The Thirteenth Sacrifice (32 page)

She could feel so much and it hurt. She could feel the pain and confusion of the people downtown as their energy, their very life force, was being drained from them. Tears streaked her cheeks. Bridget was hurting them by bringing life to Abigail and there was nothing Samantha could do to stop it.

Several others were crying openly, and she could feel their panic, their misery. They had all come to the coven like Karen, seeking something. They hadn’t signed up for what was happening.

“They’re dying!” Jace burst out, confusion and guilt in her voice.

Samantha watched as a witch to her left moved her hand with great effort and raised an athame, which she plunged into her own chest.

Samantha cried out as she felt the woman die, her own heart stopping for a moment before painfully resuming. The woman’s body crumpled to the ground and began to mummify even as what remained of her energy was sucked out by the group. The woman who had been standing next to her began to sob uncontrollably, but her grief only added to what she was sending toward the altar.

Around the circle several who had shown no doubts about being there shouted in triumph as the energy rolled through them and bloodlust took them over.

Maybe they’ll kill one another,
she thought with a surge of hope. And then a moment later realized that if they did, it would just aid in what Bridget was trying to accomplish.

As more energy poured through her, all her muscles tightened and began to vibrate. She screamed in pain and heard other voices joining hers. Around her the ground started moving, pulsing. A small funnel cloud formed over the skeleton. Dirt and debris from the open grave behind her flew past her head, sucked up by the tornado.

A bird fell out of the sky at her feet and exploded. Pieces of it flew into the tornado and the rest evaporated as the energy was ripped from it. The trees nearby shuddered and bits of bark flew to join the twister. The girl in the towel fell to the ground, writhing in pain and vomiting blood. Samantha couldn’t see but could feel the tiny molecules of matter that were separating themselves
from the rest of the girl’s body, called to rejoin the witch.

The rush of wind continued and more bits and pieces, most too small to be seen, flew past until the tornado above the body was dense and dark. And then Bridget shouted something into the wind and those touching the altar jumped backward.

The tornado dropped down, engulfing the altar and the skeleton and a roaring sound filled Samantha’s ears. Around her, witches were shaking with the exertion, bleeding from eyes and ears. Across the circle Jace collapsed and was subsumed. The woman to her left fell next and Samantha cried as she felt herself pulling the woman’s body apart, draining the energy and sending it on.

The tornado became less dense and she began to see muscles forming over the skeleton. Everything that had made up Abigail Temple’s body in life was returning to her and Samantha watched in horror as the body rebuilt itself. Blood vessels and nerve endings re-formed. Skin, hair, nails, eyes, teeth returned last.

And then the body was complete. Abigail Temple, just as she had looked in life.

And suddenly the rush of energy stopped. Samantha crashed to her knees along with the others in the outer circle. Autumn had fallen facefirst in the grass and lay unmoving. Samantha wondered if the exertion had killed her. Three witches some distance away from her clung to one another and cried. She could feel their grief, their sense of betrayal. She wanted to reach out to them, to connect, but she didn’t have the strength left.

She was too weak even to pull energy to help herself. Next to her Randy was moaning softly, his eyes glazed with pain. She hated him and the others. Murderous thoughts bubbled up within her.

God, help me!

From somewhere she found the strength to rise to her feet. She stood, swaying slightly, feeling like she was going to pass out. But at least she was standing, and no one else in the outer circle was.

But she didn’t have the strength to do anything else. Bridget stripped the cloak off one of the inner circle to reveal a young woman, clearly hypnotized. She wasn’t one of the witches. She was the final sacrifice.

While Samantha watched, helpless to intervene, one of the other cloaked figures slashed the young woman’s wrists. She started to collapse, but they held her up as she bled out into the same ceremonial goblet that Samantha had been forced to drink from.

She had no tears left to cry for the dying girl. She tried to take a step forward, but her knees buckled and she barely kept herself from falling. It was too late anyway. The girl was dead. Bridget raised the goblet to the sky and then took a drink of it before turning and pouring the sacrificial blood over Abigail’s body.

