Undone: The Complete Duology, page 20
My lungs struggled for air, but there was little to be found. The interior of the church had filled with smoke, flames demolishing the walls with glimpses of outside that grew into wider views by the second.
Above me, the roof crackled then snapped. With a monstrous groan, the roof collapsed around me, pelting fiery shards against my shoulders as I ducked, covering my head. When the assault ended, I looked up, eyes and lungs burning from the smoke enveloping me.
With the roof out of the way, the steeple towered above me. Flames burned through the support beams. The steeple rocked forward and then back. Then it erupted in fire as it toppled backwards—at me.
Clenching my eyes shut, I reached up. Fire seared my skin as the steeple fell apart over me. I wrapped my fingers around burning timber, wrenching it free. Without looking, I took off through the night. Fire bit at my skin as it consumed the bottom of my pants, the shoulders of my shirt. I raced through the storm, hold the burning ember close to me, shielding it from the storm.
As I skidded down the hill, I found myself screaming for Mac. I no longer cared who heard me, who knew I existed.
I cupped the ember as it turned to ash and held the smoldering remains in my fist. The skin of my palm welted and blistered, but I refused to let go. I didn’t look back, didn’t slow down, as I charged in the direction of home.
My legs wobbled as my house came into view.
“Gracie!” Mac shot through the darkness towards me.
I dropped to my knees, my burning fist tight against my stomach.
“Get a container,” I said between gasps, my throat raw.
“Gracie, you’re—”
“Get a fuckin’ container, Mac.”
He hesitated, then bolted into the house. I fought for air, for consciousness. When he returned, he held a glass jar. Using his jacket, he covered the ashes as I trickled them through my fist into the jar, then he screwed on the lid.
“Put it somewhere safe. Put it somewhere safe. Put it somewhere safe.”
I couldn’t get control of myself.
Mac disappeared around the back of the house. I collapsed forward, into the wet grass and mud. They soothed the burns and aches and filled the open wounds that scored my body.
I could not open my eyes.
We had all the elements. I had everything I needed for my spell. Now I just had to wait for the full moon.
Wind howled from town, racing over me like a train. I forced myself to roll over but the wind caught me in the face, shoving at me. The branches of the trees around us shook. The door of my house clattered back and forth.
Mac called to me, but his words were faint in the chaos. Above, clouds rolled together, faster than nature allowed, and darkened. Rain came down harder until it stung my skin.
I staggered to my feet.
Then all the light in the world went out.
I felt weightless, floating, like I stood in the night sky. There was no above and no below. I reached out but I couldn’t be sure I had moved at all. All the air had been sucked from my lungs.
Even the rain had ceased.
Then I was dropped back to reality. The lightning above lit the skies.
There, on the hill, stood the church. Just as it had been.
Mac grabbed my arm, and I flinched as pain roared through me.
“Gracie, is that the…”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you just…”
“Yes.”
Mac was silent as he stared at the restored church. Then, he said, “We’re so fucked.”
“Yes, we are.”
I had known something was wrong with Thorn Tree, but I had not, until tonight, put together who the demons in the graveyard were.
They didn’t inhabit the town. They ruled it.
“I’m going to get stuff for your wounds,” he said, eyeing me up and down. “You’re really torn up.”
I nodded once, unable to find the energy to say or do anything more. With another concerned look at me, he headed into the house.
I couldn’t bring myself to move, not even to sit. I just stood there, staring up at the church, my mind blank.
“Gracie, what the fuck did you do?”
I turned as Amelia, flanked by Bethany and Sarah, strode towards me. Their black coven cloaks flapped in the breeze.
Amelia halted in front of me, hands hidden in her cloak. “You already messed up everything for everyone. Now, you went after the church? What is wrong with you?”
“You don’t understand,” I whispered. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”
Amelia glared at me. “I do understand. I understand that if we leave them the hell alone, they leave us alone. Just do what they say, and everything is fine. It’s that simple, Gracie. Why are you too selfish to get that?”
The thoughts in the back of my mind came forward as I stared at Amelia. How many others had been wrongly accused? How many others had been silenced?
Anyone. Everyone.
Every townsperson here who had threatened the façade of tranquility of Thorn Tree had been pressured by the church, by the Reverend, by the entire town to submit.
I understood why they did, but I never could. It just wasn’t true.
“They don’t have to break us,” I said, and I hoped, with some exhausted ridiculous optimism, that I could connect with Amelia, with her coven sisters, and we could form an alliance. They just had to understand there was another way. “I’m going to stop them.”
Her eyes flared with anger. “It can’t be done. You’re just going to make everything so much worse for all of us.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
She stormed towards me, the wind catching her robe. It flapped back, revealing a long blade in her grip. “We should have killed you when we had the chance. Then everyone could have forgotten about you.”
She swung the knife at me. I caught her wrist, ducking down. The girls behind her widened their stance, coiled and ready to spring to her defense. Amelia wrenched her arm free and thrusted the blade towards my face. I smacked her hand upwards, then punched her in the nose. She stumbled backwards, dropping the knife to the ground.
