Page 76 of When Bones Whisper
The girl, untouched by grief with a thousand tomorrows, was now a woman rewritten by pain, ready to tear everything apart in the name of justice. With a lift of her bony fingers, Gertrude touched her obsidian, star-shaped pendant and said, “If you want a fight, then so be it.”
Before Charlotte could react, Nathaniel's fingers were already gripping the curve of her waist, pulling her from the path and pressing her against the wall as Alexander broke free and lunged at Beatrice, who ran toward the ballroom, but Josephine and the others had already made it inside.
Katherine grabbed Zachariah, pulling him as Gertrude stormed ahead.
“Stop them!” Nathaniel boomed as he held Charlotte. Her vision blurred as he pushed against her, feeling the hard muscles of his chest under his shirt tense under her palm as they watched Irene grab one of the Avery witches, and Zachariah another. Alexander lunged for Gertrude, but it was too late.
A flood of guttural screams echoed from the ballroom. Nathaniel, gripping Charlotte's wrist, pulled her toward the closed doors, but the Avery family must have spelled them not to open. He fought with the handle, before turning in time to see a witch walking toward them with her arms raised above her head.
“Run!” Nathaniel commanded, his voice edged with panic as he whirled around in time to grab the woman.
The icy touch of death pressed deep into her core, following her as she ran. She turned the corner, but stopped when she looked into the ballroom, her mouth falling open.
Sharp blades dragged across the throats of unexpecting guests, saturating their finest evening wear in crimson.
It was too late to help them by the time the guests realized what was happening.
With every murder, the Avery family siphoned the energy, their combined power growing stronger.
The blood hazed her instincts, and she tried to channel the magic that was slipping into her, but nothing happened. A wave of nausea surged through her as the screams rang out.
They were all going to die.
Chapter Twenty-One
Beatrice’s ringed fingers grabbed a fistful of Charlotte’s black curls, wrenching her back when she tried to dodge her attack.
“No!” Nathaniel hurtled towards them, a snarl contorting his face as he lunged at Beatrice, his pupils forming into slits. As his jaw unhinged, three rows of razor-sharp fangs emerged, plunging into Beatrice's neck with animalistic abandon, savagely tearing away chunks of flesh. Blood streamed down her body in a gush, forming a pool on the marble below. Her body went limp within seconds, and he dropped her with no care, leaving her to hit the ground at a contorted angle.
Charlotte exhaled shakily, the shock crawling through her, swirling the building nausea in her stomach. The remainingwitches grabbed a fresh set of humans and plunged the daggers deeper into their necks, applying enough pressure to cut through vocal cords, each hack motion spattering blood over their faces and arms.
The sacrifice's energy pulsed in the air before being siphoned by the witches who killed them. Whispering incantations, they directed incapacitation spells toward Zachariah and Irene, while Katherine was flung against a wall with a loud thud.
With a smile that didn't reach her eyes, Gertrude navigated the chaos, sending a shiver down her spine as she moved closer.
A loud crack echoed through the room, followed by a heavy silence. Charlotte turned to look around, her jaw slacking when she saw Nathaniel and Alexander on their knees too, unable to move.
The few guests remaining, including Charles Eringhorn, stood at the edge of the ballroom, their backs pressed firmly against the wall.
Under the flickering candlelit chandeliers, a woman bled out slumped against the piano, her hand clutched around her throat, the sound of her foamy gurgles filling the silence. Bodies surrounded her, a mixture of limbs from where the vampires had killed the witches and the intact bodies of humans who’d had their throats cut open.
She met Nathaniel’s bloodshot, strained eyes as he tried to wrestle against the suffocation of his mother's spell, moving his extremities more than others, but not enough to break free.
Broken stained-glass windows spilled moonlight onto the faces of those who had been enjoying themselves strewn across the marbled floor. Charlotte steadied herself after almost swooning from the lightheadedness prickling in her head. It wasn’t the first time she had seen so much death in one place. After her father had tried to kill her and had murdered Alice and her mother, he slit his own throat.
She thought they were the only victims, but it was only when she finally peeled herself from the floorboards, with sobs wrenching her chest, after she cried over Alice’s body, that she walked downstairs to get help only to discover the defiled corpses of all the staff that had been working that day, scattered across the parlor room, foyer, and kitchen.
They were all too far gone to be saved, just like the rest in the room who the Avery family had already siphoned. They were all sacrifices to give more power to Gertrude, who had left only Charlotte free to move.
With a thick swallow, she counted the remaining guests. There were just eleven, out of hundreds.
Bile bit up her throat. Baron Ellenwood and Baroness Victoria were cowering in the corner, their arms brushing, looking at Katherine, who Charlotte had briefly forgotten was his sister.
Charles glared at her through glassy eyes, suspended in the same stillness as the others. If they didn’t know her to be a witch before, they damned well did now.
“Now, dear, are you quite done?” Gertrude asked.
Charlotte jutted her chin, looking around, her eyes on Nathaniel’s for a moment longer than the others. She was sick and tired of always being afraid.
