Page 11 of When Wishes Bleed

He gasped for air, clawing at his neck.

Fate wanted him dead. Every witch in Thirteen wanted the same. Myself included. How many more witches would have died at his deceitful hands? “I suppose it would be polite to tell you why you’re about to die, but I think we both know the reason.”

He tried to reply, but the noose had already crushed his larynx. Oops.

A normal Equinox celebration would be in full swing with tinkling bells, crashing cymbals, and witches dancing around fires they set and manipulated for the delight of the crowd, but this was no normal Equinox. Through the trees, I could see that the members of every House had formed a protective circle around the pentagram, encasing the citizens of the lower sectors and making a human barrier between them and the gallows where Dimples would hang.

The Lowers called Sector Thirteen ‘The Gallows’ for a reason, though few had ever witnessed a hanging here. We were the only sector who had them, and who punished those who committed crimes against us, with hanging. Citizens from the Lowers called us barbaric and inhumane for it, but Fate demanded it, and even if he didn’t, the Priestesses and Priest would.

I knew the punishments were fair, but I wondered how effective the threat was when it was so far removed. No one from the Lowers normally witnessed someone being put to death, though the young man wriggling behind me obviously knew about our customs. Even though he knew more than most, not even the threat of hanging deterred the handsome, dimpled boy from asphyxiating the young Fire witch.

The boy was desperate for air, so I whispered a spell to loosen the noose just a smidge. He coughed and sputtered, sucking in deep, ragged breaths. I stopped and gave him a chance to catch his breath.

“Did you think we wouldn’t find you?” I asked, curious to know the mind of the cruel boy.

His lips shook with rage. If only he were stronger... I saw the threat in his eyes.

The trees thinned and then came to an abrupt stop as we neared the gallows. The witches’ chants were drowned out by the shocked gasps of those from the Lowers. When they saw what, or whom, I dragged behind me, the parents who hadn’t heeded Ela’s warning quickly covered their children’s eyes, or scooped them up and carried them away toward the backs of the Houses to join those who had listened. The mouths of men and women, old and young, gaped as I dragged Dimples to the set of wooden gallows erected at the base of the pentagram.

Death was not welcome in the sacred circle.

Hovering over him, I waited for him to recover. “Stand up.”

An inferno of hatred flared in his eyes. He tried to talk, but his crushed larynx only elicited flat shrieks from his mouth.

“Stand up, or I will drag you onto the platform.”

He managed to get a knee up and pushed to his feet, sweat-soaked hair obscuring the upper half of his face. The coarse rope had cut into the tender skin of his throat. Rivulets of blood and sweat merged and sluiced down the skin of his chest, disappearing behind the buttoned fabric of his shirt. He panted, his lips puffing out with each breath.

“Now walk,” I ordered, tugging on the rope as I ascended the stairs. At the bottom, he braced himself and resisted, refusing to budge. “I really thought we had an understanding. You were going to cooperate, and I was going to consider allowing your neck to snap when the floor falls out from under your feet... but now, you’re irritating me.”

His lips curled up into a cruel smile. “Witch,” he mouthed, his throat squeaking like a rusted hinge.

It was my turn to grin. “Yes, I am. But do you want to know a secret? I am no mere witch. I am the Daughter of Fate. This evening, I am his hands, and his fingers want to crush the life out of you, the way you did our sister. Fate’s hands never weaken, never falter, and they never fail.”

I whispered a spell lifting the killer’s feet off the ground. He sputtered as he floated, as I took control and made him hover up the steps while I walked alongside, as easily as one would guide a cooperative hound. Settling him beneath the top post, I ordered the spell to release him. He fell the few inches, nearly losing his balance. I righted him as Fate gave me his name.

Jenson. Jenson Renk.

Waving an arm through the air as one would clear a chalkboard, I whispered a spell to extricate Jenson’s memory, projecting it to the crowd, where they saw what he’d done from his point of view. Saw his bony fingers wrap around her neck, watched him straddle her and crush her body beneath his. They witnessed her struggle against him. Her fear was so alive, I could almost taste it. Her desperation was palpable. The Lowers gasped as she floundered and then went still as the light and life faded from her beautiful amber eyes. Her fingers weakened and fell away from his punishing hands. Her head lolled to the side, but he held tight another moment to make sure she was dead.

“Jenson Renk, citizen of Sector Twelve,” I announced, “you murdered Harmony, witch of the House of Fire, by means of asphyxiation. You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. Fate has chosen to show you no mercy, because you showed none to our sister. As repayment for your crime, he demands your death.”

I stared him down as I spelled the rope in my hands. The frayed end transformed into the head of a snake. It coiled around on itself, hissing at the guilty man before quickly slithering up the posts and across the beam. Usually, I would have made him stand on a stool and hefted his weight for him, but I wouldn’t do anything to help a murderer of this caliber.

I didn’t even bother with the doors that would break apart, giving way beneath him. No, there would be no mercy for him. I would not allow his neck to break. He would strangle slowly, the way he had strangled Harmony.

Bay stared at me from below with an unreadable expression. I likely hadn’t made it quick enough for his liking, but I didn’t care in that moment. Brecan stood at the fringe, his rigid posture a tell that he would gladly help if I needed it. It was a kind gesture, but I’d never required anyone’s assistance for this. This… was what I was made for.

The snake coiled tighter and tighter over the beam until the condemned man’s toes were lifted off the ground. He kicked, trying to find the planks beneath.

Jenson’s face turned red and then purple as he scrambled to force his fingers between his skin and the serpent to ease the pressure. His heart beat faster, but the blood wasn’t able to flow where he needed it most. His lips bulged.

He kicked out in a blind panic, sending his body swaying back and forth until his movements became uncoordinated. His grip floundered and his arms fell limply to his sides, twitching occasionally.

The thrashing and swinging slowed, and then Jenson stopped struggling.

The group of young men whose hands I’d shaken stood just within the collection of witches, lingering closest to the platform. With wide eyes and gaping mouths, their attention was fixed on Jenson Renk, staring like they could see his soul leave his body.

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