“Accept this final sacrifice in exchange for releasing Abigail Temple!”

The earth shook but Samantha managed to keep her feet. Thunder clapped overhead and a screaming sound echoed it. And the dead witch sat up.

Abigail Temple was alive.

Samantha wanted to run. She wanted to scream.

But most of all she wanted to kill.

The remaining hooded figures surrounded Abigail. They put a cloak around her and then she was lost to Samantha’s sight.

After a moment Bridget separated herself and came toward Samantha, a spring in her step, and a smile on her face.

I’m going to kill her.

Bridget stopped and glanced down at Randy. “Don’t just lie there,” she said with a laugh.

Samantha watched as Randy dragged himself to his feet and knew what it cost him. He was shaking from head to toe. His athame was in a sheath on his waist and the hilt swung back and forth as he tried to gain his balance.

Bridget turned to Samantha and gave her a small pout.

“I’m sorry you weren’t with me,” Bridget said. “But the plans were laid long before you arrived and disturbing them would have caused more problems than I needed to handle.”

“You should have included me anyway,” Samantha said, forcing herself to stand tall and growl disapprovingly. “At the very least, you should have asked my permission before using me that way.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Bridget said with a grimace. “I know it had to be unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant?” Samantha asked, rage rushing through her. “Being forced into something against your will isn’t unpleasant. There’s a much more appropriate word for what you did.”

“Oh, come on, aren’t you being a little melodramatic?” Bridget asked.

Samantha grabbed Randy’s athame and before either he or Bridget could act, she stabbed Bridget in the throat with it.

Bridget fell without making a sound, her blood spilling onto the ground, washing over Samantha’s toes. And Samantha let it. There was energy in the blood and she needed all she could get.

She handed Randy back his athame and he took it, a
strange look on his face as he stared at the blood on it. Then he wiped it on his pants before resheathing it.

Samantha heard a chuckle and looked up.

Abigail Temple was standing before her, a smile on her face. “I’m glad to see, child, that you have grown into the kind of woman I can be proud of.”

Samantha stood, Bridget’s blood coating her feet, her old high priestess smiling at her, and she felt something inside her shatter. She had failed. All those girls had still died and evil walked the earth even though she had tried to stop it. Breaking her vows, using magic, turning into someone she didn’t want to be—all had been for nothing.

Abigail looked down at Bridget and nudged the body with a bare toe. “A useful tool, but in the end no more than that.” She looked back at Samantha. “I’m proud of you for seeing that.”

The old woman turned and surveyed the rest. She raised a hand high and Samantha knew better than to try to stab her in the back. The first lesson she had learned about Abigail as a child was that the woman had eyes in the back of her head. Just hearing her voice served to unlock more memories that swirled around her, threatening to overwhelm her.

And deep inside, a spark of joy flickered. Abigail had said she was proud of her. Standing there, Samantha felt like two people, like she was literally splitting in two. Darkness clawed at the corners of her mind, scratching, wanting to be let out.

Her hand reached to her throat but found only the
moon necklace that was there. Her mother’s. And even though the gemstone in it was designed to help her focus her energies on higher things, it made her feel no closer to God. If anything, it was moving her closer to being like her mother.

She ripped it from around her throat and flung it away in disgust.

Abigail began to speak. “I am Abigail, high priestess of an old and powerful coven. I have heard you call for me and I am here now to help lead you. And with the assent of your high priestess, I will share that role with her.”

The cloaked figure who had been the one to kill the final victim gave a brief nod.
The high priestess, at last
. Samantha needed to know who she was. She took a step forward, but Randy reached out and grabbed her arm. She turned to look at him and he shook his head ever so slightly.

She narrowed her eyes, wondering again what his story was. He turned his eyes back to Abigail and as soon as she forced herself to relax, he let her arm go.

She didn’t know why he had stopped her, but he was right to do so. Despite the energy she had absorbed from Bridget, she was still shaky from everything that had happened. She wasn’t even sure she’d have been able to walk the steps needed to reach the witch.

