Michelle Krys - Hexed

Another lackey steps forward and hands Leo an athame—a ceremonial dagger just like the ones Mom sold at the Black Cat.

This is it. I cast a quick glance around the crowd for Jezebel and find her staring at Bishop, so still and unmoving I wonder if she’s even breathing.

Leo raises the athame high, the jewel-encrusted hilt gleaming in the last speck of daylight. I can’t watch anymore, and I bury my face in my shoulder just as the sickening, wet sound of the blade slicing into skin breaks through the air. Bishop doesn’t cry out, just makes this grunting noise. When I do work up the courage to look, I find the men letting go of Bishop’s arms so that he sinks into the water. Blood pools out around the cloth, turning the already murky water red.

Oh, Bishop, what have I done? Tears streak down my cheeks, and a shuddering sob racks my body.

Someone lets out a battle cry, and soon the whole group is cheering. Leo’s voice halts them. “Bring another.”

Another. I dart my eyes around at all the faces now focused on me. I try to back away, but the guy pushes me forward. “What about the deal?” I scream. “The deal was to let me go free!”

I didn’t think it was possible to feel anything more intense than devastation at this moment, but I do. Fear clutches my spine like a bird of prey, digging its talons into my back and refusing to let go.

The crowd parts as I’m pushed into the center of the circle, where the water is still red and thick from Bishop’s blood.

Victor releases me. I whirl around to take in the dozens of eyes that stare at me like I’m the very dregs of humanity. The chanting begins.

Their whispered voices, speaking in that strange language, make the hair on my neck stand on end. But it’s the eyes that haunt me, greedy with anticipation. And even though I’m petrified, I can’t help feeling a strange pity for them. They’re rich in power, and still they aren’t satisfied. They still want more.

Before I know it, the whispering has become tribal-like yelling, and the same two men step forward to take my arms. Leo takes a pinch of the white crystals from a dish the black-haired man proffers and throws it onto my chest. I know what comes next, so I take in a big breath just as I’m pulled back into the water. Despite being prepared, my body tenses from the sudden drop in temperature. I don’t fight it at first, just lie still and quiet as I listen to the muffled chanting above me, but then the need for air becomes so great it’s like a vise is tightening around my lungs, screwing up more and more until they feel as though they’re going to pop from the pressure. I kick and thrash against the grip on my arms until I’m finally pulled back up.

I take a few gulping breaths, and then I’m pulled down again. The pressure is unbearable the second time, and I fight with every ounce of energy I have left, but it’s useless; the men are stronger than me. By the third time, consciousness begins to slip away, and the pain in my chest disappears. But then I’m hauled back to the surface again, and as air fills my lungs, both mental alertness and pain come crashing back.

The thick black cloth is thrown over my head, stealing all the light out of the world. I know the knife is next. The sound it made as it sliced into Bishop’s body fills my mind, consuming my thoughts so that I can’t think straight. But even through my haze, one thing is clear: the plan had major holes. It doesn’t matter if the Bible was truly fake, if Leo lost his powers when he killed Bishop. Because if they stab me now, I’m going to die. I’m surrounded. Bishop is currently dead, and I don’t even know where Jezebel is.

I close my eyes tight, the anticipation nearly as painful as what I imagine the knife will be. Just get it over with, I think. Kill me already.

A collective gasp rises up all around me, and the chanting cuts short to confused murmurs. I pop my eyes open. I can’t see a thing but the black, heavy cloth, but I whirl around anyway, following the sounds of commotion breaking out all around me.

Leo’s annoyed voice cuts through the confused murmurs. “What’s going on?”

“He’s alive,” a voice calls out.

“My magic,” another voice adds.

“It’s not working!”

The murmurs abruptly switch to panicked cries.

The cloth is yanked from my head and the wire around my wrists cut free in one swift motion, so that I’m left stumbling and confused in the chaos that surrounds me. Jezebel’s back is retreating before I can even register that she helped me.

I spin around to find Bishop—blood spilled from a gash in his shirt, wrestling the knife from Leo as a mass exodus of sorcerers madly slosh toward shore. Bishop wins the knife and tosses it with a plunk into the water. Leo holds his hands up toward Bishop, jaw tense and eyes determined, as if he’s trying to summon his magic. But nothing happens. Leo’s eyes dart left and right, and he backs up.

Jezebel appears behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Go on”—she nods toward the fleeing sorcerers—“your friends are leaving without you.”

Leo pauses a moment, as if to consider whether this is a trick, then bolts. Jezebel laughs, a delighted sound that lights up her face, and holds out a hand. The fleeing sorcerers not already out of the water hit an invisible wall.

“I’m thinking alligators,” Jezebel calls, tapping a finger on her chin. “Yes, alligators seem like the way to go.”

Ripples form in the water, and the long, scaled bodies of dozens of alligators appear, homing in slowly on the sorcerers backed against the invisible wall. A long snout jumps from the water and digs into Leo’s back. I cover my ears as the sound of snapping bones and high-pitched screams break through the night.

“Come on.” Bishop turns me away from the scene and pulls me into his arms. I sink into him and let myself be led around the carnage, toward the first car at the roadside, telling myself that they deserve it for what they did to Mom, that I should enjoy their gory deaths instead of being sick over it. “It’s over,” he says.

“It’s over,” I repeat, testing out the words.

“Okay, now can someone explain to me what the hell that was all about?” Jezebel paces in front of the booth, wearing a tread in the In-N-Out Burger’s checked gray tile.

After everything that happened, I was far too drained, not to mention hungry and thirsty, to jump into a lengthy explanation on the drive back into Los Angeles.

I swallow my bite of cheeseburger in preparation to speak, but Bishop beats me to it, talking around a mouthful of food. “The Bible was a fake.”

Jezebel stops pacing to stare at him.

“That’s why they lost their powers,” I say, wiping my fingers on a napkin and twisting around to face her. “They killed a witch using a fake Bible, only Bishop didn’t die because of the ring.”

“I have only one life left.” Bishop holds up his hand to show her that the ring is now engraved with the Roman numeral one. “That was fun and all, but I don’t really want to do it again, okay?”

Jezebel closes her eyes and shakes her head, as if someone were trying to teach her a complicated mathematical formula. “But how? Why is there a fake?”

“The Family used us as bait,” I continue. “They must have planted a fake one at Mom’s shop to divert the Priory’s focus from the real Bible’s location. That’s why they never sent anyone to help. They used us.” My tone becomes bitter. “They didn’t care if we died, just so long as their stupid Bible was safe. I bet there are zillions of fakes around the world.”

Jezebel shakes her head adamantly. “It’s impossible. Secrecy is paramount to the Family. They’d never risk exposure unless it was for something really important, like the Bible. And besides, the Family wouldn’t risk me like that. Maybe the two of you, but not me. There’s got to be another explanation. I’m one of the best witches they’ve got.”