5
LAYLA
Iwas giddy that I’d actually freed myself. But my excitement was short-lived as a surge of anger had me stomping along the invisible wall to my right and into the open aisle that led to the metal door in the distance to my left.
“Layla, be careful. Maeve’s and Patty’s powers are explosive when they’re together.” My grandmother sounded frightened.
I had no clue how to cast a spell and no business confronting two witches who had more experience combined than I was prepared for. But I was leaving this godforsaken place with my children and my husband.
I balled my hands into fists, stuck out my chin, and took my stance in the aisle as the two angry women marched in my direction.
My grandmother’s warning fell on deaf ears despite the icy horror drenching my veins. I swallowed the nerves scratching my throat—or maybe it was bloodthirst or both. During my pregnancy, I’d developed a hunger for blood, and even after giving birth, the cravings persisted. Dr. Vieira had warned me that weaning myself off it would take time. Whatever the reason for that ticklish burn, I shoved it aside. I had bigger things to deal with.
“She can handle herself,” Sam added as he came closer to me, though he couldn’t help. And I would bet that it was driving him insane that a magical wall separated us, making it so he had no way to protect me or fight with me.
A shot of confidence seeped into my soul, knowing that my husband had trust in me. I might be a novice with magic, but I was a quick learner, especially when my life was on the line. Back when I’d hunted and killed vampires, I’d never had time to think, just act—fight, protect, and do everything to save myself and those in harm’s way.
You can handle these witches.It was good to know my subconscious also had faith in me, because doubt could be my own worst enemy.
It was uncanny how mother and daughter looked alike—brown eyes, high forehead, round face, and thin lips. The only difference was that Patricia was shorter than her mother, and Maeve had streaks of gray running through her brown hair.
Maeve wiped her hands on her blue evening gown. She must’ve just arrived from the charity event where she and her husband had been the honored guests for their efforts in raising money for the new children’s hospital in Bismarck. How ironic that she supported a children’s hospital given that she was instrumental in kidnapping our babies.
“Why are her eyes yellow, Mom?” Patricia asked.
If I’d heard Agnes correctly, she thought it was the Mystic. Interesting.
“It means I drank Agnes’s blood, and now I’m a full-blooded Monroe witch and the rightful owner of the Mystic title,” I fired at Patricia and Maeve.
According to the Mystic prophecy, the Monroe witch who bore quadruplets would become the Mystic. Meaning the one true witch wouldn’t need a coven to exercise her power. That scenario fit me like a snug winter glove.
Frankly, I couldn’t care less about rising to the supreme being of witches. I just wanted my children home and safe. I wanted to be the best mom I could be, to see Orion, Luna, Ellie, and Rorie grow up and thrive. To be a great mother, wife, and partner. And I wanted to help my sister Jordyn find her happiness.
Maeve stopped near a medium-sized open box that had red stains around its bottom edges. “Your yellow eyes mean nothing more than that you’re a witch.” Maeve didn’t sound like she believed her own words. Regardless, she swung out her arm to stop Patricia from advancing on me. “Wait.”
Surely, Maeve wasn’t frightened ofme—unless she believed I was the Mystic. If the prophecy came to fruition, would I have to perform a blood ritual? Or maybe the ceremony was only for Maeve because she wasn’t destined for the role. Or maybe my magic was stronger than hers.
Tripp and a couple of others in my camp had told me that they could feel my magic. Maybe I was selling myself short. After all, the spell I’d recited to free myself from that table was cool as shit and had worked. Of course, it had been because of Agnes. Without her, I might be dead.
Maeve’s eyes flashed orange, a sign she was preparing to use her witchcraft. “Agnes, you disobeyed me. I told you what would happen if you gave Layla your blood.”
“Luckily, I was able to when she showed up on the farm, since the vial of blood I had hidden at Sacred Flame Academy had been stolen. You stole it, Maeve. Didn’t you?” Agnes asked.
Patricia’s snicker was sardonic. “My mom did no such thing. I did—or rather, I had a friend who goes to school there help me.”
“You’re worse than your mother.” Agnes’s tone was abrasive. “I’m done taking orders from both of you. If you’re going to send me to my grave, then stop threatening me and do it. Because if I get out of here, I will do everything I can to make sure you never become the Mystic. You know that forcing or changing a prophecy has dire consequences on humanity.”
I’d just met Agnes, and she hadn’t exactly wowed me. My impression was that my maternal grandmother didn’t have a backbone. Even when she visited me in my dreams or waking visions, she seemed timid and frightened of Maeve. It was good to hear her stand up for herself.
“You’ve been trying to stop me for years,” Maeve said to her sister. “You think that because Layla’s here, you can now?”
“I’ve been waiting for the right moment,” Agnes replied. “And what better moment is there than this?”
“You can’t kill Layla,” Sam chimed in. “You made a deal with Adam to leave Layla alone until my father freed his brother and the scientist.”
Interesting turn of events. But Steven didn’t strike me as the type to bargain with enemies. Still, maybe I should thank Adam for my window of reprieve and for the chance to end Maeve once and for all.
“Adam can find another way to free his brother,” Maeve said. “The game has changed. Layla dies tonight along with the two of you.” She pinned a glare on Sam and Agnes.
