Page 37 of The Blood Witch
He’s lost a little weight, and he’s dirty and exhausted looking. Elon manages to keep his balance and stay on his feet after being pushed again. But the woman walking a step behind him isn’t so lucky. She hits the ground hard, a painful groan escaping her lips, and dark blue eyes look over at me pleadingly as she struggles to get back on her feet.
I look at the third person, the one roughing them up, and I have to swallow down my shock as I take her in. She’s older than me by a handful of years, and it’s clear she was once beautiful. It’s also clear that things took a turn for the worse somewhere along the way. Her light teal eyes are a unique color, but they’re lacking light and happiness in their depths, instead they glint flat and cruel as she looks down at the older woman on the ground like she’s vermin. Her hair is a rich strawberry blonde, but it’s not lustrous and healthy, it’s dry straw and brittle. She has pale porcelain skin, but none of this is what’s making my stomach churn and my pulse race uncontrollably with fear. What’s doing that is the fact that she’s marred with more demon marks than I knew one person could ever acquire.
The marks look raw and painful. A circle with some kind of symbol I can’t identify is practically branded all over her. She has a mark on each cheek, one in the center of her forehead, and a trail of brands down the front of her throat. Her clothes cover up the rest of her skin, and I can only wonder how many barters and vows she carries all over her flesh.
I stop myself from looking down at Rogan’s mark on my wrist, knowing there’s nothing similar between them. I wear this vow as a reminder that I’m owed something. But demon marks work differently. I don’t know a ton about their race, but I do know that when you wear a demon brand, it’s because you owethemsomething. Horror fills me as I take the woman in. She’s scarred so heavily, and I can’t even imagine what she’s traded to earn so many markings, or begin to comprehend why a demon would have bargained with her so much.
“Fweto,” the marked woman snarls, and with a scream, the witch on the floor goes careening across the stone and rolls into the cage of symbols that have been carved into the ground. She screams as she crosses the threshold of engravings, and I can only imagine she’s experiencing that awful burning I did when I tried to use my magic inside this barrier.
The branded woman’s marks light up like lava is flowing within them. A pained hiss escapes her mouth, and she closes her eyes until the marks deaden, the fire burning in them subsiding. When she peels her lids back, her eerie teal eyes land on me. Her gaze widens with surprise, like she hadn’t noticed me until now, and it makes me wonder how dull her senses are from the pain she must constantly be in with all those demon-forged wounds covering her.
“Finally,” she sighs, relieved, rubbing a finger over the symbol burned into the middle of her forehead. “I thought I was going to have to rip that building open and pull you out myself. But I’m glad you finally came to your senses,” she tells me as though I’m somehow here voluntarily.
I’m not sure what to make of that statement, so I stay quiet.
“Nahdugh,” she snaps, and Elon steps into his own cage of symbols, only they don’t seem to burn him like they did the other woman. When he crosses them, the red-hot-looking binds on his wrists disappear, and he rubs at his arms before moving over to where the wall meets the floor. He sits down, his back pressed against the stone blocks behind him and watches the scarred woman as she once again bites back what looks like pain. Does it hurt her to use magic?
I’m bothered by how resigned Elon is. There’s no fight in him. He seems more like a beaten dog who’s trying to go unnoticed. Maybe it’s an act, but I worry that it’s not.
I stop myself from instinctually reaching out with magic to get a sense of this woman, witch to witch. I want to gauge exactly what I’m up against, but I’m not going to do anything that makes the symbols all around me bitch-slap me with pain again. Not yet, anyway. It’s obvious that using her abilities is brutal for her, but I’m not sure exactly why that is. Did someone do this to her?
“My apologies for not being here to greet you,” she offers, stepping closer to the line of symbols separating me from possible freedom. “But someone had to pee, and then she tried to make a run for it,” she half shouts, half snarls, her ruthless gaze flashing over to the woman she threw in her cage. “Didn’t even bat an eye at leaving Prince Kendrick behind, did she?” she points out, eyeing Elon with a taunting smirk. “But we caught her, didn’t we? I’ve gotten good at the hunt these days; stupid bitch should know that by now,” she grumbles, and I get the impression she’s talking more to herself than to anyone else.
