Chapter Twenty #4
Gertrude continued, cutting Charlotte off.
“Dalton is a clerk.” She pointed at the man standing beside Beatrice, his hand on her shoulder as they all glared at Nathaniel and her, murder in their eyes.
“He searched the adoption records of several orphanages,” Gertrude explained, “until we discovered your great-grandmother. It took some time to find out if she was the child given away by the Lysanmore witch, and when confirmed, it was easy to trace her descendants. You, your sister, and mother.”
Focused, pale eyes watched her, sending a shudder running through Charlotte’s torso.
“What did you do to them?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Gertrude took a step forward, but Nathaniel held out his arm, and she stopped.
“I hexed him, as I did you. It was easy. You didn’t even notice me at your sister’s burial.”
Her heart pounded. That morning had been a blur, as so many offered their condolences, taking her hands in theirs.
Gertrude continued with a tilt of her head. “Your father bore the same mark, before he lost his mind.”
“You evil cow!” Charlotte lunged forward and was abruptly stopped by Nathaniel’s hand.
“Careful,” Gertrude warned. “I am far stronger than you.”
All the terrible things she had said about her father after his death came rushing back.
Nathaniel cleared his throat, his jaw clenched. “What did you do?”
Gertrude white-knuckled the dagger. “It is the hex of a demon, The Smiling Woman.” She looked at Nathaniel knowingly before adding, “It will drive her to madness and heighten any rage inside of her, although, fortunately for you, she does not seem to have much anger.”
“My father was possessed?”
“Oppressed, yes, and it will happen to you too. Unless you come with me now. I can take it away and make your end painless.”
This was her leverage. The hex. Charlotte was already dead long before tonight. The words from her first night in the manor came back to haunt her: Death is coming. She had assumed it was a warning, but she never thought it could mean she was already marked to die. Charlotte’s world spiraled.
“Why not kill me right here?” she asked, taking a gamble with the witch’s intentions.
“The why is not important.”
“Oh, I think it is, else you would have stabbed me already with that blade,” Charlotte rebuked. “I would rather die than leave here with you.”
Gertrude tsked, averting her stare. “The Smiling Woman will find you,” she said, looking through milky, pale eyes. “It is a fate worse than death and if you refuse to come willingly, I will take you by force.”
“You can try.” Charlotte’s fingers curled into fists and Nathaniel stood firm.
Gertrude was wrong about one thing. Charlotte held anger, so much in fact that it consumed her from the inside out until her hands were shaking. Her entire body trembled when she looked at the woman responsible for her parents and sister’s death, and desecrating her father’s name.
For the first time in Charlotte’s life, she wanted to kill. Bloodlust spiked in her veins, magic pulsing from the ground as if it was seeping over from the Realm of the Dead.
There was not a hint of fear in her gray eyes. Charlotte intended to change that. “I’m going to kill you.”
Gertrude laughed, the sound screeching through Charlotte’s head. “I can sense your heart, dear. You are not capable of murder.”
The girl, untouched by grief with a thousand tomorrows, was now a woman rewritten by pain, ready to tear everything apart in the name of justice. With a lift of her bony fingers, Gertrude touched her obsidian, star-shaped pendant and said, “If you want a fight, then so be it.”
Before Charlotte could react, Nathaniel's fingers were already gripping the curve of her waist, pulling her from the path and pressing her against the wall as Alexander broke free and lunged at Beatrice, who ran toward the ballroom, but Josephine and the others had already made it inside.
Katherine grabbed Zachariah, pulling him as Gertrude stormed ahead.
“Stop them!” Nathaniel boomed as he held Charlotte. Her vision blurred as he pushed against her, feeling the hard muscles of his chest under his shirt tense under her palm as they watched Irene grab one of the Avery witches, and Zachariah another. Alexander lunged for Gertrude, but it was too late.
A flood of guttural screams echoed from the ballroom.
Nathaniel, gripping Charlotte's wrist, pulled her toward the closed doors, but the Avery family must have spelled them not to open.
He fought with the handle, before turning in time to see a witch walking toward them with her arms raised above her head.
“Run!” Nathaniel commanded, his voice edged with panic as he whirled around in time to grab the woman.
The icy touch of death pressed deep into her core, following her as she ran. She turned the corner, but stopped when she looked into the ballroom, her mouth falling open.
Sharp blades dragged across the throats of unexpecting guests, saturating their finest evening wear in crimson.
It was too late to help them by the time the guests realized what was happening.
With every murder, the Avery family siphoned the energy, their combined power growing stronger.
The blood hazed her instincts, and she tried to channel the magic that was slipping into her, but nothing happened. A wave of nausea surged through her as the screams rang out.
They were all going to die.