WALPURGIA ✔️

Chapter 39 - Don't anger the witch

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1843

Strasbourg

Clouds gathered under Rebecca's palm, furiously dark and big.

Whitlock dared to cross her eyes, freezing on the spot. One of Genevieve's maids looked up – her glasses breaking. She screamed in fear.

"You dare to hit my daughter?"

Diane ran into the room.
When Esme had started crying, she knew something must have happened with her mother. Esme never cried, not even when Whitlock had slapped her.
The bond mother and daughter shared was stronger than any spell Diane had ever witnessed.

Diane didn't dare to breathe at the scene. She always knew Rebecca had plenty of water flowing through her veins, but this just showed she had underestimated the amount.
Storm waves as high as the endless ceiling built up behind her and froze. The comfortable room temperature fell, every breath of Diane was visible. She could hardly blink, her eyes frozen due to the bone chilling temperature - her blood circulation got weaker.

The floor froze as Rebecca stepped forward, broke towards the witches in a rapid motion. Diane jumped barely onto the ice plate, escaping the bigger growing crack. When had she filled the room with water? Why couldn't she see the floor?

"How dare you dare harm my daughter?! My little precious child, with your filthy hands!?", Rebecca cried angrily. Her voice was too beautiful for that of any witch, too otherworldly for a vampire.

A cold shiver ran down Diane's back. Was the goddess speaking through her? Better yet, was Rebecca a messenger, like Genevieve? Impossible. She couldn't have hidden that from them!

Rebecca clenched her fist.

The room went dark.

Nothing could have prepared them for her wrath.

  ☽  

Genevieve followed the sobbing Diane into the dining room, which had been turned into a battle scene by her relative.

The furniture was shredded apart.

Blood dripped off the ceiling, off the damaged furniture, off the dead corpses.

The bloody glasses Genevieve saw next. Then she noticed there was ice everywhere. The ice spears were full of blood and a few organs hung off them.

Genevieve's fingers traced the golden frame, the voices whispering in fear. The ghosts cried and ran away from the door.

Ruthless, ruthless, ruthless, they chanted.
Diane fell onto her knees, praying rapidly.

Rebecca had killed Whitlock in cold blood for hitting her daughter.

Genevieve couldn't even be mad at her – she would have done the same thing if he had ever touched her children in a harmful matter.

The first de Chauvette stood up and dared to face Rebecca.

Her arms were black, her veins were bright blue and shining. Her cords had never been firmer, brighter. Her magic was developing and reaching the final stages already.

Worth 13 witches. Rebecca was slowly reaching her level.

"My dear, listen", Genevieve didn't meddle with her spells, she knew that would only anger Rebecca more. Genevieve also knew she couldn't undo a few of them.

And it scared her.

"I know what Whitlock did was wrong, and I won't punish you for your actions."
Rebecca crooked her head, angry. Her eyes were empty, holding only the destructive magic she had used.
"But I will revive him because I need him. But I swear, he will never get close to you two again."

The ice retreated into Rebecca's body. The room temperature was warming up again. Diane's sobbing was still echoing in the room.

Blood still dropped to the ground.

Rebecca took a deep breath. "If I even see him anywhere near my daughter, I will not hesitate to torture him into insanity."

The way Rebecca had spoken her thread made even Genevieve teary eyed.

"I swear he won't."
"You better keep your oath, Genevieve, because you know what happens when a witch breaks it. We don't want to anger the goddess or me, do we?"

Rebecca strode by them, straight back into her room to calm down the crying Esme.

Genevieve dropped onto her knees, breathing harshly.

The electricity in her body was still there, the ice was stuck in her veins.

"I still feel her storm in my body", Diane sobbed. "My chest hurts; it attacked my heart."

"That explains the dead maid", Genevieve sobbed into her hands. When her relative was mad, she attacked everybody around her in a blind rage. "She set up a heart attack in our bodies. Just by shear rage."

Diane cried harshly.
"I know", Genevieve dried her tears. "I don't understand either how she can use a high magic spell without practicing it." Genevieve approached Whitlock's corpse.

"We shouldn't anger her anymore. Nobody is allowed around Esme unless she allows it."

"She's a psycho!", Diane sobbed.
"She's not."

Genevieve couldn't believe her own words.

"It happened to me too. Whenever I'm too long away from Ferdinand, I'm easily triggered. And she's a fresh mother. Protectiveness and love are her strongest feelings now. A mother will do anything to protect her children."

A white cord slipped from Genevieve's ring finger and wrapped around Arthur. A bright light emerged from within him, and her family's flowers, gladiolas, blossomed from his wound. His eyes rolled back into its sockets, the wounds started to close. The limbs grew back.

Fleshy sounds filled the room.

"Rebecca has grown into a full witch. We cannot treat her like a child anymore. If we treat her with respect, she'll be nice to us again."

"I liked her better in the beginning."

"Don't you think it was the same for me, my dearest Diane? Back then she feared us, respected us. Now she knows we won't lay a finger on her or Esme."

"Because the goddess-"

"Forget about that. Because she's my relative and without her in the future, my bloodline might go extinct and it would change everything drastically."

Whitlock's eyes fluttered open.

"If we want to survive her, we need to treat her as an equal. The loss of her mate is strongly affecting her."