Circle of Blood: A Witch Hunt Novel

  There was movement in the open tombs; she could hear things slithering in the darkness. Bony white fingers emerged from one, followed by a grinning skull. The skeletons were crawling out of their graves. Worse, the first one already had a hold on her, its bony fingers wrapped around her ankles.

  She screamed and sent a burst of energy into it, but nothing happened.

  “You can’t harm the dead,” the witch said with a shrill laugh. “Although feel free to try. They, on the other hand, can certainly harm you.”

  Desdemona lifted her hands and tried to disperse the bones, but they hung together, refusing to move.

  “It’s a matter of wills, dear, and I’m afraid mine’s stronger than yours.”

  Panicking, Desdemona kicked and thrashed, trying to destroy the skeleton, but it remained intact as the others crawled up and grabbed her legs. One, dressed in a few rags, crawled up her body and she thrashed in terror, sending out bursts of energy and fire that should have turned the bones to ash but didn’t. She could feel its bony frame pressing down first on her legs, then on her lower back as it slithered over her. It was heavy and it felt like a lead weight and it was crushing her. She could smell death and decay all around her.

  “This is impossible!” she screamed.

  “No, it’s magic.”

  Bony fingers caught her wrists and pressed them down into the earth. She was completely powerless.

  “You know, you might think it just coincidence, you, me, a graveyard. It’s not, though. Everything is connected. You understand that, right?” the witch said.

  “Let me go!” Desdemona screamed.

  “So that you can kill me? I don’t think so. You know, I did give you a sporting chance. I even knelt down and turned my back to you and you didn’t take the opportunity. You know what that tells me?”

  “No.”

  “Deep down, you don’t want to kill me.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Ah, but it is. Because you see, you have questions, and if you had killed me when you had the opportunity, you never would have gotten any answers, would you? You know what they say about curiosity and cats? Well, you should have listened.”

  “I will kill you, answers or no,” Desdemona hissed. “I want you dead more than I want to know anything from you.”

  “See, that’s what you say, but I don’t think so. You want answers. More than that, you want truth. Well, truth I can give you.”

  Desdemona continued to struggle, but nothing she did seemed to help. The weight of the skeleton on her back was slowly pressing her into the hard ground, and her ribs were beginning to bruise.

  “So, time for some truth to be told,” the witch said. “A circle is a powerful symbol, ancient, primitive, perfect, divine. It has no end or beginning and it is impenetrable.”

  Desdemona wondered what on earth she was going on about.

  “You know, three makes a circle,” the witch said, stretching out her hands. Claudia and the other girl’s arms jerked upward, as if they were being pulled on strings. The three linked hands.

  “You see, a circle. The circle is life, and fellowship, and power, and protection. The circle is everything. It can be large or it can be small. But you want to know one of the most interesting things about a circle?”

  “What?” Desdemona asked.

  “You can have a circle with only two. Which means we don’t need her.” The woman dropped Claudia’s hand, gave a quick flip of her wrist, and Claudia’s neck snapped. A moment later the body fell to the ground. Just like that, she was gone.

  The witch used her free hand to grab the blond girl’s suddenly freed hand. “You see, just two to make a circle. Just two to create and destroy. You just need two.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Desdemona asked.

  The witch shook her head. “The real question here is, what is wrong with you that you haven’t figured that out yet?”

  The witch spun around and around with the other girl, who was still moving so stiffly that Desdemona was sure she would trip and fall at any moment.

  “Oh, the things you can do with two that you can’t do with just one,” the witch said. “And yet how sad, how pathetic, that you still think you can do everything on your own.”

  “I don’t need you or anyone,” Desdemona raged.

  “Well, clearly you need someone. Otherwise, you’re going to get in trouble,” the witch said in a singsong voice, spinning faster now and yanking the other girl along.

  Suddenly the blond girl did trip and she fell to her knees. The witch stopped spinning and let go of her hands. “You know the only trouble with a circle?” she asked, and Desdemona couldn’t tell if she was talking to her or the girl.

  “What?” Desdemona asked.

  “It’s not for the weak.” The witch held up her hand and in one moment ripped the girl’s power from her. She fell to the ground, dead, only a skull where a face had once been.

  She was crazy and she was stronger than Desdemona.

  The witch turned and snapped her fingers. The skeleton on Desdemona’s back crawled off her and she gasped, taking in a deep breath as her lungs were able to expand fully again. Then the skeletons hauled her to her feet. She fought, but they were stronger than they could ever have been in life. She tried to send a wave of killing energy through the ground to the witch.

  She laughed and absorbed it with ease. “Thanks, I needed a little pick-me-up,” she said.

  Desdemona called a fireball to her fingers and threw it as best she could.

  The witch easily redirected it.

  Desdemona tried to pull the power from the witch, who just laughed as her efforts had absolutely no effect.

  “Really, these are the attempts of a weak and frightened child,” the witch said. “Frankly, I expected more from you. Much, much more.”

  She snapped her fingers and the skeletons let go so suddenly that Desdemona staggered to catch her balance.

