Page 45 of The Blood Witch
Elon shrugs and lets out a deep breath. “She has brought us bottles before, but who knows what she’ll do now? If she really is planning on killing us all tomorrow night, she probably won’t bother.”
His words make me even thirstier, and I work hard not to think about it. I mime drinking a glass of water, as though it will somehow trick my brain, but apparently I don’t give my brain enough credit, because it’s not fooled.
“Do you think you’re the source line?” I ask, somewhat out of nowhere. I’m pretty sure he’s not, but I suddenly want to know what he thinks. Maybe he feels like a special snowflake too, and what I’ve experienced really is just normal. Maybe I’m reading things all wrong.
My instincts roll their eyes and throw out words likedenialandweren’t you that witch who was just telling someone to always trust their gut.I ignore my instincts’ very valid points and survey Elon as I wait for him to answer.
“Could be,” he states casually, punctuating his words with a half shrug. “How would any of us know if we are?” he poses, and I respond with my own shrug even though my insides are eagerly raising their hand and shoutingOh, I know, I know!
I look down at the now empty digestives wrapper. I study it for a moment, wondering if there’s a way to turn it into some kind of weapon. I was killer at origami back in my middle school note-folding days, but somehow, turning this wrapper into a heart or a flower isn’t exactly what I’m going for.
“Do you by chance know how to fold a ninja star?” I query, holding the wrapper up and pointing at it.
Elon looks at me dubiously. “Even if I did, what’s your plan, slice her to death with plastic?” he taunts.
“No, asshole, I thought we could play a game with it, but if you’re going to be like that, I’ll just entertain myself,” I snark, shooting him a glare.
“You just don’t give up, do you? You really think you’re going to make it out of this despite all evidence to the contrary?”
“I mean, I really was just trying to pass the time, but yes. I do think I’ll figure something out. I’m discovering I’m quite the optimistic witch. What can I say, I’m plucky and shit. Don’t worry though, it’ll grow on you,” I tell him confidently. “Besides, we can’t all sit around wallowing in misery, shooting down everyone’s hope like it’s one of those balloon games at the local fair,” I counter with a look that says,totally just nailed your vibe and you know it.
“Ah yes, the glass half full dolt who can’t see what’s happening until she’s on the altar, covered in blood while the ex-witch cuts her magic out of her. To be so free,” Elon gibes, but there’s no real venom in it.
“Please don’t talk about glasses, full or otherwise, I’m too thirsty to be held accountable for what I might do,” I warn him.
He holds his hands up in surrender, and I nod my approval.
I wonder what the phrase is for someone who’s sothirstythey’re angry?
Thangry?
Thirstgruntled?
A sipbitch?
I snort, I sound like a lush, but I just want some fucking water!
The doors to the church crash open. I pat myself on the back for not jumping out of my skin this time. It still came out of nowhere, but I held it together. Go me. I am shocked to see Jamie already. I thought she’d be gone for way longer, you know, with all the hell-fog-fucking. Guess even demons can be two-pump chumps.
I track Jamie as she stomps back into the church, and wonder if she has any other settings besides stomp and trudge. She doesn’t look my way as she passes me, and I get an unobstructed glimpse of her newest demon mark. My stomach roils at the sight of the encircled symbol burned into the side of her head. The parched strands of her tresses are now gone on the side of her newest demonic adornment. Melted clumps of hair stick to the oozing wound, and I cringe as she passes me.
“Are you ready, Leni?” she taunts, her voice brittle and mad.
I don’t know exactly what happened to her while she was gone, but it’s obvious that she needs to take some anger out on someone else, and it looks like that someone is going to be me. Fear swarms through me like a deadly hive of bees. My adrenaline kicks in to counteract it, and my hands start to shake. I barely have time to think of a plan before Jamie snarls, “Delio.”
I flinch, waiting for the demon magic to wrap itself around me and force me to do Jamie’s bidding, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Brianne is yanked from her cage near the front of the church and dragged savagely up the stairs of the dais and fixed to the surface of the altar. The Osteomancer doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t scream or release a single noise of objection, and I don’t know what’s more traumatizing to watch, someone who fights and loses or someone who gives up from the start.
I want to look away, but I don’t know if I can. What if I miss something and it was the difference between life or death when it’s my turn to be dragged up there? Jamie strolls confidently to the dais and begins to root around in the bag she brought and then left while she was off doing who knows what to bargain for more power.
A silver glint of metal catches my eye, and I watch Jamie pull a gun from the bag and tuck it into the back of her jeans. Next, she pulls out a large gold bowl and a viciously sharp looking knife. What looks like a large Ziploc bag is pulled from inside the pack, and when Jamie opens it and dumps the contents into the bowl, I suddenly feel sick.
How is this happening? I feel like I’m experiencing life on fast forward. All I want to do is hit stop, but I’m careening towardtrauma you just don’t recover fromat a breakneck speed, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Jamie’s gaze sparkles darkly, and I wonder if she purged the demon that forced its way inside of her or if it’s here, watching the show from her eyes. Brianne doesn’t move or fight in any way, and I can’t tell if she’s being forced not to react by tainted magic that’s holding her down or if she really is that far past caring. I’m going to go with the latter, because judging by the nasty look on Jamie’s face, she is not a fan of the lack of reaction.
She leans closer to Brianne and asks her, “Do you know what I have in the bowl for you? I kept it special just for this moment. Aren’t you curious?” she asks eagerly, like a predator taunting its prey. “This is your husband’s heart,” Jamie provokes barbarically, sloshing the contents of the bowl, the look on her face malevolent.
I want to scream at her, but I also don’t want to make it worse for Brianne somehow, or for me. I cover my mouth with my hands and close my eyes against the sight of the witch’s deadened gaze. I’m under no illusion that Brianne doesn’t hear every word or that somehow her psyche has fractured enough to allow her to escape this torture. No. The tears streaming down her face are a dead giveaway that she’s still in there. I want to rage, beg her to fight, do everything I can to make this stop, but when I call on my magic, the pain knocks me viciously to the floor. Panting through the shock and demanding my body give me more, I try again as Jamie starts to chant.
