The Witch of Tin Mountain(92)

I rush forward, still not quite believing I’m alive. Everything feels like a dream.

Ebba opens the passenger door, and Granny nearly falls out into my arms. She blinks up at me, and smiles. “Gracie.”

I almost start crying. “Good to see you awake.”

“Good to see you alive. We have to hurry, though. He’s coming. Get me on my feet.”

Ebba and I help her out of the truck. Her left wrist is bandaged, blood seeping through a hastily tied dressing.

“What happened?”

“The ritual. The reckoning. It required a little blood, that’s all,” she says weakly. “But we’re only half done.”

Suddenly, the hair on my arms stands up and a strange chill raises goosepimples on my skin. Granny’s eyes widen and fix on something behind me. She gasps.

I look over my shoulder. A man stands in the middle of the road. He’s handsome and sly, with dark hair and flashing green eyes. I don’t know who he is. Until he laughs. No matter what guise he takes, the laugh is always the same. He snaps his fingers, and the rest of the town goes still. People freeze in place, their mouths agape at the destruction around us.

“Ambrose Gentry,” Granny says coyly, “the years have been kind to you.”

“I wish I could say the same for you, my love.”

“I was never your love.” Granny shakes free of me and Ebba and walks slowly toward him.

“Still, we had our moment, didn’t we? And it was worth it, don’t you think? She’s exquisite,” he says, looking at me.

“She is. But she was never yours. Never will be.” A tear threads down Granny’s cheek. She brushes it away angrily. “You tricked me. First, with your words. And then, on that bridge.”

“Neither one of us was pure, Deirdre. You know that.” He smiles sadly. “You tried to trick me as well. Hid our child away with your powers. It would have been easy for me to destroy you if I’d wanted to. I didn’t want to. It was more fun to let you think you’d won.”

“Oh, Ambrose. We aren’t finished. Not yet. She isn’t finished.” Granny reaches out, cups his jaw. He closes his eyes, and turns into her hand, kissing her palm. She stands on her tiptoes, whispers into his ear, and then kisses him, full on the lips. The air crackles with witching. The years suddenly fall away, and a young woman stands in Granny’s place, voluptuous and auburn-haired, her fair skin as smooth as mine. Anneliese.

The sun blazes blood red along the horizon, coloring everything scarlet. “You’ve come back, Betsy,” Gentry says, opening his eyes. They’ve gone from a lurid green to a depthless black. His youthful glamour fades, until an ancient, decrepit man stands before us. “I suppose you want your vengeance.”

“It’s time to reap what you’ve sown. Just as you vowed. You’re not the only clever one, you know.”

Ebba and I come to Anneliese’s side. She reaches for my hand, and then Ebba’s. “Mezroth, I banish thee,” she says softly.

“Mezroth, I banish thee,” Ebba echoes.

I draw in a breath, his cursed name ready on my tongue.

Mezroth’s countenance flickers. He transforms once more and I’m almost undone. This time, it’s Abigail looking at me, beseeching and soft. “Gracie, I love you. Don’t do this.” She reaches out. “Don’t you want to be with me? If you let him in, we’ll always be together. Just let him in.”

“You’re not Abby,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ll never let you in, you demon!”

He roars in anger. A rush of wind, like the beating of giant wings, nearly knocks me to the ground. I step back in horror, hiding my eyes. Mezroth laughs, shadows unfurling as he rises above me. “Afraid to look upon your maker, granddaughter?”

Panic ices my tongue. I’m frozen with fear. Helpless and small, like a rabbit caught in a hawk’s talons.

“Now, Gracie!” Ebba screeches. “Be strong!”

“Mezroth . . .” When I speak his name, the earth shakes, toppling me. I fall onto my bad wrist, screaming as pain lances through my arm like hot metal. I scramble backward, clumsy on the rocky ground. I shield my eyes as the demon’s wings unfurl once more. This is it. This is where it ends.

“You stupid girl,” he hisses, and hurtles toward me.

“Mezroth! I banish thee!” I scream, with all my might. He howls in agony and drops like a stone at my feet. Writhes in the dirt, clawing at the ground. His now-useless wings fall to tatters, his glamour desperately shifting from one incarnation to another. He tries to rise, then falls. Tries to rise again. He’s pitiful—a weakened shade of the arrogant, awesome creature he was just moments before.

Anneliese comes to my side. She takes my hand, helps me to my feet. My skin prickles with electricity. She smiles at me, her eyes filled with love. Gratitude. Peace. Then, she turns to Mezroth, regarding him quietly.

His eyes dim to a dusky blue. Their inhuman shine fades, replaced with something far more tender than I ever expected to see. He’s little more than a boy, a youth caught on the cusp of one and twenty. Nathaniel.

There’s a sudden heaviness to the air. A pall of sorrow I wasn’t expecting to feel.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I loved you. I did. Please forgive me.”