Garden of Dreams and Desires - Kristen Painter Page 0,76
the sigil skyward, holding it high above her head. The sleeves of her ceremonial robe slipped down to her elbows. “Let this seal of power guide our spell. Let this sigil focus our work and bind our intent.”
Giselle and Ian repeated the phrases, then with Zara in the lead the three of them walked to the pond. Zara stood in the middle. She gently eased the sigil onto the water’s surface, careful to keep it afloat. With a slight breath, she propelled it toward the center.
Giselle and Ian left her to position themselves equidistantly away, bringing the new circle into being.
Zara raised her hands again and continued the casting. Thin lines of power, green and purple and orange, darted out from Zara and connected her to Giselle and Ian. Giselle felt them as they wound through her, tremulous and buzzing like bees. The leaves against her breast joined in, humming with power.
Zara began. “Oh, goddess of all that is earth and life and perfection, I ask that you stand aside this hour so that our casting may be unhindered. Oh, spirits of all that is broken and dying and chaotic, come to us now.” She lowered her hands to point to the pond. “Read this sigil. Feast upon these souls. Grant us our desire.”
New lines of power leaped from Zara and traveled the circle, ropey strands of angry red that dug into Giselle’s skin and made her bones ache. Ripples spilled across the pond, churning the surface.
Zara continued. “Now I call my circle back to me.”
Giselle and Ian returned to Zara’s side. The lines of power crackled and thickened until a halo of light surrounded each of them.
Zara pointed her hands toward the pond. “By the power of all that is dark and broken, by the strength of three, and by the desires set before us in the sigil, I call forth chaos!” She bent her head and thrust her hands forward. New power burst off her fingers and shot into the water as the lines of energy drained off Giselle and Ian and into Zara.
The pond frothed and boiled as though something might erupt from it. “Something’s wrong.” Zara twitched like she was being shocked. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” She moaned and her eyes rolled back in her head. “Something’s wrong.”
“What? Tell us,” Ian said.
Giselle knew she should have led the casting.
Zara shook her head and spoke with obvious effort. “There is a hole in the spell. There aren’t twelve souls. I can feel one is missing. The spell is trying to pull me in. Trying to use me to replace it. Grab hold of me.”
Ian took her right arm as Giselle took her left. The drag of the spell became immediate. Giselle dug her feet in. Ian braced one foot against the low rock wall bordering their side of the pond.
Zara leaned back. “It’s not working. It’s going to take me.” She grimaced and turned to look at Giselle, her eyes filled with grief and regret. “I’m so sorry. I love you, Sister, but there’s no other way.” She wrenched free of Ian, clasped Giselle’s arms with surprising strength and thrust her into the water.
Giselle’s scream rent the night, covering the gasps of the two women flanking Augustine. Even he hadn’t seen that coming. Zara had actually just shoved her sister into the well of souls. There was no denying it. From their vantage point on the roof of Zara’s house, he, Harlow and Dulcinea had front-row seats to the madness below.
“Whoa,” Dulcinea whispered. “So much for Zara being the nice one.”
Harlow nodded, her hands gripping the roof so hard her knuckles were white. “You can say that again.”
Augustine responded, his voice just as quiet. “One less witch is one less witch.”
“Do you think the spell will work now? With Giselle as the twelfth soul?” Harlow asked.
He hoped not. “I don’t—”
Water spewed up from the pond like a geyser.
“It’s like Vegas,” Dulcinea muttered.
It was, kind of. The water glowed, making the gushing explosion look very much like a casino fountain.
“There’s nothing Vegas about that.” Harlow inched closer to Augustine.
If he hadn’t been using both hands to secure his position on the roof, he would have crossed himself. A figure rose up from the center of the water.
He cursed.
Harlow nodded. “It’s Giselle. Or what’s left of her.”
The figure was indeed the sacrificed witch. As she appeared, the water smoothed but continued to hold her aloft. Her hair floated around her, borne on an invisible current.