Page 126 of House of Malice
One thing Alatar and Demitria did have in common, which was probably the only thing, was their tendency to arrive on their own time. No matter the occasion.
“Oma Anika said that if we release the magic in too big of a stream, it might kill us.” Reverie’s voice echoed in the empty church. “And knowing that, you still think it is the best option for us to perform a spell in the Old Church? Where are all the spells are already amplified?”
Octavia crossed her arms. “I know, I read Oma Anika’s instructions many times and practiced releasing the magic to make sure I have a good grasp on controlling it. We are powerful witches; you and I would be enough to control it. I bet the whole group of us will manage even better.”
Reverie’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t say anything anymore.
“If you have issues with my decisions as your High Priestess, you should take the title,” Octavia said.
Reverie scoffed, walking away. “Keep your petty title, Octavia. My ambitions lay elsewhere.”
Octavia stared at the back of Reverie’s skull as if she could drill a hole there with her gaze alone. Maybe she could; there must have been a spell or two for such things.
Rufus murmured something Galliermo couldn’t hear, his large palms massaging Octavia’s shoulders. Whatever he said to her worked because she sighed and went over to finish setting up the ritual circle.
Finally, Demitria walked through the door, Alatar trailing behind her. They were in the midst of a conversation, and they each carried an ice cream cone in hand. A pang of jealousy coiled inside Galliermo’s chest, but he ignored it.
Demitria walked up to him and settled between his legs. His hands were possessively all over her body in an instant, and she chuckled, kissing him on the lips.
The taste of vanilla and winter cherries lingered on her mouth. Galliermo licked his lips, savoring the taste.
“You are late,” he murmured to Demitria.
She smiled, looking down at him. With her free hand, she caressed his cheek. “It’s not my fault this time. Alatar insisted on getting ice cream because he was craving something sweet on the way here. So it’s your best friend’s fault.”
Galliermo hummed, burrowing his nose in the crook of her neck.
A series of claps echoed in the church, and with a groan, Galliermo pulled away from Demitria. Octavia stood at the altar, demanding attention.
“The ritual circle is finished,” she said. “We can begin the spell. Get your asses here.”
They all walked up to the altar and the ritual circle drawn on the ground. Inside there was a seven-pointed star, and they took their places at each tip.
Alatar stood on one side of Galliermo. And on the other side, Demitria. He had the two most important people in his life next to him, and that gave Galliermo confidence.
Octavia placed the crystal cluster in the middle of the ritual circle, right next to a bronze bowl that held ingredients for the spell. The crystal pulsed with glowing light, the power within it seeping through the walls.
It gave Galliermo chills.
“This will be one potent-ass spell,” said Alatar quietly, in a singsong voice.
Galliermo smirked.
Octavia took her spot, and they all linked hands. Galliermo squeezed Demitria’s hand to assure her, and when Octavia started the chant, they all joined.
It didn’t take long for the magic to awaken, and it was a feeling Galliermo had ever experienced. His power zipped through his body, looking for a way out into the world, and it tingled everywhere it touched, from his toes to the very tips of his fingers.
His heart beat rapidly, his breathing shallow. The moment the magic found its way out, for the very first time, Galliermo could see it take shape.
A tendril of white light split from his chest, his magic flowing out of his body into the middle of the circle, where it joined the colorful tendrils that each connected with other witches.
Demitria was the only one without magic flowing out of her, but even her skin seemed to glow from within.
This wasn’t how it usually worked, how their magic manifested. And despite it being the most beautiful thing he had experienced and witnessed, it also worried Galliermo.
But nobody looked alarmed, and so Galliermo didn’t break the chant, allowing the magic to do its work. The tendrils weaved towards the crystal and connected with it.
The wind rose around them, tearing at their clothing. Galliermo held tighter to Demitria’s hand and continued the chant. The last of the tendrils split from his chest, and the crystal greedily soaked it all.
