Soul of a Witch (Souls Trilogy)

To offer our sacrifice, the Libiri gathered deep in the woods.

Condensation collected on the pine needles above, the little droplets growing heavier until they dripped down, creating an unsteady rhythm of rainfall. The guttering bonfire we huddled around only did so much to drive away the chill.

Two dozen worshippers in white cloaks and stag skull masks shivered together under black umbrellas. Our family didn’t wear the masks, which were meant to symbolize both our innocence and our honor.

We were to be as innocent as fawns, as faithful as a doe, and carry ourselves with the pride of a stag.

It was late in the night. My mind was wrapped in a fog I couldn’t shake, but I was thankful for it when Marcus’s body was brought to us, carried by my father’s demon. His body had already begun to decompose, a distinct scent of formaldehyde and rot wafting around him.

He’d been dug out of his grave, still dressed in a stiff black funeral suit.

Muttered prayers and thankful murmurs surrounded me. They rattled my head like buzzing mosquitoes.

I had to stay strong. I had to play my part and wait for my opportunity.

Callum promised he would be watching. If I needed him, I could call his name and he would come. That thought was my only comfort as Jeremiah and Leon took Marcus to the mine shaft, where they would throw his body down to the Deep One.

As the other congregants dispersed to return to their homes, my father led me down another path. Not toward the road, where our vehicles were parked. But deeper into the forest, toward St. Thaddeus.

The church loomed ahead of us. St. Thaddeus was a dilapidated beauty, caving in on itself while clinging to elegance. The massive stained-glass window above the doors was covered in grime, but within it, I could faintly see the image of a maiden holding a knife, standing in the sea.

The thud of our shoes on the old boards were as heavy as my heart. The caved in roof allowed the rain to seep in from above, pooling between the broken pews. Ahead of us, the pulpit was surrounded by mounds of wax. The remnants of candles burned down through the decades.

I could hardly breathe as I stood before the pulpit. I wanted to flee into the night’s darkness, even if it meant facing monsters. But I had to endure. I had to stay.

I needed the grimoire.

I swallowed hard, swaying on my feet as my father took a seat on one of the foremost pews. The old church creaked and groaned around us as rain dripped in. My eyes were drawn to a dark corner of the ceiling, where the shadows were so thick it was like a black cloud.

There was a face within the darkness. Callum.

My breath caught, but I had no time to rejoice. My father was speaking.

“When your mother and I first met, she already knew of the Deep One’s existence,” he said. It was the first time I’d ever heard him give even a passing reference to his early days with my mother. He and Meredith had already been married. “But she was resistant to Its power, she didn’t trust that our God would fulfill Its promises to us. But witches like your mother, and like you, are blessed. You have the ability to commune with God when the rest of us do not. It can see through you. Even speak through you.”

My horror must have shown on my face, because he clicked his tongue in sympathy. “Do not be afraid. You’ve been prepared for this all your life.” He reached out his hand, and without any other choice, I went to him.

That creeping feeling wouldn’t go away. Like fingers brushing up my back, tangling in my hair, squeezing my skull.

Let me in, let me in, let me —

Father took my hand.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and I obeyed, shuddering in the dark. “Let God speak to you.”

There was a sudden strong smell of seawater. The cold air was sticky. When I licked my lips, I could taste salt. Then I could smell…

My stomach lurched. There was a rotten stench, putrid and cloying in my throat. My breath came faster as a stifling weight pressed down on me. It squeezed the air out of my lungs.

It was silent — no, not entirely so. I could hear something. A subtle sound, slow and unsteady.

Drip…drip, drip…

Water…but it wasn’t the rain.

Everything else faded away. The touch of my father’s hand, the cold air whipping through the church, the damp clinging to my skin. All that remained was the drip, slow and distant.

Then…a breath. Cold and sudden on the back of my neck.

“No,” I whispered the word like a frantic prayer. “It’s not real. It’s all in your head, Everly.”

“Oh yes, child. All of it is in your head, as am I.”

My eyes flew open as I stumbled back in panic. Sunlight blinded me, my senses assaulted by a dozen new things all at once.

I was standing in the middle of an open field, surrounded by tall, lush green grass. Flowers of every shape, color, and variety grew around me — hundreds of them, covering the landscape like confetti. Their scent hung heavy and sweet in the air.

A tall figure, dressed in white, stood in the grass watching me.

It was beautiful beyond words. So elegant, so perfect, that I felt completely insignificant. Small, ugly, and foolish. I couldn’t bear to lift my eyes, but in my peripheral vision, I could see Its face was constantly morphing, changing subtly and slowly.

