47. Sacrifice

forty-seven

Darkly caught her by the arm as she snapped back into herself, easing Milla onto her knees, blind in a world of chaos. Wild magick pulsed and sizzled around her, setting the hair along her scalp and arms on end. She squinted and blinked, squeezing her eyes shut and opening them wide. This was always the risk. It took a minute for everything to come back online, but Milla did not have a minute. She needed to be fully functional now .

He released her arm and moved away, leaving Milla groping blindly where she knelt. Dirt, grass, dry tufts, rocks. Outside, cool. Probably the campground, great. Sitting back, she raised her hands, nearly clocking herself in the face from how freely they moved and how light her wrists were. A blink of surprise revealed the fuzzy outline of her fingers, the tips dark and pointed. She turned her hands over, marveling at the near-weightless feel.

She was unbound.

Unbound .

Milla whipped her face around as if she could see the seam to the Neitherworld. But it was closed, the access to a dead realm gone and Darkly nowhere to be found.

Wait, shit .

Milla clamored to her feet and staggered forward on half-dead legs, her vision still blurry but clearing by the second.

“Darkly?” she hissed in a whisper. A dark figure hovered a few feet away, and she aimed for it, reaching out to grab his arm, his hand, his leg. Her phone buzz-buzz-buzzed in her pouch, and the figure twisted, ducked around her, and pulled it free faster than Milla could follow. Goddess, he was fast. The buzzing ceased, and he pressed the phone into her hand.

“Shouldnae be here.” He sounded almost mystified, black eyes flicking to Milla, then scanning wherever it was they had landed as if he were looking for someone. Or making sure they were alone?

“Well, I am, so get over—”

A scream cut her off, jerking them both ramrod straight. Milla followed where Darkly looked, squinting and making out a coven of witches in a ritual circle partially obscured by trees. They were deep into their casting, roughly thirty feet away and ten feet below. She leaned forward, trying to gain a better view, and Darkly shot his arm out.

“Careful.” He pointed to the slope in front of them, and Milla belatedly realized he had stepped them out of the Neitherworld onto a low mound. Satisfied she would not fall, Darkly dropped his arm and glared down at her. “How?”

“You want to do this now?” She brought her phone close to her face, tracking the signatures on the E.R.I.E. Hippocromantic, vestic, chronomantic, and – “Corpomantic?”

Darkly startled back, jerking his face to the coven. “What?”

“That’s what it says, see?” She showed him the screen, pointing to each Way as she named it. At Darkly’s suspiciously arched brow, she explained, “Diego gave me a crash course earlier. And see these two? They’re the signatures for a summoning and a conjuring; no way to tell what Way it is.”

“Which do I aim for?” he asked, anger vanishing to make room for direction.

“Um.” Milla bit her lip, scanning her phone, the coven beneath them, and another scream rose over the clamor or chanting and sizzle of magick. “The fuck, is that …” Milla squinted at the ritual, making out a naked figure on its back. Tied to a … slab? “A sacrifice?”

“Triple Goddess’s tits.” Darkly cursed. He threw his arms down, tight at his sides, and twin obsidian blades appeared in his hands, wafting thin plumes of smoke.

“Holy shit,” Milla breathed.

“Who do I aim for, Milla?” he demanded, already moving away from her.

“Um, shit, the—” she scanned the E.R.I.E., cursing herself for not spending the last two weeks getting to know the technology. She shot her eyes skyward, intending to appeal to the Triple Goddess, the Horned God—nine rings, she would call on the Baron if she thought he would help—and spotted the sickening pulse of that crimson star instead. The brückengeist loomed larger, closer to being summoned in full. “The-the summoner!”

“ Stay here. ” That voice ribboned through her, locking Milla in place.

“Darkly—” she started to protest, the words dying out as that black-eyed gaze looked at her, through her, and his voice unfurled in her mind.

“ Dinnae fash .”

An absurd calm washed over her, suffusing Milla’s veins with an alluring sense of peace. It was a Living Shade that stalked down the hill, his purpose clear and deadly. He disappeared among the trees, and still Milla held in place, not really sure why. He was going to need her, and someone had to do something about that sacrifice on the slab; that was obvious. But she should probably stay put. Donmar was in position; he would help Darkly. And Tobias had taken off running like a maniac. He would be here any minute to back up the Dark Witch. Better to stay out of the way.

Her phone buzzed. She looked down at it, head foggy. Someone screamed somewhere. Not her problem, nothing to worry about.

It buzzed again, and she frowned.

Chronomantic.

That seemed important. Why was she tracking a chronomantic? She drifted her gaze to the ritual, entertained by the deep shadows bleeding from the trees and reaching for one of the ritualists. They engulfed him, dragging the witch, kicking and screaming into the dark, then moved on. A body lay in their wake, lifeless and gray—still as death.

She smiled, her Way thrilling at the sight and the new, dark power coursing in the air.

Nothing to worry about at all.

