Page 8 of Soul of a Witch

“Ah, damn it, I stayed late again. Sorry.” With haste, I shoved the last of my things haphazardly into my bag. “I have a stack of books downstairs too, if it isn’t too much trouble…”

“No trouble at all.” His eyes fell on my drawing pad, and he picked it up before I could stuff it into my bag. I’d been sketching the stained-glass window, the colorful panes glowing with the light of the setting sun. “Is this what you’ve been working on up here?” I nodded, and his smile widened. “It’s beautiful.”

As I took the sketchbook from his hands, I said, “Mama used to talk about how much she wanted to paint it. She loved that window. How the sun shone through it, the colors. She always said it was like magic.”

William’s smile turned sheepish, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Ev. I didn’t mean to…”

“It doesn’t make me sad to bring up my mom,” I assured him, smiling gently as I put the book into my bag. “It’s been five years. It’s okay.”

Five years since she left this Earth. Five years since she vanished from my life. Five years alone.

It was okay, even though the writhing anxiety inside me said otherwise.

“I’ll let you get back to locking up,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Can I use the self-checkout for my books?”

“Of course. Oh, uh – Everly?”

“Yeah?” I stopped at the top of the stairway. Will awkwardly coughed.

“Some friends and I are going to take the ferry to Seattle this weekend,” he said, his voice cracking a bit. He cleared his throat. “We’re going to a place called Unicorn Bar. Seems like somewhere you might like, so I…uh…was wondering…”

My stomach churned. I plastered an apologetic smile on my face. “I’m sorry, Will. I’m helping my dad at the Historical Society this weekend. I promised him.” Shrugging helplessly, I added, “I hope you have fun though!”

“Don’t be sorry, that’s – that’s totally okay. Yeah, of course. Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you later!” He waved, his face bright red.

“See you!” I left him with a wave, making a hasty exit down the stairs. I kept up my smile until I was out of his sight.

I’d had plenty of experience putting on masks, fitting into whatever role was required of me. At twenty-three, I could lie more easily than tell the truth.

Will was kind. Sweet, polite. The kind of guy I would have liked to take a ferry ride to Seattle with.

But that wasn’t possible. It wasn’tallowed.

While most young adults my age were planning to move away from Abelaum and find better opportunities in Seattle or Tacoma, I’d made no such plans. I couldn’t. Even if I started walking and never looked back, Abelaum would never release its hold on me.

My father, and his God, wouldn’t let me go.

Mama had warned me. Her final words, scribbled on a note I found tucked beneath my pillow the morning her body was discovered, told me the truth she hadn’t been able to utter in life.

I am the betrayer. I let Juniper go and shielded her from the demon’s sight. This rot cannot be allowed to spread. Take back your power or the Deep One will consume all that you are and make you Its vessel. Sybil knows the way.

That was all she’d written. Like the ravings of a mad woman.

The nightmares started after she died. Her suicide, and the letter she left me, ripped my life apart and left me raw. No longer did I simply fear the suffering my father and his cult would inflict on others; now, I knew exactly how much suffering was intended forme.

The Deep One needed a vessel. Mama claimed the vessel would be me. My magic, no matter how wild and untrained, would provide the God with the power It needed when It eventually emerged from Its resting place.

There was no way in hell I would accept that fate. No matter what it took, no matter how much it hurt or how terrified I was, I would rather follow my mother to her grave than become a mindless meat puppet for an ancient deity.

Unfortunately, I had no idea who “Sybil” was, nor how to escape from the God. Her name haunted me, a ghost in my dreams. With every passing night, my nightmares grew more frequent, more vivid. Sometimes, I feared they weren’t dreams at all.

They felt too real.

A sharp pain pierced into the back of my skull, like a needle jabbing my spine. Wincing, I squeezed my eyes shut, stumbling forward until I was able to grip the handrail along the stairs.

My palms were cold with sweat. My eyes moved rapidly behind my closed lids, twitching and rolling outside of my control.

Whispers surrounded me. Angry imperceptible words sent shivers over my arms. A heavy presence loomed over me, filling me with terror.

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