Chapter 34
Gwyn was no expert on dark magic, but she was pretty sure nothing good ever came of being tied down on a black stone table with a bunch of people in scary robes standing around you.
Her head still woozy from whatever spell it was they’d used on her, Gwyn tested her bonds, but given that they were silver chains, she wasn’t surprised to see there wasn’t much give there, and she flopped back onto the table with a sigh, fighting to keep the panic down.
If ever there was a time to panic, surely this is it, she reasoned, but if she panicked, then she couldn’t think, and if she couldn’t think, she couldn’t get out of this, and she really needed to get out of this.
“So I guess all that stuff about getting kicked out for glamours was real bullshit, huh?” she called out, and from somewhere behind her head, she heard Morgan chuckle.
“We got lunchroom duty for the glamours,” she said. “It was the blood magic that got us kicked out.”
“Yeah, they’re really strict about that kind of thing,” Gwyn said, rattling her chains. “Can’t imagine why. Although to be honest, I never saw the appeal. I mean, might you get a little more power? Yes. Is it also icky and super evil? Another yes!”
“We wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
That was Harrison, down near her foot. They were in the attic, Gwyn realized now, seeing the looming shape of the iron maiden behind him.
Great.
“There are limits to what magic can do,” he went on, “but if you’re willing to go further, to bleed, those limits disappear. Anything becomes possible. Building entire cities out of nothing, creating universes.”
“Right, but you’re not going to be the one to bleed, are you?” Gwyn asked.
“No,” Rosa said, stepping forward, her dark eyes surprisingly compassionate as she looked down at Gwyn. “But then, none of us have a powerful witch like Aelwyd Jones in our bloodline.”
“I was sincere about wanting to help you get your magic back, Gwyn,” Morgan said. “It would’ve been better if you’d had it.”
“Which is why you invited me to come hang out in this fucking attic,” Gwyn said, remembering their conversation outside the town hall.
“I did. But then Harrison realized we’d need to do the ritual before Samhain, and we were running out of time. It had to be now, during the new moon.”
Morgan gestured to the dark sky beyond the attic window. “And while your magic may be gone, it’s still Aelwyd’s blood in your veins. When we spill it, her power becomes ours. Graves Glen becomes ours, and with an entire town to draw from?”
She spread her hands wide. “We’re unstoppable.”
“I really don’t think it works like that,” Gwyn said, and Morgan frowned now, her dark eyes sharp.
“I think we might know better than you on this, Gwyn. We’ve all spent the past ten years steeping in magic while you’ve been here, hocking toys to tourists. I’ve collected some of the most powerful talismans in the world, all for this.”
Gwyn lifted her head just enough to look around, taking in the paintings, the thumbscrews, all that other terrifying shit she and Wells had seen. So that’s what that was all about. These things were infused with dark magic, strengthening Morgan’s own evil powers.
“If you want, we can enchant you first,” Rosa offered. “So it won’t hurt.”
Gwyn almost laughed at that. Or maybe sobbed. “Right. Like I’m at the dentist and not . . . whatever the hell this is.”
Morgan laid a hand on her forehead, her skin clammy and cold. “It will be over quickly, I promise,” she said. “We don’t take any pleasure in causing pain. But we learned last time that too little blood might as well be none. So we’re going to need all of yours.”
The fear Gwyn had been trying so hard to keep down squirmed back up now, making her tremble just a little. Even with her magic, this group might be too much for her, but without it?
Closing her eyes, Gwyn took deep breaths as Morgan and the others began moving closer. Whatever enchantment Rosa had promised her was clearly starting to work because she could feel a kind of heaviness slipping into her limbs, her brain going cloudy.
She thought about Vivi and Elaine, and Sir Purrcival and her Baby Witches.
She even thought about Wells, about seeing him there behind the counter at Penhallow’s, and in her bed, and by her side, and she clenched her fists, gritting her teeth.
Morgan was chanting something now, the others joining in, and Gwyn could feel the pull of magic in the room getting stronger.
