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I gulp.
She’s talking about my mother.
“Alienor wasn’t breathing when we pulled her out of Faye,” Grandma continues, her voice breaking. “And there was no heartbeat.”
“A stillbirth,” Aunt Klara adds.
My breaths turn shallow.
Was I born dead?
“Then why is she alive?” Aggie whispers. “What does any of this even mean?”
“Your grandma wanted to grant Faye’s wishes for a strong daughter and didn’t have the heart to admit that she’d died. Instead, she took the baby into this crypt and used a portion of our ancestor's magic to resuscitate her.”
Every fine hair on my body stands on end.
Grandma stole Eleanor of Aquitaine’s magic to save my life.
“She opened the sacred sarcophagus?” Aggie’s voice rises several octaves.
The air shifts and I imagine my cousin whirling around to confront Grandma. I’m still reeling from the revelation that I died that it barely registers that I’m in a crypt with the Boogie Man’s wife. The thought that her magic is powering my life makes my stomach churn.
Grandma launches into an explanation of how she infused me with ancient power, but I can’t focus on the words.
Aunt Klara probably thinks I’m responsible for the death of her sister. It explains why I’ve always found her curt and impatient—it’s her festering resentment.
The backs of my eyes sting with the beginning of tears. Aunt Klara is no different from the Boogie man. Both of them despise me for something that wasn’t even my fault.
Anguish settles on my chest like a pile of rubble, threatening to crush my soul. If I don’t have magic, then I’m not a witch. If I’m not a witch, then I’m no longer a member of the coven.
Will they cast me out?
“Stand back, Mother,” Aunt Klara says with a sniff. “I told you nothing good would ever come of reviving that baby. She’s only useful for the most menial of tasks, and she’s now become a danger to herself and others.”
“Mum, you can’t just carve out a witch’s magic,” Aggie yells.
“You wouldn’t defend her so much if you saw the malevolent power I had to extract from your wounds,” Aunt Klara says.
“But what if she dies?”
“She won’t,” Grandma replies. “Alienor is strong.”
“But—”
“She should be lucky to be alive,” Aunt Klara snarls. “Stand aside, or I will have you removed.”
The tip of a wand lands on my breastbone, and hot agony pierces my heart. Then magic gushes from the wound, stealing my breath.
My eyelids flutter open, only to find white light flowing from my midsection to an open sarcophagus placed upright at the foot of my platform.
Standing within it is a mummified corpse.
As its insides glow with iridescent power, my eyes roll to the back of my head.
Hours or maybe days later, my body spasms, and I wake up with a scream. My pulse beats a rapid drumroll, making me bolt upright with my eyes flying open.
“Shit.” I glance around at my surroundings.
