Page 23 of Hell Hath No Fury
But there was an equal amount who liked me, respected me, who understood what I wanted for this coven, for our future. Sisters I’d helped out in times of need and kept my mouth shut where Ridley would’ve been running to my mother to get whatever brownie points she thought she’d get from turning in her sisters.
It would be a fair fight. Ridley knew that. She didn’t do fair fights.
So she cleared her throat, her chin tilted upward and away from me.
Nyx’s grip loosened on my hand, the air relaxing.
“It has been done,” Ridley uttered loudly. “We ride back now, to honor our sister and celebrate her journey to the Otherworld, ending with our sacrifices to our Mother for continuing to guide us through this life and the next.”
Wordlessly, the women around the fire turned. There were no goodbyes, no lingering looks at the pyre. Nothing remained there. Wherever my mother was, it was not here.
I turned my own back, branches crunching underfoot as I mounted my bike.
The roar of motorcycles filled the air.
No brooms for this coven.
They didn’t look as cool, and they definitely weren’t as comfortable.
So just like that, a coven of witches rode into the night, with chaos and death on our heels. Both of which hung on my shadow.
CHAPTER TWO
I wasn’t drunk when I made it to my room at the compound, though I wished I was.
The whole song and dance were a shit show, and not one I felt particularly compelled to be a part of. But even I wasn’t brazen or disrespectful enough to dishonor the funeral rites by creating a brawl or a scene. That would come later.
Ridley was baiting me, though. The entire fucking night. She wanted me to do something, something unforgivable.
As much as the animal, vengeful and hurt parts of me wanted to lash out, consequences be damned, I held fast. Because I had to be smarter. Because I still intended on being the head of this coven one day. And also because my two best friends, Nyx and Minerva, were right there by my side, both tense and ready to hold me back if I tried anything foolish. And if they couldn’t hold me back, both of them were ready to fight by my side if need be.
They were my ride or die bitches.
And a huge part of why I held back. I was completely okay with screwing up my life, my place here and even dying if need be—though I wasn’t planning on it—in order to fight for what was rightfully mine. But I wasn’t willing to sacrifice the lives of my two best friends. Not now or ever.
So I participated in the rites, albeit with a grimace and a scowl while muttering under my breath. And as the daughter of the coven leader, I sacrificed for her.
It was the last rite of the night, the closing of the ring, the final spell for my mother’s travel to the Otherworld while giving her the thread to come back to communicate if her spirit wished.
Ridley knew this was torture for me… Which was why the bitch dragged out the night much longer than needed, grinning like a Cheshire cat, daring me to say something, do something. But I didn’t.
And that Cheshire cat grin had all but disappeared by the time I performed the sacrifice and left. She really thought it would be easy to get rid of me.
That bitch was in for a bunch of surprises.
And fueled by fury, I was planning on doing something really stupid when I got back to my room. Namely, cursing her.
Cursing our fellow witches was a huge no-no in the community. After the Witch Wars, there were strict covenants in place regarding curses and hexes with swift and brutal punishments for those caught casting. It would not be within my coven that I would face judgment if caught, though—granted, I didn’t plan on getting caught—it would be from The Council. I was already on their radar. Atticus, their second in command, was searching for a reason to strip me of my powers. A fate worse than death.
I didn’t much care about that at this juncture, I was full of fury and the arrogance about my power that had created so many enemies.
But there was something sitting on my messy, unmade bed in my chaotic bedroom, cluttered with plants, jars of herbs, hair styling tools, heels, boots and outfits I’d abandoned.
Something that didn’t fit in amongst the black, lace, leather and chaos.
It was stark white, the envelope made of parchment that glowed against the midnight shades of my bedroom. My mother’s seal was pressed into the wax on the back.
She was always three steps ahead of me.
