“Give it up, Mother. It’s time for a new way of life,” Tante cries, drawing my attention back to her.
“Girl, power can only be given, not taken. Don’t you understand that yet?”
Mémé stands on the porch, a queen in the midst of a revolt. “You always wanted what wasn’t yours. Finally, there’s something you can’t bully your way into.” Mémé sneers. “Today you shame me. You’re dead to the Esçhetes.”
Throwing her head back, Tante Odette cackles. The earth quakes beneath her feet. “I stopped caring about your acceptance years ago when I realized I would never gain it. I will usher this family into a new era.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That’s the plan.” Tante Odette raises her hands, channeling the power of the eleven witches. Swirls of black power roll and coil like a snake above her head. Rage, unlike anything I’ve ever known, runs through me. Cristobal opens our link wide and lends me his own magic. I raise my palm, and turquoise colored flames shoot from me to the ground surrounding the circle. Her power flickers as she turns to me, distracted.
I walk to the end of the porch. “If you want Mémé, you’ll have to come through me first.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She fires a burst of energy as black as tar. My flame engulfs it.
“You will not ruin this for me.”
“No, you’ve already done that for yourself.”
She screams, and the witches around the circle’s eyes go white.
A guttural cry spills from Tante Odette’s lips as a wave of black flames shoots toward me, hungry and evil. I brace my feet, open my palms, and channel everything I have. The power rips free from my body in a wave of turquoise flame that stops her in her tracks. My breathing increases as she chants, channeling the other witches. I’m literally one against many. My heart pounds against my ribs, and sweat beads on my forehead.
My body shakes, but I refuse to give in. Tears flood my eyes as the black wave edges in. I hold it at bay. I have to do this. My knees weaken. Every atom in my body screams for relief. I grit my teeth. My spine straightens as an injection of adrenaline surges through my body. I cry out soundlessly, unable to form a word as I’m infused with the energy of the women in my family. I push out my hands, and the darkness ignites. Tante Odette stumbles back. I push forward, obliterating the barrier and demolishing the circle.
I hesitate, unsure how to handle Tante Odette. Bending her head back, she screams. Black smoke escapes and a millisecond later, Cristobal snaps her neck. I scream, falling to my knees as I watch the life disappear from her eyes. I wrap my arms around my waist in an attempt to hold myself together. The eleven witches fall to the ground since the link is severed abruptly. I cover my mouth as they rip through the witches with fangs. Blood splatters onto my face and chest, branding me a murderer. Some disappear with loud pops as they teleport.
Every death goes against my beliefs. Witches don’t kill witches. Should I be judge, juror, and executor? The council won’t think so. My coldness sickens me. What does this make me? Order is necessary. So is secrecy in this matter. I look over my shoulder at Mémé. Her voice is crystal clear in my mind. Being a leader means taking secrets to the grave, and losing bits and pieces of your soul to the cause. None of us have come out unscathed. You learn to hide the hurt, strain, and uncertainty over the years. This is the ugly side of things. All that power comes with a hefty fee.
“You have to get rid of the evidence that links us to this,” Mémé says aloud. This I what it took to bring my two families together. Family? I look at the vampires bloodied in the process of defending my family’s home. Yes. Family. I get to my feet and clear my throat.
“It’ll take more than removing bodies to clean this up. You handle the heavy lifting, and I’ll take care of the metaphysical.”
“And we meet back at the house.”
“Yes.” I’m too weary to fight, and I’m anxious to check on the girls.
“What would you have me do with your daughter, Mrs. Esçhete?” Cristobal asks.
“Put her where they can find her. Make it look like the witches were responsible and stole her power.” She looks away, unable to stand the sight of how far her daughter has fallen.
“In the cave,” I whisper.
Cristobal nods.
The knife turns in my stomach. How much was Tante Odette in the end, and how much was the dark entity inside of her? Does it matter when she invited it in? They’re questions I’ll never be able to answer. The image of Cristobal snapping her neck makes me flinch. We’ve won the battle, but I’m not naïve enough to believe we’ve won the war. We still don’t know who the vampire sire was. One problem at a time.
Chapter Seventeen
I hold the black umbrella steady as Mémé says her good-bye. The rain’s been coming down in relentless curtains for days. It’s an outward sign of the pain and anguish Mémé won’t allow herself to show. On the cusp of the equinox, the turnout is legendary. I suppose in death, she found what she always wanted—respect, admiration, and recognition. She doesn’t deserve an iota of the praise I hear whispered. I want to wreck the city of flattering lies erected in her behalf like Godzilla. She’s no hero. She’s the betrayer of the worst kind. I can’t stomach the lies being told.
Not when I was there to see the devastation. She had the world, and it wasn’t enough. How can you turn on your own mother? I never remember a time when Tante Odette was happy or particularly kind. Could you be born bad? Was it that simple? I’m not satisfied with that answer. Life is a million shades of gray, and that’s a cop-out. The longer I live, the more I know with certainty no one is who they appear to be. It makes me wonder about the woman at my side.
How much of her soul has she lost over the years? What deals were made, and with who? Is that my fate? I glance around at a sea of mourners. Who among us knew her? Are any of the coven here, waiting to pounce? The speeches are over, and the glass coffin rests six feet deep, completely untouched by the inclement weather.
I can hear the whispers. Poor thing is traumatized. I haven’t seen her say a word the entire time. Imagine what she must’ve seen. She’s scary powerful, taking on a coven of dark witches like that. Everyone has a theory, but only the council knows the details. I curse the effect of the bond and Cristobal’s blood lingering. I don’t need to hear the peanut gallery discussing us. A wave of reassurance washes over me. My breath quickens. They’re here.
A buzz spreads through the crowd. My heart speeds.