Chapter 43: Practitioners Of Negative Magic
A strong hand gripped my arm and spun me around. I was face-to-face with Brad. It took me a minute to comprehend what was going on as my two lives overlapped, giving him ample time to speak his mind.
"I don't get it," he snapped, angry and hurt, radiating it like a broadcast signal so even my demon shrank away in guilt. "I try to be your friend, more than your friend and you don't care! I gave up my whole life because of you, Syd, my friends, pissed off my dad, my coach! And what do you do? Ditch me for some other guy!" He shook he was so mad.
Um, what? Since when? It's not like we were officially dating or anything.
I pulled my arm free. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you." There was a desperation in his eyes that worried me. It went way past anything he should be feeling. Unless he was the kind of guy who fell for girls who stood him up?
"Not good timing." I felt terrible about it but I had way bigger stuff going on than him at the moment. "Besides, I thought you were with Suzanne."
His face fell as he stepped away from me. "Yeah, right," he said. "Like I'd jump into a relationship with another Alison."
"You were with her," I still struggled to switch to normal girl mode, so wrapped up in the mess I was in I could barely focus. "With the pops. You were a bully, Brad, just like them."
His head dropped. The anger drained out of him. I wanted to hug him and tell him it was going to be okay.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
I went to him and put my hand on his arm. The demon part of me grumbled, vaguely disappointed there was no answering blanket of power.
I ignored it. "I am too," I said. "Really. But, my family..." I glanced at the dark house, noticing the kitchen light turn on. I felt the draw of that life more powerfully than I ever had despite my best intentions. "Things are really rough right now," I whispered. "And I need to go back."
I turned away from him, but he caught me.
"I don't know what to do, Syd," he said, face hovering over mine, hands covering the developing bruises Quaid left behind. "Tell me what you want me to do."
"You have to go," I said as gently as I could. I wasn't about to let the Moromonds catch me with Brad. I had no idea what they would do, but I knew they would find a way to use him against me. I didn't want to put him in that position.
"I can't," he said. "I can't go, Syd. I don't know what it is, but there is something about you I can't let go."
I felt along the edges of his aura with a lump in my throat. Why hadn't I seen it before? Brad Peters, football star and All-American boy, had a gift. Not full-blown and certainly not strong, but a gift nonetheless. His power was latent, sleeping, but awake enough it recognized me and what I was. I knew it happened sometimes, that normals were born with a hint of what we had, but I never experienced it before. It was quite likely he would never be able to conjure magic, but the tiny spark within him wanted to be fed. Because of it, he was drawn to me like a moth to a flame.
That was the last thing I needed right then.
"Brad," I said. "You need to go, please."
Instead of listening, he kissed me.
His lips were soft, softer than I ever imagined a boy's lips would be, but firm underneath where they pressed against his teeth. His warm breath tasted like cinnamon gum. It filled my mouth. I melted toward him, not meaning to, giving in to something amazing and open and pure. I kissed him back. For that brief slice of forever, I forgot everything but the joy of it.
When he pulled away, I was breathless.
"Do you still want me to go?" He whispered over my mouth.
I didn't, so help me, but he had to. I did the hardest thing I did all night to that sweet boy who just wanted to be with me.
"Yes," I choked.
I don't think he believed what I said but I put it in my eyes, in my stance, in my face, in my very energy and let him experience that he wasn't welcome.
He stepped away, releasing me, head bowed.
"Okay," he said. "Bye, Syd."
It was all I could do not to call after him as he left me alone in the dark of my back yard to face the emptiness that had become my life.
I dragged myself to the bench, and cried myself clean.
When the sobbing eased, I struggled to pull myself together. But, seriously, what sixteen-year-old is in a stable enough mental and emotional place to handle that much crap in such a short period of time? I deserved a few tears, thank you very much.
But, I was also practical and knew if anyone was going to help us, it had to be me. No one else was going to ride to the rescue. Even if helping us meant settling us in a normal life without magic anymore, then that was what I was going to do.
I pulled my legs up and rested my chin on my knees, staring at the glittering stars. I thought of my mother. I scowled and sat up straight. I was not, repeat not, giving up that easily. I was a Hayle, damn it, we all were, and Hayle witches did not quit no matter what. I gathered myself. Even if it meant turning into Gram, I took her example. You did everything you could to protect your family, even if you had to die to do it. Or go nuts.
I didn't plan to do either.
What was that sound? The kitchen door? Maybe the Moromonds were finally leaving. It wasn't until then I heard multiple voices in the house, more than just Batsheva and Dominic. Something was happening while I was out here battling boys, guilt and fear.
Enough of this crap. I made my decision to act.
I stormed inside and down the back hall, past the stairs and into the kitchen, landing smack-dab in the middle of a crucifixion in which my mother was the target.
The room overflowed with people, a few of the more powerful witches conspicuously absent. Still, there were enough of them there that the power swirled around wildly as they struggled to focus. I knew then how much my mother's strength was the real core of the coven and wondered how long it would take them to self-destruct with Batsheva Moromond at the reins.
Speaking of which, she spewed lies with her back to me. I stopped in the threshold to listen.
"Here is your proof," she held out something to the gathering. I shifted position to see. Was that a knife?
The coven breathed as one. I felt a thread of subtle magic escape, sliding around me like the coil of a snake, trying to draw me into its influence. The demon snarled, sending the coil back in a snap. Batsheva controlled them. It wouldn't matter what she showed them, what they saw or heard, she manipulated them, holding them in thrall, corrupting the core to subjugate the entire family.
