Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

45

Jonathan's laughter continued, accompanied by the maddening sound of the silver leaves crashing together.

The weight of all the unspent power lay heavy in my stomach. If something didn't give, I was going to heave.

My reflection in the mirror behind Jonathan's throne glowed brightly with silver. A breath caught in my throat, it was the first time that I had really seen my own magic. But its true meaning tarnished the beauty.

I couldn't deny Jonathan now.

That monster was my father.

Doubling over I wretched, bile burning the back of my throat. It did nothing to settle my stomach, the power still built and churned inside me.

The silver leaves cackled their disjointed tune.

Jonathan watched and laughed, as I accepted what I was. He meant to control me through fear, my fear of what our power could do to those I cared for.

But it was him that was scared, that I would be more powerful, that I could subdue him. He meant to trap me first.

And that's when it hit me. Jonathan was playing blind. The power, he couldn't see it like I could.

It had seemed such a paltry gift from my Gray ancestors, this ability to see life-force, but now I understood my advantage.

All the time the strength and brightness of my life-force grew, his dimmed. Our power was finite, when one had control, the other lost it, and Jonathan had no idea that he'd soon be running on empty.

I waited until all but a small trace of the silver mist had transferred from Jonathan to me. Our life-force buzzed brightly around me, but the real transformation was inside.

Pure strength coursed through my blood. The heavy power contained in my belly dissipated as the energy reacted with my life-force, now strong and complete. It was at my finger-tips ready for use instead of buried deep within.

The chimes of the silver leaves merged into the tune of my mother's lullaby, no longer off-key and distorted.

My courage soared, and I knew that I would never accept this man as my father. I had no need of him. I could take care of myself.

"No," I said.

And with that simple statement, chaos reigned.

The glass mirror shattered into a million tiny pieces. The chanting of my rescuers seeped into the air around me, the old-English rhythms forming the words to accompany the tune of the leaves. The hall began to shudder, but my feet remained firmly on the ground.

Jonathan turned to me, eyes sparking bright green. His face turned red with rage.

The energy crackled around me as Jonathan attempted to regain control. It was no use. I saw it the moment he realised. All trace of the authority that had defined his features when we first met was lost in the recognition of his own impotence.

He looked small and old.

I stood tall with my arms out from my body. Pure adrenalin ran from my centre out to each of my limbs. My hair flew out, whipping around my head, my dress brushed against my legs, caught in the cyclone of my power.

This was me. Everything was propelled by the power of my life-force.

Jonathan's anger turned to fear. He was scared of me, and I was glad. I was invincible. And I was merciless. All compassion was banished by fury.

I was ready to finish this.

The chanting grew louder and more urgent. More voices joined the rhythmic sound of the prayer-like mantra repeating over and over. The words of the old family song faded into the background as my need for vengeance filled me up, pushing everything else out.

Jonathan.

There was only room for him and me and the justice that I was bringing. It was my right, my duty. I felt it in my bones.

Zeroing in, the power pulsed through me, begging for release. I let it flow, the chorus of silver leaves rejoicing in my judgement.

Jonathan cringed away, his body contorting, face twisting into a grimace. Not long now, and he would join his stone creatures that littered the room. Righteous indignation fuelled the fury burning through me, pushing me on.

I would be his judge, jury and executioner.

The legitimacy of it shone out in the brightness of my life-force.

The chanting got louder, the perfect accompaniment to the symphony of the silver leaves, propelling me forward, urging me to finish it.

To finish him.

The broken, withered form lay on the floor now, reaching away, yellow nails scratching against the smooth marble floor but finding no purchase.

There was no escape. My judgement was as complete as it was final.

The rhythms and words of the incantation agreed, and the tune of the silver leaves agreed, and I knew it was truth as they all united in the crescendo of the majestic song.

The silver power rushed forth.