Chapter 7
Se préserver
CLAIRE
The word daughters lodged somewhere deep in my chest. I kept trying to process what the old witch had said, but it wasn’t making any sense.
“Damien and Diana do not have daughters,” I insisted, my voice trembling. “That’s impossible.”
“Do you want to hear the story or not?” she croaked.
I considered her with a weary glance. My mother had always loved spinning stories, but not the kind that would help you fall asleep.
She told the kind that made you want to avenge your bloodline.
Dark Witches were evil. Vampires were complicit.
And anything that didn’t bow to the light deserved to be destroyed.
Mama’s stories weren’t meant to teach me the truth. They were meant to keep me afraid. To turn me into the perfect pawn for her revenge. I wouldn’t put it past the old witch to try to scare me, too. Still, curiosity tugged at me. I was sent down here for a reason.
“As I said,” the old witch began, “once upon a time, Damien and Diana had two daughters.”
Steam rose over the lake, and I swore I could see images forming in the mist. Diana and her white hair slipping into the underworld to seek out the bed of a god. Then I saw pieces of the moon fragmenting like a daughter being born.
The steam sank back into the lake, and I found a pair of emerald eyes fixed on me. She continued. “The girls were lovely in their own right. Each talented. Each beautiful. Which was why they hated each other so much.”
She paused, enjoying my reaction to her story. She was clearly excited that I was hooked. Desperate to hear more.
“The eldest daughter, Rosa, was smart, very logical, and ill-tempered. She believed everything should make sense. Maris was whimsical and saw beauty in every little thing. It’s said that Maris was so precious to Diana that she gifted her with control of the oceans.
Her sister, who was always starting fights, was sent to rule the wind.
This angered Rosa. She wanted to be in charge of something more important than an unseeable force.
Her anger whipped up the wind, causing great storms. She raged just to destroy the delicate balance of Maris’s tides.
So, Diana gave her favorite daughter the gift of foresight so she could warn the people who lived where the tide met the sand when one of her sister’s storms was coming. ”
One sister, logical and ill-tempered. The other, whimsical and full of wonder. It should’ve been a beautiful story of balance. But instead, it spoke of fighting and jealousy.
Without trying, I thought of my own sister.
Sera. We weren’t like Rosa and Maris, but we were very different people.
By the time she was born, I was seven years old and already an outcast. With my silver lilac hair and lack of magick.
She was cherished by our coven from the start.
Doted on by her father, who rarely spared me a glance.
Mama never let me hold Sera, but sometimes I’d watch her sleep in her bassinet. Tucked in quilts stitched with moons and stars. And I thought she was the most wonderful thing in the world.
Her father died when she was a year old.
It happened during one of Mama's many missions to destroy demonic relics.
As my little sister grew, Sera became a hurricane of a girl.
Blowing raspberries at our aunties during her lessons and chasing crows through the cemetery.
She was like my very own relic. My moon.
My only source of joy in a home that felt like a cage.
“Favor,” the woman said softly, “has a way of making enemies.”
I bristled at that. I’d never been jealous of Sera, not really. Sera took no joy in being more talented than I. If anything, as she grew older, she became even more reckless—balking rules at every turn and daring punishment—just to take attention away from me.
It was one of the reasons I loved her. And one of the reasons I worried about her so much.
“What does any of this have to do with you?” I asked, emotion suddenly clawing at my throat.
“Everything!” she hissed. “Magick flows from the gods. All of the gods. Including their daughters.” Steam settled around her like a veil, cloaking her in a robe like a priestess. “Maris’s devotees became the first Witches of the Tide. And that is who I am. Imogen Thadashi. Witch of the Tide.”
Her eyes flashed brilliant green, and the cavern was flooded with light.
The lake churned, and hot water slapped against my knees, soaking through my robe.
I didn’t doubt that Imogen had the power to control the water, or that she possessed the gift of sight.
But magick didn’t make someone honest. There was a reason why she was telling me this story. I just didn’t understand it yet.
“If this story is true, then where are your fellow witches?” I asked.
The green light that had filled the cavern dimmed, and Imogen’s shoulders sagged.
“There was a time when the little goddesses and their devotees, witches of their respective trades, lived in harmony. Maris’s Witches of the Tide and Rosa’s Witches of the Wind weren’t fond of each other, but they knew each was as important to the balance of magick as the Witches of the Light and Darkness.
But divisions began, as they so often do.
And eventually, the little goddesses and their magick disappeared. ”
I raised a skeptical brow. “What happened to them?”
“What happened, indeed?” she repeated. “It’s hard to say.”
Now it was my turn to cross my arms. “I thought you were a seer.”
