‘The attack happened at three pm this afternoon,
during a human-rights demonstration in which protestors
were demanding that those accused of witchcraft should be executed on sight,
rather than being detained for trial.’
I sit at the kitchen table, scoffing down my third bacon sandwich, and watch the news. The woman’s voice is dark and foreboding as she details the attack that has just happened in London. Images of a burning Houses of Parliament and a crater where the clock named Big Ben used to stand are shown from varying angles. Intercut with shots of dust-covered survivors with bloody heads and bleeding limbs. I can’t help but laugh as the serious woman, with short, perfectly styled hair and hideous red spectacles, shuffles blank papers on her desk as she informs the British public of the horrendous events that took place this afternoon. Her words are filled with hypocrisy. She wants justice for those hurt or killed while demanding people are shot on sight for being suspected of magic, which is already happening. And far worse than that to boot.
‘The protestors claim that too many accused of magic have escaped custody and gone on to cause scenes of carnage and destruction throughout England. The protestors insist that instant death is the only way to ensure humanity’s survival. It comes after two months of savagery. The bombing of the Tower of London, the derailing of the underground train in Tottenham Court Road, the burning down of the shopping centre in Essex and fifteen other incidents of terrorism caused by those of magical descent, despite the increasing presence of Witch Hunters. Twenty-five bodies have so far been recovered from the site at today’s scene, but sixteen remain missing from the collapse of Big Ben. The perpetrators of this terrorist attack are known as Grayson Kendryk.’
The screen fills with Grayson’s face.
‘Tobias Kendryk.’
A picture of Mutt pops up.
‘Hey, MUTT!’ I call out. ‘You’re on the TV.’
I hear him shuffling about somewhere down the hall, but he doesn’t come to see.
‘Cailean Collins,’ the caster adds. Collins’ face appears. His usual smile and boy-like charm are nowhere to be seen. He looks downright deranged, which makes me think his image has more than likely been edited.
‘Jensen Hartley.’
The photograph of my father is an action shot. He’s in a red and black plaid shirt, his long grey-hair tied in a ponytail and his arm is raised with a gun in his hand. Seeing his picture makes it hard to swallow my mouthful of sandwich as an unexpected and unwelcomed pang of longing stirs in my chest.
The newscaster continues, and the next photograph makes my chest constrict and the sandwich slip from my fingers.
‘Gabriel Kendryk,’ she tells her viewers.
Gabriel looks like a sadistic Adonis. His mouth is hitched in his usual half-smile, but his eyes are dark and his brow furrowed. It’s unsettling to see him look so twisted. So angry and so full of hatred. It’s all there, written on his face as if he were a page in a book. And I can read it clearly. There is no photoshopping here. This wrath he wears, that’s him now. Just as it was last time I saw him when he tried to take me. I slide to the edge of my seat and watch the clip closely. Gabriel is bellowing into a heaving crowd as they all slice and hack at each other.
‘Gabriel Kendryk can control the minds and actions of others,’ she tells the world. ‘He is not to be approached under any circumstances.’
I admire how he commands his puppets and find that I miss him. But then I realise that it’s not me that misses him.
It’s her. And I can feel her scratching away in there, clawing at the prison of nightmares in which she now resides. All because I have seen that damned face and those blue eyes. That’s all it takes to stir her awake. I can not let Gabriel get close. I can not let him reach her.
Not yet.
I need more leverage than just Collins.
‘And their leader. Lilly Hooper,’ the caster says. ‘Otherwise known as Lilly Kendryk. The renowned Arcane Witch and wife to Gabriel Kendryk. Mass murderer and terrorist.’
‘Why do they need to add in that I’m someone’s wife?’ I mutter angrily, pushing away my plate as my desire to eat abandons me completely. ‘Surely I’ve earned my own reputation for being more than some man’s wife.’ The next clip shown is of me killing the Hunters at the base of the hillside where I Broke. I fade in and out of sight, killing and maiming all that get in my path before picking up a camera and issuing my threats directly to the world with blood splattered over my face and my wedding dress. I watch as my long red hair turns white and my emerald green eyes turn lilac.
The news report continues. All of our faces are shown over and over again. More clips and photographs are broadcast. Scenes of violence, bloodshed, lynching, bodies left to rot in the street and buildings reduced to rubble. The reporter claims they are human lives lost and that we are responsible. That the evil Kendryk brothers and the sadistic Arcane are leading their demented followers into battle.
