Magick (Book 3 in the Coven Series) (23 page)

One of the guys spits at me, and Egan shows up just in time to punch him in the face. I shove both guys at Egan. “Get them all together.”

It takes about ten minutes, precious minutes we don’t have, to tackle all the hunters and toss them into a group beneath the line of trees at the edge of the property. Sean is bleeding from his left arm when he deposits the last one with the others.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods. “Got grazed, but I’ll live.”

“Not for long,” one of the hunters says. “We’re going to kill you all, you evil abominations.”

“Oh, shut up, Milo,” Rev. Dawes says.

I turn my head slowly to look at him in disbelief.

“You’ve turned traitor, just like your boy,” Milo says to the reverend.

“I’m still as much of a hunter as you are,” Rev. Dawes says. “More so. My family has been hunting since before yours ever knew the supernatural existed.” He gestures vaguely at my friends and me. “If they wanted to kill you, don’t you think they would have already?”

“Maybe they like to torture first,” another hunter says.

I meet the man’s gaze. “I assure you, we have no plans of torturing you. We don’t want to hurt you at all. But I can’t say the same for the witches who are on their way. They will kill you without batting an eye.”

“You’re witches,” Milo says.

“Yes, we are. At least most of us. But we’re not dark witches, not anymore. We no longer have access to dark magic, and by the end of the day neither will the covens who are coming here.”

“You’re not making any sense,” yet another hunter says.

“There’s no time to explain it all, but I have the ability to remove their dark magic.”

“But they’ll still be witches, still monsters,” Milo says.

Rev. Dawes steps forward, forcing Milo to look up at him. “I think I’m somewhat of an authority on good and evil, and I’m telling you this girl is not evil. Would something evil save a person’s life? She stepped in front of a bullet for my son.”

A few hunters exchange surprised glances.

“She has to have an ulterior motive,” Milo says, refusing to be swayed.

“Yeah, she loves him. And he loves her. In fact, I’m detecting a lot more love from the people standing than the ones with their butts in the snow.”

With each word, I like Rev. Dawes more and more.

“We’re facing a big fight, and I’d rather have you on our side than have to fight a war on two fronts,” I say. “And if you don’t believe me by the end of the day, then we can talk again.”

I hear Egan’s intake of breath. “My coven,” he says.

I stare hard at Milo and the others. “Your choice is to either stay and fight with us, or we will magically bind you so you can’t defend yourselves. It’s your decision.” I don’t like being so harsh, but I’m out of time for bargaining.

“I’m with ya,” one guy says, the youngest of the bunch. A few others follow.

I don’t have agreement from all of them before I have to turn my back and get ready to fight. “Untie them,” I say to Egan.

Our plan to intercept some of the dark witches before they arrive here is shot, so we scramble to our positions. As if to set the mood, the sky opens and this time it’s rain instead of snow, the coldest rain I’ve ever felt, ice cold as it hits me and plasters my hair to my head.

Suddenly, I hear cries from Rinna, then Adam. Their covens have arrived from different directions. Witches begin swarming into the area, and they start blasting away. Trying not to be obvious, I move closer to the fissure, flanked by my friends. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the last of the hunters jump to their feet with their weapons at the ready.

“Don’t kill them unless you have to,” I yell at the hunters. “Bring them to me one at a time.”

My words are barely out of my mouth before a huge blast of dark magic throws two of the hunters back through the air. They’re dead before they hit the ground. I spin and throw up a magical shield in front of the other hunters, just long enough for the witch’s next blast to bounce off and startle him. I let down the shield and focus my magic on the witch who killed the hunters. One powerful blast and he’s out cold. I take down another on my way to the unconscious man. I crouch and press my hand against the witch’s forehead, trying to ignore the shouts, the magical power arcing through the air, the cries of pain, the blasts of human weapons.

I drain the witch as quickly as I can then move to the other one, who is beginning to pull himself upright. I grasp his hand before he can attack me again. When I finish with him, I notice I’m glowing a little. And that Milo is staring at me with wide eyes. A witch beyond him takes aim at Milo, but Egan zaps the guy.

I wipe the rain from my face as I stalk toward the witch. As I pass Milo, I point back at the two witches I just drained. “When they recover, tell them what we need.”

After a few minutes of chaos, I lose track of how many witches I’ve drained. There’s no use counting because they just keep coming. Egan and Keller stay close to me at first, but the attacks from all directions begin to separate us. Even so, each time I make the connection to drain a witch someone is there to guard my back. Piper using her magic, Rule with a knife coated in shavegrass, Sarah snapping binding bracelets on witches until I can get to them.

I begin to fight nausea and a faint feeling that will be the death of me if I’m not careful. After rising to my feet from draining Egan’s mother, I stumble. Sean is the one there to steady me. I notice his entire shirtsleeve is coated with blood now.

I sense a witch trying to draw from the fissure. I spin that direction and send a blast of magic that knocks the head of Rinna’s coven off his feet.

“You use that power,” Sarah says as she rushes up. “Don’t let them get the upper hand.” She’s off again before I can respond.