  Just as she straightened she heard a sound from her nightmares, growling, snarling, unearthly, and unmistakable for anything else. Hellhounds. They were headed her way.

  Desdemona froze for a second. Then she snatched the athame up off the ground, sliced open her hand, and began to spin in a circle, creating a circle of blood to protect her. Her heart was pounding and she was dizzy, but she knew she couldn’t rush it; she had to do it right. One little gap in the circle and it wouldn’t keep anything out.

  She was nearly done and the snarling was getting closer, louder. She could almost swear she felt a blast of air from one of the foul creatures and the stench of rotting flesh. Her hand jerked slightly and blood dripped erratically.

  She turned the last quarter circle.

  “They’re here,” the witch said again, in her singsong voice.

  Desdemona looked up. There, standing on either side of the witch, were the two biggest hellhounds she had ever seen. The beasts were monstrous. They were almost the size of small horses, but roughly dog shaped. They had mouthfuls of fangs several inches long, glowing black eyes, and quills like a porcupine’s that flared next to their spines. They could have been brothers to the one that had tormented her as a child.

  The witch stood between them and she put her hands on their heads, as though they were pets. “What will happen to you when I let my babies have their way with you?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I am protected,” Desdemona snarled. “And I’ll soon find a way to kill your babies and you.”

  The witch tsked at her. “I don’t think so.”

  “You said it yourself, the circle is protection. And sooner or later you’ll make a mistake.”

  “Circles can protect us, that is true, if we are clever and worthy and do everything just right. You know another thing about a circle?” the witch shouted. “It connects us all!” She snapped her fingers and the circle of Desdemona’s blood caught on fire, flames shooting eight feet into the air. And in one sickening moment Desdemona could see the one tiny spot where there was no blood. T
he circle was broken. It had to have been when her hand jerked; that was the only explanation. She could try to close it now, but that would mean thrusting her hand into the flames.

  The witch cackled as though sensing her dilemma. “Just how much is the circle worth to you?” she asked.

  Suddenly a second wall of flame leaped up around Desdemona, this one a complete circle, hemming her in and keeping her from being able to reach the one she’d drawn.

  “You’re not fireproof,” the witch said. “Luckily for me, my babies are.”

  She swept her hands forward and the two hellhounds began advancing. Desdemona looked around frantically. There was no way out, nothing she could use. Inside her, Samantha was screaming something, but she couldn’t understand her.

  The hellhounds were just outside the first circle. In a moment they would be upon her. She had seen what it looked like when a hellhound tore someone apart. There was no hope.

  A sudden high-pitched scream startled both of the hellhounds, and they half turned just as a massive black form launched itself out of the darkness and landed on the back of the first one and sank its fangs into the beast’s neck.

  Freaky had come to her rescue.

  The second hellhound turned to aid its brother, and Desdemona leaped through the first wall of flame. She shoved her hand into the second, and her blood sealed the gap in her circle.

  Her skin began to bubble. She tried to snuff the flames, but when she did, they only leaped higher into the sky. She began to choke as they sucked the oxygen out of the air. Beyond the wall of fire Freaky continued to battle the two hellhounds. She couldn’t tell who was winning, but she had to hope her cat could hold his own.

  She tried again to snuff the flames and again they just doubled in size. The witch had done something to them, something that made them behave in an unnatural way, the opposite of what they should.

  So maybe she needed to do the opposite to quench them. She summoned her energy and tried to fan the flames. They lessened, not by much, but they did lessen. She could hear the screams from Freaky and the hounds. She knew that the witch was out there and she wished she could tell Freaky to attack her instead.

  She tried again to fan the flames and they dropped down to their original size just in time for her to see Freaky being pinned by one hound. She tried to scream, but the oxygen was gone. Her eyes were burning and her skin was turning black. She was dying.

  Suddenly the flames were extinguished as if blown out by a giant. She fell to her knees, choking. She grabbed hold of the earth, but it was scorched and charred and nothing living was growing in it.

  Something the size of a bull leaped over her, scattering everything before it. Two hands reached down and grabbed her. She glanced up and saw the face of the Druid.

  “I’m here to help,” he said, hefting her into his arms. He began to run and she felt as if her body was breaking apart.

  Moments later she was being laid down in the back of a car. She heard doors slam, followed by the squeal of tires.

  “My name is Thomas. I won’t hurt you.”

  She couldn’t answer.

  “It was foolish to take her on in the state that you’re in. If she’d wanted to she could have killed you.”

  Desdemona didn’t have time to ponder his words. She was busy pulling energy from everything she could. A moment later the car sputtered to a halt and died.

  Thomas swore and slammed his hand down on the dashboard. “You drained the battery. Don’t do that. I need to get you to a place where you can get some real energy, enough to actually heal.”

  She could feel him push energy back into the car battery, and it took all her will not to drain it. The car came back to life and moments later jounced along, every bump sending an agony of fire through her body. She didn’t know how long they traveled, but she was pretty sure she blacked out at least once.