The more I see, the heavier my heart becomes because I know, I know! The dead are not just us, but human too. There is no distinction between who is killed, as long as the world believes it is us doing the killing and that they trust that the dead are innocent humans.
I jump and spring to my feet when I see the reflection of a red-haired version of myself in the TV. I turn, but she’s not there. Not in the real world, just lingering in my subconscious. Drawn out by a pair of pretty blue eyes and the guilt of the deaths of thousands.
Her voice echoes in my head.
Furious and desperate.
WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!!
I turn back to the television. There she is, slamming her balled up fists into her temple and screaming out. I walk towards the screen, ignoring the dramatic shots of the plane crash I created last night, and instead look directly to the ghostly reflection in the corner.
‘I hope you’re enjoying hell. I know I did when you locked me up in there.’
The reporter returns to the screen, and my Unbroken-self disappears, replaced instead with the unsettled reflection of Tobias lingering behind me.
I turn to see him blinking at me in confusion.
‘Are you talking to the television?’ he asks nervously.
‘So? What did you find out? Did you discover where the Hunter wannabes are holding the next auction?’
He nods and fists the hem of his oversized jumper.
‘I hacked into their email. I know where they’ll be and when,’ he reports.
‘Good. So, when’s the auction?’
‘Tomorrow,’ he tells me. ‘In Cumbria. Deep in the forest.’
‘How many people do they have?’
‘Twelve,’ he says sadly.
‘And he’s one of them, right? He’ll be there?’
He nods. ‘Yeah. They caught him a couple of days ago in Surrey. He’s a big-ticket item.’
‘Well then.’ I grin. ‘It looks like tomorrow we’re heading up north.’ I look below, to the basement, where Collins sleeps, wrapped in chains. ‘One down. Let’s go and get the rest of the gang, shall we?’
∞∞∞
The rain lingers in the air like mist. The droplets are so small and delicate they float. I stretch out my fingers and feel them land on my skin as I pass through the dark woodland. My bare feet sink into the mud as I walk over the twigs and fallen leaves that are busily decaying around me, and carefully, I navigate the protruding rocks and jutting roots.
The hem of my red silk dress trails behind me. An odd outfit perhaps, considering the late hour and weather. But it suits the occasion most perfectly and means I don’t stand out too much. The auction is a wealthy person’s affair, one which insists the women wear a posh frock and the men a designer suit.
As I walk, I duck below the branches of magnificent oak trees. With every step I take, the ground vibrates more and more. The bass of the music being blasted through giant speakers resonates through the earth below. The dim glow that shines through the brush ahead grows brighter. The enormous bonfires burn high, sending glowing embers and charred debris into the night sky, only for them to glide back down as thick, dirty snow.
No one hears my approach. No one even notices as I head their way. The auction party is in full swing. Their music is deafening. The smell of alcohol and sweat hits me when I reach the clearing. Hundreds of revellers have their arms in the air as they dance and stamp their feet in time to the music. They seductively sway their hips and grind against others close by. Girls dance provocatively and let hands grope and grab at their bodies. Many are wearing knock-off Hunter masks. The plain white faces are defaced with words of hatred and violence, written in what looks like blood. I pull out my own mask and place it on my face. I’m far too well known now. My face is on every television station and newspaper daily, so it’s best to keep myself hidden. Besides, I love my mask. It’s far from a fake imitation. The words “Never” remain there from the Hunter I murdered several months ago. The first to die at my Broken hands. It serves as my reminder.
To never show mercy. Because they certainly won’t.
As I head deeper into the crowd, I see some of the auction guests are entirely naked. Their silk gowns and designer suits cast to the muddy ground and forgotten. They sway and moan, allowing those nearby to slide their fingers inside them or grope and kiss hungrily at any body part that isn’t already being devoured by another. The lust in the air is intoxicating. Their carnality is almost primal. As I walk, I feel it in the air as if it were magic, humming and vibrating. Charging the atmosphere with fierce electricity. But this is humanity and their insatiable need to feel something dark. Something meaningful. Something… evil. And these humans are paying thousands of pounds just to be here, and will more than likely be paying thousands more when the auction begins.
