The Demetrian castle was creepier than Dacre could've ever imagined it. It was built of a worn ebony stone that gave off the impression of just how long it'd been around. All of the grass within a 300 foot radius of the mansion was deadened and shriveled, as if the walls of the ancient building somehow sucked the life out of its surroundings daily for survival. A chill crept up Dacre's neck as he stared into the large, wooden doors that faced them at the end of a long, cobbled path. Something within him urged his common sense to not let him cross that threshold, but he knew that they were well past the point of return.
Tabitha had been purposefully vague in answering his questions about why they needed to make a stop at the Demetrian coven's home before they made their final journey to his father's castle. A week and three days remained until Bexley's execution date—he knew that whatever her reasoning for their needing to go there, it must have been important for the witch to cut it so close to her own sister's death date. There were answers to questions he didn't even know that she could only get here.
"This place doesn't sit right with me," Laurel whispered beside him. Her long, brown hair was braided back in simple yet beautiful twists before coming to an abrupt stop midway down her back. She'd torn a strip of her clothing to make for a tie to hold the style in its place. They'd barely spoken since he'd snapped at her in the woods before taking off to help Tabitha. Somehow, he didn't see their friendship fully recovering from the spat they had. Oddly enough, Dacre didn't really seem to care. He simply nodded once in response. Blue whined lowly at his feet, now as tall as Dacre's thighs, seemingly aware of the fact that he'd be forced to part ways with his owner soon even if only for a small amount of time. Dacre had arranged for Laurel to watch the wolf while he and Tabitha were inside the coven—Tabitha decided that it was best to not reveal their new animal companion to her aunt. Dacre had no idea why but he thought better than to argue with the witch.
When Dacre's forearm gave a small, almost-unnoticeable pulse of pain, he dragged his attention away from the building in front of him to seek out Tabitha's gaze. Deep down, he knew that she needed comfort. He just didn't know what for.
"Hey," Dacre whispered to get her attention, his voice gruff as he watched her facial expression as she stood three feet to his right. Her eyes stayed glued on the mansion that towered over them as she gave no outward sign that she'd heard him. The Mark on her temple and jawline looked almost garnet red in the waning light of the sun as it slowly but surely made its way down the horizon. As his gaze traced the Mark until it disappeared below the collar of her cloak, he noticed that her jaw was hardened. Tabitha was radiating tension and unease. "We can do this together," he finally broke the silence.
Dacre turned toward Laurel and gave her a look to indicate that it was time for her to make her leave. Her dove-gray eyes flickered once between him and the witch that still had yet to say a word, but she eventually pursed her lips and made her way back to where Ellias was waiting with the horses. Dacre had been tempted to butt into his conversation with Tabitha when they'd been speaking so lowly before but he refrained because he knew, somehow, that Tabitha would defend him if it came to that. He hadn't noticed her or the warlock talk since he came storming past him and Laurel on his horse, dust flying up from the hooves of the animal he rode on.
"We should get going," Tabitha spoke, her voice sounding much more frail and fragile than usual. Dacre gave her a wary once-over before nodding and taking a timid step in front of her, directly between her path to the front door. He hadn't even noticed that he'd done it until her strong hand wrapped around his forearm, pulling him to a halting stop. He looked over his shoulder at her and found her concerned eyes staring back at him.
"I need to be the one to go into there first. They don't take well to..." She made a vague gesturing motion with her free hand, enveloping his whole being with the motion.
"Humans, you mean?" Dacre couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. He'd heard more than enough disdain about his mortality from her and Ellias alike--he knew to expect it from the people that Tabitha grew up with.
"Men." Tabitha shrugged. She released her grip on his forearm and a cold wake was left in its place; as she came around the front of him, a loud crack of thunder rattled the surrounding air. "They are all firm believers that the only thing men are worth is helping to do their part in producing more witches. If it makes you feel any better, you were kind of right--they're not the biggest fans of humans either." The small amount of amusement in her tone made Dacre break into a grin, despite the severity of their situation. He had no idea what to expect during their time at the coven, but he knew that it wouldn't be good.
"Considering the fact that I'm both a human and a male, I'm bound to get my head ripped off at some point in there," Dacre mumbled once they began their ascent to the two wooden doors ahead. The rocks shifted soundlessly beneath her weight as she walked along the path while they scrapped loudly against the soles of his boots. Dacre felt his face heat up in embarrassment when she cast a quick, absentminded glance down at his feet. He felt an almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere around him, as if he was stepping through an invisible wall, as they made their way within ten feet of the front door.
Sucking in a quick breath, Tabitha stopped and placed hands behind her back on either side of Dacre before she let out a low hiss that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Dacre reached subconsciously for his weapon, the cold bite of the metal against his flesh giving little comfort to his overwhelming sense of dread and unease. The slight pressure of Tabitha's forearms against his own, however, helped in ways that he couldn't even begin to fathom.
"Do not leave my side in there," Tabitha whispered to him, so quietly that he was barely able to pick up on it. Before he was able to question what had her so on edge, the double-set of doors in front of them swung open wildly, banging loudly against the exterior of the coven castle. Dacre bit the inside of his lip to keep from crying out as the phantom bite in his forearm gave a hot burst of pain.
