Second Debt
Page 48

Cut, Kes, and Daniel waited with unreadable stares as Jethro propelled me down the grassy mound and closer to my fate.
Cut seemed happier than I’d seen him since I’d arrived, and Daniel sucked on a beer as if we were at his favourite ballgame. Kes had the decency to hide his true feelings behind his mysterious secrecy. His face drawn and blank.
Then my eyes fell on the woman before them.
Bonnie Hawk.
The name came to me as surely as if she wore a name tag. This was the elusive grandmother—the ruler of Hawksridge Hall.
Her lips pursed as if my presence offended her. Her papery hands with vivid blue veins remained clutched in her lap. Her white hair glowed as she sat regally, poised better than any young debutant, not an elderly croon. The chair she sat in matched her bearing, looking like a morbid throne with black velvet and twilled claw-foot legs.
A staff member stood beside her with a parasol, drenching the dame in shade from the noonday sunshine.
It hurt to think the sun beamed upon such a place. It didn’t pick favourites when casting its golden rays—whether it be innocent or guilty—it shone regardless.
I looked up into the ball of burning gas, singeing my retinas and begging the sun to erase all memory of today.
Bonnie sniffed, raising her chin.
Cut stepped forward, clasping his hands in glee. “Hello, Ms. Weaver. So kind of you to join us.”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice.” I shuddered, no longer able to fight the terror lurking on the outskirts of my mind. Claws of horror sank deep inside me, dragging me further into panic.
Cut grinned, noticing my ashen skin and quaking knees. “No, you didn’t. And you have no idea how happy that makes me.”
Turning his attention to his son, he said, “Let’s begin. Shall we?”
I NODDED.
What else could I do?
If I refused, Kes would step in. If I refused, I would be killed.
My eyes fell on my grandmother. She hoisted her nose higher in the air, waiting for me to start. Cut had deliberately brought Bonnie to watch—to be there if I failed.
I have no intention of failing.
I’d managed to stay cold the moment I stepped into Nila’s quarters. Even when she’d looked into my eyes and snuggled into my chest, I hadn’t warmed. I intended to remain aloof and removed until it was over.
It was the only way.
Cut stepped back, squeezing his mother’s shoulder.
Bonnie Hawk looked up at him, smiling thinly. He was her favourite. But just like her son, she couldn’t stand her grandchildren.
Jasmine. She stands Jasmine.
That was true. If there was anyone who’d excelled in this family and played perfectly in the role she’d been given, it was Jaz.
Cut said, “Begin, Jet. Pretend we aren’t here if it will make you feel any better.”
I held back my snort. I never wanted to forget that they were here. If I did, I’d lose any hope of being icy and slip. I’d find a way to take it easy on Nila and avoid certain parts of this debt—just like I’d done with the First Debt and not freezing her the way I should have.
Today, there would be no leniency. Today, Nila must be strong enough to face the full brunt of what my family would do to her.
Stop avoiding the truth.
What you will do to her. You alone.
In that instant, I wanted to hand the power over to Kes. Make him do it—so Nila would hate him instead of me.
Nila stood quivering beside me. The air was chilly but not cold enough to warrant the chattering of her teeth or blueness of her fingers.
She’s petrified.
And for good reason.
“Jethro, I suggest you begin. I’m not getting any younger, boy,” Bonnie muttered.
Daniel snickered, gulping down another mouthful of beer. “Snap, snap, old chap.”
Kes crossed his arms, locking away his thoughts completely.
I looked to the piece of equipment that had been secured to the pond’s banks. It remained covered by a black cape—for now.
Soon, Nila would see what it was, and she would understand what would happen.
But first, I had to be eloquent and deliver the speech I’d been taught to memorize since I’d been told of my role.
Grabbing Nila’s arm, I positioned her on the patch of earth that’d been decorated with a thick pouring of salt. I’d done the design. The sunrise had witnessed my artistry as I followed an ancient custom.
Nila’s eyes dropped to her feet as I pressed her hard, telling her with actions alone not to move.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured, slapping a hand over her mouth.
My wintry ice saved me from feeling anymore of her panic; I locked my muscles as I prepared to recite.
The pentagram she stood in gave a giant hint as to the debt she would be paying.
Her black eyes met mine, her hair whipping around her face, just like it had when she’d found the graves of her ancestors.
It was almost serendipitous that she would pay this debt now—especially after I’d thought that she’d looked like a witch casting a curse on the Hawks.
“As you can see, Ms. Weaver. You stand in a pentacle star. It’s well known that the five-pointed star represents the five wounds of Christ. It’s been used in the Church for millennia. Yet a reversed pentagram is the symbol of dark magic—a tool wielded by Wiccans and practiced regularly in witchcraft.”
My family stared enraptured, even though they knew the tale by heart.
Nila seemed to shrink, her eyes never leaving the thick rivers of salt penning her in a motif of wickedness.