Beyond the heavy music and the constant moaning and grunting, are terrified screams and desperate begging. Mixed in with the smell of sex, spirits and sweat is the unmistakable stench of death and burning flesh. The more frantic the cries for help become, the more depraved the people around me become.
My mistake. The auction must have already begun.
On my right, two men thrust themselves into a happily moaning woman between them. The crowd watch and touch themselves before claiming a partner or two for themselves. Others fight and argue. They punch and head-butt, yelling threats that can’t be heard over the chaos around them. I carry on, watching it all as I weave between the crowd, laughing to myself at the spectacle and the sheer pathetic nature of humanity.
No one comes too close to me. I make sure of it. With my Telekinesis, I guide them subtly away, clearing my path. They don’t see how I move them or how their feet slide in the mud as I magically push them aside. They’re too busy dancing, fucking, fighting or simply too high or drunk to notice.
Casually, I make my way further through them, to the large wooden stage ahead. A shoddy and precarious structure hurled together quickly by untalented hands. It’s probably ten metres long and four metres wide, propped up by boulders and bowing logs. I stop, still in the crowd but close enough to have a good view of the show on the stage.
Of the auction.
Three men, wearing black jeans, military boots and floor-length fake leather coats, stalk up and down the length of the stage. Their outfits are intended to pay homage to the men and women they so admire. The steel buckles that line their coats and the various patches they have sewn onto their lapels are cheap knock-offs of what real Witch Hunters wear. Each patch claims a victory. An achievement in their war against magic.
A mass murder or sadistic cleansing of some kind.
The cheap imposters cheer and jeer at the horde bellow them, yelling and encouraging more violence. More sex. More drinking. More dancing.
More bids.
The wannabe Hunters throw up their arms and hurl back their heads, howling like wolves at the moon above us. The crowd cheers and roars back, raising fists and shaking their heads like deranged animals, flicking sweat, spit and blood from their skin.
One of the men, the auctioneer, a tall and heavily built man with shoulder-length black hair plastered to his face by sweat and rain, hollers into the crowd.
‘ARE WE HAVING FUN?’
‘YES!’ they screech back, laughing and clapping.
As I turn and look at them all, so caught up in the hysteria, Toby catches my eye. He’s standing several paces behind me, stock still with his arms by his side and his shoulders hunched. The hood of his black sweater is pulled up over his head, keeping his face from view. His hazel eyes flick briefly over the crowd of lunatics around us, but his main focus is on me. He watches me closely, barely blinking in case he misses something. I’ve wondered these past three months if he looks at me that way out of protection. Is he just trying to make sure I’m safe? Or is it out of fear?
As my eyes bore into his, he lowers his gaze and shuffles his feet. His eyes keep flicking upwards before they stare back at the ground intently.
I can’t help but laugh as I beckon him closer with a wag of my finger.
I return my focus to the stage, shaking my head and rolling my eyes as he shuffles to my side. He gasps when he looks up and stares with horror at the scene before him.
Even now, I still can’t get used to Toby with a soul. His innocence and sweetness are just… well, it’s beyond my comprehension. And it’s a little annoying actually.
On the stage, spaced out, are four large metal poles. Tied to three are the remains of… hell, I don’t know. Men? Women? I have no idea, but their faces are all twisted in their final agonising screams. One has been bludgeoned to death. Their skull smashed in and their body all bent and broken. Another is missing their head, arms and legs. A chainsaw lies soaked in blood beside the pile of limbs below the torso. The third was a man. I think. A woman wearing a long gold chiffon dress is panting beside his carved up corpse. She raises the bloody knife in the air and screams victoriously to the crowd, in honour of her kill.
The auctioneer claps as she leaves the stage. The crowd wastes no time and grabs her, tearing her dress from her body before ravaging her like possessed beasts. Her lustful groans and screams fill the air. It’s enough to make me want to be sick.
‘LOT NUMBER FOUR!’ the auctioneer calls out.
One of the other men drags a young woman onto the stage. She’s been stripped naked. Her body is badly bruised, and she has the same harrowed look I had growing up, with my cousin making late-night visits to my bedroom. She pulls against the man holding her and despite her hands being bound behind her back, she puts up one hell of a fight, spitting in their faces and kicking out with all her strength.
I admire that.
She’s trussed up to the last empty post and forced to face the crowd. A thick rope is wrapped around her waist and once secured, the auctioneer stands behind her and grabs her breasts, laughing heartily as he does.