Darker.
She was going to die all so some jacked-up witches could play at being gods while wearing dorky robes.
The hell I am.
The thought was so strong it made her eyes snap open, the lassitude Rosa’s spell had created suddenly draining out of her.
Gwynnevere Jones was not going out like this.
The chanting was still happening, and Gwyn concentrated with everything she had, wiggling her fingers.
There was an answering spark.
Tiny, almost insignificant, but there, and Gwyn fought back a grin as a fierce joy spilled through her.
My magic is not something anyone can take from me, she thought, her mind clear. It is mine. And it’s still there.
And so it was. She could feel it now, racing through her, summoned up out of her very blood, and this time, when she moved her fingers, there wasn’t just a spark.
There was a fire.
When Wells suddenly appeared in the field just outside Morgan’s house, his stomach gave a sickening lurch.
It wasn’t the Traveling Stone this time.
Whatever sense of magical wrongness he’d felt before had gotten stronger now, a rot that seemed to pulse, making him grit his teeth as he staggered forward.
It was dark, and when he looked at his watch, he saw it was nearly three a.m. here.
The witching hour.
Despite the pain in his head, Wells made himself move, and just out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Sam, Cait, and Parker, stumbling onto the ground. “Stay back!” he called.
They hadn’t lied about the magical barrier around the house. It was strong, and Wells tried to focus, mentally testing for weak spots, gathering up a magical blast that might be strong enough to blow a hole in it even as his brain kept chanting, Hurry, hurry, hurry, she’s in there, hurry.
He’d just about summoned up enough power for a decent blast at the barrier when there was a loud crash, the sound of broken glass, and he looked up in horror as a gout of flame flared out a window at the top of the house.
Wells had no memory of how he got through the barrier or into the house. One moment he was staring at that flame, the next he was inside the house, his feet pounding up the attic stairs, flinging the door open.
The first thing he saw was Gwyn, gorgeous glorious Gwyn, blessedly alive and standing on top of some kind of black stone table, her hands glowing as she held them out in front of her, and he almost fell to his knees with relief.
Then he realized she was facing off against that bloody Harrison arsehole, currently swinging a Morningstar in her direction.
The blast Wells had been preparing to shatter the force field was nothing compared to the one he sent flying at that man, and as Harrison flew backward, hitting the wall, Gwyn turned, seeing him.
And she smiled.
Wells felt that smile in every part of him. A sunrise could not be brighter than that smile.
But he didn’t have time to admire it because Rosa was coming toward him, some terrifyingly medieval sword clutched in her hands, and he dodged, trying to gather up enough magic to push her back.
He was exhausted, his time away having taken it out of him more than he’d realized, his relief at seeing Gwyn alive and whole distracting him, and he was so focused on Rosa that he didn’t see Morgan behind him until he heard Gwyn cry out, “Wells!”
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Morgan was reaching for him, her teeth bared, her eyes wild, a silver dagger in one hand.
I think she’s actually going to stab me, he thought, almost like it was happening to someone else, and then there was a blast of light, and Morgan reared back, clutching her arm as the knife clattered to the ground.
Gwyn was at his side, her hands still outstretched, and Wells could see the edge of Morgan’s sleeve was singed, the skin of her hand red and cracked, and she glared at Gwyn, stumbling back.
As she did, she bumped into one of those trunks lining the attic floor, falling hard against it, the rusted lock giving way and dropping to the floor with a heavy thud.
For a moment everything was still, the only sound Morgan’s pained breathing, and then the lid of the trunk suddenly flew open with a howl.
Wells heard Morgan scream, and it was like there was suddenly a hurricane in the attic, a fierce wind that had him shutting his eyes, pulling Gwyn tight against him as the howling went on and on, his bones practically rattling with the force of it.
And then the trunk snapped closed, reminding Wells of nothing so much as a large jaw.
The attic was quiet. Still.
And Morgan and the others were gone.