The High Priestess (The Tarot Club 3)

CHAPTER ONE: A DEMON IN THE WOODS

CORTLAND

There was a certain tangible feeling that death seemed to emanate. It was a calling of sorts - something that spoke to those who walked on both sides of the shade. But the death of a Witch? That was something all too different.

The death of a Witch posed an opportunity for some - a blessing for others, and a curse for the community in which she had once thrived.

Those who dabbled in Dark Magick could harvest her organs within twenty-four hours after her death to create the kind of Magick that had the ability to shake through realms. It was for that very reason that I was here - not to stop them, per se, simply to see who crawled out of the woodwork.

The sideshow of the blonde Witch raging at the gods of old before me was an added bonus - one I wished I had popcorn for.

She was beautiful in her rage as her bare feet dragged along the moss-filled banks next to the river. Her hands shook, and even from this distance, I knew that it wasn’t out of sorrow - it was out of rage. Still, she did not cry, her white-blonde hair whipping around her face as the winds of the valley grew fiercer with each passing moment.

But such weather changes could be expected with the death of the Sociere, added to the fact that Jeanne des Montagnes had been the matriarch of this coven - even if they didn’t want to be classified as such.

My body stilled in the shadows, the canopy of leaves rustling, covering any noise that may have been deemed foreign. The woods were alive, filled with a string of creatures not visible to the human eye. Even the witches here would only catch snippets of what was plainly clear before me.

The smell of cinnamon and pine called to the Black Magick that was practiced here religiously, and for but a heartbeat my gaze was dragged away from the Witch before me towards two Meliae as they peeled their bodies away from the bark of the tree. It was a fascinating process to watch, their very limbs detaching from the bark itself as if the vegetation and they were one.

But it didn’t take long for the smell of Dark Magick and death to crowd their senses, overwhelming them with the need to either fight or fuck. I held myself still, interested in seeing which one they would choose.

They seemed to hover there, staring at one another in all their nymph glory, and I allowed the lust that beat against my pulse to unfurl, just slightly, pushing them towards the fornication that would now play out.

A little sex on hallowed ground never hurt anyone, and in all honestly, I could have used the pick-me-up. With the sorrowful Witch’s emotions drowning out all other feelings in this place, it made drawing in anything other than her depressive state a difficult task.

The energy shifted between the two Meliae, and soon the one with auburn locks pushed the golden one against the bark of the tree - the same tree the two had just emerged from. Her back melded with the trunk, her very skin once more merging with the bark as she arched up against the auburn-haired beauty’s touch.

In their lust-induced haze, they didn’t notice the Demon standing in the shadows - didn’t realize that I was drinking in their passionate embrace as I watched in resigned fascination as two feminine lips touched - an inhale and an exhale - an answer and a question. Soon, their panting gasps turned to moans as the auburn one knelt before her, parting her thighs as her tongue darted out to taste her. But this was no savoring experience, for the auburn Meliae was greedy for more than a taste, and even as I watched her drink the fellow Meliae in, my cock only twitched in my trousers. Years of lust and fucking in continuation had left me jaded, seeking the kind of experiences that sent most creatures running.

The muffled cry from the riverbank had me turning back once more, abandoning the vision that were the two Meliae finding pleasure in one another. Later, once the lust-induced-haze had dissipated, they might regret their actions - might come to wonder what exactly tipped them towards sex in lieu of violence, but by then I would have slipped between the shadows of this world and the next. Besides, regret was such a wasted emotion.

Silently, I pushed away from the shadows, softening my steps, blanketing the noise that the crunching leaves might make as I crept closer, listening intently to the low cadence of the Witch’s voice.

I had lived centuries, seen beauty of varying degrees, and even I could admit that this Witch’s beauty was almost ethereal, as if the gods of old had carved her themselves. But those old gods and I had never seen eye-to-eye. You didn’t live as long as I had without drenching yourself in the very essence of your enemies.

The wind stilled, an eerie quiet settling over the wooded area as if in preparation for what the little Witch had to say.

The land listened to her, and I imagined that if this was where she grew into the woman she now was, the very soil would have hushed her to sleep whilst the wind soothed her with its lullabies.

Not everyone was as fortunate when it came to being able to commune with the very land itself.

Her gaze darted back, her eyes scanning the shadows in which I stood. She may not be able to see me, but she understood better than most that some things were simply veiled from the human eye.

And whilst she may still be a Witch, her bones were deliciously human.

One of the Meliae moaned, a little gasp catching in the back of her throat - her lust - her desire, a living, palpable entity that I allowed myself to absorb through the pores of my skin as it permeated the air.

The Witch’s blue eyes hovered over the shadowy area where the two creatures devoured one another, and while she may not be able to physically see them, that did not mean that she was shielded fully from the sounds of their panting.

Her gaze hovered across the area for a moment before she dismissed them entirely, angling her body back towards the river bank. The wind whipped once against the fine strands of her white-blonde hair, showcasing her neck - her pulse - the goosebumps that remained there, right in the spot where lover’s lips often met skin, before finally settling down once more as if challenging her to speak.

“You can’t hold me to a bargain made before I was even of age, you cannot continue to punish me simply because I did not stay.”

Her voice was soft, but the wind carried her declaration throughout the wooded area for all creatures confined to the shadows and this world to hear. The Meliae did not halt their actions, simply ignoring her words entirely in pursuit of their own pleasure.

But I watched. I watched this Witch who seemed to move towards the music of the earth itself, the wind following her, offering her varying notes and crescendos - as if in answer to her anger - her sorrow.

Because whilst she was angry, she was sorrowful, her face forlorn, her body drawn in on itself.