The girl isn’t gagged. She roars out, furious and frightened. Her wide eyes are looking at the remains of those who came up here shortly before her. And she knows that that is her fate.
The crowd start chanting.
‘KILL THE WITCH! KILL THE WITCH!’
The auctioneer raises his hands, and the chanting stops.
‘BIDDING NOW STARTS FOR THIS TWENTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD WITCH!’ he announces excitedly. ‘DO WE HAVE ONE THOUSAND POUNDS?’
Hands shoot up into the air. Wads of cash are gripped in between their fingers as they wave it enthusiastically above their heads.
‘TWO THOUSAND?’
A couple of hands go down, but a dozen stay up. Some of the crowd haven’t even bothered to look up from their carnal pleasures.
‘THREE THOUSAND?’
Some more hands are lowered.
‘FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS!’ a man bellows from behind me, shaking his notes wildly. ‘I BID FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS!’
‘SOLD!’ The auctioneer cheers. He beckons him up to the stage and shows him several instruments that line the table. The wealthy winner holds them up to the crowd to see what weapon inspires more bloodlust.
The knife?
The axe?
The hammer?
‘Was it like this during the war?’ I ask Tobias curiously. ‘Did humans gather to fuck like animals in heat while watching people being murdered by the highest bidder?’
He mumbles something in response, but it’s too noisy and I fail to hear.
‘Speak up, Mutt!’ I snap, jabbing my elbow into his ribs. ‘You know I hate it when you mumble.’
‘It wasn’t too dissimilar,’ he tells me, stumbling over his words and wrapping his arms around his waist. ‘T-the Hunter’s mark… it… it makes people crazy.’
The crowd erupts in an excited frenzy as a flame thrower sends out a long streak of fire clear over our heads.
The winner of the auction has chosen his weapon it would seem. The crowd’s chanting grows louder and the ground trembles as they stamp their feet in a thundering rhythm.
The girl trembles and begs for mercy.
All she gets in response from the crowd is more frenzied fucking and fighting. More laughing and applause.
More singing.
Kill-the-witch! Kill-the-witch!
Everyone faces the stage.
Kill-the-witch! Kill-the-witch!
They start clapping or shaking their fists.
Kill-the-witch! Kill-the-witch!
The crowd’s lust seems to be fuelled by their cruelty as men thrust hard into anyone they can get close to.
Kill-the-witch! Kill-the-witch!
Tobias sidesteps closer to me. I hear his fast and jagged breathing and see how his eyes go between the girl and me.
Kill-the-witch! Kill-the-witch!
‘Are you certain she’s a Descendant?’ I ask him, watching the whole thing with morbid fascination. ‘That she was a member of Theo’s old camp? Do you recognise her?’
‘That’s the rumour,’ he says shakily. ‘Does it matter? Lilly… whatever she is, human or Witch, no one deserves-’
‘Oh, she probably does.’ I shrug. ‘Everyone I’ve met in my life so far certainly deserves to be up there. Who knows what dark little deeds she’s done in her life.’ I give him a playful nudge. ‘Fancy taking her place? I mean, you murdered your own child, tried to kill your brother’s unborn baby and trapped me in a cellar for days, forcing me to watch years of my own sexual abuse by my demented cousin in full HD and surround sound. Along with a ton of other equally horrific deeds in your miserable life. If anyone deserves to be up there, it’s you.’
Another teasing display of the flamethrower’s power streaks overhead. Tobias’s face lights up. The bright orange flickers in his desperate eyes.
‘You’re the shell of the man I once loved, you know that? And you have the look of a soul who longs for death.’
‘I do…’ he whispers, a tear spilling from his eye. ‘I do long for death, but you refuse to-’
‘It’s pathetic,’ I say with a sigh, looking back up at the stage. ‘Besides, you don’t get off that easy, Mutt. I’m far from done playing with you. Death would be a great mercy. And I’m fresh out of mercy these days.’
‘I know,’ he says quietly.
The winner of the auction, holding his flamethrower, turns to face the girl. She watches him in terror as he stalks back and forth, prolonging her torment.
I give a dark little giggle in anticipation for what’s about to happen. The witch auctions are getting more and more extreme with every passing day. It’s only by luck my Mutt discovered the website selling tickets to this one on the dark web!
The flamethrower man widens his legs, ready for the force his weapon is about to wield.
