Soul of a Witch (Souls Trilogy)
Soul of a Witch: Chapter 16

After spending my last few days in the coven house, my father’s home felt dead. Like bleached bones, left in the sun until they were cracked, brittle, and dry.

Sitting in the hard wooden chair before his desk, wringing my hands in my lap, I waited for my father to acknowledge me. He sat there flipping through paperwork, signing a sheet here and there, checking notifications on his phone.

I was merely one more unwelcome item on his to-do list.

When he finally sighed, his pen clicking with ominous finality before he set it down, my stomach churned as if I was going to be sick.

Just stick to the story. Simple. Easy. You’ve done nothing wrong.

“I’ll ask you once again,” he said. “Where did you go?”

My mouth was so dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I tried to speak. “I woke up in the oak tree in the park. Near Mama’s old apartment. I-I don’t know how, Dad. Really, I don’t. Jeremiah scared me and I guess my magic must have —”

His scoff cut me off. “Your magic? Everly…” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ve told you before, countless times, that attempting to use magic could kill you. You’re not a witch, not like your mother was. The magic in your veins is weak, practically unusable. You’ve not only endangered yourself, you’ve endangered everything we have built.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. I don’t even understand how it happened.” Drawing in a shuddering breath, I forced my eyes to well with tears. “I was so scared. I’m just glad to be home.”

The back of my neck prickled with the uncomfortable feeling of worms squirming under my skin. God’s gaze upon me. Watching me. Judging me. As if It could sense my lies.

My father’s eyes bored into me, narrowing.

After moments of uncomfortable silence, he said, “Marcus’s funeral is in just a few days. You will be attending, along with the rest of us. Afterward, Leon will bring the sacrifice’s body to White Pine, where he will be dedicated to God.” He leaned toward me over the desk, his hands clasped upon the stack of papers in front of him. “If you don’t maintain your composure, there will be severe consequences. We need to ensure there will be no more accidents.”

He unlocked a drawer on his desk and took something out, setting it before me. It was a pair of thick glass cylinders, open at both ends, with faint, shimmering veins running through them. He pressed an invisible mechanism and one of the cylinders sprang open, its two halves connected with a hinge.

“This magic of yours must be brought under control,” he said. “Hold out your arms.”

Dread filled me, but I obeyed. The moment he enclosed one around my wrist and it clicked into place, something sharp punctured my skin, digging into the soft spot on my inner wrist. Pain shot through my arm, as if my bones were splintering into dust. Screaming in panic, I tried to pull away, but my father had a tight grip on my arm.

He locked the other cuff onto me. Agony filled me, so intense that I blacked out as I curled over the desk. Perhaps I was still screaming, perhaps I was silent; for the next few minutes, I truly didn’t know.

When I came back to reality, I was sitting limply in the chair, my forehead dripping with sweat, my chest heaving. The pain had faded to a dull ache, and when I looked down, the glass cuffs were sealed tightly around my wrists.

Beneath the glass, bright red blood was pooling.

Shaking, my voice weak, I said, “What the hell are these?”

“Watch your tongue,” my father said sharply. “They will keep your magic under control so we don’t have another incident.” He waved his hand dismissively as a wave of dizziness nearly made me black out again.

Trying not to panic, I said, “When can I take them off?”

“When you’ve proven yourself trustworthy. Until then, this is what is best for your safety. For our safety. God knows there’s enough risk to us already, thanks to Jeremiah acting so rashly.” He sighed heavily. “Furthermore, I’ve withdrawn your enrolment at the university.”

My breath caught, sinking into my throat like a fishhook. My eyes stung, vision blurring.

“Please don’t.” The plea burst out of me before I could stop it, but to do anything else would have been suspicious. Running away would end my studies regardless, my hopes of a degree — but what did a degree matter if humanity itself came to an end? Still, if I didn’t protest, he would wonder why. He had chosen to take this away specifically because he knew how much it would hurt me.

“It pains me to do it, Everly, but you can’t be trusted.” He scoffed as tears rolled down my face. “I’ve told you before it’s a frivolous waste of your time. You have duties of faith to attend to instead. What exactly did you think you were going to do with that ridiculous degree anyway? History, of all things.” He shook his head at me, as if my choice of degree was a personal insult. Even though I’d chosen it because of him. Even though he was the one who’d fostered my love of ancient things.

The fact that he’d managed to have any influence on me at all made me angry.

The tears came to me a little too easily, but that was what he wanted. To see me hurt, shaking in regret, pleading for mercy. I barely cared anymore what I had to say or do to placate him.

“I could have worked at the Historical Society,” I said, sniffing as I reached for the tissues on his desk. “With you.”

He smiled at me as if I were a very stupid little child. “I don’t need another secretary, Everly.”

Not a thing he said should have been able to hurt me, and yet those words were like knives stabbing between my ribs.

I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. It didn’t take much effort to sound authentic; I had plenty of pent-up tears to spill.

“I’m failing God,” I cried, face still covered with my hands. “I feel so weak, so — so useless! I can’t control my magic and it’s letting you down.” Lifting my tear-stained face, I looked into my father’s eyes. “Can’t you teach me to be better? You know magic, you have the grimoire, you…you could teach me how to control it. So this doesn’t happen anymore.”

My desperation came across as sincerity, and my father’s face softened. He reached into his jacket, and as my heart pounded, he drew out the grimoire and held it up.

It was a small book, thin and bound in leather. Faint but elegant text marked the cover, Latin words roughly translating to Magical Work and Conjuring. My mouth practically salivated at the sight of it, wild fantasies bursting into my mind. I envisioned myself snatching it from his hands, sprinting from the room, down the hall, out the front door. Callum would be waiting for me, he would protect me from Leon, protect me from my father. He would fly me away on those massive wings —

“This grimoire is my most valuable tool,” my father said, snapping me from my thoughts. “But my second most valuable, Everly, is you. A young lady such as yourself does not have any need to access magic. That power is for God.”

“I don’t understand. What use does God have for me?”

Tucking the grimoire away, my father regarded me in silence for several long moments before he said, “Someday, when our God rises from the deep and remakes this world, It will need a vessel. It will need a body filled with power, a mind filled with faith. It will need you.”

My heart hammered. Even already knowing the truth, to hear him say it was stunning. “Me? I’m…I’m supposed to be the vessel?”

“One of your siblings will give up their life to fulfill our oath to God. One will remain to lead the Libiri when I am gone. And one will carry the God Itself. You, your brother, and your sister all have a greater purpose in the Deep One’s plan.”

He rose from his chair, coming around the desk to grasp my hands.

“I think it’s time you witnessed God’s greatness for yourself. When your mother had her doubts, I suggested the same thing. What she was shown through God’s great power completely changed her outlook. It soothed her fears.”

What the hell was he talking about? What did it mean to “witness” God’s greatness?

“After the dedication of Marcus, you and I will go to St. Thaddeus. You’ll see.” He cupped his hand under my chin and lifted my face. I’d looked into eyes far darker than his and seen more light than I ever saw in him. “You will witness the grace of God.”