The pain was quickly forgotten when Dacre took in the sight in front of him.
Standing in the doorway was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. With long, black hair, olive colored skin, a burnt orange Mark, and a taller than he was yet still slender frame, the apparent age of the witch was almost enough to fool him out of her true identity. But with the strikingly blue eyes with a glimmer of amusement that stared back at them, Dacre was easily able to make the connection. She looked nothing like her niece except for the eyes, but that one characteristic was enough to make him a little dizzy. It was like he was looking into Tabitha's eyes.
Before them stood the Matriarch of the Demetrian coven. Looking no older than her 20-year-old niece beside him, the Matron smiled in such a way that Dacre thought it was more a show of teeth. He had to physically fight off the cringe his body wanted to produce in response. Tabitha removed her arms from either side of his body and straightened up, but he didn't miss the tension that continued to make her shoulders tight and firm. Dacre clenched his fist to keep from giving in to his overwhelming instinct to reach out and lay a comforting hand on the witch.
"How nice of you to join us," the woman purred, her voice a velvety smooth tone as her eyes stayed locked on Tabitha. When she finally dragged her gaze away from the witch, she cast Dacre an appreciative glance. He watched, transfixed, as the Mark that swallowed the entire right side of her face crinkled and moved fluidly in tandem with each varying expression that she made. Her full-blown grin toned itself down into a knowing smirk that made his skin crawl for reasons that he wasn't sure of. Survival instinct, maybe. "You might have succeeded on sneaking up on me completely had it not been for the noisy one you chose to bring along. Come, sweet niece. Are you not going to introduce me to this handsome young fellow?"
Dacre burned a bright red, ready to mumble out a feeble reply to the Matriarch, when Tabitha quickly cut him off with a fast glare over her shoulder. "I didn't make this trip to play house with you, aunt. I have some important issues to attend to; would you be so kind to let us in?" The ice in Tabitha's tone must have struck a nerve with the older witch as her smile faltered slightly, turning it into one completely void of what little warmth it held before.
The Matriarch's blue eyes gave Dacre another strained look before she stepped back into the castle, gesturing toward the open door with her hand. Tabitha took one step through the threshold without much thought, but Dacre almost turned around and ran once he got a good look at what awaited them on the inside.
Hundreds of witches of varying ages were lined up on the stairwells that were attached to both walls, watching them with wide and attentive eyes. Almost every colored Mark imaginable was facing Dacre and Tabitha as they made their way into the foyer. A young witch, about five years old, began to cry until an older witch, about 18, picked her up and began to shush her without taking her eyes off of their obviously unwelcome guests.
A large, black table sat in the middle of the room, drawling his attention away from the hundreds of eyes that watched him suspiciously. Dacre sucked in a gasp when he saw that the centerpiece of the furniture was a human skull.
"That was the Matriarch of the Demetrian coven before I was allowed the title--my predecessor, if you will. We're coming up on three hundred years since her day of death," the current Matriarch purred behind him.
Dacre jumped forward and quickly spun around as her voice was too close for comfort. Her blue eyes held a hint of mischief, as if she could sense his discomfort and was amused by it. She made a move to get closer to him and he skillfully stepped away, furthering the distance between them.
Just at that moment, a hot, burning sensation licked up the calves of his legs and began to crawl its way toward his knees. Dacre yelped in surprise and pain and whipped around. Ice-told terror bit into his heart when he saw an unmistakeable flame working its way up his legs. Pain seared through his skin once again, threatening to overwhelm him as he gritted his teeth and leaned over to pat out the fire that had mysteriously formed around only him.
"Whoever is doing this, cut it out now," Tabitha hissed, spinning around to face all of her fellow witches, "or I'll slaughter every single one of you before you can even blink."
As soon as the last words left her lips, the burning sensation beginning to creep its way up his legs disappeared. Dacre simply stared at his feet in shock, open-mouthed and unsure of what to do as he watched the fire dissipate right before his own eyes--there was no obvious sign of the flame that had previously been there as his trousers and boots were completely unharmed. When he remembered that he was in the company of probably hundreds of witches who could do it again at a moments notice, Dacre quickly straightened himself and scooted closer to Tabitha's side. He could have sworn he saw a smirk pull up at the corner of her mouth as she quickly turned away from him and back toward her furious aunt.
"I will not have you threatening my girls," the older witch spoke through a clenched jaw. With her fists continuously curling and uncurling, Dacre noticed that blood began to splatter on the floor below her, her fingernails undoubtedly cutting into her palm with each movement.
Tabitha barked out a harsh laugh that almost made him cringe despite the fact that he wasn't on the receiving end. "Don't act like you truly care for these girls. Besides," Tabitha shrugged in a way that he knew meant she was about to say something her aunt wouldn't like before she turned to face the surrounding witches, "it wasn't a threat. It was a promise. Here's another one for all of you to keep in mind: try anything like that again, and I'll make sure you all suffer."