‘This is gonna be fun,’ I chuckle.
‘Lilly?’ Tobias says nervously beside me. ‘Please don’t.’
‘Why not?’ I scoff.
‘Because they’re innocent!’
‘No such animal,’ I reply. As I always do whenever he throws that lie at me.
‘Please!’ he reaches out and grips my elbow. ‘Spare them! Show mercy!’
I look at his hand and slowly, I raise my stare to meet his wide and frightened eyes. He goes to release me and scuttle back. But he’s not quick enough. I take hold of his wrist.
‘Where’s the fun in that?’ I ask. ‘In showing mercy?’
I squeeze. Tobias whimpers and closes his eyes as I feel his bones grind in my palm under the force of my Physical magic, the strength of which means I can crush his hand with ease and not even break a nail.
‘Why should I show anyone mercy when no mercy has ever been shown to me?!’ I hiss in his face. His chin sinks into his neck and he wails as I grip harder. I hear his bone break. His lips seal shut and he catches the sound of his anguish before it manages to escape. He knows that hearing him whine only annoys me further. I toss back his hand. ‘Touch me again? I’ll cut your fucking hands off instead of just breaking them. Hear me, Toby Smith?’
He nods quickly and cradles his arm.
‘Don’t pout. It will be healed in a day or two. Your immortality spell will ensure that.’ I tut as we lift our gaze to the stage.
The flamethrower kicks into life, and the crowd explode into a maniacal hollering as the young girl disappears beneath the inferno.
When the man relinquishes, the flames continue to cover the girl. She writhes beneath them.
I giggle and chew my lower lip.
The flames die out to reveal her still there. Untouched. Unburnt. Completely unharmed.
The crowd starts to fall silent as uncertainty washes over them.
The flamethrower man unleashes another blast on the girl, as if perhaps there was something wrong with the last one. He goes longer this time, making sure she is smothered from head to toe, then steps back to admire his handiwork.
But yet again, the flames die down to reveal not a single hair on her head has been singed.
The music stops—the party halts.
Silence falls.
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, clapping my hands together in applause. The silent crowd all turn to face me and my Mutt.
‘You know?’ I call out to them all. ‘If you amateurs are gonna try to catch and kill witches, you better pray that you don’t catch any real ones!’ I remove my mask and a wave of gasps ripple through the crowd. I look up at the naked girl. Our eyes meet, and I see wrath burning in her brighter than any flames they just threw at her. My eyes narrow with devious intent as she watches me. ‘Because it takes a hell of a lot more than fire to kill a real witch.’ My eyes blacken and I issue an order to the crowd. ‘No one leaves. No one tries to run.’
With a flick of my wrist, the rope holding her snaps. She snatches up the chainsaw and charges the auctioneer who grabbed her so crudely moments ago. With a fierce scream, she kicks it into life and brings it down on his shoulder. The man holding the flamethrower ignites in my black and white fire. He screams and hurls himself onto the floor, trying in vain to put it out.
That’s never going to happen. I won’t let it.
I make it burn slow, too. His screams carry on and on until the tank on his back explodes, silencing him for good and sending out a bloody shower of body parts in all directions.
The last of the three men shout at me.
‘YOU SURRENDER NOW!’ he calls. ‘OR I KILL HER! I SWEAR TO GOD!’
He has a knife pressed into a little girl’s throat. She’s in a pink nightie and shivers from the cold. Her long blonde hair is tied in ponytails, and I know her face.
‘Daisy-girl?’ I whisper, recalling the time I spent at the Nomad camp a few months ago, back when Gabriel proposed to me and when I was reunited with Amara and Collins. I made daisy chains in the meadow with the sweetest Nomad children. Children who died in the explosion beneath the mountains. Daisy-girl was in that mountain. I saw her go in. And yet here she is. A deep scar is lining the left side of her face and a deeply rooted terror is in her once innocent eyes.
‘You leave here now, Witch!’ the man warns, the tip of his knife digging into her tiny little neck. A small bead of blood starts to fall, and I fill with such rage that in my moment of lapsed concentration, my Unbroken-self appears and stands beside me. ‘She was gonna be one of our big-ticket items, but I’ll slit her pretty little fucking throat if I must-’
His hand bends backwards. His bones snap and protrude through his skin. He drops the knife to the floor before I toss him away from her. I materialise directly in front of Daisy-girl, catching her little body before she can fall.
