Soul of a Witch (Souls Trilogy)

Everly was seated between my legs, hunched over Sybil’s encoded notes like a gremlin. It was no wonder the poor girl’s back was always hurting. I’d sheathed my claws so I could massage her, working my palms over her tight shoulders, inspiring the occasional contented sigh.

It was really just an excuse to touch her.

“You’re ridiculously sexy when you indulge your sadism, you know that?” I said, and she chuckled as she glanced back at me.

“What makes you say that?”

“When you threatened that hellion yesterday. Very bold of you, darling. I thought you’d be scared of him.”

“I mean, I am. Or was,” she added quickly. “It’s not really Leon’s fault. He deserved his sigil back.”

Her face tightened for a moment as guilt seeped into her veins, and I caught her chin before she could turn away. “It’s not your fault either, that you need to protect yourself.”

She smiled, nodding against my hand. “I know. I used to think…well…” She did turn away from me this time, her voice fading away. But I nudged her to continue, and she said, “I used to think that if I could just get away from my family, I’d never have to hurt anyone again. I’d never be…a threat…to anyone again.” She pulled in her lips, pressing them tightly between her teeth. “But that was naive. Even if I hide myself away, people still think I’m a threat to them. So, I guess I am. If they want me to be dangerous, I will be.”

“You are dangerous because you must be.” I kissed the back of her neck. “The danger in you protects your gentle heart. And I adore that about you.”

She turned and kissed me, pressing her body close to mine. Her fingers wrapped around the nape of my neck, caressing my skin. I wanted to toss that wretched book away from her and keep her attention for myself.

But of course, ever studious Everly would not be distracted for long.

“I’m trying to be good,” she said, breaking away from my mouth and giggling when I chased after her. She settled between my legs again, pulling the notes back onto her lap. “You’re so distracting. It drives me mad to be near you, without…” She trailed off, but her body did the talking. Her butt was pressed firmly against me, so when she gyrated her hips, I felt it intimately. My arms snapped tighter around her like a vice, and I muffled a snarl against her neck as I thrust against her.

“Without touching, I know,” I finished for her. “It’s torture not to fuck you. Can’t you read and fuck at the same time?”

She gave me a smile that said she didn’t truly mind seeing me tortured. It made me feel like an animal, salivating and desperate, a slave to my baser instincts.

A slave to her. To her whims and desires, whatever they may be. Whether it required me to top or bottom, I frankly didn’t care. I aimed to please.

“Poor thing,” she said, all mocking sweetness as she kept grinding her ass back against me. “But I need to concentrate. This language, this code…” She glared at the book as if it had offended her. “It makes me want to rip my hair out.”

Peering over her shoulder at the lines of text, I narrowed my eyes at the strange markings. They didn’t mean a damn thing to me.

“Can’t demons understand all languages?” she said, and I shook my head.

“We can learn any language, and very quickly,” I said. “But we need a fluent point of reference. That journal has me just as confused as you.”

She groaned in despair, rubbing her head. She was so certain Sybil had discovered something important; even I suspected it, if I was to judge by the other bits of information we’d managed to glean. The old witch had been testing the reactions of various poisons on the flesh of the God. She’d been infusing weapons with experimental spell work, trying to figure out how to destroy the gods from the inside out.

In all my years of fighting those creatures, I’d never found a hidden weapon or shortcut to Their undoing. They died as any other creature did, by slowly and relentlessly being worn down, injured, bled out and ripped apart. Although They couldn’t move around very well, Their flesh was incredibly strong and They could heal themselves swiftly. In all my years of hunting Them, I’d been fortunate to only encounter incredibly weak ones.

At least, until the Deep One. Even as weak as It was, It was still the most powerful God I’d encountered on Earth.

Whether or not my and Everly’s combined power could take It down, I wasn’t sure. Everly had no issue conjuring massive amounts of magic, and that gave me hope. But the reality was her grandmother didn’t have time to give her a proper, thorough education befitting a witch like her. We were racing against time, trying to teach her all we could before we had to face the God.

Before the Libiri managed to offer another sacrifice.

