Page 38 of Of Flame and Fury
“I don’t know about that,” I say.
My dismissal earns me the death glare. Wow. She wastortured. While Johnny, at least the Johnny I knew, is incapable of harming a woman like this, he had to be aware of what was happening. Yet here she is, bragging and seemingly rapt by his mojo.
I’m not certain if she feels the need to convince me of Johnny’s awesomeness, or if she thinks we’re her last chance to confess her sins before she keels over. Whatever it is, she spills the details without any prompting.
“Once I created the way in, we were able to hide the creatures inside the manor. That was my idea,” she says, the barest hint of pride in her voice. “They dissolved into the shadows, falling into a dream state in the classrooms where the stupid witches whispered their dirty thoughts and where they toyed with their inferior magic.” A smile lifts the corner of her dry, cracked lips. “His pets hid in plain sight, beneath their beds, and where they bathed, their bodies naked and gloriously exposed to the Fate.”
It’s more than I ever needed to know. Thanks for the nightmares there, kid.
“They slept,” she repeats, her eyes closing with pleasure. “Helping the Fate learn their magic.”
“So, Johnny could ultimately manipulate it,” I say. She appears to fall asleep standing. My comment wakes her right up.
“Yes,” she replies, another scathing glare aimed my way. She doesn’t like me answering for her. Her problem, not mine.
“It was the hardest magic I ever tried,” she adds. “I never thought I could perform such a task. But I did, and it worked. I did everything they asked and more.” She coughs, spitting bile mixed with blood on the floor. “All that the Fate needed was the key to open the door.”
And insert the sacrifice here.
This witch is screwed two ways from Sunday and double-dipped into a vat of crazy every day in between. She might have started off with issues, her toe skimming along the pool of insecurity like the rest of us. Or she could have been unstable from the start. Whatever Johnny and his crew did pushed her to a place she won’t return from.
“What’s your name?”
Her attention grounds on Celia. She didn’t expect Celia to speak again. I imagine she expects a quick death, a slash of claws across her throat, or maybe even a knife to the heart. She won’t get off that easy. Not once we hand her over to Genevieve.
“What’s your name?” Celia repeats, her voice neither kind nor violent.
“Bridette,” the witch says.
“Why did you betray us, Bridette?” Celia asks. Like the rest of us, we’re not impressed by Johnny or the magic she used to let him in. They’re murderers. All their great feats of magic won’t change that.
I walk to Celia’s side, the cool concrete at my feet sending painful waves through my calves, instead of offering reprieve. It’s not that Celia needs me, but I need her. Bridette isn’t a demon to kill or one of those monsters to take out before it tears out our insides. Those, I aim for and fire. It’s easy. I don’t respect the lives of those beings, not when they’re gunning for me. And although she caused so much damage, I can’t just shoot and fire.
Bridette is a poor, miserable soul who made all the wrong choices. I’m still not certain, though, that she sees it.
She dips her hands into the water again, her thirst more important to her than us. Several large roaches scurry around the rim. Emme clasps her wrists, trying to stop her. “Please don’t do that,” Emme tells her. “You’re better than this.”
No, I don’t think she is.
Bridette opens her mouth enough to expose the gaping holes where a pretty smile once lived. “It’s cold,” she says. “It helps the pain.”
“Why did you betray us?” Celia asks, again. Unlike before, there’s more force to her tone. Bridette may be incapable of tears, but Celia has plenty for all of us. “What was so important to you that you chose to side with Fate?”
“You love your child,” Bridette says. She’s not asking. It’s a fact she already understands. She takes another long pull of water, swishing it in her mouth before allowing it to spill down her chin and neck. Her weary gaze lowers to Celia’s belly. “From the moment you heard he was coming, you loved him.”
When Bridette tries to laugh, only a haunting and ragged wisp releases. “It’s strange, don’t you think, tigress?” she asks. “To become so completely enchanted with something the size of a dot? It has no strength. It has no thoughts or ability to communicate. Yet it still manages to steal your heart even as it leeches from you, taking shape inside you because of you and everything you do for him.”
Those tears Bridette lacked find their way into her voice. “You’ll do anything for him. Lie, hurt, kill, and betray. Whatever it takes, you’ll do. It’s that power children have over us.”
Bridette slaps at the bucket, knocking it over. The water sprays my exposed shins, chilling my bones and coating the marrow with ice. I want to cover my legs and dry them with what remains of my dress. Instead, I don’t move, her words keeping me in place.
“You think you’ll love nothing more,” she says. “Then the gods gift you with another, expanding your heart to hold so much love you’re certain you’ll explode.”
Bridette sways from side to side, humming what sounds like a nursery song in a language I can’t make out.
“Where are your children now?” I get the words out myself. Celia can’t. We know Bridette’s story doesn’t end well.
Bridette looks around as if she can’t understand where the voice came from. It happens to those tortured souls like Bridette. Things stop making sense, and clarity abandons you.