I lower her gently down and kneel with her in the mud.
‘You close your eyes, sweetheart,’ I compel her with a comforting smile, resting my finger on the small hole in her neck and healing it swiftly. I run my hand over her face, the scars on her pink flesh heal back to their cute and flawless former-glory. I suspect they’re injuries caused by the collapse in the caves. She must be one tough little kid to have survived that. ‘Sleep. This was all just a bad dream. One you won’t remember when you wake up.’
Her eyes close and her breathing becomes slow and steady as she falls into a deep and restful sleep.
Her innocent eyes have seen enough already.
She doesn’t need to see what is coming next.
Now I’m close by the stage, I see the metal cage hidden behind it filled with the other prisoners that they took. Seven pairs of eyes watch me, unsure if their salvation has arrived or their doom. Tobias has already found them. He’s created his fire and gathered it in his palm. The black and white flames, which tell of the Break he has suffered, glow brightly as he uses it to melt away the lock sealing them inside. The first out is a woman who sprints past him, straight towards me, and takes Daisy-girl in her arms.
‘Thank you,’ she says, resting a grateful hand on my shoulder. ‘You saved my niece. Thank you!’
I stand up and turn away with a scoff.
‘Don’t let her get caught next time.’ I spit back at her over my shoulder before turning back to the cage. One man, with long curly hair and wearing a baggy long-sleeved t-shirt, trips over a loose shoelace as he heads cautiously beyond the cage. He watches me anxiously, not even daring to blink.
‘Ahhh, Connor Quinn!’ I exclaim, clapping my hands together. An action which makes him jump. ‘There you are. I’m so glad that I found you in time.’
‘Ahh… shit!’ he mutters, before he quickly turns and attempts to flee into the trees.
He doesn’t get far. Tobias catches him quickly enough and drags him back to me, kicking and screaming.
‘LET ME GO!’ he calls out, thrashing in Tobias’s arms. ‘LET ME GO! I’M YOUR FRIEND! DON’T DO THIS! LILLY!’
‘Hush now. Hush. If no one tries to run, I promise, no one will get hurt.’
When one of the other freed men dash into the trees, the roots from deep beneath the ground claw up and grab his ankles, yanking him back. He screams. The roots find the gaping hole in his face and slide smoothly down his throat.
Connor looks at me in utter disgust and horror.
‘I mean… I literally just said not to do that, so that was his fault.’ I shrug.
I make my way to Connor and stop before him. He blinks rapidly, struggling to swallow and desperately trying to back away from me. My Mutt keeps a good hold on him, however.
‘There’s my favourite Irishman. How you been, Quinn?’
‘Running for my life and living in constant fear. You?’ he asks with a surprising amount of brave sarcasm. It makes me chuckle.
‘Oh. I’ve been grand, thanks, love. Even better for seeing you. It’s nice to catch up with-’
‘What have you done with Collins?’ he asks with a dry swallow. ‘Is he okay?’
I can’t help but smirk. I am genuinely in admiration of his bravery. But by the looks of him, he’s had a hard few months. Being on the run has clearly toughened him up, but he’s still shit scared of me.
‘You wanna see Collins?’ I ask.
‘I want you to let him go and I want you to come back to us.’
‘Yeah. I’m sorry but that’s not gonna work for me.’
I hear a loud bang and turn slowly, observing the bullet that I stopped several inches from my head.
‘Tut. Tut. Now then… who shot that?’ I ask softly, glancing at the crowd.
No one admits to it.
‘Well, you know if I can’t just punish the one who just tried to shoot me, I’ll have to punish all of you. And then I’ll know I got the right one. Like my uncle used to do to his dogs when one of them would shit on the carpet. He’d rub all their noses in it, just to be sure he got the culprit.’
‘Lilly…’ Tobias beseeches. ‘They’re under the thrall of the Hunter’s mark. Please. Don’t do this. Not again. They are innocent. We got what we came for. We have Connor!’
I shrug, taking my place at the front of the crowd.