Discovering Sybil’s secret weapon could give us the upper hand. The engraving on the great tree in the greenhouse was Everly’s only clue, an incomplete Rosetta Stone that she frequently referenced as she attempted her translation.

She sighed heavily, getting to her feet. “This isn’t working. I’m going to go to the greenhouse for a while and try to meditate. My brain doesn’t want to work anymore.” She pouted her lip, looking down at me pleadingly. “Will you bring me tea?”

“And peach cake?” I offered, to which she excitedly nodded.

I headed to the kitchen as she teleported to the greenhouse. The radio was there on the table, Winona humming pleasantly as a watering can hovered over the herbs in the window box.

“Any luck with the old Grand Mistress’s code?” she said, and I shook my head.

“Unfortunately not. Everly’s gone to the greenhouse to clear her mind. She’s exhausted.”

A kettle was already steaming on the stove, the house having anticipated Everly’s needs perfectly. There was a peach cake sitting on the countertop beneath a glass dome, and I took a slice for her before taking down several tins of tea and herbs. Her preference in tea depended upon her mood and the time of day. Earl Gray with a little milk and sugar in the morning when it was rainy outside, green tea with lemon if it was sunny. Black tea with cinnamon and clove if she planned on a late night in the library, chamomile and lavender with cream when she needed sleep.

Today called for something mild but sweet. Something that would awaken her mind but soothe her body.

Winona had been prattling away at me, although I didn’t hear a word she said until she gave a soft laugh. “Well, I certainly never thought I’d see it.”

Placing Everly’s tea and cake on a tray, I glanced back at the radio. “See what?”

“An archdemon serving tea to a witch.” She chuckled. “My ancestors would never believe it.”

Waving her off, I said, “You’re not the only ghost in this house; just the loudest. The other old biddies watch in silence, but they do watch. They have no choice but to believe it.”

The scent of rain greeted me as I stepped outside, headed toward the greenhouse.

“Ah, there you are!” The Woodsprie’s face appeared from his tree, his expression perturbed. “Your witch is being strange.”

Glaring at him, I said, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I thought she fell asleep,” he said. “But she’s…talking.”

Alarmed, I quickly made my way inside. Everly’s mind could sometimes drift when she meditated, wandering a bit too close to the Veil. But I’d watched her meditate many times now, and even when she had violent visions, she had not spoken aloud.

Before I saw her, I could hear her. She was whispering rapidly, the words running frantically together. Rounding a planter, I found her kneeling before the great tree, one hand extended, her palm flat against the tree’s runic inscription.

I felt no emotion from her. When I reached for her mind, all I encountered was a cold void, like a breath of wind from a long-forgotten tomb.

Setting the tray aside, I knelt next to her. Her eyes were not closed; they were half-lidded and rolled back, only the whites visible. Her lips were moving, whispering, “Call his name, offering of sweetness, liquor and pain…”

“Everly?”

She didn’t even flinch. Her lips kept moving, the whispers coming faster, “Blood of the dead, resentfully taken. Blood of the lover, willingly sacrificed. Bond made in feral night to call his name. Offer him sweetness, liquor, and pain.”

Every time she said it, the words grew faster. Her arm trembled as it lay against the tree. In her opposite hand, clenched into her fist, was Sybil’s encoded notes.

“Blood of the lover,” she kept murmuring. “Willingly sacrificed —”

“Everly!” Grasping her shoulders, I wrenched her upright, and she screamed, thrashing against me. Her heart was pounding too hard, dangerously fast, while her body temperature had dropped frighteningly low. “Calm down, you’re alright, darling. I’m here. Sshh.”

She struggled for another moment before she went limp. Her chest was heaving, ragged panting breaths wheezing out of her.

“Callum?” Her voice shook in terror. She grasped my arms, held tight against her chest. “I read it, Callum. I read it. I saw her write it.”

“Take a deep breath,” I said, stroking her hair. “Let your mind settle before you speak.”

She clung to me as she shook. As I rubbed her arms, her back, her neck, the tremors finally stopped.

Her voice was hoarse as she said, “I can read the code. I had a vision of Sybil. I heard her speak. I know what we have to do.”