The High Priestess (The Tarot Club 3)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: CORTED

MARIE

I awoke alone in my tent, my body aching and spent, my mind puzzling out truths and answers that I hadn’t even known I sought.

The bargain with Solomon had left me shaken, not because I didn’t think I could fulfil it, but simply because he was a nasty spirit. Although all the texts had painted him as a kind and fair king, my little dalliance with him told me otherwise. The man ran a harem by force and had ruled through will and power alone, wielding Demons to do his bidding, scaring his people into compliance.

It annoyed me that he had bargained with Corinne - had latched onto her when she was vulnerable and in need, but such was the way with spirits, they never came knocking when your defenses were high.

I rolled to my side, turning over the information in my mind, certain that the moon was lit over the fields. A delicious ache tugged at my core when I shifted, reminding me of what I had done - how I had allowed myself to be taken. My stomach protested, demanding that I fed myself - looked after myself, for a Witch could not survive on Magick alone.

I dressed quickly, emerging from my tent in the black clothing that somehow seemed too oppressive - too restrictive, but I wasn’t certain we would ever be able to change the traditions of mourning, not when it had been ingrained on the very earth we walked upon.

The night was hot and humid, and I held myself in a suspenseful moment as one of Marta’s girls came scuttling towards me, no doubt seeking my opinion or guidance on something. Julian must have informed them he was marked, for no one seemed to question the lack of his presence, or at the very least, they did not question me.

Had I been too harsh?

The memory of his lone wife sitting in the pew of the church as she scanned the crowd for a man that would no longer be part of her life had me questioning my decision. Why did she remain? Why had she not fled with him?

Those were thoughts and questions for another day.

The girl in question halted her steps before me, talking at a rapid speed that had me mentally chastising myself to focus. In the end, the only phrase I truly understood was, “Solstice d’ete’.

Merde.

How had I not planned for this? Not connected the dots? Had I been so self absorbed that I didn’t realize that the Summer Solstice was upon us? Undoubtedly, it would mean that the visiting clans would remain, forcing us to celebrate the Solstice together.

The heat was dizzying - almost unbearable, rotting everything in its wake, and somehow there was a rightness to my grandmother’s death occurring in such festering warmth.

My little village had somehow been swung back into the limelight, forced to host the Solstice celebrations. It was as much a joyous occasion as it was a time for criticism. The girl before me was talking about honey cakes - asking where she should set the tables up - how we should structure it, but I simply gave her a non-committal reply and promised to get back to her before I was moving, needing to flee from all the questions.

Why were they coming to me? Why wasn’t Marta dealing with this?

A few days ago, Julian and Marta had all but declared that I was unwelcome, and now I was being bombarded with questions as if my opinion suddenly held its weight.

What had changed?

Julian was no longer here, but since when did a non-Magick wielder born from average stock have such a say in how this village was run?

Quietly, I lifted a tin mug filled with the hearty vegetable soup that my village was well known for, picking up an apple on the way as I weaved my way through the fields towards the forest.

The forest welcomed me, sweeping me in, allowing me to walk along the trail where so many feet had stepped upon earlier. Some of the branches were broken, twigs were snapped, and I marveled at the cost the woods had had to pay simply so that the procession could see Jeanne des Montagnes buried.

I offered my apologies to the brush as I made my way through the thicket, towards the steel gate that seemed to meld into the woods themselves. Even after being away for so many years, I knew the way by touch alone.

My soup sloshed over the edge of the mug as I pushed the gate open, but I paid the mess no mind, for there, sitting atop the fresh tombstone of my grandmother’s grave was the Demon who’s tongue had danced along my clit earlier in the day.

He grinned a devilish grin at me and my body betrayed me, heat pooling in all the places he had kissed me earlier. But the heat that flared within my body didn’t take away from the fact that a Demon was hanging on my grandmother’s grave.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The words were a growl as I allowed my own darkness to rise to the surface, let the Demon see exactly who he was trifling with.

“Little Witch, we’ve spoken about this, that is no way to speak to your partner.” The green-eyed Demon followed it up with a salacious wink that was the epitome of infuriating.

“Demon, lest I remind you that we are not partners.”

The creature made a show of pouting as if his feelings were truly hurt and it only made me want to fling my mug filled with broth at him, my appetite long forgotten.

“That’s no way to speak to the person who knows how you taste, who has swallowed your moans, who has watched you fall apart mere inches from their face.”