‘I came for many reasons. One of them was to have a little fun. SO?’ I call out to the crowd loudly. ‘YOU CAME TO WATCH EVIL HEATHENS DIE IN AGONY, RIGHT? TO BID ON THE PLEASURE OF DELIVERING THEIR SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATHS BY YOUR OWN HAND?’ The corner of my mouth hitches into a smile as I slowly turn, making sure I look at every person near me. ‘I WOULD HATE TO SEE YOU LEAVE HERE DISAPPOINTED.’ My fire springs to life on my hands and drips to the floor. It moulds into the shapes of my giant fire wolves, one on either side of me. Their heads stand as high as my shoulders. Their teeth are bared and they snarl viciously at the surrounding crowd. ‘IN FACT!’ I call out with a cruel laugh. ‘I WOULD HATE TO SEE YOU LEAVE HERE AT ALL!’
I look down at each of my beautiful beasts.
‘Go play,’ I tell them, replacing my mask. ‘Play rough.’
With a howl, my wolves sprint into the crowd. Their forms flicker brightly. Their black and white flames move as if they have fur made of lava. As they run, my wolves split down the middle, creating two more, and then they split again. I lose count of them as they barrel into the multitude of humans, tearing and ripping and setting them alight. As the humans attempt to escape the clearing and seek shelter in the woodland surrounding us, naked and covered in god knows what kind of bodily fluids, I create a wall of fire, sealing them inside with me.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep inhale of breath, settling the storm of power raging inside. With a roll of my neck and shoulders, I let out a long and happy sigh before opening my eyes.
‘Kill-the-hu-mans,’ I sing, stomping my foot four times on the ground to the beat of my words.
‘Kill-the-hu-mans.’ Again, I bring my foot down rhythmically four times. ‘Kill-the-hu-mans.’
Each time my foot hits the floor, the ground below shudders and jolts. Large cracks spread outwards as if an earthquake was ripping it apart. Anyone unlucky enough to be standing on one of those cracks is dragged into the dirt, the soil forcing its way down their throats, burying them alive. Rocks scuttle along the ground and crash into each other, forming monstrous figures made of heavy stone. These Gollum-like creatures slam into the revellers, battering their bodies to a pulp. Blood splatters those nearby, and the air fills with the sound of the dying. Of agony. Of terror.
It’s perfect.
When I see a couple sprinting to safety, I send my stark white lightning at them, smothering their naked bodies, so they writhe and spasm before crumpling to the floor.
‘I beg you!’ Toby grabs my dress and lands on his knees, sobbing as he watches death claim more and more of its prey. ‘Please! Stop this! Stop the killing! I can’t take any more.’
I leer down at him and grin before raising my hands high above me. Those left alive rise in the air. Some still burn. Others are bloody or missing limbs. I keep them hovered there, suspended in their misery.
Then I break their bones, using my Telekinesis to pull at their limbs and contort their arms and legs.
Toby and Connor both watch on in helpless horror.
‘I have stopped three of these barbaric auctions in the last three weeks,’ I tell them, my voice flowing as smoothly as silk through the shrill cries of pain. ‘I have saved our kind, have I not? Now, Mutt, off you pop. Take Connor and make sure he’s nice and comfortable. I’ll be along shortly.’
‘No, Lilly, wait!’
I speak the words required to perform a teleportation spell and send them away to the safe house before I have to listen to any more of Mutt’s whining.
I turn and continue my work. The scene is bliss. One of blood and screams and death. My wolves tear and rip. My magic snaps and pulls. I take the instruments that they offered to the winners of the auction and test them out on a few unfortunate party goers.
My laugh echoes all around me. Their pain rings in my ears. And when the final life has left the last tattered body, I dust off my clothes and ready myself to join my Mutt back at the safe house.
When I turn, ocean blue eyes meet mine, and a look of hatred and pain emanates from deep within their vibrant hues.
Gabriel…
I jump at my inner self’s longing whisper.
I don’t get a chance to react before Gabriel snatches off my mask, slams his hands either side of my head and with blackened eyes, takes control of me.
‘Go the fuck to sleep, Lilly,’ he orders.
I grab his hands and create my fire.
‘No magic, Lilly!’ he demands, ignoring the pain I’m inflicting with my attack. ‘No more magic. Go to sleep!’
My eyes roll in the back of my head and I slump, struggling to keep my eyes open as my magic leaves me. My wolves flicker out of existence and Gabriel lowers me to the floor, holding his hands on my head and gently placing me on my back. He stands over me looking full of misery and wrath. Like the most beautiful, angry god I have ever seen.
