Page 35 of Hallowed Bones

Why did she have to appear now? The Salem coven would have ended with us. Do we really want to force this life upon someone else?

When I reopen my eyes, the circle is drawn. Salt, ash, and herbs. I bend slowly, lifting the match and tucking it into my pocket before reaching for the knife. With it, I add my final contribution as the last of the incantation tapers into the domed ceiling of the chamber. Striding to the first starting point, I bring the knife up and slice it down my forearm.

Blood drips, oozing out and sliding toward the floor as if drawn to the circle’s foundation. Shadows lick at the blood, flowing out right along with it. I ignore them as I walk the path that Cameron and Lyall have created for this. Reyes’s voice is quiet now, still.

I whisper the names in the old tongue, a dead language to the rest of the world. I was always taught to never use it lightly, yet as my voice echoes throughout the lair, venom coats my tongue and old resentment boils in my blood. Despite this farce of a ritual, the truth is obvious now. Haven is no ordinary human. Damn her.

A picture of the woman appears in my mind’s eye—crowding out all other thoughts. The curve of her cheek, the long sweep of hair the color of midnight save for the single ray of moonlight at the front. Her gaze peers back at me through shadows and fog, one iris the color of autumn leaves and the other a deep summer green. Familiar anger rises inside of me.

Why now?

The candlelight flickers as my eyes open, the wash of illumination across the stone walls and floors an answer in its own cruel way. The shadows stretch too long. The air thickens. It always does when They listen.

The shimmering of the world comes into vague view. The Veil appears—an almost translucent sheen of air that fluctuates all around us, between us, inside of us. For the first time since my powers awakened, I can sense the divine in our presence.

The Gods our ancestors worshiped, the ones that blessed our blood with magic, are here. After all this time … and I fucking hate them. If they were going to turn their backs on us all those centuries ago, then the least they could have done was taken their blessings with them.

I step away from the center to take my place at the watchtower of the north. Reyes to the west. Cameron, the east. Lyall, the south. We each kneel, facing the center. The knife is still clutched tightly in my fist, and I use it to carve a sigil into the floor. The symbol pulses with power as if it has a heartbeat of its own.

No one speaks. No one even dares to breathe. Then I do.

“We ask that you answer our plea.” Each word is ground out through clenched teeth as I delve into my pocket for the wad of bloodied tissues that Reyes had brought me days before. The blood has long since oxidized, turning a solid brown color. But blood is blood, and the spell will honor its sacrifice.

I lay it before me, but no sooner has it touched the stone than an invisible hand lifts it and carries it farther in—to the very center. Though we have not asked the final question, that, in of itself, is an answer. The dark brown of the oxidized blood liquefies and becomes red. As if it is fresh once again.

Wind whips through the chamber once more, cascading around our forms. My hair flies away from my face, and I light the match from my pocket and set fire to the circle of herbs and salt. The flame bursts to life, racing around the four of us as power lingers in the air and we invoke the question we seek in our minds even if the answer is something I already know within the depths of my soul.

The response comes as a whisper on the wind. A feminine voice reaching out because of our call.

She is yours. Save her.

The truth has been revealed, and it is undeniable. Haven Wardwell is of the Salem coven bloodlines. She is one of us.

Fuck. Me.

CHAPTER 14CAMERON

The truest blessing bestowed by the Gods comes not from our blood nor from the magic that inhabits our veins. Nay, it is life itself that marks their favor—the keepers, the bearers, of such sacred power are our women. From woman, strength is born. From man, it must be protected.

—EXCERPT FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNAL OF SAMUEL WARDWELL, 1690

The end of the cigarette between my lips glows cherry red in the shadow of the alcove I’m sequestered in as I take a slow drag, letting the nicotine high fill my lungs. Disease. Aching, sweet, relieving disease. When I blow out a long breath, a steady stream of smoke filters up to the sky that’s still clouded over from the storm that came through the night before.

Why did I kiss her? Better yet, why did I kiss her without telling her anything?

I contemplate my answer as I wait. We knew what the Gods would tell us—if they answered. Their response, or rather, the Goddess’s response is no surprise. It’s merely confirmation of all that we already knew. Ezra’s bothered by it. He won’t say as much, but it was clear that he was not happy about the ritual. He didn’t even want to perform it.

The tastes of tobacco and chemicals coat my tongue as I drag in another inhale and my thoughts turn to darker topics. The investigation of Jonah Montgomery’s death has stalled. I was annoyed that the others hadn’t immediately told me, but that irritation has faded as time has stretched on. Classes have restarted, and people are going back to their lives.

Life and death. I think about what I told Haven. The cycle of life is just like this. It makes me wonder why people even try if they’re bound to die. What’s the point of it all if we all end up in the Veil?

Footsteps echo around the corner, and I curse silently as I realize I’ve let my mind drift. Dropping the half-smoked cig to the ground and crushing it beneath my shoe, I wave away the last of the smoke from my face. Pushing up the centered nosepiece of my wire-rimmed glasses, I step out of the alcove and turn toward the one I’ve been waiting for.

Haven barrels around the side of the corridor, her arms laden down with books and her bag hanging haphazardly off one shoulder. She doesn’t see me. Then I call her name, and she comes to a halting stop.

She’s just as beautiful as the day I kissed her. Perhaps more so now because I know what she tastes like—the forbidden fruit. Now no longer forbidden but just as sweet.

How might she respond if I were to take her for myself? Just temporarily … I know I’ll need to share her with the others. Eventually. But for now, I could have her all to myself. Hold her close, feel the music of her magic buried beneath her skin and let her feel mine. I’d protect her, of course. She’d be safe with me. Perhaps, even … happy. I could show her what it’s like to be able to rely on someone who understands the darkest and most terrifying parts of yourself.