Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Beatrice’s ringed fingers grabbed a fistful of Charlotte’s black curls, wrenching her back when she tried to dodge her attack.
“No!” Nathaniel hurtled towards them, a snarl contorting his face as he lunged at Beatrice, his pupils forming into slits.
As his jaw unhinged, three rows of razor-sharp fangs emerged, plunging into Beatrice's neck with animalistic abandon, savagely tearing away chunks of flesh.
Blood streamed down her body in a gush, forming a pool on the marble below.
Her body went limp within seconds, and he dropped her with no care, leaving her to hit the ground at a contorted angle.
Charlotte exhaled shakily, the shock crawling through her, swirling the building nausea in her stomach.
The remaining witches grabbed a fresh set of humans and plunged the daggers deeper into their necks, applying enough pressure to cut through vocal cords, each hack motion spattering blood over their faces and arms.
The sacrifice's energy pulsed in the air before being siphoned by the witches who killed them. Whispering incantations, they directed incapacitation spells toward Zachariah and Irene, while Katherine was flung against a wall with a loud thud.
With a smile that didn't reach her eyes, Gertrude navigated the chaos, sending a shiver down her spine as she moved closer.
A loud crack echoed through the room, followed by a heavy silence. Charlotte turned to look around, her jaw slacking when she saw Nathaniel and Alexander on their knees too, unable to move.
The few guests remaining, including Charles Eringhorn, stood at the edge of the ballroom, their backs pressed firmly against the wall.
Under the flickering candlelit chandeliers, a woman bled out slumped against the piano, her hand clutched around her throat, the sound of her foamy gurgles filling the silence.
Bodies surrounded her, a mixture of limbs from where the vampires had killed the witches and the intact bodies of humans who’d had their throats cut open.
She met Nathaniel’s bloodshot, strained eyes as he tried to wrestle against the suffocation of his mother's spell, moving his extremities more than others, but not enough to break free.
Broken stained-glass windows spilled moonlight onto the faces of those who had been enjoying themselves strewn across the marbled floor.
Charlotte steadied herself after almost swooning from the lightheadedness prickling in her head.
It wasn’t the first time she had seen so much death in one place.
After her father had tried to kill her and had murdered Alice and her mother, he slit his own throat.
She thought they were the only victims, but it was only when she finally peeled herself from the floorboards, with sobs wrenching her chest, after she cried over Alice’s body, that she walked downstairs to get help only to discover the defiled corpses of all the staff that had been working that day, scattered across the parlor room, foyer, and kitchen.
They were all too far gone to be saved, just like the rest in the room who the Avery family had already siphoned. They were all sacrifices to give more power to Gertrude, who had left only Charlotte free to move.
With a thick swallow, she counted the remaining guests. There were just eleven, out of hundreds.
Bile bit up her throat. Baron Ellenwood and Baroness Victoria were cowering in the corner, their arms brushing, looking at Katherine, who Charlotte had briefly forgotten was his sister.
Charles glared at her through glassy eyes, suspended in the same stillness as the others. If they didn’t know her to be a witch before, they damned well did now.
“Now, dear, are you quite done?” Gertrude asked.
Charlotte jutted her chin, looking around, her eyes on Nathaniel’s for a moment longer than the others. She was sick and tired of always being afraid.
No more a sacrificial lamb. If she was to die, then she would not go willingly.
“Not even close,” she answered with a flare of her nostrils.
The magic began with a pulse in her core, traveling through her body in surges of tingles. A buzz of magic crept over her hands, her focus only on the energy of those who had died.
Summoning them was easier than breathing.
Fractures of gray spilled through the veil separating the dead from the living.
Throughout the ballroom, the ghosts of slain humans and witches materialized, their faces twisted in fury.
All, except for the ghosts of the Avery women who were killed, descended upon Gertrude, who was either oblivious to their presence, or simply did not care.
Glancing around, Charlotte noticed no one but her was reacting to the hundreds of spirits attacking the elder of the Avery family, who stepped over their bodies, unfazed.
The spirit’s anguish and pain rattled deep in her heart as if their suffering belonged to her.
They slowly turned their heads, hurtling toward her when they noticed she could see them.
Their mouths opened, but no words spilled in the Realm of the Dead.
They did not lunge at her as they did Gertrude, but stood around her in a protective circle, as if they could sense her intention.