His hands are balled into fists as he takes in angry fuelled breath after angry fuelled breath. The cut I gave him several weeks ago is far from healed. The deep gash goes straight across his face in a jagged line, and whoever stitched him up didn’t do a very good job.
‘Hey, Beautiful,’ I mock, struggling to stay awake as I fight his compulsion.
‘Don’t you dare talk to me, you evil little bitch!’ he spits.
I snigger weakly as I see blood start to trickle from his nose. Keeping his hold on me isn’t an easy task. But neither is fighting it, and I feel a similar trickle of blood slide down my cheek as my eyes start becoming too heavy to keep open.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I ask weakly.
‘I heard through the grapevine you were planning on coming here tonight.’
Well, I think, the only other person who knew I was coming here was my Mutt.
‘I’ll be sure to punish your little brother for his loose tongue by cutting it off,’ I tell him.
‘That would be kind, compared to some of the things you have done,’ Gabriel hisses, his eyes glistening with tears as his hands start to tremble. ‘You…’ A tear tumbles down his stern face. ‘You!’
‘Me?’
‘You killed our child.’ He lowers his gaze to my belly. ‘You killed her. Why? How could you?’
‘It’s called an abortion, Gabriel,’ I slur.
‘How could you do that?’
‘I knew you would never stop coming for me… if I had your… your spawn growing inside me…’
‘You’ve gone too far, Lilly. Way too far.’
‘And I’m only getting started.’
‘No.’ Another tear slides down his cheek as I lay helpless at his feet. I struggle to stay awake, fighting with futility against his compulsion. ‘You’re done. Trust me. This ends now. You’ve made this war a bloodbath.’ He pulls out a gun and points it at my head. ‘Too many have died because of you. My child included! I can’t let you carry on killing us all.’ He cocks the gun and rests a trembling finger on the trigger. I just lie here. Unable to move. Unable to fight. ‘Where are they?’ he demands. ‘Connor and Collins. I know you have them. Where have you taken them?’
‘Why don’t you ask your traitorous little brother?’ I retort.
‘Because I’m giving you the chance to tell me first. I’m-’
‘Bullshit. If you have spoken to Tobias, you know he can’t tell you anything. I’ve compelled him not to.’
‘And I think you know that my compulsion is very on par with yours if not better.’ He speaks with utter certainty of that fact and the way he’s currently winning this battle of the minds, I’m inclined to think he may be right.
My eyelids are flickering as it all starts to go dark, but I see him flex his finger on the trigger, and for the first time in months, I feel real emotion.
I’m scared.
Gabriel is a man at the end of his rope. He’s desperate. Angry. Heartbroken and lost.
All very dangerous things.
‘Give her back to me,’ Gabriel orders. ‘Or I swear to God, I will shoot you.’
‘She’s n-not here.’
‘GIVE HER BACK!’ He steps forwards, waving the gun in a shaking hand. I look down the barrel as everything starts to blur. ‘Please,’ he begs. ‘Please, let her go. Please give me back my wife.’
I laugh and offer him a weak shrug. No way he shoots. No way.
‘I compel you to undo your Break. I compel you-’
‘No.’ My eyelids flutter as they struggle to stay open. ‘I won’t. I never will. If you want to stop me, you’ll just have to kill me.’
‘She’s all I’ve got,’ he admits quietly. ‘If I don’t have her, I have nothing.’
‘Then I guess you have nothing. She. Is. Gone.’
‘Lilly? If you are still in there, forgive me. I’m sorry, but I can’t let her carry on killing like this. And she’s too strong to keep prisoner.’ Tears tumble down his cheeks. ‘We’ve lost hundreds of our people because of her. She’s taken our family,’ he adds through a painful sob. ‘She aborted our baby girl…’
A scream sounds in the distance. A never-ending, desperate cry. I look out, but Gabriel doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t react.
It’s coming from inside me!
Her screech gets louder and louder and louder until it’s ringing painfully in my ears. Words resonate in my skull over and over and over. My Unbroken-self is clawing her way through, desperate to take back control and speak directly to the man she loves so hysterically.
Gabriel readies the trigger.
‘I love you,’ he whispers. ‘I will always love you. Goodbye, my beautiful girl. I’m sorry.’
Words spill from my mouth like vomit.
‘SHE’S LYING! I’M STILL HERE! I’M STILL PREGN-’
He fires.