The other girls launched at me, blades in hand. Amelia caught her balance and charged. I stooped, grabbing the blade, and swung upwards.
The knife plunged into Amelia’s chest. Her eyes widened as she halted, skewered on the knife. Blood oozed from the wound and trickled down my hand. I grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, pulled the knife, and thrust it into her throat.
She dropped to the ground, gurgling, weakly gripping the hilt sticking out of her neck.
Bethany and Sarah stood, knives at their sides, staring wordlessly as Amelia stilled.
Sarah looked pale and ready to throw up.
Horror, and then rage, flared through Bethany. She met my gaze, and in it, I saw exactly what she planned to do.
Both of the girls dropped their knives and bolted towards town.
They were going to alert the others.
Mac stepped back outside, first aid supplies in hand, then halted as his gaze landed on Amelia’s dead body at my feet.
On the horizon, the sun broke through the night and with it came the long deep sound of an ancient blow horn.
The day of the Feast had arrived.
Mac still didn’t know that I had taken the one person he loved more than me: his brother.
And I had crossed the line by killing Amelia with witnesses. Thorn Tree would not sit idly by.
What little protection I’d had was gone. I would have to take down Thorn Tree or destroy us all by trying. There were no other options.
Let the games begin.
UNRAVELLED
BOOK 2
1
GRACE
Sheriff Ditka’s cruiser bounced up over the hill and came to a stop just before my property line.
Next to me, holding the first aid supplies, Mac sucked in a sharp breath. At my feet, Amelia’s lifeless form striped with colors of the early morning sunrise.
I stood still, contemplating my options. Mac and I could run, but to where? It wasn’t like we could leave Thorn Tree. How the sheriff would react to me fleeing was anyone’s guess. And there was Mac, who wasn’t adequately warned for what was about to come. Perhaps I wasn’t either.
Thorn Tree was full of surprises, none of them good.
“Morning, sheriff,” Mac said, like we weren’t in the middle of a crime scene.
Sheriff Ditka tipped his hat, his eyes shielded under the rim. That didn’t stop me from feeling his gaze crawl over me.
“The Feast has begun,” he said. “Your presence is requested.”
So, we were going that direction. Even though I had managed to escape the Feast the last few years, they wouldn't allow Mac to bow out. Not now that they wanted him in their fold. They had their hooks in us and they were sinking deeper by the second.
The Feast wasn’t an event everyone got to RSVP. I knew exactly what happened when someone defied the town’s collective demands.
A shudder wiggled up my spine, and I did my best not to show it.
My gaze inadvertently dropped to Amelia’s body.
The sheriff’s wicked little smile flickered under the shadow of his hat.
“We’ll deal with that later.” He nodded towards his idling cruiser. “Jump on in. I’ll give ya a lift.”
My entire body racked with shivers, and Mac placed a hand on my shoulder. I tried to home in on that spot, on that warmth, but my brain continued to pan back to the thought of Mac at the Feast. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let him partake in that ritual.
I didn’t have a choice.
“We’ll take the jeep,” Mac told the sheriff, pleasant enough. More than I would have been, if I could speak. Words lodged in my throat, and it was probably for the best.
The sheriff slid his gaze from me to Mac. “I got ya word, son?”
Mac gave a short nod. “You got my word, sheriff. We’ll wash up and be right on by.”
Sheriff Ditka gave us another appraising look, then turned back to his cruiser. When his vehicle was out of sight, I finally breathed.
I glanced up at Mac. “They’ll give us immunity for one day. Everything in Thorn Tree comes to a halt for the Feast.”
“Well, that’s one thing in our favor.”
“No way. We can’t go to the Feast. I can’t let them—”
“It’s okay.” He lowered the first aid supplies on the ground, casting a disgusted look at Amelia’s corpse, then cupped my face with both hands. “We’re going to do this, and just like everything else, we’ll do it together. All right?”
I nodded tightly against his palms.
He had no idea what he was talking about.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Let’s clean up.”
With my wrist in his hand, he led me towards my house, away from Amelia’s body. Inside, we washed at the bathroom sink. I couldn’t bring myself to commit to a shower, like my brain was fixated on just getting through the next few hours. Getting through the Feast with what was left of our souls intact.
At the end, Mac would be tainted and there would be no going back for him, ever.
I wanted to warn him, but I could only splash water on my face, my arms, and my bare chest, and use a washcloth to scrub off the dirt and sweat. As I silently cleaned, my gaze averted from the mirror, Mac came up behind me. He wrapped his arms around me, planting his face into the top of my head.
“I love you, Gracie,” he murmured into my hair.
“I know.” I held the washcloth in the sink, unable to move.
He did love me, and that was the entire problem. Only in Thorn Tree could they weaponize such a pure emotion.
I frowned down at his hands on my bare stomach. “I wish you didn’t.”
He grazed his lips down the side of my neck and gently bit my shoulder. I turned to face him, and he lifted me up onto the counter. I leaned back on my palms as he kissed down my breasts, down my stomach, and farther still—
“We have to go.” I nudged him away as I slid onto my feet. I plucked a clean dry washcloth from the folded stack on the shelf and thrusted it at him. “I’ll be in the jeep.”
