The Thirteenth Sacrifice (25 page)

Then there was a stir of movement and Samantha realized that Bridget had arrived. The witch walked with her head uncovered, in marked contrast to almost everyone else. Her pale hair shimmered under the streetlights. She mounted the steps and gave Samantha a smile.

Then she pushed open the door and went inside. After a moment others followed. Samantha let about half of them pass before she forced herself to step across the threshold.

The evil that she remembered was still there, practically dripping from the walls. Outside, people had been talking together quietly, but not in here. As they walked through the house toward the door to the cellar, there was no sound except for the occasional footfall.

If the house objected to her presence, it gave no sign. In the kitchen one witch was handing candles to everyone as they filed downstairs. The tiny flames were little comfort in the dark. She took her candle and lit it with a
touch, as the others had. As she put her foot on the first stair tread into the cellar, she let out the breath she’d been holding. It was showtime.

She held on to the banister as she descended into the darkness. The young woman whose body she and Ed had discovered in the basement hadn’t had the octogram. Her blood had been spilled and, unlike the others, she had been stabbed. On the other women there had been no signs of cause of death and their blood had remained in their bodies. So the body in the basement couldn’t count as one of the eight. Had she struggled, fought? Had they accidentally killed her prematurely? So many questions.

Hopefully tonight she would find some answers.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs she took her place in the circle. The candles flickered, but no unearthly wind blew them out. No voices whispered in her mind that she was going to die.

At last they were all together and fear pricked at her scalp. Now she would have to perform, convince them all that she belonged there. And all she wanted to do was to run screaming from the scene of so many of her nightmares.

Bridget stood in the middle of the circle and lifted her candle high. Samantha and the others did the same.

“Welcome, Brothers and Sisters,” Bridget said. “Before we begin I must inform you of disturbing news.”

Everyone was deathly silent and Samantha felt as though she could hear her own heart pounding in the stillness.

“A couple of days ago an intruder entered this sacred space for the sole purpose of destroying us.”

Samantha’s heart skipped a beat as people around her began to mutter.
She knows!
Samantha lifted her
hands slightly, her mouth going dry, and prepared to attack Bridget before the others could turn on her.

Kill her now, before she denounces you,
the voice in her head urged. The blood was pounding in her ears, making it difficult to hear anything. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the cloaked figures edging toward the stairs, cutting off the only escape route.

Sixteen years after she had escaped the house, and now it would have its revenge. The last of her coven would die where the others had, a fitting end to a wretched story.

But I won’t die alone.

She lifted her hands all the way and felt the energy building between them. She riveted her eyes on Bridget as the woman turned to look at her. Bridget smirked.

Samantha coiled all her muscles.

“But the house took care of her,” Bridget said.

Samantha blinked, struggling to comprehend.

“The woman who came here to destroy us is dead.”

There was another outburst from those around her. The dead girl that she and Ed had found here in the basement. That had to be who Bridget was talking about. She hadn’t been sacrificed—that’s why there had been so much blood.
The beast got her,
Samantha realized.

She lowered her hands and closed her eyes, struggling not to send up a prayer of thanks.

“However, she had accomplices,” Bridget said. Samantha’s eyes flew open and she fought the urge to look around her. Who could Bridget be referring to?

“A man on the outside who knows more about witches than he should furnished her with information and has been continuing to ask questions about us. But not to fear—he’s being dealt with even now.”

Anthony,
Samantha realized in despair. She half
turned toward the stairs. She had to save him. She took a step forward and then stared, startled, as the figure who had been blocking the stairs suddenly spun around and raced up them.

Something whizzed past Samantha’s ear and a moment later the witch fell with a cry, toppling back to the bottom of the stairs. Several people screamed in fear and horror, but no one moved to help. Bridget was on the fallen witch in a moment and Samantha realized it was Bridget’s athame that had flown past her on its way to bury itself in the fleeing witch’s back.

“And so the traitor reveals herself,” Bridget hissed, twisting the knife.

“You killed my cousin,” the dying witch wheezed. “You knew and you sacrificed her anyway.”

Samantha stepped cautiously closer until she could see the fallen woman clearly in the flicker of the candlelight. She bore a resemblance to the pictures of the first sacrifice victim. And now she too was going to die.

And there’s nothing I can do to save her, or Anthony,
Samantha thought, struggling with the rage and grief that threatened to envelop her. If only Anthony had told her, maybe she could have helped him.

Another cough and the woman was gone. Bridget straightened, a cruel smile playing across her features. “Make no mistake—that’s how we deal with traitors.”

Her words echoed in Samantha’s mind, strangely familiar, except that she heard them in another’s voice. Abigail’s. She flinched, knowing that she needed to remember but not wanting to.

Bridget strode back to her former place and the coven members again formed a circle around her.

And Samantha’s memories slipped away from her.

“Tonight we find a stranger in our midst,” Bridget
said, turning slowly so that she looked at everyone. “But she is not a stranger to our cause. She knew the woman we are all here for tonight. In fact, she is the lone survivor of the original coven who worshipped where we do, whose lives and deaths we honor.”

There was more stirring around her. With terror for Anthony filling her, Samantha kept trying to pierce the darkness and glimpse faces beneath the hoods of the coven members. She needed to be able to identify all of them before anyone else got hurt. She counted twenty-five besides herself and Bridget. The ripples of energy coming off them bounced around the room, gaining strength only to crash back over the circle like a wave. She had forgotten what this felt like, to stand as part of the circle and feel more powerful for the connection and contributions of every member. She could feel each of the others and their energy, their power, fed her as hers fed them. A perfect circle—no beginning, no ending. It was what the circle was meant to be. For Wiccans it represented the cycle of life and of the year itself. For witches it represented the movement and flow of energy. It was intoxicating and she struggled not to succumb to it.

