Chapter Forty-Eight
Twelve nooses. Twelve bodies. Twelve chanting mouths.
One desperate call to the stars.
One sacrifice made anew.
Days ago, a twelfth witch was marked.
Tonight she met her sacrificial end.
Tonight I called upon the essence left behind by Mama Mae, her blood and magic spilled upon the dirt-packed earth of the tunnels beneath us.
Tonight I prayed to the stars that their call was true, that our gift would be received.
That a bargain could be struck.
I convened with the many kindred souls left behind in them tunnels, their memories flooding me, their final moments, their fight, imbuing me with the power to help bring our wish to pass.
When the hunters came to the burning clearing, donning crimson cloaks and masks of night, the schoolhouse was in flames, and twelve women, one from each sign, linked hands and hearts.
They chanted through smiling teeth.
“Evil,” the men called the new Twelve. “Heretics.” Because who can look certain death in the face and smile?
From the surrounding trees the rest of us chanted with them.
We drew upon the power of the River.
Where we wielded earth, we traced the lines down deep, followed them to the ends of the mountain where they erupt, hidden in the deep gulch of Appalachia.
Where we had fire, we fed the blaze, sending embers flying toward the approaching countrymen.
Where we held air, we forced the men back again and again, buying time for the ritual to complete.
Where we could call upon water, we spoke to those of us past, collecting our ancestral strength as we got blessing after blessing for a future won.
Twelve women faced the Midnight Guard.
Twelve women.
For the Water.
And the Earth.
Fire and Air.
Bound by fury, they withstood the flames of our sacrifice, no fire hot enough to melt away their skin.
They chanted a prayer passed down from when our grandmothers weren’t yet free.
I could feel everything my sisters felt, see what they saw.
When the men held up their daggered crosses, we turned our powers against them.
I feasted on the fear that shone in their eyes as the Twelve’s feet lifted from the ground. As they rose above. As they took flight like the Cardinals who will surely come just as the Daughter foresaw.
One by one the Twelve used their powers to control the rope, to string it up themselves. But first they made sure to cover their faces, to show every single one of those men what was coming for them.
As they swung, I dug my bare toes in the earth.
When I closed my eyes, I saw stars.
I begged. I begged and begged.
Lightning shot straight through their bodies then, a beam of stark-white starlight that pierced through the clouds and smoke.
When it was done, I was hideously empty, and the new Twelve were dead.
But the bargain had been struck.
Now I can’t close my eyes without seeing them there. Bodies flashing in the camera lights. ’Cause white folk can’t resist the allure of Black suffering.
I know they’ll take credit for this in some way.
How sad the hunters must have felt to know there would be no blood spilled. No fruit to suck on. No magic to consume for their own.
You cannot cull what you cannot kill. And you cannot kill what is already dead.
For my baby, and her baby, and her baby, and her baby.
Because in exchange for twelve lives, no Lee Valley Witch will wield her power until the final Cardinal ascends, bringing forth the prophecy and ushering in the Great War.
Twelve lives for peace, no matter how temporary.
Twelve lives to bring forth the power of the Cardinals.
Twelve lines of ancestral magic to shroud the Celestial Cusp, to hide the lines from sinister creatures, ill-intentioned monsters, and shadow ilk hell-bent on destroying all that stands in their way.
That is, until the last Cardinal meets their catalyst.
When she comes, they will feel it. The wrath of us. The fury we’ve cast into the very soil we bled and cried upon.
When she comes, the combined power of the Four will unearth this ancient magic, will complete the rule of threes. They will balance the scales once and for all.
But even this doesn’t come without a cost.
As the magic left us, we felt it. The all-consuming absence of the thrumming, humming static in our veins. A hollow agony that will surely haunt us and the four generations to follow.
Let them believe the white man done it, strung us up among the southern trees.
Let them taste the smell of our burning flesh.
Let them pull at the blood-soaked roots and dig for something they’ll never find.
Let them heed the warnings of a traitor.
Rest assured Lucille’s deceit will not go unpunished.
Her betrayal was pointless. Odette had been doomed from the moment she was marked. And her body swung just the same as the others.
But the truth is, just as there is power in kinship, there is power in secrets.
Now Lucille is missing.
Thankfully retribution knows no bounds.
There is something no traitor could have warned them of. Something I haven’t told a soul.
In four generations, four witches will build an army for the battle that will end it all.
Four witches… and a Guardian.
Because the men that have hunted us will someday be betrayed by one of their own.
And heed this, child of my child, blood of my blood—if the last Cardinal fails to ascend before a century’s time, the power of Lee Valley, with all its hidden lands, will be gone.
Forever.
—Nora