Reckless

Chapter 16 Part 6

Present Day

Character POV: Roxanne

We've all suffered at Drusilla's hands. She killed all of the women behind me, separated them from their families and probably found ways to end those they loved so they'd be more loyal to her as she did to me. She is the reason we fought and killed vampires and vice versa. She's the reason for so much suffering on this planet. All of us have reasons to mete out this justice. I call over my shoulder to the other witches, "I am not making this decision alone. Ariadne has promised a quick death, and I can give her that if that's what we all agree upon. I won't set a darker tone for the future if I don't have to. But she has hurt all of us. We all get a say in what comes next. Personally, if it were just up to me, I would make it more lingering than just Ariadne snapping her neck."

Footsteps sound beside me, and I glance to either side as Nitocris and Zahra step forward. Nitocris and Zahra, both from a time before Drusilla was ever born, from a time where the Roman witch was not the authority on magic. Nitocris, from the fifth dynasty, and Zahra who came from the first dynasty of Ancient Egypt. These women perfected magic before Drusilla was even a thought in her ancestors' heads. Nitocris crosses her arms over her frame, her eyes flashing with hatred, but she stays silent. It's Zahra who speaks. Zahra glances over to me with her slightly lighter golden eyes as she says, "Make her pay." For Boudicca, for the witch trials, for all of it. Perhaps she's even paying for the things that her countrymen did to ours in ancient times. It's a little unfair that she is to pay for all of the sins of Ancient Rome, but when she does such a great job of portraying the worst aspects of her own people, it's hard to feel sorry for her.

I reach out a hand to both of them. They link their hands with me, joining what magic they have with my own. Ariadne steps back away from where Drusilla is glaring us down, coming to stand behind us, which is a wise decision in case Drusilla is able to deflect our blow and it bounces in odd directions. We close our eyes, and I tilt my head back. Each of us speaks the same spell but in different languages. They start with the languages they are most familiar with, going back to a time more ancient than my own, from Ancient Egyptian to Akkadian, Mesopotamian, Old Persian, before shifting to Greek and Latin. I begin with the language of my people, the Iceni, join in with their Latin, move through the Norse language and Anglo-Saxon, then French, before we all three end up in English. The same spell, but linked through centuries, each language summoning powers from distant gods who may or may not be watching. Seeing how Zahra received her powers back, I think that they are. At least some of them, anyway.

We cycle through the spell, the prayer, or whatever you wish to call it, bouncing back through our chosen languages, the chant staying the same. "Gods of old, we call on you. Remove the gift of eternal life from this one. Remove her right to be on this plane of existence. Make her the ash and dust she should be." Over and over, we chant it.

When the screaming starts, I open my eyes and look down. Before my eyes, Drusilla is dessicating, her body drying up like stone. She tries to stand, to run away, but her legs freeze to the ground as if we are Medusa. She turns her head towards us, mouth open in a silent scream, before her entire body is stone. Even still, the spell continues to work it's magic, with the aid of centuries of angered and forgotten gods. A fierce wind pulls at my hair, tugging it free from its braid, lashing at the statue of Drusilla as she gradually disintegrates into dust before our eyes, erosion working at a pace that is unheard-of to science. I watch as Drusilla's features are washed away, carried on a breeze. I watch until there's nothing standing in front of me, all traces of her wiped from the face of this earth as the wind dies down, the storm stops, and sudden stillness descends.

I release the hands of my sisters-in-arms, no one daring to say a word after what we just witnessed. Immortality, eternal youth, the entire package that made becoming a witch so appealing-- all of it gone at the behest of gods I'm sure we've all forgotten. Slowly, I turn towards Zahra, Ariadne still hanging back. When I glance in her direction, she's more pale than she usually is. She's typically very pale because she's dead, but this is even more so. She's come face to face with the true power of witches that she had never seen before. If Drusilla would have not been consumed with being the most powerful and would have worked to gain the trust of the witches, all of that power could have been directed at her and her vampires. They never would have stood a chance. For the first time in a long time, I am grateful to Drusilla for being her awful self. If it wasn't for her, I for certain would have lost the love of my life.

In this moment, I can still see the various threads of magic, and there's a significant amount that are just floating about free above our heads. I could not find some of my sister witches in the underworld, which leads me to believe that they passed onto peace with their various gods and goddesses. Then, there are all of those who were killed by witch hunters. Drusilla didn't absorb their powers, so I couldn't return them to life. Their magic is just gone, freed into the world.

I have all of these extra powers, but I will not be the one to take them. I glance over at Ariadne, to where she's smirking at me, and I see that slightly unhinged bloodlust lingering in her gaze. She sacrificed her sanity so that this day would come, where I would be safe from Drusilla. She condemned herself to live this chaotic life for my sake. What separates a vampire from a witch, really? Before today, it was that they had died. But now, all of the witches around me except for Zahra have been dead. All that separates them from us is that our magic is a soothign presence which grants stability and strength. The vampires are forced to feed to keep up the magic in their blood because they lack magic of their own. But what if that changed?

This time, I don't ask the other witches opinion. I know that some of them would choose to increase their own powers rather than give a gift to the vampires. There is still lingering bad blood, especially now that the one unifier-- our shared hatred for Drusilla-- is gone. Instead, I turn towards Ariadne, raising one hand towards her and the other raised towards the sky, summoning the lingering magic in the air. Ariadne's eyes fly wide open, something like hurt or betrayal flashing across her features, and I think for a second that I should have stopped to explain, but I don't want the other witches trying to stop me.