Page 118 of The Witch and His Crow
My thoughts betrayed me. All I knew was whatever the final Trial was rewarding me with, this was certainly not it. I pulled and thrashed, spat and hissed, but still that dreadfully sharp finger moved down the length of my neck, to my clavicle. The only way I could describe the touch was territorial. As if the entity was claiming me.
‘Get off me,’ I hissed, fists balled as the only act of defiance my body allowed. ‘The last man to lay a finger on me died with his tongue stuffed in his throat.
‘I am no man.’
Shivers passed across every inch of my sweat-damp skin. ‘Then what are you?’
‘Say my name,’ the darkness hissed. ‘You know it.’
Blood filled the insides of my cheeks as my lower lips shred beneath my teeth. I refused to answer, knowing that it wasexactly what the creature wanted. And for whatever reason, refusing it made me feel like I was grasping onto the last shred of control.
‘Say my name,’ it repeated, fury dripping from its harsh tongue.
‘No!’
My knees cracked against the ground, my arms tugged behind my back. The burning eyes were no longer before me, but I sensed the presence of the creature at my back. Its warm, rotten breath itched against my exposed neck. A long, unnatural hand grasped my shoulder, holding firm. And when it spoke again, it was directly into my ear.
‘Defiant, just like your mother. Undeserving, and yet still I want you. But you will want me too, Hector. I will make you scream my name. Beg for me. They always do in the end. I will make youneedme, and then I shall take you.’
All at once the hand released me, followed by the dark bindings. I sagged forwards, breathless from panic rather than physical exertion. My hands materialised, splayed out beside each other, pressed against familiar dark wood flooring. As the darkness peeled back, it revealed a room that I had remembered from many years ago. Before I looked up, I knew where the creature had deposited me.
It was my home. The apartment in Oxford I’d grown up in. The first thing the darkness revealed was the fireplace my mother had hid me within on that fateful night. It was surrounded by the same moss-green tiles I remembered so vividly. The fire poker leaned helplessly up against its side.
As I swept my eyes around the room, it was like a painting suddenly coming to life in colour. The table we ate at was turned over, the contents of plates, food and smashed glass scattered across the floor. A body was slumped over it, hand reaching out towards the fireplace as though it longed to touch something. Ittook me a moment to realise who the man was, with his glassy eyes and pale skin, familiar yet distant.
‘Daddy?’ I gasped, almost unable to get the word out.
His neck was split with a clean, precise line. Blood seeped out the wound, soaking his once white shirt, turning it a rusty black colour. In my mind, I knew this wasn’t real. But my heart couldn’t discern reality from illusion. It ached with pain, as though I’d stepped back in time again and planted myself in the middle of my worst nightmare.
My father was dead. I tried to call for him again, but the only response was silence.
I stood on shaking legs, all my bravado gone. Before I swept my eyes over the room, I knew what I’d find. There was another body. More death.
Heather Briar, the last Grand High, my mother, was laid almost peacefully across the floor. Her arms were straight beside her, the blue-flower dress she wore on that night was ridden up, exposing her stomach.
Vomit burned at the back of my throat. I doubled over, spilling the little contents of my stomach out across the floor. It smashed against my boots, proving that whatever this conjuration was, it was tangible and reactive. I didn’t even bother to clean my mouth of the sick before I ran to her side.
‘I’m here, mummy. I’m here!’ I sobbed over her, searching for any signs of life. But everything was silent. Her skin was ice cold to the touch, almost hard like stone. Her eyes stared longingly at the ceiling, as a single tear escaped down her cheek, frozen like a jewel of time.
She was dead too. There was no disputing that fact.
The first thing I did was tug the dress down over her knees again. Even in death, she deserved her modesty. I couldn’t stop myself from counting the number of stab wounds across her stomach and chest. In the back of my mind, for every wound Irecognised, I heard the thud of the knife.Thud. Thud. Thud.A sound that had haunted me for years after my parents’ murders.
As Caym kept me hidden in the shadows, he couldn’t mute the sound. I’d latched onto it, refusing to ever forget. But as the years went on, and my parents’ voices faded, the sound of the blade being stabbed into my mother had never gone away.
I no longer cared if this was real or not. Not as I dragged her stiff, cold body into my lap. With shaking fingers, I pushed the strands of honey-gold hair out of her face, tucking it neatly behind her ears.
‘How is this my greatest wish?’ I sobbed, speaking to no one and everyone at once. The room was only occupied by the corpses of my parents, and me. But I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the beast was watching.
Say my name.
The creature was close. It would be listening. So I spoke to it, tongue lashing with vehemence. ‘The Rewarding is meant to show us our greatest desire, and yet you torture me with this.’
Proving my theory that the beast was watching, it replied.
‘Tell me what you desire.’ Was that sadness I heard in its voice? How dare the creature, who took accountability for her death, grieve for her?
‘I don’t know,’ I replied, tears streaming down my face.
