Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

64

                 
Both Jonathan and the tree were spent.

Huge silver statues, they stood lifeless, their still forms horrifying reminders of the silver force that built its web-like structure into the atmosphere around me.

The drone of live power intensified.

It was all mine. But the victory was hollow.

I should be able to do something with this immense force. How had Jonathan controlled it?

My father had ruled these surroundings entirely; bending the very earth to his will. It was my world now and I needed to own it, for Evan's sake.

I concentrated hard, trying to picture the room where I had been held prisoner. Surely if Evan wasn't amongst the attacking hoards he had to be there.

Chanting the words to the White Paternoster, the movement in the air told me that the silver web was shifting structure.

I peeped through one eye, hardly daring to hope that it could be that simple.

I stood alone on a dark wooden floor, a large four-poster bed in the centre of the room. There was a person sized lump under the covers, but no movement.

The cold, sickly sweat of pure panic beaded all over my face and body. He had to be alive.

I peeled back the blanket carefully, heart beating too fast, breath catching in my throat.

The tightly curled ball of human flesh shrank away from the light. White-knuckled hands clutched his head.

Silver tendrils twisted through his electric blue life-force, Jonathan's sequence jolting apart and reforming into the pattern of my own magic. The anguish twisting his human features shot straight to my heart, splintering a tiny piece off in memory of the easy-going guy that I'd met my first day at the priory.

I'd done this. Maybe not intentionally, but if I'd never moved into that apartment, Evan would still be that happy, innocent man.

We'd both have to live with what he'd done to me.

"Evan, it's me," I said softy, touching his hand to make him aware of my presence.

Evan's body relaxed at my touch, but when he looked at me it was with a fearful blank stare.

"Say something, Evan, don't you recognise me?"

He cowered, bloodshot eyes flickering back and forth, unable to focus on any one thing.

"Come on," I said, my voice calm and low, "let's get you out of here."

When he was up and leaning on me, I realised that I didn't have any idea how to get us out of there.

There was only one group of people that would be able to help Evan now: the coven.

I thought of the restaurant, pictured each member of the coven one by one.

I thought of the colourful tree mosaic, and the power that the coven drew from it.

I thought of the White Paternoster, reciting its words, not like my mother had, soft and tender. But like Hazel did, loud, hard and demanding.

I felt it, the moment that the strands of gold and blue life-force touched the web of silver. The visceral greed of the coven filtered through the connection; demanding, taking what was mine. Anguish erupted out of me in a howl of pain and fury as their weak magic fed off my stronger force.

The magic swirled and altered around me.

An excruciating noise brought me to my knees. It battered my eardrums until I thought they'd burst for sure. Energy ruptured from my chest, pouring out of me in a torrent of hot agony.

I clung on to Evan, afraid that if I let go, my body might tear apart and dissolve into nothing on the tide of magic ripping me open.

After what seemed like forever, the noise faded.

The floor was cold underneath me. I opened my eyes, the effort of lifting my eyelids akin to scaling an impossible mountain.

They almost bulged right out of my skull at the sight that met me.

I was in the restaurant all right, but so were all the people that had transformed back from gargoyles. Naked bodies were wedged into every available space, skin touching skin in the most intimate ways.

No-one touched me.

There was a ring of empty space around the mosaic, now pulsing with power.

My power.

Confused, I looked around, trying to find an answer in somebody, anybody's face.

Fear stared back at me.

Hazel made her way through the crowd, dispersing them as she went. Expressions of realisation and then joy flickered over their faces as she spoke.

Joy. Not fear and hatred.

Resentment rose up, lighting a flicker of power at my core.

I had saved them, not Hazel. Surely they realised that I wasn't the enemy? That I wasn't like Jonathan.

As the room emptied, I noticed the destruction that the coven's efforts had brought down on them. Tables and chairs were overturned and broken. Glass bottles of liquor were shattered, their contents saturating the bar area. It stank like a brewery and looked like a bombsite.

Great, another reason for them to hate me.

Evan lay on the floor. His life-force a weak hum of the faintest blue. Starting forward on impulse to help him, I pulled up short when a strong barrier of blue energy blocked me.

Hazel, a warning clear in her face.

The rest of the coven flanked her, glowering at me as one, united against me. Strands of blue and gold energy radiated out from the group of witches, the two colours intertwined, harmonious and beautiful, mocking me with my difference, my otherness.

As though I intended to harm Evan, like I was the threat.

Like I was wrong.

"I would hardly risk my neck to bring him back, if I meant to harm him, would I?"

The flicker of energy inside flared in irritation. Why all the hostility? Surely they could see that I had saved Evan, not to mention the rest of Jonathan's victims?

"Stand down guys, she's right, and she doesn't mean anyone any harm. Right?" Anne asked, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. She alone hadn't joined the coven in their protective stance around Evan.

"We will care for him now, you've done quite enough," Hazel said, the accusation shining bright in her eyes.

Colour flooded my face as anger rose within me. My skin prickled uncomfortably, as my life-force leeched the energy back from the mosaic. The coven took a collective step back. I was pleased that they were scared of me. They should be.

My hair whipped around my face as the air around me charged with the weight of my magic. I took a step towards them; slow, threatening.

Let them retreat in the wake of my fury.

Let them fear me.

"Alice," I heard someone shout.

A pang deep in my heart told me it was Thomas. But it was buried too far down to sway me now. Instinct took over as I willed the energy to my fingertips.

That's when I saw her.

Behind the coven was a mirror mounted on the wall. In it was a fierce woman in a battle stance. Wild hair flying around her head. Face set in a look of grim determination. Small lightning bolts of silver emanating from her body. Most frightening of all, her eyes shone bright silver.

It was me, I realised with horror. What had I become?

I was a monster like Jonathan.