Page 42 of Night of Death and Flowers

Slowly, he rises, his fingers gripping the stone walls for support. “She… where is…”

“She’s at The Choosing, and we are late.”

“You,” he says, his voice raspy and weak. “You are Death.”

“Move,” I order when he stumbles, struggling to stand upright. “Or my shadows will drag you from here.”

“Why are you helping me? Is Calista okay?”

“I am not doing this to help you,” I spit as we walk. “Now shut your mouth.”

His jaw slacks in argument, but he swiftly swallows his words and obeys. My fingers ache to end the traitor’s pitiful existence, but if I do, then I won’t get to see Poison’s face when I take him away from her.

No, this will be far worse.

The night has dropped several degrees when we leave the Incarcuri. The enforcers scatter, but the few who are caught in my line of sight sink into low bows as I walk with the boy struggling to keep up behind me.

I quicken my pace, if only to hear the struggle in his breath increase. He’s slumped over, his heart beats uneven by the time we arrive at the town.

Countless candles line the cobblestone paths, warding off the midnight hour. Accompanied by a magnificence only the organ can provide, a melancholic, deep sound resonates from the church as we walk through the empty town square and down the path. The heavy tune grows louder as we near a sea of silver-cloaked townspeople, illuminated by the orange glow of their candles.

Either out of fear or respect, their hundreds of eyes stay focused on the path as I approach, but most young children give in to their curiosity and gaze up at me in wonder before their parents force them to look away.

We hit a wall of incense, mixed with smoke from inside as we reach the arched entrance. Whispers sound behind me, as I assume the people finally stole a glimpse after I had passed. I stride through the gold-bricked, protruding entrance, under the spires of a gate, and into the large room, filled with the elder coven, volunteers, and the esteemed members of society.

The organ sings its last note as I enter, and only the shuffling as the rows of people drop to one knee, their heads bowed in reverence, breaks the silence.

As I glide up the center, between the pews of mahogany, footsteps pound through the entrance, followed by heavy breaths. Clenching my jaw, I turn, and Calista stands beside a blonde-haired girl, with the rest of the volunteers at the back of the church.

I stare too long at the sacrifices, consumed by thoughts of prophecy and death, and Calista is the only one glaring back. She slides her gaze to Drake, her expression softening, and one of my shadows shoves him in her direction.

Gasps sound as the traitor is released, but under my stare, they silence.

I cast one last look at Calista before striding up the center to the elders and toward the stone basin. Despite the binding pact between us, the intense desire to punish her only heightens when I sense my magic coursing through her veins. It’s as if it calls out to me, taunting me with the power bestowed upon a mortal from my brothers and sisters.

A fucking mortal.

Snarling, I reach the witch’s father amongst the seven, his face paling upon seeing his daughter.

Taking my place at the altar, high above the rest, I touch the stone basin, where the blood of the sacrifices is cold. “Rise, my subjects,” I command, my deep voice echoing throughout the church. Once more, I spot Calista amongst the gathered, unable to look away as she dismisses my order with a roll of her eyes, and I white-knuckle the basin.

Her arrogance showed the moment she accepted the deal without adding the boys his continued protection as a part of it. Knowing I beat her, if only a minor victory, keeps my anger at bay.

Tearing myself away from her, I focus on the crowd of those devoted to me, hoping to calm the beast inside, clawing to escape and destroy her. “Tonight, I return to Dahryst to present you with your chosen sacrifices. Being a sacrifice is an honor, a tradition that has protected Dahryst from our enemies. From those chosen this night, one will serve as your next elder.”

Calista’s scoff draws me back to her again, the stone crumbling under my grip as she holds onto Drake, her hands gliding over his arm.

Swallowing hard, I release the basin before I unintentionally pulverize the stone and cast my gaze to the other sacrifices. Now, their eyes are on me, some filled with awe and admiration, others quivering with fear. I continue, avoiding noticing her, even as her blue eyes shine with determination behind the thin, black veil. I exhale a tense breath as she moves in the corner of my vision, plucking a berry from her hair, then bringing it to Drake’s lips.

“Enough!” I shout, and the atmosphere changes, several candles blowing out in rapid succession as I struggle to contain my shadows and darkness. Quickly, I close my eyes, attempting to collect myself, then place my hands over the basin. “Enough of hiding from the humans,” I say, correcting my outburst, but my heart pounds.

I can’t think of anything but her, hatred consuming every thought. Her actions shouldn’t bother me, but they do. Everything about her infuriates me. “Tonight, you shall take back your power, harvesting our magic for the next generation.”

I place my fingers over the dried blood in the basin, and I channel Nyxara’s magic to weave the names from the essence of those who offered themselves.

Sight magic consumes me as the crimson stains my fingertips. The faces of those lined up, slicing their fingers, appear in my mind. Including Calista.

The names appear in smoke in my head as Nyxara’s magic presents them to me, but I force the vision away.

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