The face was unfamiliar but this feeling was not. Like a hand was gripping the nape of my neck, both holding me down and dragging me closer.

“Come to me, child. Do not be afraid.”

Against my will, I crawled through the grass. Trembling, gasping, too fearful to do anything other than obey, I approached the being. The God…my God…

How was It so beautiful? I could spend all my life kneeling at Its feet, basking in the glory of Its presence, cutting off my fingers one by one just to please It.

My vision flashed, like static cutting through a TV broadcast. For a split second, the beautiful world around me entirely changed.

The field became smoldering embers littered with bones. The grass was gone, the trees — dead. The dirt crawled with maggots, writhing, feasting upon the flesh of corpses. And the bodies — there were hundred. Thousands. Milky eyes rolled in rotting heads. Intestines ripped out by beasts, who roamed the landscape in broad daylight. And over it all stood God, but God was not beautiful. It was —

The horror vanished. Everything was perfect. Serene. God was gracious as It smiled upon me, a smile I couldn’t look at but could feel like warm arms around me.

“Do you see? The world as it could be?” It said. Its voice was strange, as if It were not one but hundreds of people, all speaking in unison. “The world as I will remake it?”

My vision flashed again, and I screamed. The deity before me was not a beautiful humanoid creature but a beast — a massive, indescribable monstrosity, with shapes and colors I had no words for. Its body was gargantuan, completely overtaking the land. Massive gray tentacles with grasping tooth-lined suckers coiled around me, pungent with the scent of rotting fish. It was covered in dozens of eyeballs, rolling in their sockets, reddened, pupils shaped like diamonds —

Gone. But my memory of it was not. This place, this vision — it was all fake. A mere illusion created by the deity.

This beautiful place was what my mother had been shown. Perfect. Peaceful. A world she would have longed to raise her daughter in.

But the truth was different. And I had no idea why I could see it, why my mind was able to break through the hallucinations caused by the God’s control…

But I could. And It knew.

The sky darkened. The grass withered. My vision flashed rapidly back and forth, until the two realities were one and the same. The desire to hurt myself, to inflict pain on my own body, wrapped around my brain and squeezed, demanding I obey.

“You will give in. You will submit or you will suffer. Death is not the worst fate that can befall you, rebellious girl. Your disobedience must be culled from your mind.”

I screamed again, curling up into a ball as I clutched my skull, certain it was going to split apart. I had to get out…had to find my way back to reality…out of my mind…but where…where could I go…

Like a beacon in my bloody, rapidly morphing vision, a silver light twinkled. It was distant…so, so far away…but I could reach it. I could crawl…

“You will not escape me, witch. You are already mine. You cannot exorcise that which is already a part of you. I see all. I know all. Your house in the woods will not protect you. Your demon will not defend you. Your magic will not serve you.”

The agony was indescribable. But I dragged myself along the rotten earth, cheek against the dirt, fingernails clawing for grip.

“It’s all in your head,” I said, again and again, even though my throat was so raw. “It can’t stop you. It’s just in your head.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I willed myself to feel the heaviness of my body, like trying to force myself to awaken from a dream. I kept searching for that silver light, glimmering, beckoning me closer.

Suddenly, with a gasp, I ripped away from my father’s hand. I lost my footing, fell hard on my side, and lay there gasping, shaking in horror.

My father’s steps pounded across the floor, rattling my head. He crouched beside me, gathering me into his arms.

My shaking stopped. I went as still as a rabbit striving not to be seen, frozen in the gaze of a predator as he held me close. I could smell his cologne, the powdery scent of detergent on his clothes, the slight whiff of the scotch he’d drank before coming here.

And rot. Salt water and mold. The God clung to him like a noxious cloud.

Did it cling to me too? Was I already infected, already claimed, as the Deep One insisted?

Was there no way out for me?

“There, there, my precious girl. I know it’s overwhelming.” My father’s hand stroked my hair, his voice low and soothing. “Your mother reacted in the same way. She would want you to pursue the joy of a world made new.”

I could only nod. Anything to make him believe me.

His words quickened excitedly. “Things are already set in motion. The first sacrifice has been made, and the second will arrive soon. Raelynn Lawson is returning to Abelaum. You must meet her. The God must look upon her. It must see.” The way he grasped me seemed frantic, so unlike his usual mannerisms. Like he was desperate. Like he was afraid. “It must see that we will not fail.”