  She woke up as someone was lifting her out of the backseat. “You’re only half the witch you could be,” he said, his voice deeply disapproving.

  He lowered her onto something that was soft and wet and smelled like grass. Her fingers reached out. It was grass. She pushed her hands down into the earth and pulled with everything she had. Energy came flooding over her. A moment later, her body began to heal and the pain of that caused everything to go black.

  • • •

  She felt something wet on her cheek and chin. She felt stiff all over and unbelievably sore. She opened her eyes slowly and saw Freaky, poised about to lick her again.

  “I’m okay,” she muttered, incredibly relieved that he was there. He seemed okay. He was an energy creature, so she shouldn’t have worried, but she wasn’t sure if the hellhounds would have been capable of destroying him.

  She looked around slowly. Somehow she was back in her own car and Freaky was in the passenger seat staring at her with concerned eyes.

  “What happened?” she asked the panther.

  He jumped through into the backseat and she slowly straightened. She was damp and smelled like smoke and wet earth. There were bits of dead grass on her clothes, and her head was throbbing.

  She glanced around, wondering what had happened to Thomas. He must have been the one to leave her here. Why bother?

  She turned and saw a couple of police cars up the street. Apparently the events in the cemetery had not gone unnoticed. She should get out of there. She started the car and drove off.

  The last thing she remembered was lying on the grass, trying to pull energy from the earth. Obviously it had worked. She didn’t know where Freaky had been or how he’d made it back to the car; she was just grateful he was there.

  She drove until she reached the house. She hesitated before going in. Too many people knew where she was staying for it to be truly safe. On the other hand, with a witch as powerful as that pissed at her, nowhere was safe. She parked the car and headed inside, Freaky bounding beside her.

  She wanted nothing more than to sleep for a thousand years, but the stench of her clothes was too much. She looked down. They were charred and shredded in places, definitely ruined. She stripped in the kitchen and dumped them in the trash, then headed upstairs to the bathroom.

  When she flipped on the light and stepped inside, she half expected to see Samantha in the mirror, ready to say “I told you so.”

  When she looked, though, all that she saw was her own face, covered in blood and soot and grime. There was more dead grass in her hair. Altogether she had to admit that she looked better than she felt.

  She climbed into the shower and twenty minutes later woke up when the water turned cold. She had fallen asleep leaning against the wall. She finished washing her hair, shivering in the icy water but too drained to do anything about it.

  When she finally exited she glanced at the mirror again, but it was still just her. She wondered if deep inside Samantha was unconscious, or maybe even dead. Dead would be good.

  She barely made it into the bedroom. She fell headlong on the bed and passed out.

  • • •

  Desdemona woke several hours later cold and hungry. She rolled over and looked at the clock. It was nearly four in the afternoon. She sat up slowly, relieved that most of the stiffness and soreness seemed to be gone now. Some food would probably help. At least she felt awake and alert.

  She threw on some jeans and a T-shirt and headed downstairs, Freaky racing ahead of her, the stairs groaning beneath his weight. She made it into the kitchen and was just about to open the refrigerator when Freaky lifted his head and growled. It looked as though she had a visitor.

  She frowned. She didn’t feel anything. Was it really someone without powers? Maybe Martin and his demon had another warning for her. She grimaced at the thought, not in the mood to deal with anyone. She looked out the front door and saw a car she didn’t recognize parked out front and someone walking up the porch. There was something familiar about him. He had short, wavy brown hair and intense green eyes.

  She opened the door and his eyes lit up w
hen he saw her. “Samantha, I found you!”

  8

  Something stirred deep inside Desdemona and she realized that even though she only vaguely recognized the man, Samantha knew him well. The way Desdemona could feel her writhing away inside, she had to care for him. Snatches of memory were coming to her now, filling in the gaps. He was from Salem and his mother had been killed by her coven. There was something about him swearing vengeance and then there was kissing.

  “Anthony?”

  He nodded.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He reached out and pulled her into a hug. She held herself stiff, not sure how to respond.

  “I was so worried about you. You just . . . vanished. I thought something had happened to you, that you were dead.”

  “I’m very much alive.”

  “Why did you take off like that?”

  Desdemona cocked her head to the side. “I discovered that there was a witch behind everything, taunting me, trying to control me. I had to come here to confront her, to kill her.”

  “You didn’t have to come alone.”

  He cared enough for Samantha to help her, even though she could remember how much he hated witches, how much he had distrusted her at the start. She even thought she remembered him attempting to kill Samantha at one point. Something must have gotten him over that. What would Samantha say? Probably something about wanting him to be safe. It was clear he had no power of his own. He obviously felt deeply for her. Would he if he knew she was part of the coven that had killed his mother? Maybe he already knew; the memories were too fuzzy.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Ed helped.”

  “Ed?”

  “Yeah, Ed Hofferman, your old partner from Boston. I figured he owed me a favor, so he tracked the GPS on your cell.”

  He pulled away from her and smiled at her.

  She tried to smile back.

  Something must have gone wrong, though, because he took two quick steps backward.