But she didn’t. When it came to
Bernadette, she never questioned her intense adoration and
devotion.
“It was so fun, B!” Sunday squealed as her
cheek pressed against Bernadette’s. She pulled away and took a seat
beside her patroness. Their fingers laced together, and Bernadette
held their joined hands on her lap. “You should have come with us.
Astor took me to this amazing record store. I got posters
and CDs. The lady there told us about this thrift store down the
street, and Astor and I went there afterward. Oh, my God, B! I got,
like, four dresses and two new pairs of jeans.”
Bernadette pursed her lips and tilted her
head.
“I’m glad you had fun, darling, but we’re
going to need to get to work.”
She released Sunday’s hands, and raised her
fingers to Sunday’s face. Magic flowed from her touch and coursed
through Sunday’s veins. Sunday beamed. Her energy was uniquely
invigorating. All over her body, Sunday could feel the buzzing
electricity like a million little sparks. She was awed by the
witch’s power, and she loved every second that she got to
experience it.
“Tomorrow, we’ll be leaving town for
business,” Bernadette explained. “It will be the first time you
will get to use your gifts like this. It will be just as we
practiced, but we must remember to be prepared for surprises.” Her
smile fell, and she lowered her chin, looking Sunday directly in
the eyes. Her voice dropped tenor when she continued.
“You must never trust a warlock,” she said
gravely. “They work directly against our interests. They raise
devils and demons, conjure killing curses, and consort with
vampires liberally. Very quickly, they amass great quantities of
power if permitted. We must always intervene with warlocks. Working
against our interests is working for ill. What becomes of
them will be an example to the others of their kind.”
Sunday pursed her lips, and she drew a hard
breath through her nostrils. She had trained for this, precisely
this. The world was filled with people who sought to do others
harm. Unlike Bernadette and her coven, those witches and
creatures were monsters. They didn’t care about the greater good;
they cared only for themselves. They were profiteers. They were
carpetbaggers of the mundane. Without question, they needed to be
stopped.
The world needed the Incarnate to take
action. Magic was no one’s plaything, and she wouldn’t let anyone
take advantage of the less powerful or the mundane. If all witches
were like Bernadette, then all would be well in the world. But they
weren’t. No one was as good. No one was as kind.
… And no one had an Incarnate.
“Okay,” Sunday finally answered. Her course
was set, and her pulse raced with the anticipation. She smiled
broadly when she imagined herself standing at Bernadette’s side as
she told them that they would never raise a demon on her watch. On
their watch. “Let me get my stuff out of bags, and I’ll meet you in
the study. Sound good?”
Alone in her room, Sunday thought of all the
things she’d learned, all the things Bernadette taught her.
Tomorrow, she’d be taking the first of many steps toward her Fate.
And she was never so happy. Right at that moment, Sunday knew.
Beyond the shadow of a doubt, she was and would always do the right
thing. Let someone get in the way of Bernadette’s altruistic
mission, and they’d have to face the preternatural and mundane
worlds’ greatest weapon: her.
TAKING BACK
SUNDAY, CHAPTER ONE
Present day…
Sunday’s tightly pressed lips barred her
from unleashing a string of expletives and curses against Fate. For
almost six years, she had managed to avoid the preternatural. No
witches. No vampires. No magic. After just over a year of
living in Columbia, South Carolina, it seemed her luck had run out.
Fate reared its ugly head when her only two friends in the world
outed themselves as witches. Almost two months later, Sunday sat
with those very same friends, Kayla and
Bernadette, she never questioned her intense adoration and
devotion.
“It was so fun, B!” Sunday squealed as her
cheek pressed against Bernadette’s. She pulled away and took a seat
beside her patroness. Their fingers laced together, and Bernadette
held their joined hands on her lap. “You should have come with us.
Astor took me to this amazing record store. I got posters
and CDs. The lady there told us about this thrift store down the
street, and Astor and I went there afterward. Oh, my God, B! I got,
like, four dresses and two new pairs of jeans.”
Bernadette pursed her lips and tilted her
head.
“I’m glad you had fun, darling, but we’re
going to need to get to work.”
She released Sunday’s hands, and raised her
fingers to Sunday’s face. Magic flowed from her touch and coursed
through Sunday’s veins. Sunday beamed. Her energy was uniquely
invigorating. All over her body, Sunday could feel the buzzing
electricity like a million little sparks. She was awed by the
witch’s power, and she loved every second that she got to
experience it.
“Tomorrow, we’ll be leaving town for
business,” Bernadette explained. “It will be the first time you
will get to use your gifts like this. It will be just as we
practiced, but we must remember to be prepared for surprises.” Her
smile fell, and she lowered her chin, looking Sunday directly in
the eyes. Her voice dropped tenor when she continued.
“You must never trust a warlock,” she said
gravely. “They work directly against our interests. They raise
devils and demons, conjure killing curses, and consort with
vampires liberally. Very quickly, they amass great quantities of
power if permitted. We must always intervene with warlocks. Working
against our interests is working for ill. What becomes of
them will be an example to the others of their kind.”
Sunday pursed her lips, and she drew a hard
breath through her nostrils. She had trained for this, precisely
this. The world was filled with people who sought to do others
harm. Unlike Bernadette and her coven, those witches and
creatures were monsters. They didn’t care about the greater good;
they cared only for themselves. They were profiteers. They were
carpetbaggers of the mundane. Without question, they needed to be
stopped.
The world needed the Incarnate to take
action. Magic was no one’s plaything, and she wouldn’t let anyone
take advantage of the less powerful or the mundane. If all witches
were like Bernadette, then all would be well in the world. But they
weren’t. No one was as good. No one was as kind.
… And no one had an Incarnate.
“Okay,” Sunday finally answered. Her course
was set, and her pulse raced with the anticipation. She smiled
broadly when she imagined herself standing at Bernadette’s side as
she told them that they would never raise a demon on her watch. On
their watch. “Let me get my stuff out of bags, and I’ll meet you in
the study. Sound good?”
Alone in her room, Sunday thought of all the
things she’d learned, all the things Bernadette taught her.
Tomorrow, she’d be taking the first of many steps toward her Fate.
And she was never so happy. Right at that moment, Sunday knew.
Beyond the shadow of a doubt, she was and would always do the right
thing. Let someone get in the way of Bernadette’s altruistic
mission, and they’d have to face the preternatural and mundane
worlds’ greatest weapon: her.
TAKING BACK
SUNDAY, CHAPTER ONE
Present day…
Sunday’s tightly pressed lips barred her
from unleashing a string of expletives and curses against Fate. For
almost six years, she had managed to avoid the preternatural. No
witches. No vampires. No magic. After just over a year of
living in Columbia, South Carolina, it seemed her luck had run out.
Fate reared its ugly head when her only two friends in the world
outed themselves as witches. Almost two months later, Sunday sat
with those very same friends, Kayla and
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