Page 12 of When Wishes Bleed

They couldn’t, but I could.

A dark mist emerged from his flesh. It lingered as I whispered a spell transforming the snake back into a rope. His lingering last breath settled into the coarse fibers, darkening the length of cord, and then Fate’s victim fell to the ground an empty heap, naught but flesh and bone.

There would be a fuss in the lower sectors tomorrow – tonight, if some chose to leave to spread the word about what they saw. Those who witnessed his hanging would never forget it, but Jenson Renk would be forgotten in time, and that was all that mattered.

Fate was pleased.

The fire in my belly was extinguished. My fingers and lips had thawed.

I descended the stairs and met a pair of golden eyes the moment my feet hit the ground. I looked away, unable to stomach the emotions blazing behind them, and made my way through the crowd that wasted no time parting for me.

5

From the steps of my House, I watched Ethne on the platform of the gallows where Renk’s body lay prone on the weathered-gray planks. She waved her arms over the killer’s corpse, causing a white-hot fire to consume it before the stench of him reached the crowd. She was a master of her craft, and could wield the flame so precisely that there wouldn’t even be a char mark left on the planks. I could feel the heat of her anger wave across the grass.

Ela carefully climbed the steps to stand beside her. Her thick robes, now as dark green as the pines in the forest’s middle, concealed her shrinking body. She’d shriveled just since this morning. Time had been kind to her for a very long time, but she had begun to pay the price for the unnatural extension of her youth. She looked positively brittle. Tonight’s events had aged her significantly, though I wasn’t sure why they’d taken such a toll.

Her hair faded more and more by the minute, leaching from newborn fawn to silvery white. The slight hunch in her upper back became a sharp mountain peak. Her skin wrinkled as she climbed, and her muscle withered away. By the time she reached the platform, she could barely fight the atrophy overwhelming her body to pull her weight up the stairs. She huffed and puffed, and I honestly thought she might fall over dead when she reached the top step.

It was immediately clear that despite the ravaging toll on her body, Grandmother’s mind hadn’t shriveled at all. Nor had her demeanor. But as she cleared her throat and her weak voice tried to calm the crowd, Fate gently whispered that her days were numbered.

As if she could read my mind, her hazel eyes snapped to mine.

A hush fell over the crowd. I wasn’t sure if she’d spelled them, or if they genuinely wanted to hear what she had to say about what they witnessed.

The shaky words she spewed were spelled to calm and comfort those who heard them. She assured them that no witch would ever harm the innocent. The shoulders of the members of the crowd visibly relaxed, as did their breathing. The worry lines on their faces faded away. It was like they’d taken a collective breath and slowly expelled it.

I took a seat at my table once Bay helped Ela descend the platform’s steps, and the musicians began strumming a soothing tune. The circle of witches that had surrounded the Center broke apart, freeing those within.

I searched for dark hair and golden eyes, but never found him.

Ethne lit the bonfires. A pair of witches juggled fire sticks, while another duo swung lit chains around in great arcs, slicing bright circles through the twilit sky. The scent of smoke filled the air as our guests finally began to form groups, talking and even laughing among themselves.

The witches of the House of Water called for miniature storm clouds to build. Lightning forked from them, creating small, intense bursts of light within the roiling thunderheads. The thunder they made complemented the musicians’ drum beat.

Fragrant flowers in every color and shape emerged from the soil as the witches from the House of Earth were introduced. Topiaries of twisted vines formed next to a family of three, a father, mother, and daughter, perfectly mimicking their shapes down to the child’s fine hair.

Those from the House of Wind sent a sweet, warm breeze to sweep across the space, plucking petals from stems and sending them whirling above the rooftops nearby, beyond the treetops and high into the sky, until they disappeared from sight. As they lowered their raised hands and snuffed out any trace of wind, soft petals rained from the heavens. Within minutes, the grass was carpeted in petals of every color of the rainbow. Children scooped up the delicate petals and flung them into the air, trying to imitate the Wind witches.

Tonight, here in this space, no one would scold them.

Tomorrow would be different. I’d heard that those who returned to Sector Twelve would advise their children not to speak about coming here, nor about the magic they witnessed. Where it was almost fashionable to attend years ago, cavorting with witches was becoming more taboo with each passing season. When I was a child, the woods overflowed with guests. Now, the Center was barely full.

Being a witch is nothing to be proud of, they would tell them. Witches are dangerous creatures.

They weren’t wrong, but they also weren’t right.

Children would ignore their own experiences and feelings if adults pressed them hard enough into the straight and narrow line. It was how prejudice and ignorance were perpetuated through the generations. But as long as it was only one night a year and they hid their purchased tinctures and herbs in their pockets, covering their heads and faces with the hoods of their cloaks as they crossed the borders and snuck back to their homes, there was no harm.

I whispered a spell, lighting the white candle on my table. I didn’t have any of the elemental affinities, but I’d learned to conjure the elements to a small degree. I couldn’t call down a tornado or flood a stream, but I could light wicks and fill my basins if the well dried. And, as long as I paid attention to my plants, they grew just fine.

For hours, I sat and watched. Anyone who ventured close to my table quickly found their way back into the anonymity of the crowd, placing as much distance between them and me as possible.

I sat quietly, alone, and watched the stars tilt around the blue-black sky. Blackberry wine was being passed around to anyone who wanted it, and the heavy atmosphere that I’d brought to the celebration of the Equinox was replaced by a more carefree one. The alcohol probably helped assuage the Lowers’ feelings, and we were plying them with enough to drown an entire sector.

Someone wearing a heavy cloak finally staggered to my table, pulled out the chair opposite me, and flopped into it unceremoniously. The sweet smell of blackberries filled the air, along with something masculine and heady.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re drunk. You should find whomever you came with and ask them to see you home.”

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