Page 60 of Soul of a Witch

“You wretched girl,” Meredith hissed. “You couldn’t even manage to defend your own brother. You’ll go teleporting all over creation, but you won’t raise a hand to protect your own family?”

As if I could. As if I, after being locked in cuffs against my will, my magic stifled, my power denied to me, could possibly doanythingto protect my family, let alone myself. Staring at the shattered glass on the floor, I willed myself not to say anything.

Just keep your head down. Don’t talk back. Don’t argue.

“Do you have nothing to say for yourself? You ungrateful, selfish, stupid little —”

Her hand whipped toward me, another slap coming straight for my face. Much to Meredith’s surprise, I didn’t let her hit me.

I caught her wrist mid-air.

“Don’t fucking hit me.” Shoving her hand away, I braced myself dizzily against the counter, trying again in vain to tug the cuffs off my wrists.

“Go to your room, Everly,” my father said. He was clearly trying to remain neutral between us, but his voice was tight with impatience. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“There’s nothing…nothing to discuss.” I grit my teeth, willing myself to stay conscious despite the agony in my veins. “Get these…get these things off me…”

But Meredith didn’t stop. “We’ve sheltered you, we’ve fed you! I let you into my house, you little bastard bitch!”

She tried to hit me again. This time, she barely managed to lift her arm.

She was flung back, her body slamming into the cabinets so hard she bounced off them before falling to the floor. My arms were extended, palms toward her, fingers curled. Around the edges of the cuffs, blood was welling.

They were all staring at me. Eyes wide, mouths agape. My father’s hand was outstretched, and he moved slowly toward me, like one would approach a frightened animal.

“Calm yourself down,” he said firmly. “We can talk about this —”

“You said she couldn’t use her damn magic, Kent!” Meredith shrieked, sitting on the floor and clutching her side, as if she was grievously injured. “And now she — Deep One, help us — her eyes…”

When I reached up to rub my eyes with the back of my hand, it came away bloody. Holy shit…that wasn’t good…

“Stand down,” my father said calmly, daring to take another step toward me. But I backed away rapidly, stumbling toward the front door, keeping my hands outstretched. “Don’t make any rash decisions. The more magic you attempt to use, the worse it will get.”

But I was beyond his orders. I’d die if I stayed here.

My father couldn’t stop me. The moment I was outside the house, I ran. Despite the blood blurring my vision, despite the sharp and deadly cold in my lungs, I fled into the dark.

Underneath the trees at the edge of our yard, beneath the tangled roots of a massive blackberry bush, I dug my few possessions out of the soil. Using my bare hands, clawing at the earth until it was packed beneath my fingernails, I could have cried with relief when I unburied the precious contents of the plastic bag. Callum’s sigil and my hand-drawn map to House Laverne. I kept them both clutched close to my chest and kept moving.

As I hugged the edge of the road, my breath formed clouds in the cold air. It wasn’t raining, but little droplets of moisture kept hitting my face, warning me there was more to come. Every time I saw headlights approaching, I scrambled into the shadows beneath the trees to hide.

It would take me all night to reach the house. Hours and hours of walking through the cold, the dark. I kept stopping as I doubled over, dry-heaving, the pain around my cuffs growing worse and worse.

The night was quiet, the air heavy with dew. Fog lay thick beneath the trees and crept along the twisting road. As I neared downtown Abelaum, I stuck to the roads on the outskirts. The streetlights were a comfort, and within the yellow glows of light, I felt safe.

But as the road curved along the lake and plunged into the trees, that feeling of safety vanished.

The night was utterly silent now. The chirping of crickets stopped. The occasional hoot of an owl could no longer be heard, the clicking of fluttering bats was absent. The only sounds remaining were my footsteps as they crunched on the dirt beside the road, and the subtle rattle of the wind through the autumn-dry leaves.

Snap.

I went still. Patchy clouds drifted over the moon, covering the only illumination I had. The trees towered over me. The air smelled of pine, loamy soil, damp leaves…

And rot. A sickeningly sweet, cloying stench prickled in my nose.

A low growl emanated from the darkness beside me. I turned toward the sound. The darkness was impenetrable, but I didn’t need my eyes to know what lurked there.

I was being hunted.

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