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They too often risked exposure by picking off human virgins for sacrifices, but they’d long ago agreed to only two or three of those per decade, and they hunted various neighboring towns, not ours. Despite our different philosophies and general dislike of each other, we lived in peace.
“No,” Mara said. “You haven’t, but your coven bows to the High Witch.”
A shiver ran down my spine. My shield wavered.
“You want to challenge the High Witch Cordelia?” I whispered. Just saying the words felt dangerous.
Mara grinned and flashed her jagged teeth.
“I’m challenging the whole damn court,” she explained and cackled. “We are witches—we shouldn’t cower at the feet of human filth like our ancestors in Salem. It’s time for redemption.”
My heart thudded erratically, and my vision blurred. This was so much worse than I’d ever imagined. If Mara’s efforts caught the attention of the High Witch, or any member of her court, the whole town could be decimated. My coven and I would certainly be guilty by association. If any humans became suspicious, they’d be dead too. If Mara was willing to kill off her own kind, she certainly wouldn’t hesitate to share that I’d exposed Walker to the truth.
A darker thought paralyzed me.
Did Mara kill my mother?
As silence stretched, Walker stared at me.
“And you’ll kill whoever stands in your way,” I added.
“I’ll kill whoever it takes,” she agreed. “Now, I’ve had enough of this chatter.”
She beckoned at her cohorts and glanced behind her.
“C’mon, sisters!” she called. “It’s time to get to work.”
Chapter Eight
Walker
Werewolves—I can handle, but Satanists? This day had become too much. Even Freya was frightened. Though coiled into fists at her sides, her hands still shook, and her eyes searched the forest relentlessly. Clouds polluted the once bright sky and even the breeze had slowed, as if it too were afraid of the monstrous creatures we faced.
The witch—Mara, Freya had called her—was ageless. Her hair was coarse and gray, yet her features remained soft. Her eyes were endless pits. Like witnessing a bad car wreck, I wanted to stare into them and look away all at once. Her shoes were ridiculous.
You’d have to be magical to hike in heels like that, I thought, or crazy enough to worship Lucifer.
“I’ll kill whoever it takes,” Mara said. “Now, I’ve had enough of this chatter.” She spoke as if we’d met up for a friendly lunch.
Freya’s forcefield of wind nearly drowned out all the sound outside our bubble, but not quite. A hum filled the air, which I now suspected was a sign of magic. Arion paced and hissed relentlessly.
“C’mon, sisters!” Mara called. “It’s time to get to work.”
A louder, shriller hum flooded my ears. It filtered past Freya’s shield and gave me a splitting headache in no time. I wrenched my gun from its holster and tried to ignore that I pulled it on actual people.
Well, on things that look like people.
Freya had tried to prepare me for the dangers of this mission, but judging by her own shakiness, preparing to kill and actually killing were two distinctly different acts.
More witches stepped out of the shadows in the forest. There were at least twelve of them. All of them wore black, skimpy dresses similar to the one Mara wore and the same outrageously tall and narrow shoes.
Their skin tones varied greatly, but none of them appeared to have seen the sun in ages. They squinted against the light. Their ashy skin became even duller under its shine. All their eyes were the same inky black. They surrounded us in a circle and clasped their bony hands together. Though I couldn’t discern what they said, their lips moved rapidly.
“I can’t shoot with the shield in the way,” I told Freya.
“If I let it down,” she argued, “they’ll have a million assault spells coming right for our heads.”
The force field shook. Freya toyed with her necklaces and swallowed loudly.
