Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

1 - The Tree Diabolic

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"To you that are found not guilty, and are by the law to be acquitted, presume no further of your innocence than you have just cause: for although it pleased God out of his mercy, to spare you at this time, yet without question there are amongst you, that are deep in this action, as any of them that are condemned to die for their offences." (Thomas Potts, The Wonderful Discovery of Witches in the County of Lancaster, 1613)

"Common prudence would keep the others quiet now, but the moment the storm passed over, they would resume their atrocious practices, and all would be as bad as ever. No, no! – the tree must be utterly uprooted, or it would inevitably burst forth anew." (W. H. Ainsworth, The Lancashire Witches: A Romance of Pendle Forest, 1849)

Pendle Forest, August 19th 1612.

The energy inside me buzzed and hummed. They were close.

My belly gurgled and rolled, sweat beaded and trickled down my face, back, between my breasts. Still, I nudged what strength I could muster into the tiny oak sapling. Gathering up the soil, I packed it carefully, tying the rag with a ribbon around the tender stalk. Hardly enough to sustain it for the two day journey ahead.

Malkin Tower was deserted. The familiar sounds of children laughing, mothers scolding, echoed in my memory. They would all be dead by this time tomorrow. Sorrow crept through my veins, slowing me down, making me heavy with the pain of it. I couldn't linger on that. Failure wasn't an option. This sapling would be the legacy of the Northern Coven.

Particles of energy vibrated on the surface of my skin, escaping my control as my arms shook in terror. I was nearly out of time. Just a few moments more. Heavy footfalls sounded behind me. The pain of the blow registered. Instinctively my body curled round the precious tree before darkness took me.

Present Day

Alice, wake up.

Mother?

I jolted out of the dream. No that didn't make sense. She'd been dead for five years.

Crap.

Face pressed against the cold concrete, the man was a deadweight on my back. Acrid breath brushed my cheek, a droplet of spit just missing my mouth. I'd only lost a second. Lucky, judging by the intense throbbing pain that resonated through my skull.

Bracing myself with the knowledge that I was about to make it a lot worse, I slammed my head back. The crunch told me that I'd hit my mark.

"Fuck," he said, half scream, half growl.

Blood splattered onto my face as I twisted my body to face the creep who'd taken my request for directions as an invitation for rape.

The other two hooted and laughed like apes at the fun fair. I was definitely not the first woman who'd found herself in this dirty industrial unit. Fury boiled to the surface. Mist like particles floated into the air around me, coming from my skin. Energy crackled and popped as they joined together reaching out to the men.

"You've got a live one there Kev."

The men continued to circle as I scrambled back. Closing in. Snaring their prey. This wasn't their first hunt. They hadn't noticed the silver mist that curled forward, reaching out, eager to meld with the heat that shimmered around their shabby forms.

I felt it. The desire to connect. To take that heat for myself. I wanted it, wanted them.

What the Hell was wrong with me? What was wrong with them?

Kicking out at Kev, I wriggled free from his hold. I sprinted towards the exit even though every impulse in me told me to stay, to take what these men had.

Pushing myself through the pain in my head and the cramp in my leg, I pressed down the bloodlust that agitated my insides. I had to get the hell out of here.

An unexpected halt of momentum brought my limbs flying out like a badly handled puppet. My hair was the string. One of the other men had snagged my long plait, pulling me back. The wound in my head throbbed, threatening a concussion.

Against my back, a bulging stomach trembled with excitement, straining against the fabric of his cheap looking plaid shirt. Nasty jagged nails dug into the soft flesh below my collarbone, pinning me in place. Flinging my sharp elbow back into his gut, I was rewarded with a grunt of pain, but it wasn't enough.

"Think I'll take this once for myself, you can have the next one Kev."

The stink of cheap cider made me gag against the rough red skin of his hand. Pale ginger hairs stood out in contrast to the enlarged blood vessels that tinged his skin. Hyper aware of the blood slugging through veins that were clogged and failing, a flare of lust burnt a trail from my organs to my skin, which was sweating beads of silver that rose into the atmosphere in tentacle like tendrils. They attached to the arm that held me, drawing his heat, using the energy transfer to multiply at a frantic pace. The low growl in my ear told me that my attacker's slow drug addled brain had finally cottoned on to the fact that something was happening.

Hair sprouted in tufts on his arm. A crack yanked his shoulder bone forwards, hitting me square in the back. It barely registered as energy welled inside me.

"Boys, what the fuck? Help me."

The words were barely recognisable now, disguised with guttural animal grunts as his body twisted and stretched trying to protect itself from the stream of pure silver energy that drew his raw, angry heat into me.

His arm was fused in place by the tight silver web that surrounded me. Twisting round in a last attempt to dislodge me from his hold and get the help of his waster friends, we were just in time to see a small blond woman throw a punch that sent Kev sprawling to the ground. He didn't get up.

The third man was already out cold, his limbs twisted out at unnatural looking angles. The woman's eyes widened when she saw us and the contrast of her delicate beauty with the violence of her actions disturbed my lust for long enough for a shred of reason to cool the desire that I felt to drain the man of everything that he had.

"Shit," was all she said before raising her gun.

Fear shocked through me. Looking down, all trace of the silver mist had disappeared. I moved my arm, and the man slumped to the floor. The woman kept her gun aimed at my head.

"RUN," she said, her voice low and mean.