This athame was the last item she needed to send Hector back to hell with his master. She had spoken the words, drank from the chalice of water, forged earth and air with the pentacle and the key that had been used in place of a wand, and now, she had fire. This would be used as the striking blow that would see this nightmare finally come to its conclusion. While Lady Catharine had told her that the black handed dagger was used for slicing herbs, and not generally a deadly weapon, it would serve their purpose for the safety of the coven, which was foremost.
Now, all Marlene had to do was find a way to escape this place.
She rather wished she could click her heels together and find herself back at Alaric’s side, but she was forced to wait until Lady Catharine and the rest of the coven could band together. It was only with their combined power that they could overcome Hector’s magic. Even if it took but a moment, it would be enough time for Marlene to act. She vowed that her aim would be steady and true.
She forced herself to glance out over the expanse and see her body in a loving embrace with Alaric. The dagger that Hector had pressed into her hand was being removed from the pocket of her skirts as she lifted her arm above her head…
Time seemed to stand still, like a fathomless void, as Alaric waited for the blade to plunge into his back. He had never told anyone, even Lady Catharine, of the visions he had witnessed many times through the years.
It was always the same.
He was standing with a woman who held his very heart in her hands. He spoke the words of love, just as the knife embedded itself in his chest. His vision ebbed and faded, and then ceased entirely. He was never able to gain a good look at the woman he loved, but he had seen his death as surely as if it was being reproduced on the stage. Like an endless replaying, it was the main reason he had eschewed any sort of emotional attachment through the years. It wasn’t until he’d met Marlene, that he realized death no longer mattered. He had already surrendered everything else to her. And if it meant his life for hers, then he would gladly offer himself as a sacrifice.
He just hoped she would be able to forgive him someday.
“Stop!” The command came from Lady Catharine. His gaze shifted to where she stood with the rest of the coven. Their hands were outstretched, freezing Marlene where she stood, the shining blade just inches from Alaric’s back. Behind them, the merriment continued inside the manor, the occupants oblivious to the war taking place just a short distance away.
From the other side of Alaric came the steady clap of applause. He spun around to face his nemesis. The oily smile that was offered to Alaric had not changed, even if there were subtle changes to Hector’s appearance. He looked more demonic, more sadistic than Alaric remembered, but perhaps that was because Hector had been consorting with the Dark Lord, practicing the black magic that Alaric had always despised. Just because he was a witch, didn’t mean that he had to use his power for evil. He had always preferred the light.
Recalling the terror that Hector had imposed on Marlene made his fists clench with anger. If it took Alaric’s last breath, the bastard would pay.
“What an eloquent way to come riding to Gothry’s aid,” Hector sneered. “But you will have a more difficult time when it comes to stopping me.” He waved his hand and the dagger in Marlene’s grasp wavered. “I really wish I could enact the blood sacrifice myself, but alas, it has to come from your lover’s hand. Either way, you shall be dead and I will have my vengeance at last.”
“Vengeance?” Alaric dared to laugh. “Is that what you would call the whining of a child who doesn’t gain his way?” He shook his head. “You demanded something that I didn’t have. You killed innocent witches with no thought to their livelihood, focused as you were on your own greed.”
“That’s rich, coming from the High Priest,” Hector snarled, malice emanating from his very core. It was the sort of hatred that would never diminish but continue growing until it consumed completely. In truth, Alaric would have felt sorry for him, if he didn’t wish for his imminent destruction.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you,” Alaric countered. With a half mocking smile of his own, he added, “It never has.”
“Perhaps not, but I will have the last laugh at your expense, and I shall dance on your grave when you are dead.” He swirled his hand, and a white fog began to roll in from the moors. It appeared as though a silent army, eager to do its master’s bidding. “I shall enjoy your beloved when the worms are feasting on your carcass in the afterlife. I will ensure that you can clearly see the moment I make Miss St. Clair mine, where she will take her side as my dark bride.”
Alaric knew better than to lash out with emotion, because it clouded his logical thinking, but this was one taunt that he could not ignore. He started to lunge for Hector, but just as he was about to clamp his hands around Hector’s neck, the knife that had been suspended in midair abruptly fell down in a shining arc.
Marlene was snapped back to the present with a start, as if she had been struck by lightning. It was intense, but when she saw Hector standing in front of her, she didn’t hesitate. With the athame in her hand, she let magic take it out of her grasp. Praying to her ancestors that her aim was sure and true, it sunk into Hector’s chest with a sickening crunch.
Surprise lit his eyes, but then the power of the athame started to inflict the inner fire of magic. With blue flames flowing through the lifeblood beneath his skin, he started to move toward her, but the agony that he was experiencing caused him to fall to his knees. “You will… regret this. I will… return stronger and more… powerful than before.”
She stood over him and said, “And I will be waiting to end your reign a second time.”
His smile was wicked, full of such contempt that she couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of fear. “But your lover will not. I made sure that he shall join me in hell.”
As the blue flames grew in intensity, he gritted his teeth, as it slowly burned him from the inside out. One moment he was lying on the ground, and the next, nothing was left but a charred imprint upon the grass. A slight breeze blew across the moors and wiped that clear.
It’s over. Tears stung Marlene’s eyes. She wanted to collapse, to fall into Alaric’s arms and praise God that Hector was finally gone. They had accomplished the impossible. He was no longer a threat to their happiness.
She turned around to embrace him, but she saw only the coven standing in front of her. The twinge of fear that she had felt a moment ago, now grew to encompass her entire being. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Lady Catharine moved to the side to show another figure lying upon the grass.
“No…” The word was hardly that as Marlene rushed forward to where Alaric lie still, a bloody wound in the center of his chest. “No!” she shouted, finding her voice.
“He is gone.”
Marlene glared at the circle of witches around her. She didn’t know who had spoken, but neither did she care. “No, he’s not! I refuse to allow it!”
“You have no choice.” This time, she saw Lady Catharine’s lips move.
Marlene lifted her chin and stared down the other woman. “I am a witch. I have lots of choices.” She glared at the rest of them. “And so do you.”