“Help me,” Charlotte said aloud, halting Gertrude who stopped a few feet in front of her.
The ghosts linked hands, their residual energy, enhanced by anger, flowing into her. Tendrils of magic uncoiled from Charlotte’s core, snaking outward through her skin in a mist of smoky gray.
The power speared through her fingers. Everything magical in Sallow Manor, from the boundary spell that had been placed around the property, to the ghosts Gertrude was attempting to siphon, was malleable and for the taking.
For the first time, she felt strong, like a magnet for the power that thrummed in the vicinity.
On a sharp inhale, Charlotte took a step forward, the fury of all who Gertrude had slaughtered in her veins, enhancing every morsel of magic into something deadly.
Gertrude’s eyes flashed, the black in her pupils swirling. “I am going to destroy you for what you did. You left me entirely alone in this world.”
With a building smirk, she said, “I am done with this little talk,” Gertrude spat. “You are coming with me.” She grabbed Charlotte’s wrist and quickly recoiled when the power shocked into her fingers, charring them black.
Gertrude’s gray eyes grew wide, and she gasped as she stumbled backward.
Charlotte waved her hand through the air, snapping the paralysis spell on the room like an elastic band. Energy crackled, followed by the sound of heavy gasps that rushed into her ears.
Charlotte grabbed Gertrude’s arm, recalling one of the few spells from the grimoire that she had memorized in case locking her uncle and cousin in the mirror didn’t work. Latin left her in whispers. “Ut malum quod mihi optas, tibi cadat.”
Gertrude dropped to her knees just as Nathaniel raced to Charlotte’s side. Blood spilled from her lips as she choked on it, gasping for air, grasping the ground. A tug pulled in her chest and Charlotte realized Gertrude was trying to take back her power, but she couldn’t.
She’d never felt such clarity of action in her life. The power lifted her so high that she got a taste of how it must feel to be invincible.
Overwhelmed by the energy from her victims and Charlotte’s magic, Gertrude remained on the ground, glaring up at them both with eyes that promised torture.
In a heartbeat, Nathaniel sped behind her, both hands on either side of her head, and with a sickening crack, he snapped her neck, leaving her to drop the rest of the way to the ground. Her head hit marble, blood pooling in a rush.
Katherine lifted her dress, running over to them, panting. “Is she dead?”
“She could come back,” Charlotte said.
Nathaniel’s brows raised slightly when he looked at her, pupils flaring, holding Charlotte’s gaze. “I’ll take her to the cellar and chain her up. If she isn’t dead, then we can use her to find out how to get rid of your hex.”
Katherine nodded. “I’ll perform a boundary spell.”
“There is no need to keep her alive,” Charlotte interrupted. “I’ll find some other way to remove the hex.”
“Don’t go,” Katherine stated, grabbing her wrist when she tried to leave.
She shrugged her away, scoffing. “Don’t touch me.”
“This power you have—it’s temporary,” Katherine explained, wild-eyed.
Tearing off her silver mask, she wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead.
“It’s sacrificial magic. You’re siphoning all those who died tonight.
It’s immense and you’re an incredible conduit, truly, I’ve never seen anything like what you just did, but the moment you leave this manor that will go away.
You will be hunted,” she intoned, pleading in her brown eyes.
“I will not stay behind so that I can be killed. Especially not when I finally have the power to leave.”
A familiar voice sounded from the edge of the ballroom, by the doors leading to the courtyard. Charlotte spun to see Charles Eringhorn. For a moment, she’d forgotten all about the few other guests remaining from society who had witnessed her power.
“I knew your family were evil,” Charles shouted, and the rest of the guests fell silent.
“That will be enough from you,” Charlotte snapped, forcing him to his knees with a wave of her hand. The spell fell over him, and she looked at Alexander, who rushed to Charles’s side, ready for her orders.
“Stop the rest of them from leaving,” Katherine urged, pulling back Charlotte’s focus. “If you let them go, they will run to the authorities. Do you wish to bring more innocent people to this manor?”
She swallowed thickly, looking around at the carnage and blood splatters up the walls. Her limbs jerked unexpectedly.
Katherine bit her lip. “You can’t hold this much power for long. Release it.”
“It’s mine.”
Nathaniel’s voice floated into her consciousness, but it wasn’t out loud. It was in her head.
It’s not yours. It’s the spirits.