Page 10 of Blood Witch

Hell, maybe I was part shifter after all. It was one of the earliest possibilities Arlo could come up with for my condition. So far, the tests had neither proved nor disproved his theory. I had no idea why I was different.

Maybe I wasn’t a dreaded blood witch, after all. But wishing that wouldn’t make it true.

“Fin? Uh, okay, what’s his last name?” I asked.

“Apellare. Fino Apellare. Goes by Fin.”

“What the fuck kind of name is that?” Brandon muttered.

“Italian,” I said. “I think. Fino means like finished, or the end, the last. Or something like that, right? No wonder he likes Fin.”

“Yeah, in Spanish too. But what does Apellare mean?” Rio asked, scrunching her nose.

“Who knows? I mean, not everyone’s name means something. What else did you find out?” Maia asked.

Enok Zell, her mate, was sitting next to her, taking notes. The mage worked for the school now, in the archives section of the library. They made quite the pair. The rich girl, beauty queen witch and the wizard who had to earn back his magic through study and barter after his powers had been stolen from him as a boy.

They were another romantic success story, but aside from that, Maia and Enok were our resident geeks. They were always researching and checking for obscure texts and notes in the library that might help us. Because of his position, the two had access to books the rest of us didn’t.

“He’s an Enforcer. A legacy. Father was one too, and his grandfather before him. He’s the third generation to carry that name, and far as I can tell, they earned it. My buddy told me a rough translation of Fino Apellare is ‘last to call’, but really, he is the last one you call when you want something done,” Magnus said, and the room got so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“What does that mean? He goes out, then what happens?” Rio asked, her voice a mere whisper in the room.

“It means when Fin goes out on assignment there is nowhat happens next. He’s your last call,” Brandon explained, his expression grim.

“An Enforcer?” I repeated, racking my brain for any hint of a memory or anything that could help me recollect what that meant.

“An Enforcer for who?” Jade asked, and I smirked. Leave it to little Miss Practical to get down to the nitty-gritty.

“For the Council of Covens,” the kraken shifter said.

“Oh fuck. That is not good,” Arlo grumbled, running a hand over his face. “The Coven hasn’t used Enforcers since the last Witch War.”

“What does that even mean?” Rio asked, and the conversation became a mess of everyone talking at once.

However, I was only conscious of myself at that moment. The memory started taking shape immediately. My breathing was the only sound I heard, and even that was fading. My slow, almost non-existent heartbeat echoed in my ears as the livingroom of 563W faded away, and I moved backward in time to a place I had tried so hard to put out of my mind.

It smelled like dust and mold, and it was dark. So dark. A young girl, wait, that wasme, and I was about six or seven years old, sat huddled in the back of a tiny closet.

The floor was hardwood and clean, and it was warm, but I was shivering. The jumper I wore was yellow and brown plaid, one of the ugliest school uniforms I had ever seen. But it was neat, and it fit. I didn’t mind it at the time.

That was Mother Diana’s closet, the one inside her bedroom. I recognized the tidy shelf that held one extra pair of orthopedic shoes and a well-worn pair of velveteen slippers.

“Don’t make a sound now, Mabel. Now, you remember our secret prayers, the ones we say to the Goddess, right? Repeat those in your head for protection, but not out loud, okay? Be still now,” Mother Diana warned and closed the closet door.

The Sisters of Charity Home for Girls had been the only home I’d known for a very long time. It was a refurbished convent, turned into an orphanage and working farm sometime in the early twentieth century. Much of the land had been sold in later years, but the main building was still there, still in use.

I did as she asked, cowering deep inside the tiny cubby, hiding behind the long skirts of her spare habits. She’d placed a silver bowl full of cloves, salt, and allspice on the floor. There were some other things inside, dried flowers and plants, tiny little rocks, stuff I didn’t recognize.

I didn’t touch the bowl. Mother Diana had already warned me not to, and I was an obedient child. Especially when I knew that listening would earn me some of her prize red velvet cupcakes with hand-whipped cream cheese frosting.

A loud thud sounded, like someone banging on the door, and I covered my mouth with my hands. In my mind, I repeated the secret prayers to the Goddess I had been taught, asking her to hide me.

The sounds of a struggle and angry voices reached me, but I closed my eyes tight and prayed harder. Sometime later, I remember Mother Diana opening the closet door. She was panting, and her face was stained with tears, and maybe some bruises too.

How had I never noticed that before?

But child me was sleepy, and I simply allowed the older woman to pick me up and bring me to my bed.

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