Where A Witch Goeth

Chapter Fifty-Three: Blood Vows

"Well," Maeve cocked her head sideways, as she and Minnie flanked me before the full-length mirror. "I suppose if you let a vampire pick out your wedding dress, the color of blood is what you should expect."

The dress was, in fact, absolutely gorgeous and black at its base. An off-the-shoulder bodice of black velvet overlayed with dark red shimmering sequins in a starburst pattern that accentuated my pale, ample bosom, thanks to the torture beneath known as a corset, which I was experiencing for the very time. Burgundy tulle flowed beneath the fitted waist, and patterns of sparking sequins arced across it like flaming shooting stars. The burgundy was deep and rich, and Maeve wasn't wrong—it was very reminiscent of the color of blood.

She was, however, wrong about the other half of her statement, and my magic glowed in my eyes as I glared at her. It nearly matched the color of my dress and it was part-anger at her teasing, part-excitement for what was to come. It was sheer power coursing through me, exiting the only place it could—through the windows of my dark, sparking soul.

"This isn't a wedding," I murmured. "It's a commitment ceremony. Me to Van and his Sept, Abraham to me."

Maeve arched one eyebrow at me in the mirror. "You keep telling yourself that, Sister. All the way to the altar where you marry a bloodsucker, and he seals it with a bite instead of a kiss."

"Shut your mouth, Maeve," Minnie said, with unusual sharpness. She turned me toward her by the arms, making a careful examination of my aura and the power dancing over and in me, thanks to the coven ritual Maeve and her witches performed. "You are the most alluring creature I've ever seen. Van is going to burst into flames the moment he lays eyes on you."

"Let's hope not, he'll have to eat a dozen or so guests to recover from combustion," Abraham drawled from the doorway. He was wearing velvet—a very fanciful cut of a suit with lace playing around the edges of the shirt beneath. "But with Minnie, I must agree. You are a vision of terrifying beauty and power. A true match for my Septfather, and an exquisite treasure that I will be honored to protect." He bowed to me with a flourish of one hand, but as he looked up at me, I couldn't help but see the fangs that he didn't bare, and he reminded me of the Abraham I had met in my own time.

Unpredictable. Feral. Dangerous.

I made a curtsy in response to him—I'm sure I made a poor show of it, having no actual idea how to do it properly, and the momentary tension in him eased as he gave me a large, beautiful grin so reminiscent of his great-great grandfather's. He extended his arm to me, and I took it.

"Dearest witches, my Lord Sanguine invites you to dine, while our Sept conducts its silly, secret rituals. We shall, of course, join you in gin-bathed revels once our ceremonies are complete. Well, most of us shall join you. I imagine Celie might find herself...overwhelmed with Evander's singular attention." He gave me a wink, but my power was too high to allow me to flush at his insinuations.

"Wait," Maeve interrupted as Abraham attempted to whisk me from the room. She held out a small, very fine athame to me. The hilt of the knife was encrusted in onyx stones encircling a lion. "This was my mother's athame. It is a very old family heirloom. That is our family crest..." her fingers played over the design of the hilt. "I've spent many months purifying it. The evil done with its edge has been purged, but I cannot bring myself to use it, because the memories of my mother are not so easily expelled from my mind." She gave me a watery smile. "It's right that you should have it. You vanquished her darkness, and took half the burden of her power."

I received the magical tool with reverence. I could feel its power weighing it down far more than its mass, but Maeve was right—it did not feel evil, no matter how many lives it had taken. The tool was far older and far wiser than the one misguided witch who had been its most recent wielder, and it had not intended to do the life-taking. It felt as glad to be free of Ciara as her coven was.