Page 73 of Soul of a Witch

“Lanua cunctis hostibus clausa est,” I said. My pronunciation was far from perfect. While the words were important, they weren’t nearly as important as the intent behind them. “Hostes huc intrare non possunt.”

A sense of relief flooded through me, and my hands steadied. The air around my outstretched fingers shimmered slightly.

There was no visible change to the cabin, but itfeltdifferent. Tucking the grimoire into my bag, I said, “I have no idea if that worked, but maybe it will help her.”

When I turned around, Callum was staring at me.

“How did it feel, my lady?” he said. “To cast your first spell?”

Pride filled me, so thick and sweet that my eyes stung. The rush of emotions was unexpected, and I lowered my head so he wouldn’t see it on my face.

“Like breathing for the first time,” I said. It felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before, and yet it felt familiar too. Like a sensation from my dreams, manifesting in reality.

Callum gave me a sharp-toothed smile. “Then let’s cast a few more, shall we?”

26

Everly

Behind House Laverne, at the very end of a cobblestone path that meandered into the trees, stood a beautiful mausoleum carved of stone. An old graveyard surrounded it, overgrown with fauna, headstones and elegant statuary spread out beneath the trees.

The mausoleum was large in comparison to the little graveyard it watched over. The pale stone was webbed with bronze veins, and its square structure was crowned with a dome of elaborate stained glass. Weeping angels reclined between pillars set into the outer walls, arms outstretched in despair, beautiful faces veiled.

Callum looked as if he could have been one of those angels brought to life — if said angels were wicked instead of beseeching, full of mischief instead of mourning. Fingers laced, we made our way down the cobblestone path.

“Is Grams buried here?” I said, pausing to brush away dirt and vines from a crooked headstone. The year of death was 1902, and my eyes practically bugged out of my head at its age.

“She is. I buried her myself,” Callum said. “The moment she died, her ghost was banging all over the house demanding to be buried. Do you have any idea how picky she was?” I certainly didn’t. “She wanted me to sing hymns. Me! A demon! Singinghymns!” He shook his head, huffing with such disbelief one would think he’d been asked to prance naked between the headstones. “But I did it. I don’t understand human death customs, but it made her stop nagging me.”

He turned to stare at me as I snickered, trying not to completely lose it at the thought of Callum standing out here with Gram’s shrouded corpse, singing Hellenistic hymns.

Callum folded his arms, claws tapping irritably on his bicep. “I see my suffering amuses you. It’s only fair you amuse me in return.”

“Oh?” I turned from admiring the elaborate gravestone before me, giving him an innocent look. “Did you bring the strap out here? That certainly seemed to entertain you.”

He tried to maintain his grumpy glower, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Never should have given you a taste of that. Give one little inch and you take —”

“It wasmuchbigger than one little inch, Callum.”

One moment, he was standing near the graveyard gate; the next, he had snatched me up and pressed me against the wall of the mausoleum.

“My, my, you’ve gotten bold, haven’t you, darling? Perhaps you forget whose pretty little neck is most vulnerable to throttling between the two of us?” To prove his point, his clawed fingers pinned me by the throat. He didn’t stifle my air, but slightly squeezed the sides of my neck until my head swam and I caught my breath, gasping in his hold.

“I may be weaker than you,” I dared to say. “But you would beg me to throttle you and whine if I didn’t acquiesce.” His eyes flashed dangerously. “So, who’s more vulnerable between us really? The witch or the desperate horny demon?”

“You must be trying to provoke me.” His voice lowered in warning. “Such a determined little witch would do well to remember her safeword if she wants to proceed.”

“Mercy,” I said, “is not something I’ll be asking for.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” He lowered me to my feet and stepped back. “Get to work then, witch. There’s a horde of wraiths waiting for you in there. It’s time you dispatched them.”

My face fell. Fear slithered up my spine. “Wait, you want me to go in there — alone?”

“Certainly. A witch so bold and confident as you shouldn’t have an issue destroying them.” He waved his hand flippantly, and I glared as I realized what he was doing.

If he thought he could gain the upper hand by getting me to beg for his help, he was sorely mistaken. Even with my stomach flipping in trepidation, I drew in a deep breath and said, “Fine. It’s not a problem at all.”

Striding toward the chained doors of the mausoleum, I told myself not to be afraid. The sooner I began practicing my magic, the better — and what better opportunity than this? Killing shrieking, blade-wielding wraiths…in a graveyard…not scary at all.

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