“Worse than puppies, I tell you,” she jokes, a vicious giggle punctuating her mocking words. “Now you’ll all get buckets,” she declares as though she’s speaking to a bigger audience than just the three of us. “And if you don’t like it, blame that one,” she growls, gesturing to the witch who’s huddled on the floor, shaking.
The odd woman’s creepy eyes seem to fix on nothing for a moment too long before she blinks and seems to come back to the here and now, a sadistic smile spread across her demon-marked face.
Oh yeah, this one’s a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
“But where are my manners?” she playfully chastises, as though we’re acquaintances and niceties are required. “I’m Jamie, Jamie Smelser,” she announces, her smile now beaming and making the skin around her demon marks crack. “Welcome, Lennox—or should I call you Leni like you prefer?” she asks, cupping her hand against her mouth like she’s telling me a secret. The giggle that escapes her is far past unhinged and bouncing around certifiably psycho territory.
“Are you related to Nikki Smelser? Is she here?” I ask, interrupting the mind-humping she’s doing to her thoughts. I probably shouldn’t interject on the crazy person’s thought-gasm, but it doesn’t sound like I’m working with a lot of time here, and I’d love some answers before this mental case does whatever she’s planning on doing.
“Nikki’s my cousin, and she’s outside with the others,” Jamie informs me casually as she looks around the inside of the church like she’s making a to-do list.
My stomach falls with the news that there are others. I liked the odds of a mano-a-mano type of situation;otherscomplicates things.
“Why am I here?” I ask, grateful that my tone is even and strong and not reflecting just how scared I really am.
“Well, Leni...I’d like to welcome you to the death of your magic as you know it,” she declares enthusiastically, arms flinging out at her sides and spinning as though she’s the ringmaster introducing an exciting new show to a crowd of eager spectators.
I watch her spin, head back, eyes closed, with a wide happy smile on her face like she’s dancing in the rain and embracing the downpour. Trepidation bubbles up inside of me as I observe her. There’s no question about it, I’m not dealing with someone who’s all there. This is a level of crazy I have no idea how to navigate.
I wish—not for the first time—that I had my phone. One, to call for help. And two, because I’d already be sending a picture of this psycho to the Order, accompanied by a message that says:still think my dead grandmother is behind this, dumbasses?I knew they were wrong, felt it in my bones the entire time. And if I ever get out of here, the vindication is going to be sweet. I’m going to make them send me an apology card every year on the anniversary of Grammy Ruby’s death, saying:Sorry we’re dumb and didn’t listen. Osteomancers rule, and the Order drools.
“Ahh, I feel the moon. Do you feel the moon, Leni?” Jamie asks me, pulling me from my internaltold you socelebrations to discover her staring at me with a disturbingly serene look on her face. I feel like I just made her year.
Sure as fuck wish I could say the same about meeting her.
Despite it still being daytime, I look up at the ceiling as though I can see the celestial body she’s cooing about, but of course, all I see is old dirty beams and the roof.
“You came at theperfecttime, Osteomancer. The harvest moon is just a day away, and finally...finally,” she repeats reverently, “what was taken will be mine again.”
I open my mouth to ask where I am, but Jamie turns on her heel and walks out of the church without another word. I hear her growl an incantation, and the next thing I know, the doors leading into the church slam closed with a bone jarring boom. Dust rains down on me again from above, and I cover my head and do my best to protect myself from anything more damaging that might come loose from the precariously old structure all around me.
I stare at where Jamie was just standing for a moment before turning to the two other witches now trapped in this hell hole with me.
“What is going on?” I ask no one in particular, dropping my raised arms and wrapping them securely around my bent knees.
