Page 18 of The Cursed and the Broken
“How?”
That simple word brooked no room for argument or sparing any details. “Her body lay within a ritual circle, black candles and feathers strewn about the forest floor. Whoever it was, they didn’t expect anyone else to be venturing so deep into the woods.”
I kept the appearance of the mysterious táltos to myself. His connection to Hanna—while bizarre—explained why Hanna had left the village without supplies for a long trip. But something didn’t sit right and, until I had more evidence, I wasn’t ready to point fingers. My lips pursed as I thought of the táltos. It hadn’t gone so well the first time.
“What state was the corpse in?” Mama said, her lips tightening into a thin line.
I blinked.The corpse.My mother’s shift in behaviour sent warning bells ringing through me. This was not the face of shock, but a different mask. One that recognised the calling cards of this. Narrowing my eyes, I shifted in my seat. “They drained her body of blood. And her heart …” I glanced at Eszter, but my mother was too focused on my recount to pay her any heed.
“They ripped her heart from her chest,” Mama finished for me. I gaped at her, and Eszter’s rosy cheeks blanched. My sister clutched at her skirts, fingers white-knuckled with her iron grip. Mama sighed. “Eszter, darling, please fetch some wine? And three goblets.”
My sister cocked her head. “Three?”
Mama nodded grimly, massaging a hand to her temple as she squeezed her eyes shut. Another world-weary sigh escaped her and I had the urge to cradle her in my arms. My mother, so proud and sure, looked frail in the light of the flickering fire. Lines settled around her eyes and in the gentle curves of her bone structure, making her look older than her years.
My mother was a beautiful woman. Her long brown hair was glossy, her smile radiant and her brown eyes clear, but the years had been hard for her. She would never admit it, but I think she missed Papa sometimes. Despite the strange rules separating the witches and táltosok from forming a united community, I think my mother had loved him in her own way.
Idleness begets loneliness, and for that reason she constantly kept busy, constantly moving and providing for our family and the village.
She leaned in, whispering for my ears alone as Eszter pottered about, collecting the wine and some treats, clanging and clinking as she went. Even I didn’t have the stomach for dessert right now, but I expected it was habit guiding her hands more than anything.
“I had hoped I’d never need to speak of this with you girls, but this isn’t the first time I’ve heard of such a ritual taking place.”
The táltos had spoken the truth. If Mama recognised the signs, others would too. Perhaps it would help us discover who was behind the murders. “I figured as much. Who would do such a thing, Mama? What kind of spell even exists in our realm of magic?”
She shook her head. “That ritual is an abomination. An abhorred magic only practiced by dark witches. It’s forbidden, and the texts containing such spells were supposedly burned long ago. I’m sure it doesn’t surprise you to learn it was the Dark Queen who first created this spell.”
“What does it do?”
Her lips twisted. “Originally, she created the spell for executions—to make the victim’s death excruciating and lengthy. Ironically, the same spell was used just once after most of her cult paid for their crimes. Once covens began electing elders to run the individual factions, they finally captured Sylvie and put her to trial. With the long list of abhorrent crimes she committed, they executed her at the stake. The witches cast her own spell on her, drawing out the pain. A point well made, and a warning served to all would-be practitioners of dark magic who attended her death, which included every witch in the Kingdom of Hungary we hold records for.”
I mulled over all she had told me, feeling my stomach flip as images of bloodied and bruised men and women flashed before my eyes. Their deaths would have been horrible, inhumane. How anyone could have such a darkness inside them … I shuddered. What had made Sylvie become so twisted? The angry beast inside me roared at her crimes.
Eszter set a tray filled with wine, goblets, and szaloncukor—little chocolates filled with hazelnuts or caramel—down on the table with a clunk, startling me from my spiral of darkening thoughts. I eyed the chocolates with a raised brow. Despite the morbid mood, she winked, flashing me a knowing smile. The little devil must have been hoarding them, knowing I would have long since eaten the delectable morsels.
Unlike me, Eszter had the willpower to say no to temptation. It was, in part, thanks to her that I wasn’t the size of a house. Still, I marvelled that she’d kept them since Szenteste, the Holy Evening before Christmas. I smiled weakly, appreciating the gesture. She always sought to lift my spirits, even in the face of such dire news.
Eszter paused before sliding into her seat, one finger curling her long, golden-brown hair. “You saidoriginally. Was the spell adapted?”
I should have known she would listen in this whole time. Her banging about had been a little too suspicious. She caught my frown and flicked her hair like a prized mare. Mama poured us half glasses and filled her own goblet—right to the very rim.
She took long draughts and finished it quickly, and my sister glanced at me with a raised brow, a smirk curving her lips. Hysterical laughter bubbled in my throat and I took a sip from my cup, the wine sloshing the odd emotion down my belly. There was nothing remotely funny about this situation. For Mama to have offered Eszter a tipple at all spoke volumes to her distress.
“The council elders held true to their threat. They spent years trying to find the Dark Queen’s followers, sending a network of spies across the country to glean information on occults and their leaders. Unfortunately, Sylvie’s stain had spread too far, too deep, and no matter how clean the cloth, such blots refuse to budge.”
My lips twisted in disgust. “Her magic makes its mark even still?”
Mama nodded. “Don’t underestimate the power of persuasion. Sylvie’s magic lay not just in her talent as a witch, but in her persona. She was manipulative, controlling, and she warped her followers’ minds until they believed in her cause. Bled for it.”
“Cut the head off the snake …”
“And three more take its place,” Mama said. “Her work continued even after her death, just like she planned. Over time, her followers adapted the teachings, morphing old spells into new. I’ll bet they’ve been searching for ways to bring her back from places none should follow.”
“They tried to bring her back from the dead?” Eszter asked, her cheeks filled with colour since sipping on wine. Gone was the doll-faced girl in this moment and instead a woman sat beside me, her beauty still etched into every line of her body. But she sat rigid, alert, her eyes bright with calculation. A wolf in sheep’s clothing if I ever saw. I wondered, then, what kind of warrior lay within, if ever circumstance should call.
Mama scoffed. “Tried and failed, as far as we know. The power required to raise one from the dead remains unknown to witches for now. The combined councils erased records of spells created from that lunatic. But who knows what those fanatics might do? I am certain many would give their lives for hers if they could, and that ill thought still finds me in the dark hours of night. With girls disappearing over the last few years and what you’ve told me about Hanna, I can’t help but think the worst.”
“You think they’re connected?” I stated, tilting my head. “The ritual performed on Hanna is a part of their occultism, isn’t it?”
