almost the hardest thing about the whole mess. Now when she looked at him, instead of feeling that little lift in her heart, she felt as though someone were ripping at her insides. She should have known. Mortals were not to be trusted.
It took all of Ravyn's willpower to refrain from hurting him, hurting the others. The taunting and abuse carried through the rest of her school years. She was always the weirdo, the freak. As she got older, she could more easily resist the urge to retaliate, but the fact that she'd wanted to hurt the other children scared her. She knew how dangerous losing control of her emotions could be.
And now her loss of control had actually harmed another. It might even have been serious enough to force a meeting of the elders.
Unless they were meeting for some other reason. Perhaps they were convening to engineer a plan to stop the killer. Now that the violence of the outside world had touched one of their own, the elders were likely to become more active in aiding in the apprehension of the perpetrator. But if they were successful, Ravyn's role in what had happened would be revealed.
She and her sister crossed a bridge where the water on either side was clear and trickled melodiously over the smooth stones in the creek. The smell of woodland phlox, henbane and belladonna grew stronger the nearer they drew to the clearing, and as Ravyn took her place in the circle a cool gust of wind whipped the thin robe around her naked legs, making goose bumps shiver up along her flesh.
The night was moonless. The only light came from the fire in the center of the ritual circle and the candles flickering on the altar, miraculously unextinguished by the steady breeze. The reflection of those flames flickered across the faces of the gathered hooded figures.
Sorina stood across from Ravyn, on the other side of the altar. Elsbeth clasped Ravyn's right hand while Elsbeth's husband, Adalardo, held her left. Ravyn wondered if they could feel her misgivings through the simple touch of their hands. Were her palms damp? Did the trembling she felt inside travel through to her fingers?
Along with the pleasant tang of wood smoke from the fire, the air carried the scent of imminent rain. Here, however, in the copse behind the mammoth house of their high priestess Vanora, the coven was protected by the thick foliage of the overhanging trees.
Vanora knelt in front of the altar, her face shadowed by the hood of her robe. She held her athame by its ornate black handle, and she placed the ceremonial dagger's silver tip into a bowl of salt water. Her voice, deeply melodious and haunting, rose over the snap of the flames.
"I beseech thee, O Creature of Water, to cast out all impurities and uncleanliness of the world. Blessings be upon this Creature of Salt; let all malignity and hindrance be cast forth hence, and let all good enter herein. Wherefore so I bless thee, that thou mayest aid me. Guide us to halt the evil. Protect all innocent creatures. Make a shield against all wickedness and malevolence. Goodness and light shall we reap."
Ravyn reached down with the rest of the coven as they lifted their own athames from the ground. In turn, each of the witches placed the tip of his or her dagger in the bowl of salt water just as Vanora had. As one, they lifted the blades to the heavens.
In Ravyn's mind, she saw the face of the killer. She gripped her dagger in her hand… felt flesh give way as she thrust it into his heart. A hitching breath escaped her throat, and her head snapped up. The athame was symbolic, used only in rituals. Never was it to be used for any type of cutting, let alone to harm another being. She quickly looked around to see if the others had heard her gasp. Her face flushed with shame.
The others hadn't seemed to notice. In unison, they repeated the words to seal the ritual, their voices rising as one.
"Keeper of all that is holy and good. Thou hast power over evil. We do summon, stir and call you up to
It took all of Ravyn's willpower to refrain from hurting him, hurting the others. The taunting and abuse carried through the rest of her school years. She was always the weirdo, the freak. As she got older, she could more easily resist the urge to retaliate, but the fact that she'd wanted to hurt the other children scared her. She knew how dangerous losing control of her emotions could be.
And now her loss of control had actually harmed another. It might even have been serious enough to force a meeting of the elders.
Unless they were meeting for some other reason. Perhaps they were convening to engineer a plan to stop the killer. Now that the violence of the outside world had touched one of their own, the elders were likely to become more active in aiding in the apprehension of the perpetrator. But if they were successful, Ravyn's role in what had happened would be revealed.
She and her sister crossed a bridge where the water on either side was clear and trickled melodiously over the smooth stones in the creek. The smell of woodland phlox, henbane and belladonna grew stronger the nearer they drew to the clearing, and as Ravyn took her place in the circle a cool gust of wind whipped the thin robe around her naked legs, making goose bumps shiver up along her flesh.
The night was moonless. The only light came from the fire in the center of the ritual circle and the candles flickering on the altar, miraculously unextinguished by the steady breeze. The reflection of those flames flickered across the faces of the gathered hooded figures.
Sorina stood across from Ravyn, on the other side of the altar. Elsbeth clasped Ravyn's right hand while Elsbeth's husband, Adalardo, held her left. Ravyn wondered if they could feel her misgivings through the simple touch of their hands. Were her palms damp? Did the trembling she felt inside travel through to her fingers?
Along with the pleasant tang of wood smoke from the fire, the air carried the scent of imminent rain. Here, however, in the copse behind the mammoth house of their high priestess Vanora, the coven was protected by the thick foliage of the overhanging trees.
Vanora knelt in front of the altar, her face shadowed by the hood of her robe. She held her athame by its ornate black handle, and she placed the ceremonial dagger's silver tip into a bowl of salt water. Her voice, deeply melodious and haunting, rose over the snap of the flames.
"I beseech thee, O Creature of Water, to cast out all impurities and uncleanliness of the world. Blessings be upon this Creature of Salt; let all malignity and hindrance be cast forth hence, and let all good enter herein. Wherefore so I bless thee, that thou mayest aid me. Guide us to halt the evil. Protect all innocent creatures. Make a shield against all wickedness and malevolence. Goodness and light shall we reap."
Ravyn reached down with the rest of the coven as they lifted their own athames from the ground. In turn, each of the witches placed the tip of his or her dagger in the bowl of salt water just as Vanora had. As one, they lifted the blades to the heavens.
In Ravyn's mind, she saw the face of the killer. She gripped her dagger in her hand… felt flesh give way as she thrust it into his heart. A hitching breath escaped her throat, and her head snapped up. The athame was symbolic, used only in rituals. Never was it to be used for any type of cutting, let alone to harm another being. She quickly looked around to see if the others had heard her gasp. Her face flushed with shame.
The others hadn't seemed to notice. In unison, they repeated the words to seal the ritual, their voices rising as one.
"Keeper of all that is holy and good. Thou hast power over evil. We do summon, stir and call you up to
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