She forced herself to keep thinking, keep questioning everything she saw and everything that happened in a desperate attempt to keep herself separate from the others.

What was happening to Anthony? Was he still alive or had they already killed him?

Why wasn’t the high priestess performing this ritual?

Was it because of her? Bridget had said that she wasn’t quite ready to meet Samantha. Was that true? Or was the high priestess there and simply masquerading as one of the others in order to observe unseen?

“You will notice that there are several missing tonight, our high priestess among them,” Bridget said, startling Samantha into a brief consideration of whether it was possible that Bridget was reading her thoughts. “They are speeding our purpose.”

Samantha felt her heart sink.
They’re killing the next victim and I have no idea where they are.

Bridget continued. “And we must do our part as well. The time is now. The sacrifice is prepared. And we shall stand in for it.”

The witch continued to turn in a slow circle, holding the others spellbound.

“Now, as before, one must stand in for the recipient of our sacrifice.”

Samantha felt energy ripples around the room and understood in a moment that no one present wanted to stand in for the recipient. A brief look of impatience crossed Bridget’s face and then she looked at Samantha and her expression turned to triumph.

“Samantha, as the only member of this original coven, do us the honor of standing in for the recipient. Accept our sacrifice.”

She wanted to say no, but knew she couldn’t. She needed to be accepted as part of the circle. And she would gain respect by doing that which no one else wanted to do, which would help her if she needed to break the coven in half to take it down. Karen and Autumn were already hers, but she must win others in case the need arose.

She stepped forward. “I will receive your sacrifice in the name of the other.”

She could feel the relief spreading through the room and also the respect that she had anticipated. The energy
flowed to her from everyone else, and it was more than she was giving out to them. She grew stronger while they grew weaker. That was something that would stay with them unconsciously, so that they would always perceive her as stronger.

And because they did, she would be.

Bridget kissed her on each cheek and then knelt before her. The others took their cue and knelt as well.

And Samantha felt… powerful. She closed her eyes and felt her body vibrating with the power.

“Who has the chalice?” Bridget asked.

“I,” replied one of the men.

“Then stand in for the sacrifice,” she said.

Samantha watched as the man produced his athame and then sliced his palm. He held it out over the goblet and let several drops of his blood fall into it. Then he passed it to the woman on his right.

“Who has the chalice?” Bridget asked.

“I,” answered the woman.

“Then stand in for the sacrifice.”

The woman sliced open her palm and added her blood to the goblet as well before passing it on.

It continued around the circle counterclockwise. With each new hand holding the goblet Bridget asked the same question and the person holding it gave the same answer. And Samantha struggled to focus on them, their faces, and the ritual at hand instead of Anthony.

Slowly Samantha understood. In order for there to be a sacrifice, blood had to be spilled. Depending on the type of sacrifice, the blood of the practitioner might need to be offered up along with that of the sacrifice. The women who had been marked with the octogram had not had their bodies cut in any other way. No blood
had been spilled. While the woman was actually being killed elsewhere, she was being symbolically killed here, her blood spilled, and each person took a turn being the sacrifice. That way only one or two witches needed to actually be present to witness the murder. It was safer.

And that’s how they’re manipulating and controlling people like Karen. She might not even realize there is a girl out there somewhere being murdered. She might think it’s all symbolic.

Samantha shuddered. It was an ingenious way of keeping control of the coven, the victims, and the crime scenes.

When the goblet had progressed all the way around the circle, Bridget took it. “And I also stand in for the sacrifice,” she said, slicing open her right palm and squeezing blood into the chalice. “And I stand in for the petitioner,” she continued, slicing open her other hand and adding blood from it as well.

“Accept this sacrifice on behalf of the one to whom it is made,” she said, lifting the goblet above her head toward Samantha.

Samantha took the goblet from her hand and her fingers tingled where they touched it. She had read in the Bible shortly after her conversion that there was life in the blood of any creature, and it had made complete sense to her. Now, as she stood holding the cup, she could feel the life of each person who had spilled his or her blood into it.

She forced herself to speak. “I stand in for the recipient of the sacrifice and I accept it in their name.”

She felt sick inside. She had just declared that she stood in for whatever creature held the dead high priestess’s soul. That was who they were sacrificing to.

I am the devil’s avatar,
she thought with a shudder.

And then she looked down and met Bridget’s eyes. The witch was staring at her expectantly.

And that was when the full horror of her situation hit her. She couldn’t just accept the sacrifice.

She had to drink it.

God, I can’t do this!
The silent prayer burst from Samantha, desperate and uncontrolled.

A tremor shook the floor beneath her feet.

Bridget’s eyes widened in concern. Samantha knew that she had to act soon or lose everything she had worked to gain.

She closed her eyes and tipped the goblet back into her mouth. The hot, sticky blood oozed over her tongue and down her throat and she willed her body not to gag on it even as it started to. The taste of copper filled her mouth and every muscle in her body vibrated in revulsion and agony.

Finally it was done and she lowered the goblet and wiped her mouth.

Bridget took the cup from her and stood slowly. “Our sacrifice has been made and accepted,” she said.

The others rose. Then, silently, they turned and began to file up the stairs.

Samantha’s legs were shaking, but she hurried to join the others, more than ever determined not to be one of the last ones in the basement. She snuffed her candle and handed it to the witch collecting them in the kitchen, then hurried outside.

She wanted to vomit, but she forced herself to keep it
in. She needed to reach Anthony, but she saw Karen beginning to walk away, her shoulders hunched, and she jogged to catch up to her. “Karen.”

The other woman turned, startled.

“Give me your phone number. I want to talk to you about something tomorrow,” Samantha said.