A neon-red bolt of lightning shot to the ground, landing beside the body. And another, closer to the trees. A third bolt lingered longer, tracing over the undergrowth like a tendril or tentacle seeking a handhold before it, too, retreated to the sky. Milla followed it back to the brückengeist, cocking her head at the massive, terrible figure in the sky.

Someone should do something about that.

A wet, frantic cry called her back to the ritual, where Darkly darted out of the trees and dropped into a lunge. Arms flung forward, fingers clawed, he curled his lip and tore a Shade from a witch.

“Huh.”

Another tendril shot from the sky, landing to the left of Darkly, lighting him up a bloody red. It crawled over the ground reaching for the witch, and, at the last moment, he vanished into a puff of shadow. The tendril retreated, zipping over the fallen body like the filaments in a plasma globe before returning to the sky.

“That can’t be good.” Milla toed closer to the edge of the mound, a thought needling in the back of her mind. Something about summons and rituals and sacrifices. About Dark Witches and what they could do. How they were used.

She shrugged it away, searching the shadows for Darkly, when a strong, smooth hand gripped her arm and yanked her around.

“What have you done?” Tobias yelled in her face. Blue flame blazed in his eyes, yet the air around him was frigidly cold.

“Nothing.” She batted his hand away, shrugging lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tobias straightened. “Do not …” His gaze drifted past her to where the shadows swelled and swallowed witches, then dropped back to Milla. “Gott im Himmel.” He snapped his fingers in her face, momentarily blinding her with a bright blue fireball. The crackle of magick vanished, along with the warm, fuzzy calm, and she staggered back, swiping in front of her face. Another cry rose above the chanting and the magick and the roar of the brückengeist overhead. This one angry and oh-so-familiar.

Panic rushed in, whipping Milla into action. Which was good because if she didn’t do something right now, she was going to hex the shit out of Darkly for alluring her like that.

Dinnae fash , he said. “Don't worry.” Don’t worry her ASS.

She scanned the ritual—three ritual witches and the sacrifice on the slab remained. The witch at the head, their face hidden behind a mask, Horned God dammit, why were they always masked, held both arms raised over their head, one wielding a sinuously curved boline dripping blood, and the other forming a Vestic’s divining sigil Milla knew well. So well that she knew there would be a human bone licked clean of valerian dust lying at the witch’s feet. The memory of that cloyingly sweet herb made her gag. Gray light bled from the Vestic’s eyes, their mouth never ceasing its chanting even as a pale white smoke purled like dry ice from their lips. Milla knew firsthand the pain of the intent they spoke. It had taken weeks for her tongue to heal from the blistering poison of those words.

A witch at the base of the altar moved quickly, drawing Milla’s eye. They flung their arm, and an acid-green hex shot toward the trees.

Darkly darted to the side, barely avoiding a direct hit. Right hand pressed to his side, he flung out his left. Sharp bullets of black sped across the distance, colliding with the witch, one-two-three, and Darkly vanished into shadow.

She stepped back, shaking out her hands, and collided with Tobias. He grabbed her elbows, and she threw him off. “What is he doing?”

“His job,” Tobias answered easily. He moved beyond Milla, flame dancing at his fingertips as he scanned the ritual. “You were not supposed to see this. It was not part of the plan.”

Part of her brain recognized that he’d covered a mile at an ungodly pace and wasn’t even breathing hard—which, unfair—while the other part of her brain screamed. So she screamed right along with it. “What ‘plan’?”

“His.” He looked back at her. “And Lou’s.”

“And is this part of the plan?” she asked, throwing her arm at the ritual, the seething shadows, the bodies on the ground.

“Almost always.”

Random pieces fell into place, and Milla really should have known. Should have seen it coming.

He hated his Way, and he loved his job in Florida, lazing in an Adirondack and chatting up a Death Witch.

I need you, he’d told her. To get out, get away. He was supposed to sacrifice her to free himself and this was why.

You don’t know what he’s like, Kayleigh’s Shade had screamed.

You’re going to learn things, Lou had warned.

We all have our coping mechanisms, Darkly had said of his weed.

“Oh, Goddess.” Another red tendril zipped toward the ground, and another, prying the shadows as though seeking entry while the sacrifice thrashed and writhed on the altar. Milla was going to be sick—all over herself, the mound, and Tobias—and she didn’t care. “Larkspur, witch’s herb, dragon’s blood, and … Tobias, what is ava pepper?”

“Kava kava, why?”

“Horned God fucking DAMMIT.” Milla launched past him, running over the edge of the mound.

Larkspur for protection and dragon’s blood for energy. Witch’s herb, to dispel confusion and fear, but then there was Triple fucking Goddess kava kava. Rai had called it ava pepper and Milla hadn’t known what that was, but kava kava she knew well.

When steeped and the steam inhaled, it kick-started visions in Vestics. Ground into a poultice or powder, it promoted protection in travel and astral work, necessary for a witch about to traverse the Neitherworld. But when smoked or disbursed in a censer, it lowered inhibitions to dangerous levels, and they had let him go all Dark Witch and wander the Neitherworld with Horned God-damned kava kava in his bloodstream.

