SHE FACED THE spot where Atropa should come from—where she should see Azura any minute. She attempted to take even, calm breaths and stretched out her hands. A wildfire of magic burning inside her. "I pray for the fallen ones. To those who drew their last breath here in this village. Whose life violently ended. We are still here." The trinkets surrounding her enthralled her, as if they called out. "I'm here with your daughters, your sons, your blood."

Silhouettes of people appeared at the end of the road.

"Come to me, spirits of the dead," she whispered.

The symbols flared on her skin. Soft murmurs drew nearer and nearer, but they didn't emerge from the nearing Atropa witches. Her heartbeat quickened. She sang in low and dark tones, pushing the power into her magic and letting it rise beyond the boundaries she thought she had. The voices in the shadows became more chaotic. A presence floated around her, the echoes of whispers trickling coldly against her skin. The words drove themselves out of her as if they had a mind of their own.

An ice-blue ball of fire blazed towards her. She held out her hands, stopping the fireball in mid-air. Her magic wavered as the attack forced her to break the call of power, but she quickly recovered. Her fingers closed around the fire, smothering it in her hand.

"Show yourself!" she yelled between the words of her spell.

With every word, the near-crushing weight of power rose higher and higher. The sand moved slightly beneath Davinia's feet. Little vibrations rippled off the drawings on the ground. The invisible forces around her pulsated in some kind of scream, but their anger wasn't aimed at her.

For only a moment—a mere second—she wondered if her mum was here too.

The windows shuddered in their frames. Davinia's fingers tingled, and a sensation rushed through her body. It felt almost the same as the night of the harvest when something divine took over. But this wasn't divine power. A wind howled, spreading the voices of the dead.

Davinia may not have the power of the ancestors anymore, but she had the spirits of the dead on her side, and they were pissed.

The witches came closer, and Davinia's heart sank.

Where was Azura?

Heda was neither among them. Only the high priestess Reanna, some elders, and even a few male witches who probably were given empty promises in return for their loyalty.

Was she a joke to them? To Azura?

A crackling noise rose from the symbols below. The rage of the dead fuelled hers as if it were her own.

"Give up, Davinia. You had the advantage of surprise, but not anymore," Reanna said.

"You can't take all of us down all by yourself," one of the males spoke up, and Reanna glared at him in annoyance. The men never held rights in the Atropa coven unless you counted the right to breathe.

A gust of wind blew through the street. The windows rattled, and fallen leaves danced on the ground.

"I'm not alone." Davinia breathed in the power surrounding her, channelling the emotions of the spirits. Their village. They'd been silenced long enough, and so had she. "I hear you and accept you," she whispered to the spirit as she finished the final notes of her song. "Let me guide your anger and power." The colours of the marking on her arm turned crimson as they burned on her skin. A scream built up in her chest, but she refused it to pass her lips. The muscles in her limbs tensed, and she allowed her fingers to dance around the energy moving along her hands.

The Atropa witches took a step back, and Davinia met their eyes. She needed to know. "Where is Azura?!" Her voice sounded darker than usual.

"Take sister Davinia and the hidden children. Kill the wolves," Reanna ordered, ignoring her.

The Atropa witches stepped forward, their chant carrying heavy through the air. Davinia recognised the curses pushing past the Atropa witches' lips and the ache that always followed. Davinia didn't even register the pain. The spirit's rage drowned it out.

"No!" Davinia held out her arms. Another gust swept through the streets, screeching akin to human screams and shoving the Atropa witches back. Embers rose from the pentagram on the ground. Davinia laughed. Shadows moved along the buildings. Some sort of human-like shimmer shone in the light. "I'm not alone," she said once more. The fire rose higher around her. "Where is she!?" She sang her song again. The strange force encircling her rushed into her veins. The energy did something to her mind, but she let it in anyway.

She needed it.

The power.

All of it.

The Atropa witches dispersed as Davinia cast out her senses. "Where is Azura?" she whispered to herself. She was at the top of her list. The reason her grudge grew more intense every day. But there was no sign of Azura.

"Coward!" she yelled as loud as she could, as if the trees would carry her words to Azura.