The old witch gave me a doleful look. “Seers don’t have all the answers.
At least not when it comes to the gods. All I know is when the war between the goddesses was over and the dust settled, the only magick remaining came from either Damien or Diana.
Without their daughters’ magick, the world became duller.
Less playful. Less kind. And so the Witches of the Light and Darkness blamed each other. Turning sister into enemy.”
I might not trust this Imogen completely, but I understood this part.
She was right. Our world wasn’t playful or kind.
And Mama had always needed someone to blame for the weak spells or my purple hair.
If something went wrong, it was because dark magick was allowed to exist. It was the vampire’s fault for always protecting them and living in castles while the wind whistled through our windows.
And I’d believed her. I’d blamed Bastien, too, in the beginning. Absently, I started rolling the horn between my palms. My thoughts wandering through all that I’d heard.
If Diana and Damien were so powerful, why couldn’t they make their daughters get along?
Why allow their daughter’s people to die in an endless war?
Only to let it happen all over again between their own people?
The questions twisted inside me, shame and anger rising, until I didn’t know who deserved my rage more: my mother, these gods, or myself for believing any of it.
“If this is all true, and the daughter’s magick died out, then how are you still here?”
She turned her attention to the rows and rows of seashells she had stacked along the rocks. Straightening them one by one. “By Maris’s grace and the power of my people.”
As she moved the shells around, the air grew thicker, making it difficult to draw in a full breath. Almost like the cavern had sucked all the air out. The white wolf growled. The brown one snapped his teeth, hackles lifting.
“I am the steward,” she continued. “The very last water witch. Tasked with staring into these waters with the hope that ancient magick will return to the world.”
Despite the sickly hot temperature of the cavern, a chill ran down my spine. The goddesses. The war. The intimacy between Diana and Damien, only for it to all burn. It all swirled inside me until my hands were shaking and I didn’t know what to believe.
“I’ve spent many, many years waiting for a sign of Maris’s return. For an inkling that the goddesses have reawakened and their magick is gathering. Because a witch is nothing without her coven.” Her attention drifted to me. “But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?
“What do you mean?” I asked, hands trembling.
Imogen just stared at me, the green light intensifying, until the brightness blotted out my vision and the cavern dissolved beneath the sudden roar of water.
When I opened my eyes, I had been transported somewhere else.
I stood on a rocky outcrop carved into the cliffside, where the sound of the waterfall nearly drowned out screaming.
Where the scent of wet earth and brine almost masked the metallic tang of fresh blood. A single tear rolled down my cheek.
But as quickly as the vision came, it slipped away, dissolving like a dream. I blinked again, and I had returned to the near-dark of Imogen’s cave.
“I think you know exactly what I mean.” She gestured at my pocket. “But if I need to spell it out for you, that will cost you your shells.”
The familiar anger that lived under my skin and on the edge of my tongue was back.
She was trying to manipulate me, just like Mama had.
The horn came to life, and a blood-red light shone from it, spilling over my hands and across my legs.
My shells. That’s all she wanted. That’s why she lured me down here. It was all for her own gain.
I stood, framed by my growling wolves. “It’s time for me to go.”
All humor drained from the old woman’s face. “We had an agreement,” she asserted. “A story for a question.” She unfurled her long, bony fingers. “You must pay up.”
I turned, determined to leave. “I don’t need to ask you anything.”
“No?” she asked. “Not even how to remove your necklace?” The question slipped under my skin and found purchase there. When I turned back around a thin smile cut across her face. “Ah. How the tides have turned. There is an answer you seek, even if it is not the one you should be looking for.”
The cavern seemed to be listening. Even the steam had stopped swirling.
“You know how to remove my necklace?” I asked, and hated the way hope had slipped in.
She nodded once.
I reached into the pocket of my robe. They were just shells. Useless things. Trinkets. If she could give me a way forward—any way—then the price was nothing. Besides, I knew how to make more.
I dropped the shells into her waiting hand. “Fine. Tell me how to remove this necklace.”
The old witch licked her lips greedily, so pleased with herself, before letting her eyes meet mine once again. “Which necklace? The bloodstone? Or the cursed choker?”
I stared at her blankly. “The choker, of course.”
Imogen dropped the shells into the bubbling water.
The lake responded immediately, spiraling inward like a whirlpool.
She dragged her hand through the water, urging it on.
I couldn’t look away, not even when she began chanting.
Drips of water fell from pointed stalactites, raining down on me.
Her eyes flooded the space with an emerald light so fierce it stained everything. The walls, the ceiling, my skin.
“In order to remove the cursed choker,” she began. I was holding my breath. The lace collar strained against my skin as my muscles tensed. “You must die.”