Or not, I thought. After all, not everyone was there, were they? Who stood against the Moromonds? What happened to them?
Batsheva turned as she sensed me. I flinched in horror when I saw Meira held in front of her. The protective spell slapped me in the face. Batsheva's bulk hid my sister from me, her presence glossing over the demon girl. Meira wasn't in any real danger or I would have been compelled to help her, but seeing her under the physical control of that woman was enough to trigger it. My demon screamed in fury and reached out, tearing through the subtle weave, pulling Meira free.
She ran to me. I hugged her to me as I faced Batsheva. I saw my mother, my weakened and empty mother, being held in a chair by two people.
I thought the demon was angry before. I had to shout at her to calm her down, struggling to regain control while the others watched, a cold sweat bathing me as I trembled and fought to stay upright when a wave of dizziness took me. Batsheva smiled in satisfaction.
"Get out," I managed through clenched teeth. "All of you. Leave us alone."
Batsheva turned in a circle, reconnecting with every witch in the room. "More evidence," she said. "The Hayle family are practitioners of negative magic and have been destroying this coven and all we hold dear."
I barked a laugh and felt the thread of her control weaken while my own steadied and stabilized. Even with her power manipulating them, the assembly knew us, knew my mother. They struggled with the idea, rejecting it. It was taking all the strength Batsheva had to keep them in check and I was getting in her way.
Too bad, so sad.
"What evidence?" I snapped. "What proof?" Not knowing what else to do, I pushed my demon against the veil of control where she clawed and spit at the power that kept it whole. "Do any of you really believe Miriam Hayle could ever be a practitioner of negative magic?"
I was winning them over and Batsheva knew it. She held the knife up again.
"This was hidden," she declared, "in the basement, buried under the statue of their unholy alliance."
I shrugged. "A knife? So what?"
She spun on me. "A knife," she stressed, "with blood still on it."
The coven gasped and for a moment I froze. She was making a massive accusation. The use of blood or negative magic was punishable by death. Unpredictable and utterly evil, blood magic sucked at the soul until it ran dry, destroying everything it touched.
My anger surged at the urging of my demon.
"You lying bitch," I snarled. "If anyone is using negative magic, it's you."
The thread weakened further, stretched thin as my demon slashed her way toward the power Batsheva hadn't yet had time to master. I felt the head of the snake grow close. I let the demon do what she did best.
She reached out with a howl of fury and cut it free.
Several things happened at once. Mom tried to stand, her hand reached out toward me while the entire gathering breathed a huge breath of fresh energy and flushed away the last of the control Batsheva tried to hold over them. The Moromonds turned on me, fury in their faces. My demon retreated back to me, still writhing in anger but more content now she was able to act.
"I don't believe it," Louisa spoke up first, shaking her head. "Not Miriam. Never Miriam."
"She's right," James moved forward as though to shield my mother with his body. His very pregnant wife Sandra followed him. In fact, with the spell broken, the entire body of assembled witches moved as one to form a protective shield around Mom, their faces angry and appalled to find themselves in the position they made.
"Enough," I heard that soft voice speak. My heart leapt as my mother, shaking and weak, parted the crowd and stepped forward. "I am perfectly able to defend myself."
I wanted to cheer and jump up and down and make rude gestures at the Moromonds but I held still.
"Fools," Batsheva snarled at them, at my mother. "You just needed to sleep for a little while longer. Now this will be much harder for you than it has to be."
"I'm taking my power back now," Mom said simply. "With or without your co-operation."
The family around her gathered and focused on Batsheva Moromond.
And then they froze, all of them, Mom included. They were motionless, senseless, trapped in a spell they were too weakened to break, held by their own anger and fear that brought them to this place. If they only trusted in my mother and resisted the call to doubt, they would never have been brought so low.
As a whole, they made all the wrong choices. Their insecurities stripped the coven clean.
I watched, feeling around the edges but unable to find a weakness before realizing their own energy was being used, like the spell that trapped the Vegas, to feed what held them. They would stand there, frozen, until released or until the very last whisper drained from them and they died.
That was when I realized I was free. And, from the clutching of the little hands in mine, so was Meira. I felt the tight weave of the protection spell Mom had cast over us, the promise to protect my sister humming to life, vibrating around me. The power she put into it protected us like a shield.
"Let them go!" I yelled. Both Batsheva and Dominic spun on us, her eyes going very wide with shock.
"Not possible," she whispered. She struck at us, but the shield Mom built held and grew stronger.
"Your power doesn't work on us," I said. "Now let them go."
Batsheva battered herself on our shield, furious, desperate to destroy it. I knew as I felt her beat uselessly against us the reason Mom was weakened and unable to resist was because part of her stayed with us, surrounding us, holding us and keeping us safe. My mother knew, somehow, that even she would be worn down if she stood and fought. She would have been able to protect the coven longer if she kept her magic. But, she also knew despite her best efforts, she would ultimately fail. She made a choice, to save her daughters, to shield us and keep us from harm, at the expense of her own survival.
I cried, holding my sister, knowing what Mom gave to save us, and clung to that part of my mother like a lifeline.
Batsheva stopped her attack so swiftly I swayed, not knowing I held myself tense and stiff. She breathed heavily, more from anger than effort. She turned to Dominic.
"Fine," she hissed. "If we can't take them with magic..."
She spun back to me as Dominic took the knife from her and started to move toward us. I froze, holding Meira, terrified. I knew the spell wouldn't protect us from a physical attack and from the way he held the knife, Dominic knew how to use it.
Terrified, over-tired, battered and beaten, overwhelmed at last, I stood there and watched him come.
***
