I remembered my first warning as I followed Catherine down the stone staircase at the base of the Bell monument and into the grotto chapel, running my hands along the crumbling dry walls and feeling out each uneven step with the toe of my shoe before planting it down. It made sense now. All the lies I’d been told in the cold light of day while Catherine hid the truth in the dark of her craft room and down here, in the underground chapel. The way everything went black before I experienced a vision. Truth lives in the dark. The blessing had tried to tell me.
Every vine and flower in Bonaventure wanted to be close to me as my magic grew, and they followed me down, down, down until I reached the bottom of the stairs where they stopped dead, shrinking back from the darkness. I didn’t blame them, I didn’t want to be there either. Nothing could thrive down here, there was no chance of life, only reminders of death.
‘So, what do you think of the place?’ Catherine asked, waving a proud hand around the chapel as she moved comfortably through the space. ‘As final resting places go, it’s pretty swell.’
When she first described it, I’d pictured a small, claustrophobic space, packed full of decaying coffins, but this was one of the most magnificent things I’d ever seen. The chapel was lit by black-flamed candles and torches, and casket-sized spaces had been carved into the walls so our ancestors could rest comfortably in their polished coffins. There were two rows of wooden pews on the marble floor for living guests and small square cushions for more comfortable kneeling. At the far end of the short aisle, I saw an altar I recognized from my visions.
And in front of it stood my grandmother.
‘It really is something,’ I said, one hand on the back of a pew to keep me upright as the change in me intensified. ‘Incredibly creepy vibes. It’s giving ritualistic sacrifice. Not sure it sets the right tone for a birthday party.’
Catherine clucked her tongue.
‘I did try to spruce it up a little but you know how it is, there’s only so much you can do with an underground chapel.’
‘Must be tough to schedule a cleaner,’ I agreed, the blood in my veins burning. She had to know the pain was excruciating but I couldn’t let her see my agony. ‘If only you’d let me know, I could have brought the vacuum with me.’
Apparently she wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s jokes but her own. The black flames of the candles guttered as Catherine turned back to the altar, lightly tapping the items she had up there, the same way my dad used to check for his phone, wallet, and car keys every time he left the house. A gold cup, a pile of herbs, some sparkling twine, the dagger from Wormsloe and her silver pin.
The same one I thought was safely hidden in my nightstand drawer.
The fire inside me continued to rage and I didn’t know how much longer I could contain it. I was starting to doubt my decision. How could I overpower Catherine if I could barely stay up on my own two feet?
‘Are you ready, honey?’ she asked, her voice soft and inviting.
‘Ready for what?’ I replied, maintaining a safe distance between us as best I could. ‘Binding, Becoming or death?’
She laughed and shook her head. ‘No one is going to die, Emily. Well, the wolf might not make it but as I believe I mentioned once before, no one mourns a wolf.’
Her green eyes flicked to the front pew and a muted howling filled the chapel. At once the veil lifted and I felt him in the same moment I heard him. Ignoring my own pain, I rusheddown the aisle, skidding to a stop where Wyn lay on the floor, writhing against the sharp, thin wire I’d seen on the altar. His skin was pasty and clammy, his ashy hair a dull rusty red and his sweat-and blood-soaked clothes clung to his body.
‘Whatever you’re doing to him, make it stop,’ I demanded, my trembling hands trying and failing to soothe his agony. ‘I’m here now, you’ve got what you wanted, you have to let him go.’
‘No, I don’t think I will.’ Catherine took a seat on a golden chair at the head of the altar and crossed her legs at the ankles. ‘It’s not always easy, you know, doing the right thing. There are casualties, consequences. Not everyone will understand. For years I did my best to keep people happy, tried to be a good witch for my grandmother, a good wife, a good mother to Paul and Ashley, and look where that got me? Woman to woman, trying so hard all the time is exhausting.’
‘At least help me take off the barbed wire,’ I begged, not even slightly interested in her reasoning. ‘It’s killing him.’
‘That’s because it’s silver. Soaked in aconite. He must be in an unbelievable amount of pain,’ she said with a heavy sigh. ‘Collecting wolfie here was the only fun part of my day. Took him a while to get wise, for a moment there I thought he might just walk himself right here. He’s a good dog, very obedient, but what was it my mother used to say? Don’t fight unless you have to but when you do, fight like you’re the third monkey on the ramp to Noah’s ark and it’s starting to sprinkle. That boy felt it sprinkling just a little too late. I haven’t had a good fight in years but he sure gave me one.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I murmured into Wyn’s ear but I couldn’t tell if he could hear me. Holding my hands against his heart, I could feel his pain but he didn’t even have the strength left to scream. Every time he moved, the silver barbs cut into hisbloodless skin, pushing the aconite she’d laced it with deeper and deeper, torturing him from within.
‘I do see the attraction, Emily, he loves you very much. If it weren’t for the fact he’s wrapped in silver wire and dosed up with enough aconite to put down a bull elephant, that boy would still be fighting for you, I guarantee it.’ She picked up the silver pin and pressed the point into the tip of her finger. ‘Since you took his brother out with this so very easily, I brought it along just in case he gave us any trouble, but I don’t think we’ll need it, do you?’
I reached into my pocket, the little girl’s glass marble still there, and pulled out a pouch of herbs Ashley had pressed into my hand on my way out the Powell house. Yarrow, mugwort, and rue. Courage, protection, and self-belief. I opened the pouch and emptied it into Wyn’s palm, rubbing the dried flowers into his hands. He needed them more than I did.
‘If we removed the silver and allowed him to phase, he would heal right away,’ I heard Catherine say. ‘The only drawback to that plan is that he wouldn’t recognize you once he was a wolf, most likely he’d rip your throat out. You should keep hold of the pin, just in case.’
She held it out but I didn’t take it.
‘You’re sure? An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of the cure. Not that there is a cure for having your throat ripped out.’
‘You must love to see people suffer,’ I said, ignoring my own pain as Wyn convulsed beside me. ‘This is inhuman.’
‘Says the girl who is in love with a wolf,’ Catherine snapped back.
Wyn groaned and a worrying wet gurgle emerged from the back of his throat. The dried herbs weren’t going to be enough, I needed something more, something alive, but nothing could grow down here in the dark, dank chapel.
‘You were the one, Emily. You were destined to bring back our sisters, dig the blessing out of the dark, but I see it now. You can’t be trusted. Our family,my family, has protected this magic for centuries and I’m expected to hand it over to a girl who is perfectly happy to set that legacy on fire for an animal? After all the sacrifices I made to bring you here? I don’t think so, honey.’