Another howl of pain had her skidding to a halt halfway down the mound, Tobias sliding and crouching low beside her. A witch fell to their knees, heaving the contents of their stomach and the ritualist beside them kept one hand directed at the altar, the other at the trees.

“Where is Donmar?” Tobias asked in a low voice.

“Not here,” Milla answered, flashing him the screen of her phone. “No meteomantics.”

“Scheisse.” She started to flip her phone around, and he grabbed it, staring with wide eyes at the screen. “Is that a corpomantic?” Milla nodded. He handed her phone back and lifted his gaze to the ritual. “He hates corpomantics.”

“I’m sure there’s a story there.” When Tobias took a breath, as if to tell her, Milla cut him off. “Holy Horned God, later.” She crept forward. “You witches have the worst timing.”

The witch on their knees cried out again, their arms spread wide and chest arced forward as if hauled upright by a rope bound to their ribs. Ribbons of shadow stretched from their body, drawn to the dark.

The ritualist beside them shifted their sigil, and whatever hold Darkly had on those Shades severed. The witch fell back as their Shades snapped back into place, and Milla pointed at the ritualist.

“The summoner,” she told Tobias. “And a damn strong one. Now that Darkly knows, he’ll—”

Red lightning streaked from the sky, crashing against the earth with new fury. Aether crackled in the air like a live wire, and Darkly stepped out of nothing. He clawed his hands at the witch and the summoner and wrenched their Shades apart.

The fallen witch let out a wet-sounding cry, going terrifyingly still, and the summoner crumpled. Their head slammed against the edge of the altar with a sickening crack, and the body hit the ground.

Before she could even begin to process what she had just seen or the vicious, cold-bloodedness of Darkly’s Way, a flash of bright color from the head of the table jerked her attention to the ritual leader and the sixth witch hidden behind them. Short, slight, and maskless. Blonde chin-length curls gave her the appearance of a frightened cherub. She spotted Milla, meeting her glare—an appropriate death glare, not that half-assed attempt Darkly had made—with terror in her eyes. She slammed the massive grimoire in her arms closed, turned, and ran.

“I see her.” Tobias started to rise, ducking immediately as another tendril struck the ground like a live wire, shrieking and scouring the earth between the mound and the ritual. “Horned God.” He dropped low again, blue eyes burning purple beneath the light of the dread star.

Another tendril scraped the altar's base, reaching for the sacrifice chosen to host whatever horror the witches had summoned.

“The summoner is down,” Tobias stated. “Why hasn’t this stopped?”

“Because there’s more than one.” Milla felt outside of herself despite the crackle and sting of wild magick against her skin. This couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be happening, and yet—“Lou said ‘whatever it takes.’” She blinked, swallowed a rush of nausea. The bound man wailed as the tendril danced over his form and bent to the shadows. In the crimson flash, Milla spotted Darkly prowling along the fringes of the ritual circle, aiming for the leader at the head of the altar. “He’s not going to stop, is he?”

“No,” Tobias straightened and met Milla’s question head-on. “He will do whatever it takes to stop this ritual.”

“Well, shit.” She counted the remaining witches, glanced at the spectre in the sky, and made a decision. “You get the ritual leader, I’ll spare the sacrifice.”

Tobias nodded as the next tendril struck the ground at Darkly’s feet. He darted back, barely avoiding the strike.

Milla jerked her face to the sky. The brückengeist loomed close enough she could make out vague features on its face. Over-large hollows scanned the mound and the ritual circle, dismissing the sacrifice and leveling the weight of their desire on the Dark Witch.

It reached out with an over-long limb. A tendril burst from splayed, multi-knuckled, extra-long fingers, scraping across the sky toward Darkly.

He disappeared at the last second in a burst of shadowsmoke, oblivious to the threat, and reappeared behind the witch on the opposite side of the altar. Obsidian blades sped from his hand, catching them in the back. They rattled a bone-shuddering gasp and flung out a hex. Milla’s phone buzzed in her hand, and the hex hit Darkly over his heart.

He stumbled back, stunned, and Milla was moving before common sense could stop her. She tossed her phone to the side, tearing down the mound. Tobias grabbed her shoulder, and she ducked, spinning out of his grasp. “New plan. Get him out of here.”

“What?”

“Now!” She pointed to the sky, the brückengeist, and the next tendril forming in its hand.

“Nein, he can handle this.” Tobias reached for her again, and she snarled.

“No, he can’t, and I can’t do this again .” Heat flooded down her veins, pooling in her hands. “ Zastavit! ” The flash-freeze hex hit him in the stomach, and he jerked still. Tobias could dispell her hexes as quickly as Darkly, but it was enough to give her a head start.

She charged for the ritual, skidding and sliding on humid-damp grass while pooling vicious intent in her hands. Trying not to think about what would happen if that tendril found Darkly and latched on to him. The brückengeist was nearly formed, the summons a success even with a summoner down.

It had gone too far, and with Darkly fully unbound, Milla knew as well as she knew this Horned God-damned ritual that the sacrifice on the altar would not be enough.

Not when she had yet again delivered the perfect vessel.

I’ve really got to stop helping these people.