I cross to the fallen witch and drain Macon Caldecott. When I feel a little woozy afterward, I accept that I need some magical help. Hoping I’m not making a huge mistake, I pull a little magic from the fissure. I hold my breath as it flows into me. When it turns into white magic once it enters me, I feel like laughing. I meet Sean’s gaze, and he nods his approval.

It starts raining harder, making it difficult to see who is friend or foe. My hands grow numb from the cold any time I’m not using the Magick of the white witch to convert witches. A few times, a drained witch isn’t happy and tries to fight back. Sean and Egan always seem to be there to take care of them. I don’t wait around to see how they handle them, having to move on to the next witch waiting for me.

The blur of action and sound and never-ending conversions seems to go on for hours. An errant burst of magic hits my arm, scorching a streak across my skin. The rain turns the snow on the ground to slush then to mud. As people dive and fall, they become coated in it. We look like Neanderthals at war.

Through it all I keep draining witches, even when I feel like the strength it’s taking me is more than what I’m gaining as the dark magic converts to light. It forces me to draw even more power from the fissure.

I fall to my knees and gag. I wish I could hit a pause button until I can catch my breath and regain some strength. But my gaze fixes on the witch raising her hand to attack me. I toss a bolt of energy her way. I watch as her body flies through the air in what seems like slow motion. I use my speed to catch her before she lands. Before she can react in any way, I press my palm against my sister’s forehead. “I’m doing this for your own good, Marissa.”

The conversion is not as smooth as the others, and I wonder how much longer I can keep going. But this is my sister, my only sibling, the only other person who could possibly know what it felt like to watch our mother be siphoned to death. I shove the unhappy thought away and focus all my shaky energy on Marissa. When the last of her dark magic leaves her, she collapses into my arms. We both end up on our knees in the cold, wet muck. She sobs against my chest. Tears start streaking down my cheeks too, mixing with the rain.

“I’m sorry,” Marissa says.

I rub my hand over her wet hair. “I know. Everything will be better now.” The battle raging around us fades away as we hold each other.

A blast of magic in my back robs me of breath, and I fall forward onto Marissa. I think I hear someone scream my name, but it’s followed by more bolts of magic nearby. Through the haze of pain, I recognize my father’s magical signature. That’s followed by the realization that he’s drawing from the fissure and will kill every one of my friends if I don’t stop him. I manage to lift myself off Marissa and turn on my knees. There, through the rain I see him. Hatred that has nothing to do with dark magic wells up in me and gives me the strength to drag myself to my feet.

There is too much noise for us to speak, but we don’t have to. I see in his dark eyes what he’s thinking, that he’s here to finish what he started at Shiprock. But I’m not that girl anymore, the one who was scared of her own magic. He turns his head slowly, settling his gaze on where Keller is helping Egan fight off a huge male witch. The moment my father begins to lift his hand, I dig deep in the well of magic at my disposal. I extend my arms and send a pulse of energy toward him. He fires back almost immediately. We dodge and trade magical punches until I feel like I’ll collapse for good if I take one more step. I have to break his connection to the fissure, but it’s as if his magical tie to it fights its own battle with mine.

“You’re not as strong as you think you are,” he yells at me over the din. “Just like your mother.”

The White Ring sends a surge of heat through me, and I gasp as images flash through my mind—faces I don’t recognize until it stops on my mother’s then fades.

He’s right. I am like my mother, and all the other white witches whose lives were taken. Only I have no intention of dying today. I latch onto that lingering warmth, let it feed me more than even the magic from the fissure. The moment I start to glow, my father aims his hands at me. Before the power crackling at his fingertips can leave him, the full force of my white witch magic surges to the surface. The wind swirls around me, whipping the rain in circles and slapping my hair against my face. I lift my hands, and the power explodes out of me in all directions like a bright white wave.

My father is knocked flat, breaking his connection to the extra magic flowing up out of the bowels of the earth. As I stalk toward him, I fear my dark magic has returned and I’ll kill him. When I reach his side, I stare down at the hatred in his eyes and wonder if I can ever forgive this man for the pain he’s caused. Though a part of me wants to leave him lying in the mud and not give him that second chance I told Sean all the witches deserve, I slap my hand against his chest and start to drain him.

“Get away from me,” he spits. He tries to lift from the ground, and a horrible shudder goes through the connection between us.

Suddenly, Marissa is there shoving her boot against his throat. It’s not enough to crush him, but enough to keep him from moving. The darkness coming out of him is so vile I choke on it. As head of the coven, he’s a direct descendant of those first dark witches, from the first family to accept the evil. What I’m taking from him feels like more than just his evil but all of the evil that has ever existed in our family line.

It takes everything I have, but I finally remove the last of his dark magic. It coils inside me, lethal and mad as hell. For several horrible moments, I fear it’s too much and it won’t leave me. Panic flares in me when my vision starts to go dark.

“What have you done?” my father says.

Gradually, the darkness in my vision dissipates, and my father’s dark magic fades away. I stare at the anger on his face. I don’t know what I’d hoped for, but I should have expected exactly this. It wasn’t just his dark magic that made him evil.

I look up at the approach of two other witches from my coven, ones I’ve already drained. Only a short time ago, they were leaders who served by my father’s side. But they are different now. As I meet the eyes of my Uncle Cannon, I see regret there. He is not the same type of man as his brother, my father.