Dacre wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that Tabitha locked eyes with one specific witch in the crowd. He searched the group of girls that were in the general vicinity of her glare, but all of them simply gaped back with the same wide-eyed stares. None of them stood out as particularly evil to him.
A quick murmur crept its way through the crowd surrounding them before they all quickly dispersed. A few stragglers remained after ten seconds, trying to get one last good look at the visiting pair before they returned to whatever rock they'd crawled out from under. Dacre had to resist the urge to flip them off, obviously running off of a newfound sense of security with knowing that Tabitha had his back.
"Now that you've managed to relive your younger years of scaring off your peers," the Matron spoke in an icy tone, "let's take whatever business you've come here for into my office, shall we?"
Tabitha nodded once to her aunt, her face an impassive mask that belied none of what she truly felt. Not until the Matriarch turned her back to them and began to walk off into a distant hallway did Tabitha finally turn toward Dacre, concern filling her eyes and crinkling her Mark.
"Are you okay?" She asked, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him in a slow circle to get a good look in at his legs and feet. Once she got a good look at the fact that he was unharmed, she righted him in front of her but all of the worry that was housed in her eyes before stayed.
"I'm okay, I swear," he spoke in a gruff voice that was wholly unlike his own. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Who the hell could just set me on fire like that? Why the hell would they just set me on fire like that? I hadn't even said a word before these little she-demons tried to off me." He shot a quick look over both shoulders to ensure that there were no prying ears around them, but his attention was quickly brought forward once more when Tabitha released a loud, boisterous laugh.
"Any witch here touched by the god of fire could do what happened to you--they're the second most common kind of witch after the blue witches and they have deep purple Marks. As to why they did it ... let's just say that I think I know who was behind the attack, and she was never very good with her aim. She was most likely going for me and you just ended up in the crosshairs somehow. Trust me when I say that she will be dealt with accordingly before we make our leave." The brutal savagery of her tone made him feel almost sorry for the witch that nearly burnt him alive that night. He simply frowned in response as he watched the red Mark on her temple twitch slightly in anticipation of what was sure to be a massacre if Tabitha did things the way that she wanted.
"Can we get out of here?" Dacre questioned, breaking the silence between them. He gave a quick, nervous glance at the skull that stared directly back at them. He could have sworn he'd seen it move. "Looking at one of your distant relatives bones is making me a bit antsy."
Crossing the foyer to the table that the skull sat atop, Tabitha chuckled lightly as she picked up the intricate framework in her small hands. Dacre bit back a gasp of horror as he watched her toss it lightly in the air, catching it right before it fell and smashed back onto the table. He wasn't too sure about how things worked around the Demetrian coven, but he was almost positive that smashing the skull of a previous Matriarch was sure to get his ass lit on fire for good that time, whether it was Tabitha that crushed the bones or not.
"What, this old thing?" Tabitha tossed the skull haphazardly back onto the wooden table where it rolled to the precipice and teetered precariously on the edge. When the framework of bone finally righted itself back on the table and was no longer in any immediate danger of shattering on their watch, Dacre released a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He knew that he should probably push it back to the center of the table to make it seem as if they'd never disturbed it, but the thought of touching an actual skull make his skin crawl.
"Calm down, charmer," Tabitha laughed, amusement rife in her tone. "I can promise you that my aunt doesn't care too much about that skull--especially considering that she's the one who offed the previous Matriarch."
"What?" He gasped. Running a hand down the back of his neck, Dacre gaped at the smaller witch in front of him. She gave him a smile that told him that she found the entire thing amusing. "Why would she do that? More importantly, why would she keep the skull of someone she killed around?"
"It's supposed to be some big secret--she was appointed heir to the throne once she was 12 years old. You're supposed to wait until the current predecessor dies in battle, no matter how many years that may take, before you ascend to the throne. But the Matriarch that she was second in line to the throne behind died of a mysterious illness once my aunt turned 21."
Dacre nodded slowly, trying to process what she was saying. "That's not so weird, though. People die of odd illnesses all of the time."
Tabitha gave him a wicked grin. His breath caught in his chest at the sight. He couldn't bring himself to look away, even when she began to talk again. "People do die of illnesses and old age, sure. But not witches. Immortal, remember?"
"Oh, right," he mumbled, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his cloak in embarrassment. He was still trying to learn the ins and outs of the life of witches and warlocks--things were much more complicated than they seemed.
"My best guess is that she poisoned her. She keeps the skull around to 'show respect to a life lost too young', or so she claims. But I know better. I've read all of the texts surrounding the previous Matriarch's death; something isn't right about it, and I know my aunt better than anyone else. She did it."
"Wait, wait," Dacre raised a palm to stop her, his mind going thousands of miles a minute. "She said earlier that we were approaching the 300th anniversary of her death. You're trying to tell me that your aunt is over 300 years old?"
"I know, right?" Tabitha asked, mischief alight in her eyes as she turned away from him and began to walk in the direction that her aunt had taken off in. "Over 300 years on this earth and she still hasn't found a way to make herself a little less boring."