Tears streamed down Davinia's face. Not of sadness, but of anger—fury—was it her own or the ones of the spirits? Probably both. They both waited for revenge for so long, but Azura wasn't here. Not that the spirits cared. The dead would get vengeance however they could obtain it, and they'd use Davinia to accomplish it.

"Azura can hide, but I'll find her eventually. You can't stop it," Davinia screamed to Reanna, who stood before her alone. "I'm willing to die for my revenge. Are you?"

A blue fireball screeched towards her. One. Two. Some more from different sides. The fire around her burned higher, absorbing the Atropa magic. Shock plastered itself across the Atropa witches' faces.

"Underestimating me is going to be your downfall. For all of you!" Davinia swore as the harsh wind brought tears to her eyes. The walls of the buildings rumbled, and the surroundings turned darker than ever before. Except for the moon. It had never shone as bright as it did tonight. "I. Will. Come. For. All. Of. You."

The fire danced around her like a protective shield. No foe's magic could reach her. Davinia raised her hands as she continued her spell. The wind blew strong, but not as strong as the power flowing through her. The whispers of the dead became louder. Rain fell upon them, but the fire didn't care nor waver. She raised her chin to the sky, bathing in the moonlight and welcoming the cold water on her face.

"Come to me," Davinia said as she smiled towards the sky.

She was free. She was powerful...and her veins burned. A gasp escaped her, but she wasn't able to stop now.

Could she?

Clouds filled her mind, making it harder for her to keep a hold of her thoughts and the power more challenging to control. She slowed down her song, but it didn't decrease the anger of the dead. The spirits raged around her in an overwhelming presence. Davinia sucked in a deep breath. The magic pressed down on her.

How much power was too consuming?

Davinia closed her eyes as the words rolled off her lips. "I give my gratitude for this power, but it is mine. I'm in control."

A scream pierced through the village, reaching deep into Davinia's core. Her eyes sprung open as she turned.

"No, please," Dalia screamed as an elder dragged her through the street, the blade of a dagger shimmering in her hand. Gillian dodged the witch's fire shot at him but watched helplessly at Dalia and Mira being yanked away from him.

"Stop," Davinia said, the words barely audible over the rain. The whispers faded, the fire ceased dancing, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. It was like time slowed down, but the energy still nipped at her fingers—her hand, her wrist—begging to be taken.

Davinia froze in her spot as Atropa forced the little witches to their knees. The same way as that awful day. Even the dagger shone in the moonlight as it did on the night of the reaping. Tears mixed with the rain. This wasn't happening again. This couldn't happen again! She wasn't helpless anymore.

"No!" The fire reacted to her words. Fed by her anger. Heavy breaths came out ragged as she let the energy dance between her fingers.

"Don't touch me, you wicked toad." Mira twisted up, pushing the witch with a magical force.

It was the same shimmer.

The same coven.

In the same place as all those years ago, even though it felt like yesterday.

The dagger of the other elder slashed in Mira's direction, cutting into the flesh of her hand. Another scream filled the villages. Was it Mira, the death, or her own—maybe all of them? But only one thought took Davinia over; the Atropa witches shall die.

Davinia inhaled a full and steady breath, almost breathing in the fire as it pulled towards her. The heat of the flames warmed her face. She thrust her hands towards the elders and released the fire in an all-shattering force. Energy rippled off her. Shimmers of the dead, their faces, screams, followed the flames. Where the elders once stood was nothing left but some ashes. Dalia and Mira's eyes widened with horror, unharmed as the fire didn't touch them.

They were safe.

Her vision blurred, and Davinia doubled over, her body shaking uncontrollably. Black goo forced its way out of her mouth like it did in the cave.

An icy laugh taunted her from behind her. "All that power and all you did is eliminate some of our elders," Reanna said.

She did more than take them out. She obliterated them—and she'd do the same to Reanna. Every death was one less malevolent witch walking on this earth. Davinia took a step towards Reanna in an attempt to charge at her, but everything was out of focus, and she threw up again. Her fingers reached out to the energy, but it rejected her.

