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The witches’ screams echo across the chamber. I cannot fully enjoy their agony because I cannot take my gaze off my dead wife. The magic in her chest flares, trying to knock me backward, but it’s weak, compared to what I have stolen from her descendants.
“See them flail, see them flounder, see them face their deaths,” I roar.
“Stop!” cries a voice on the edge of my consciousness.
For the first time since the witches opened the sarcophagus, I am no longer compelled to look at my wife. I turn around to find my sweet Alienor at the door.
And she gapes at me as though I’m a monster.
ChapterForty-One
ALIENOR
I sway on my feet, still reeling from the shock of seeing the Boogie Man standing on the altar with shadows streaming from his legs and holding up over twenty witches by their throats.
Every member of the coven turns to me with pleading eyes. Wands litter the floor, and those who managed to keep hold of theirs can only produce tiny wisps of magic.
I walk into the ritual room—a space forbidden to the likes of me—and for the first time in my entire existence, the witches don’t see me as a burden, a nuisance, or even a joke.
It’s stupid that I should concern myself with their approval, but it’s hard to break a twenty-one-year-old habit. All this time, I thought they were my superiors. They acted like it, too. But the coven became rich and powerful from selling dildos made from living men.
“Alienor,” Grandma croaks. “Help us.”
My gaze is fixed on the Boogie Man’s stricken green eyes that glitter in the dim light. I continue toward him, my skin prickling at the brush of his malevolent magic.
I’ve never felt something that both burned and chilled, a mix of molten fury and cold malice. Suppressing a shudder, I glance behind him into the open sarcophagus. A mummified corpse stands inside with a glowing sphere in its chest.
I would bet my missing magic that this is Eleanor of Aquitaine, the founder of our coven.
And the Boogie Man’s wife.
“Alienor,” he says. “Wait for me upstairs.”
I shake my head. “Don’t do this. Please.”
The Boogie Man breathes hard, his beautiful features pained. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s prepared to sacrifice to get his revenge.
Closing the distance between us, I walk to the edge of the stone altar and into one of his shadows. The magic pulls for a brief second before slipping away.
“I have waited centuries for my vengeance,” he rasps.
He leaves the rest of his sentence unspoken. He’s begging me not to make him choose between me and something he has wanted with every fiber of his being.
Grandma’s death rattle makes every fine hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Do you know how you found me?” I ask.
His brow furrows.
“My mum died when I was born, and so did I.”
The Boogie Man rears back, his lips parting with shock.
“My grandma took some of your wife’s magic and used it to revive me as a stillborn. She’s the only reason I’m alive.”
His breath quickens, and his gaze darts to Grandma, who I hope is nodding to confirm my words.
“When witches are born, the coven binds our magic so we don’t go out into the human world and cause havoc. But when we turn eighteen, that magic gets unbound.”
