Page 70 of Mortdale

“Agnes.”

He lowered back on the seat, leaning on his knees. “Why would she want to harm your friend?”

“It’s not that she’d hurt her. As the biggest, most highly-regarded and ruling coven in Meridian, the Crimson Weaver stands behind a few…standards. They will excommunicate any witch that falls below those standards. Ethel was able to stay in the Crimson Coven because of me—because of a deal I made with Agnes when I was a kid. No other coven will take in an excommunicated witch—especially not Ethel who refuses to use magic. She’d probably have to travel to the Fair Isles to find any kind of work and do only Goddess knows what for survival.”

“Why did you tell me now?”

“I need you to know why I’d risk myself for what I came to do here. And I need you to understand that you shouldn’t stop me. Ethel is everything I have. I’ll do anything for her.”

We sat there quietly for a few heartbeats.

“You’re not as alone as you think you are,” he said, standing and leaving me there with his unbearable God.

“What?” I whispered at the stony giants staring at me. “If you have anything to say, say it.” Shaking my head, I stood. “That’s what I thought.”

I brought my gloved hand to my nose when the heavy scent of spoiled sugar hit my throat the moment I stepped out into the garden. In the summer heat, it had fermented into some sort of choking hot putrescine fetor. Alas, there was no corpse anywhere in sight. Only parched shrubs and dreaded flowers hovering with flies and filled with crawling maggots.

What on this earthly realm was happening?

Logan was standing face-to-face with the exarch a few feet away from us. The latter seemed to be displeased at the words that were being exchanged because a foul sneer was his only reply to my husband.

I swallowed, trying not to choke on the nausea. “What is this smell?”

Arthur looked around. “What smell?”

The sound of watering cans pouring water over the dried shrubs grew near deafening, pounding against my ears. My vision grew heavy, filling with steam.

Arthur put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

I tried straightening his skewed tie, but my hands kept slipping off. “I’m fine, vampire-man.”

And then the world tipped on its axis. Before my vision went all black, Arthur grabbed me. “Witch-woman!”

Chapter 13

Willow

Alow hum poured out from somewhere, pulling me into a nightmare I’d had too many times. It was winter—it was always winter. The air was so cold it hurt to swallow. I stood in the middle of the old orphanage quadrangle, toes sinking into the spiny shingle sediment. Each time I tried to take a step, I sank deeper and deeper into it, trapped there in a sea of bloodied feathers, a thousand black eyes staring into me.

Who’d put a malediction on a child? The words echoed, and I turned to see the headmistress standing by the doorway. A cursed witch is a jinx. We have to kill her, Agnes.

The sediment had swallowed me up to my neck, and I choked on blood and feathers. Agnes hovered above me, lowering to a crouch as she caressed my face gently, humming that same melody. Over and over. She watched me drown, bloodied granules filling my lungs with each inhale. Her smile was soft, gentle. And then her hand covered my face, pushing me into the sediment.

Shhh, a colder, harsher voice hummed close to my ears, and my lungs filled with the scent of bergamot and vetiver. You’re safe.

Sweat peeled down my brows, stinging my eyes. The one bare moment I could manage to pry them open, I saw Logan grab a man of some age by his collar and back him against my bedroom wall until his specs fell from his face and shattered to the ground. “She does not need it.”

“She is a danger to herself and others.”

“The only one in danger is you,” Logan spat in his face.

“I’ve been a doctor to this family for nearly two hundred years. You will not want to see what will happen to her if you don’t get this under control. She needs to be medicated or the same thing that happened to Cassandra will happen to your wife. I warned Heath about your sister, and he refused to listen until it was too late.” His tone turned sympathetic. “It can’t be helped. It is their nature.”

The doctor groaned when my husband shoved him to the ground, and said, “Get the fuck out.”

“That’s enough now,” Morgana said, hitting the floor with her cane. “Let us leave the poor girl to rest.” Her diamond-adorned hand came to brush against my cheek. Her sigh was grave as she murmured to herself, “She’s suffering enough as it is.”

“I’m not leaving her,” I heard Logan say, and then felt the bed dip just before I faded back inside the nightmare.