Chapter 22 #2
Charlotte bet it was Gertrude who took the power from the last in the Serea family and that was why she didn’t kill Charlotte there and then.
She wanted to sacrifice her on her ancestral grounds, so she could take all the magic from the Lysanmore bloodline.
She did it to the Sereas, which meant no witch family was safe.
With a gasp, Charlotte told Duke, “Of course. Gertrude slowed down her ageing process. It takes an inordinate amount of magic to pull off a spell so complex and ongoing. The Avery bloodline is vast, their power is diluted but I felt Gertrude’s. It was potent.”
Wiping her forehead, she said, “I think I know what to do.” Charlotte told Duke, who rubbed his nose against her fingers, relief in his eyes. “You knew, didn’t you?”
He purred.
“If only you could talk.”
He meowed and she smiled.
“I was told familiars aid witches with their spells,” she said slowly, a glint in her green eyes. “Will you stay with me while I try?”
He tilted his head, blinking slowly.
“Good. Because I’m going to face my demon, Duke. I’m going to stop her” With a shudder, she glanced at the gap in the curtains, the reflection of the demon in the window, closer than ever.
She just hoped she could make it back to my body before she took it from her.
After she gathered all the materials from the kitchen, she sat cross-legged in the middle of her floor with Duke in her lap, surrounded by a circle of black salt, and candles, the flames illuminating the symbols inscribed onto the parchment spell pages of the grimoire.
She breathed in a heady breath of beeswax, mugwort, thyme, and rosemary. The patchouli would hopefully ground her enough.
The air was thick with smoke, her heartbeat raging as she looked over the incantations on the page to commune with the dead. Careful of her intonation, she recited the Latin. “Eos qui trans velum sunt invito ut mecum communicent. Adiuvate me. Velum rumpite, sed hunc circulum ne transeatis.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, summoning the shadows that clung to the corners of the room. She took a deep breath, allowing the energy to coil around her.
“Fluat per me potentia tua ut inimicis meis imperare possim.”
Sacrificial magic was needed because the power witches had on their own was not enough, but she had enough on her own. She could feel the magic of her ancestors coursing through her when the candles flickered wildly.
Duke stirred slightly, his claws curling into the bare skin of her legs. A jolt of energy pulsed through her palms, a bubbling power searing into her veins, flushing heat through her limbs, erasing any tightness in her joints.
All she had to do was lure it into the circle and trap it there and get back to her body before it did.
The veil fell in tatters around her. Mist shrouded the floor, hiding the circle of salt and candles.
Swallowing thickly, Charlotte stepped out of her body, looking around at the empty room.
Where was the demon?
Slowly, she turned, knowing it wouldn’t come in if she was in the circle. Hesitantly, she stepped outside of it, leaving her body alone.
The temperature dropped, sending goosebumps prickling her arms and neck. With a shudder, she slowly turned, sensing eyes on her from the doorway. The smell of sulfur burned the air around her nostrils.
Breaths quickened in her lungs when she saw the demon again, but this time she was in its realm, and it was waiting for her.
Between a curtain of dark, long hair was an unsettling, too-wide grin and hollow eyes. Shadows darted erratically around her when she moved, her bare feet floating an inch off the ground.
Charlotte held her nerve, watching as the demon's eyes focused on her physical body, still sat on the ground, cross-legged.
Finally.
Whispers of Latin snaked from the demon’s black, long, pointed tongue that slithered from her mouth. The mark on Charlotte’s side seared with pain, and she dropped to her knees.
Panting, she wretched on all fours, trying to pull herself up but the heat in her stomach was so strong, all she could do was scream dry, raspy wails as she looked down at the fog.
Magic prickled her fingers and Duke’s meow pierced through the veil, reminding her she was not alone.
That she was anchored.
She couldn’t let her take her body. That bloody thing had taken her family from her and had disgraced her father’s name.
Magic flickered in her fingers as she turned herself onto her side, feeling the grains of salt under her elbow.
When she looked up, the demon was already standing over her body.
The demon’s long, charred fingernails grazed the back of Charlotte’s neck, excitement widening its eyes, the hissing increasing in volume from her smile that reached the corners of her eyes.
No!
Trying to crawl back to her body took every ounce of strength left in her. Reaching out, she grabbed her own leg, screaming dryly as the demon hooked its fingers into her shoulders, a cackle echoing around them.
It was too late. She’d lost. The demon was already forcing its way into her body at the same time as she was, her mind splitting with agony.
A whirl of an eerie grin and darkness stole her vision when she tumbled through realms, relieved when she grabbed her thighs, blinking rapidly.
The room was back to normal, her heart racing, mouth dry. When she looked up, she spotted the Smiling Woman in the reflection of the window, trapped inside the circle and standing over her. This time, however, she was frowning, eyes fully black.
Duke hissed as she stood and stepped out, careful not to break the ring of salt.
Her lungs ached with each deep breath. “I thought it got me.” Duke tilted his head, and she added, “I felt you on the other side. You gave me the strength to move.”
A sigh of relief whooshed past her lips. It couldn’t get her if it was trapped. All she had to do was not disrupt the magic there.
She jumped when three loud bangs erupted from the other side of the door.
Duke’s yellow eyes shone in the darkness, signaling that it was safe.
She was met with the darkness of the hallway when she pulled the door open. Glancing down at the floor, she spotted a wooden chest with gold banding and embellishments.
Lying on top of it was two small, rectangular envelopes.
Both had her name on them, written in the most beautiful penmanship.
Inside the first was a card she recognized from the grand salon. On the back was the word prey and on the front, Nathaniel had written:
You always have a way out.
The date was two days from now. He had agreed to her former request to participate in The Hunt, or as she thought of it, a deadly game of hide and go seek from what Alexander had described. He was going to let her try to win her freedom.
Carefully, she placed the thick envelope on the dresser and opened the second.
Inside, it read:
Please accept this as my apology.
Sincerely,
Your Monster.
Charlotte opened the lid of the chest, her eyes widening when she saw the severed head of Charles Eringhorn. With a loud scream, she dropped the chest, watching as his decapitated head bounced onto the carpet, his bloodshot eyes still mirroring the terror of his final breath.