1
There are three rules for being an Evil Witch:
~No magick is off-limits.
~Give it everything you’ve got.
~And rock to 80s music while doing your evil deeds, of course.
AMORAH BLAHK
The Amethyst Witch.
Purple sparks of raw energy flickered over my skin, its power bursting through my veins and making my entire body pulse with magick. I was ready for action—scratch that—I was born for it.
A wicked grin danced over my lips when Ice Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice began to play in my earbuds. It was Friday eve, and the night was alive with mystical energy. The moon goddess shone brightly above me. All around me, the streets were filled with joyful people, and even the asphalt seemed to glow as my boots struck it.
Too bad they didn’t see me coming.
Spreading my arms to the sides, I let the surges of power leave my fingertips, my amethyst mist flowing over the ground with purpose. Couples and groups of friends crowded the restaurants and bars that peppered Washington Street, sitting at the tables outside or entering the stores, laughing and enjoying each other. My intention flared to life, fueling my mist as it quickly spread, weaving between their feet, climbing and coiling around their arms to seep into their pores unnoticed.
It burned away their inhibitions and fears, releasing repressed cravings, wild fantasies, and hidden dreams. Enhancing their desires. Purple flames arose in the cocktails or beers they held, unseen by their human eyes, spicing their drinks. Liquid courage in its most potent form, thanks to a little help from yours truly.
A fist flew to my left the next second, connecting with a man’s eye after he kissed his best friend’s wife, followed by a hook to the jaw.
I cringed. That was going to hurt tomorrow.
The man rubbed his jaw and lunged for his friend, tackling him over the table—plates and drinks crashed to the ground with them while his wife yelled, horrified. Smirking, I walked around them to the beat of the music. My high-heeled boots stepped over one of them as his back hit the ground, and I continued on my merry little way.
“That’s my man, you bitch!”
“Get your hand off my ass, pervert!”
Sounds of fists pounding on soft flesh, screams, and broken store windows rose in the air as the mist exuded from my fingertips with each step, and chaos descended all around me. My smirk widened.
A chill broke along my spine all of a sudden, leaving tiny ice crystals in its wake. An omen. I halted abruptly, urgently searching for the cause. Instantly, my gaze found eerie gray irises so light, they almost glowed silver. I did a double take. Liquid-mercury eyes pinned mine with such intensity that my breath caught.
It was only a split second, but it felt like his gaze had burned a hole through me, reaching the dark recesses of my soul. The owner of said deadly eyes continued on his way out of the restaurant; the blue neon lights from the sign above making his irises glow.
Casually glancing around, he stepped onto the street with a couple of friends—without any regards to leaving me frozen in place, or to the mayhem I had caused—and swung a leg over the classic, chrome Harley Davidson parked out front. The roar of the motorcycle’s engine weaved into the air when he turned it on, and he took off into the night. The multicolored neon signs along the way, painted strokes over his leather jacket as he disappeared down Washington Street.
His friends got into their car, heading in the opposite direction.
Teeth grinding, I straightened my spine, hating the fact that those eerie eyes seemed to have some sort of effect on me. At least they hadn’t turned me into a drooling and mumbling idiot like every other teenage Witch in Salem—or human girl for that matter.
Freaking naked skeletons. Was anyone immune to those molten-mercury irises?
Well, if any part of me wasn’t, I was sure as hell making it stronger against it. Unlike the hormonal teenage girls in this city, I didn’t care about hooking up with a guy. AT ALL. I had just turned nineteen, and I had only one mission in this life journey—make my own mark in history as a Shadow Bringer, just like the Crimson Witch had done, AKA my mother.
Nothing was going to deter me from that.
My back pocket suddenly tingled, and I reached for it to find a flaming note inside. Who needed texting when you had magick?
“Elearah called a disciplinary hearing in the Magistrate of Witches.
You need to come. Now.
S.C.”
Confused, I watched Sariah’s note burn with the orangey-golden embers of her magick within my grasp, vanishing just like it had appeared. She was the only Witch alive who dared to call the Sapphire Witch—the head of the Magistrate—by her first name… to her face. Fortunately, she got away with it easily, being her star pupil and all.
Power rushed through me in response, and with a snap of my fingers, my hand ignited. A new mystical fire stirred as I threw the giant flame to the ground, watching it rise at my command and form the portal before me. Purple embers flickered between me and Essex Street, the image of my friends, Sariah and Alysah, slightly swaying like the inside of a live flame. Without a moment to waste, I crossed to their side.
“A hearing, for who??” I asked, startled. Emergency hearings were bad news, they meant one of us had broken the rules in the worst possible way. We hadn’t had one in years.
Sariah’s soft amber eyes became troubled as she exchanged a glance with Alysah, then returned to me. “Your mother.”
Shit.
A bucket of ice-cold water was suddenly poured on me, but to be honest, I was mostly annoyed. Damn it. What in the astral snake pits had the Crimson Witch done now to piss off the Sapphire Witch? But more importantly, what would she do to Mother?
We stood in front of the entrance to the Magistrate of Witches, otherwise known as Salem Public Library on Essex Street. Hundreds of Witches gathered along the road, more arriving with each passing minute—all answering the same call we had. One we couldn’t refuse, no matter which goddess we revered, or which path our essence had taken. Light or Dark.
Sariah walked up the steps of the three-story, red brick building that might as well be a perfect gingerbread house, and placed her hands on the glass doors. Her powers instantly awoke. The glimmering amber magick that flowed from her fire-touched lifeforce rushed out of her hands, extending along the walls and surrounding the place in seconds.
“Quod intra nos sit revelare abscondita et.”
The enchantment placed on the building reacted, creating a fractal crack into the Great Divine and showing a tall white castle through its multidimensional plane. The reflections of it stared back at us like looking into the inside of a multifaceted diamond.
Any Witch with the power to use such a spell didn’t need anything other than her goddess-given ability to do it, but we also knew there was something to be said for the astral resonance of the spoken will.
“Come on, let’s get this over with,” I urged as the now large, Gothic white gates opened slowly, allowing us to go into the split. Alysah, Sariah, and I went in first, seeing our multilayered reflection along the fractal crack as we crossed planes. The space was no longer the carpeted room of the public library with wooden columns, but an all regal white vision.
The Magistrate’s palace was vast and light as we stepped inside, a direct contrast from the dark night that befell us. White quartz and marble covered every inch of the space in a masterfully carved way. Subtle patterns stretched as far as my eye could see like delicate lace—the accents differentiated only by the type of stone used.