I felt his gaze on me as I left the bathroom.
Behind the steering wheel of the jeep, I stared out into the trees, in the direction where Bobby was contained in a small cave.
Two more weeks. I just had to survive Thorn Tree for two more weeks.
I was a witch, after all. This was temporary; their torment, their hell.
I would destroy them with the wrath of the ancient gods.
Mac dropped into the passenger seat. We drove in silence towards town. On the main street, every building was dark and empty. No one loitered about, not even stupid Rose with her guitar and bad poetry.
When we neared Honey and Hive, Mac reared back as he stared at the field. The entire town—all one hundred people—gathered around the long tables under the pergolas. A few dozen people milled about, arranging platters and bowls of food, and serving plates. Streamers of dried gold and red flowers gathered in the spring from the surrounding woods hung from the top of the wooden beams, fluttering in the breeze. The storm had cleared, but only for today’s festivities. It would return with renewed vigor in the coming days.
I parked outside Honey and Hive. “Don’t eat or drink anything.”
Mac didn’t tear his gaze away from the activity as he said, “Not Thanksgiving, huh?”
“No.”
I stepped out, and he followed, joining with me as we crossed the road towards the field.
A few people looked up, and I hesitated, expecting a mob to launch at us. But it was the Feast, and today, we partook, whether we wanted to or not.
Mrs. Stone hurried over to us, all grins. “Gracie, Mac, there you are. Come, come.”
She led us to an empty spot on a bench at one of the long tables. Mac and I squished in together, the others on either side scooting down to make room like we were all one big happy family.
Not in many years.
Mrs. Johnson and Mr. Jimenez scooped food onto our plates—mashed potatoes, legume dishes I couldn’t name, every kind of vegetable in every kind of way. On Mac’s plate, they heaped roast and a chicken quarter. Goblets were set in front of us by hands I barely noticed before another was in our faces with offerings of cake and donuts and pastries I’d never learned what to call them.
These were offerings that could not be refused. I accepted another round of plates for both Mac and me, and loaded them up with desserts and appetizers.
The tables during the Feast contained more food than all of Thorn Tree for the rest of the year.
“Oh, Mac, you haven’t touched a bite,” Antonia said, standing by his shoulder.
I reached under the table and clamped my hand to the top of his thigh. He placed his hand over mine as he nodded towards Antonia.
“So much good food here, my eyes don’t know where to start,” he said, ever the polite country boy.
He would rip off their heads when the time came. The thought made me proud of him.
“Well, it’s not your eyes that need to start,” Antonia said with a smile. “Eat up!”
She plopped another chicken quarter onto his plate for emphasis before strolling over to a group of people preparing for the gluttony to come.
“This is weird,” Mac whispered towards me, without leaning closer.
I squeezed his thigh with a soft hiss to be quiet.
My gaze roamed over the piles of food and gallons of drinks in a rainbow of colors. Every bite, every swallow at these tables was tainted, including this batch of Mr. Jimenez’s donuts.
During the day of the Feast, the only way to avoid participating was by fasting for twenty-four hours. I’d done it before; the alternative was worse.
I felt a pair of eyes on me and glanced up without thinking. Roberta sat several tables away, directly in front of me, her dark hair draped over one shoulder, watching me.
Just watching me.
“Gracie,” Mrs. Stone said, resting a hand on my shoulder. I startled, and it took everything in me not to shrug away from her touch. “I made you some tea.”
She set a mug in front of me, as if there was any space left on the table. I stared at the mug, fixing on it among all the overwhelming chaos of food and colors and smells and textures—and the terror creeping up from my gut.
“You really should drink,” she said, lowering her face to my ear. “It’ll be easier on Mac if you do.”
The noose tightened. They had me; they knew they had me. As long as I wasn’t willing to let them hurt Mac, they would get anything they wanted.
Just for now. This is the last time for the Feast, for any of this. For any of them.
Mac so dutifully kept his hands off the food and drinks, trusting me so inexplicably my heart hurt.
I didn’t deserve to be trusted, not like that. Not anymore.
Regardless, I might have his brother hostage, preparing for a sacrifice, but I would not let Thorn Tree hurt Mac.
Even if that meant letting them break me one more time.
Blanking my mind, I reached for the mug and wrapped it with my stiff fingers. Mac scowled as I lifted the mug to my lips and peered out over the rim, at all the people that made up my town diving into the food and drinks.
The Feast had begun.
I tipped back the tea and glugged it down, despite how the heat scorched a path across my tongue and down my throat.
When I finished, Mrs. Stone gave me a relieved smile—she had been put on Gracie-duty, no doubt—and glided away.
I plucked a savory pastry from one of my plates.
“Gracie?” Mac sounded confused, concerned.
Without looking at him—I couldn’t without crying—I snapped, “Just eat.”
I shoved the pastry into my mouth and forced myself to chew. Exotic and tantalizing flavors danced along my tastebuds, the textures an experience of their own. No food ever tasted as amazing as it did on the Feast.
It was, in fact, a religious experience.
