my outburst. Instead I shrug out of her grasp and take a few steps toward the windows.
“What,” I say again, short of breath, “aren’t you telling me?”
She clears her throat as she takes a seat, her fingers drumming against the table.
“Harper, the thing is… it’s been a century since one of our coven has wielded magic.”
Her words are a drop in the void of my mind, and they ricochet off the walls like a pinball.
“I’m sorry… WHAT?”