The Witch of Tin Mountain(71)

“We? If it’s sex with me you’re after, you should know I don’t care for men. Never have. Never will. I ain’t having your demon babies, neither.”

Bellflower laughs. “I wouldn’t think of such a thing. It would be . . . wrong. Even for my kind. I do have a moral compass of sorts, you know.”

“Well, compasses don’t work here. Not even the moral kind. Enough with talking in circles, Bellflower.”

He begins pacing again, his hands clasped behind his back. “We’ll get to the point, then. I’d like to make you an offer.”

“There’s not a thing you could offer me that I’d want.”

He cocks a brow at me. “Not even an immortally long life, with more power than you ever thought possible?” Eerie shadows dance across his face, sharpening his features. “Protection for your family? Your darling grandmother’s life? She made me a promise when she was young. A promise I’ve come to collect on. How I do so is up to you.”

My guts plunge to my feet. “What are you talking about?”

An amused smirk spreads across his face. “Deirdre swore an oath to me many years ago, and offered you up as the binding, long before you were ever born.”

“Granny would never do such a thing.”

“Oh, but she would. In her youth, Deirdre was lustful. Wrathful. Driven by her own impulses. She poisoned a girl and the girl nearly died. Deirdre would have hanged for it if it weren’t for my help.” Bellflower shrugs. “I happened to be there in her time of need. I healed the girl. She lived on, well into her golden years, because of the power I took from Deirdre’s blood oath. Best of all, it got me what I wanted most. You.”

“You’re lying,” I growl. “Granny doesn’t poison people and she’d never give me to you. Granny is good. The best person I’ve ever known.”

He laughs. “What is the difference between good and evil? Truly? It’s all a matter of perception. Every bit of it. Wars. Plagues. Famine. Saints and sinners. Angels and demons.”

Bellflower passes a hand over his face and his rangy good looks flicker once more. The ancient man I saw ravishing Val in the forest stares at me with dark, deep-set eyes.

“This Nathaniel vessel I inhabit has grown weak. Decrepit.” He passes his hand over his face once more and his glamour is restored. “I can still disguise myself—take on any form, any shape I please. But it’s no longer enough. I want an amplifier. A young, vital vessel—an ongoing source of power created by my own design. The daughter of a cambion is a rare thing. You are a rare thing.”

“Daughter of a cambion?”

“Your mother. Ophelia.”

Something has shifted in Bellflower’s demeanor. He glowers at me darkly. Threateningly. My head starts to swim. The longer I’m around him, the weaker I get—like he’s draining me. I back away from him as a knife blade of pain pierces my temple. I wince and knot my hands in my hair. I’m suddenly as helpless as a newborn kitten. I cry out and collapse in a huddle on the metal floor, the pain shooting through me.

“You are as much mine as you are Deirdre’s. I don’t like hurting you.” Bellflower sighs.

“I will make the pain stop if you invite me in. Allow me to inhabit you, Gracie—let me use you as a vessel, just as I did with Nathaniel. I will protect you from death, from sickness. I will even restore Deirdre to health. No one you love need suffer, ever again.”

“No,” I say through clenched teeth. “Never.”

Bellflower scowls. “Your free will is beyond tedious. A flaw in the design.” He twists his wrist, and my back spasms and arches in response. Pain colors my vision red. I scream. The shadows flare around him. Tendrils of oily smoke surround me, stealing my breath. “Foolish girl. You choose to barter away your life?” His voice reverberates through me.

I pull myself to my feet, and sway shakily. There’s a flash of movement, and Bellflower shoves me to the lighthouse railing, his hand knotted in my hair. The ground swirls below me. “Think of your granny. Think of little Caro. She’s going to flower into a lovely young woman soon. Perhaps, when I’ve used up her mother, I’ll have my fun with her.”

A righteous anger surges through me. “No! Don’t you dare lay a hand on her.”

“Then give me what I want!” he roars. “Let me in! Deny me not!”

“I’ll never give you what you want!”

“Then I’ll find another way to take what was promised to me, witch,” he hisses.

He pushes me, hard. Suddenly I’m falling, falling, fast as a stone.



“Gracie. Gracie! What’s gotten into you?”

Abby’s voice is a distant echo. I suck in my breath, panting. The wind whistles in my ears, but I’m not falling anymore. I’m still at the top of the lighthouse, back pressed against the stones, shivering so hard my teeth chatter. I’m cold. So cold.

Abby comes to my side, her eyes wide in the flashing light. “Are you okay?”

“V-vi-vision. B-bell . . . flower.”

“What?” She presses the back of her hand to my forehead. “Lands, you’re burnin’ up with fever. Let’s get you home.”

“Oh . . . kay.”

Somehow, we make it down the tower steps, and into her pa’s truck. Abby starts it up and puts it into gear. Every muscle in my body aches. I feel like I’m dying.