"There are limits to what a body and mind can take." Reanna's voice came closer. "You're uneducated, and there are so many more of us."

"Not that much more." With the last bit of strength, she pushed a force towards Reanna, though the attack was easily deflected. "I killed numerous of the initiated. Of the followers. Of the ones who mattered to you." Davinia lifted her hands, but pain shot through her body.

"You shouldn't scream victory before you secure it."

Neither should you, Davinia wanted to yell, but she couldn't. Brought to her knees, she fought the aching pain. Her hands hit the ground with the last power she had. The fire danced up once more. Higher than ever. She reached out to it.

If she could only channel a bit more—if she could start the spell again. Ask the spirits and the moon for more power.

A magical energy blew around her. The flames fought the magic, but it was exhausted too. Davinia's mind focused on her runes, her sigils, and the words of the spell. Her veins ached, her body telling her to stop—come on. Just a bit extra strength—

Wolves howled in the distance. Tears stained her cheeks, and the rain made her hair stick to her face. She tried to stand up with all her might. To keep fighting. She hadn't killed Azura yet.

A fireball razed towards her, and she wasn't even able to lift her hand to stop it. But the fireball did come to a stop and dropped to the ground. Her breath came out shallow as Davinia looked up. Figures came closer to her. A male Atropa witch sprinted past her, hiding behind Reanna.

"The dogs are of no threat to us," Reanna said to the Atropa witches that still stood.

The figures came into vision. Lycanthropes. Why were they here? Reanna was right. They couldn't do anything. The wolves should run for their lives, or maybe...Davinia didn't recognise these lycanthropes. They didn't feel the same.

Gillian pushed his paws off the ground, aiming to sprint at her, but one of the strange lycanthropes cut him off.

"No." The word came out in a mere whisper. Stumbling up, she fell on her knees again. A pain surged through her mind, and she clamped her head. Please, gods and goddesses, she didn't want to die here.

Something stopped the spell. Something familiar but not Atropa. Her breath pushed her hair out of her face as she tried to find the source of the magic. The wolves ran past her. Didn't they know they couldn't fight the Atropa witches? Three hooded people walked closer, their arms raised as spells drifted through the air. One of the male Atropa witches got caught by two wolves, and the witch...died?

They didn't carry the curse.

Another wave of nausea washed over her, but no one paid attention to her anymore. "Come on, Davinia," she said.

Wolves and witches fought around her while she sat useless in her pentacle. Her fingers trembled as she drew a sigil on the ground—but she stopped. The veins on her hands and up her arms were dark. Too dark. Her fingertips coloured black, as if ash covered them. She attempted to rub it off, but it didn't.

A heart-wrenching howl echoed through the harsh, cold night. Her head snapped up. She recognised that howl. "Gillian!" Her eyes darted around. A laugh caught her attention.

"I killed the wolf." The male Atropa witch stood over a dead wolf. A wolf that seemed awfully a lot like Gillian, but it wasn't him.

Mira screamed and tackled the Atropa witch to the ground. Dalia had never looked this pale as she mumbled, "he saved us."

Davinia closed her eyes, attempting to channel every bit of last magic surrounding her from anything there was. Black goo dripped from her nose, and hot tears streamed down her cold face. Gillian's warm hand held her cheeks. Her eyes shot open and met Gillian's kind, affectionate human eyes.

"It's time to leave," he said.

"Your father—Mira—Dalia." They couldn't leave yet.

"Mira and Dalia are okay. So now it's your turn to get to safety." Gillian brushed her tears away. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She could still gain more power...why wasn't she strong enough? A sob pushed past her lips. He lifted her up, and no energy was left in her to fight it. Her ice-cold body shivered against his warm one.

"The battle isn't over?" The screams and growls continued as she did nothing.

"It's going to be okay, Davinia. Your fight is done."

"But we can't just leave."

"Yes, we can. You already brought us the victory. Now let the calvary deal with what's left."

The calvary—the wolves and witches—but who were they?

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

Davinia fought off the Atropa witches but at what cost?

And who are the wolves and witches helping them?

Perhaps you'll find out in the next chapter!