“And now we will retire to my home, so that we might gather our strength for what is to come. As should the rest of you. Return to your homes and prepare yourselves. There is much work ahead.”

Samantha looked around. Two dozen witches remained and they were exhausted, battered, but they were listening. Abigail’s voice held a certain resonance to it that never failed to mesmerize lesser witches. In the
normal world she would have been described as charismatic.

To Samantha she was just plain evil. And there was the age-old dilemma with which man struggled. Evil at its very heart held a strange fascination, attraction. She could feel its pull, calling to the dark parts of her own soul. She glanced over at Randy and could tell that he was consciously fighting it as well.

Abigail moved back to join the cloaked witches, and as a group they moved away. Samantha couldn’t let them escape. She might never have them all in one place again. She had to try, no matter how drained she was.

She stepped forward and something hit her in the chest and pushed her back. She glanced over at Randy, but he was kneeling, looking at Bridget. It hadn’t come from him then.

She tried to move again and again was pushed back, this time hard enough to knock her to the ground. She lay there for a moment, struggling to catch her breath.

You will join us soon enough.
She heard Abigail’s voice echoing in her head. She was not welcomed into the inner circle, but left outcast with the others. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

I know where they’re going at least,
she thought. She just needed to let them get there and then maybe she could follow. She sat up slowly, pain knifing through her. She was spent. She rolled over so she could push up off the ground with her hands and feet. She straightened with difficulty, still winded.

She glanced around and saw the anxiety on the faces of the remaining witches. They were sitting in a graveyard with an open grave and a fresh corpse. They were feeling exposed and vulnerable but most of them were still too sapped to move.

Randy stood slowly and looked after the retreating group. Then, without a word, he turned and limped out of the graveyard, heading in the opposite direction.

Samantha looked down at her feet. Bridget was dead. But with Abigail alive it seemed such a hollow victory. Autumn had rolled over and was lying on her back staring blankly up at the sky. She was alive.

I should kill her. I should kill them all.

The thought came to her and she held it in her mind, examining it from every possible angle. It made complete sense. As she had told her captain, no jail would be able to hold the witches, no jury would have the clarity of mind to convict them after they worked their magic on it. And even attempting to arrest them would get a lot of good officers killed.

Besides, they deserve to die for what they’ve done.

She didn’t have the strength to do it. But even if she could kill just one or two more, that would be one or two she wouldn’t have to face later.

Her eyes swiveled to Autumn. Tears were flowing down the girl’s cheeks. Whether they were from the pain she was experiencing or grief over the loss of her friend, Jace, was impossible to tell.

Or it could be fear. Or guilt over what she’s done.

Samantha knew that at least until this moment Autumn had been completely naive about what was really going on. But now—now she had witnessed the high priestess killing the girl.

Samantha looked around slowly, wondering how many of those who were still there had had their eyes opened to what was really happening and might be looking for a way out.

She hobbled very slowly over to the altar, feeling their eyes upon her. She could feel their fear, their uncertainty
too. If ever there was a time to sway them, it was now.

“I can tell that not all of you knew what you were getting into today. Now you do. And having been a member of Abigail’s coven since birth, I can tell you that it will only get worse from here.” She turned slowly in a circle. Her body ached in protest, but she forced herself to move, to make eye contact with everyone who wasn’t afraid to look at her.

“You think today was terrible? You think watching them sacrifice a girl, raise the dead, and use you, your magic, essentially raping you, was hell? I’m here to tell you that you haven’t even begun to see hell. But now that your eyes are opened, now that Abigail Temple walks the earth, I’m telling you that you
will
see hell.

“That woman raised a demon that slaughtered my entire coven, including her. I alone escaped. I am bound to this coven, but none of the rest of you is. You are not part of their inner circle. If you leave now, leave Salem, they are not likely to hunt you. And for everyone who does leave, I will dig an extra grave when I bury these,” she said, pointing to the bodies around them. “That will assure that no one will ever come looking for you. Not even me.”