For Heather.
By Pith.
Cassie didn't know which came first: the burning or the voice. Her blood sang with prickling heat, making her hair crackle and her toes curl. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and bit down on her lip to keep from moaning and waking Adam. Feverish, she crept out of bed, intending to go to the bathroom, but blacked out in the hallway, collapsing in a shuddering heap. The voice lured her out of the darkness, opening her eyes to a star-studded sky. Cassie....
Expecting to find worn carpet beneath her feet, Cassie tried to rise but slid in wet sand. Witch hunters? she thought wildly. The Coven had been hearing rumours of a new group of witch hunters from the west, but she didn't feel threatened by the unseen presence. The voice was silky, sliding over her like the gentle lap of the water. I'm ... at the beach? Cassie tried piecing together where she was and how she'd arrived there, but the voice was constantly murmuring at the edge of her mind, unravelling her thoughts faster than she could weave them. "Who ... who are you?" Again she tried to stand, but her legs gave way, toppling her into the damp sand.
The darkness swirled around her, making her dizzy; when Cassie saw a tall man standing in front of her, eclipsed by shadow, she was hit by a desire so sharp it stole her breath. He towered over her, featureless yet exuding strength. Cassie, he whispered, lowering himself to the sand. She tried to scuttle away, but only ended up falling backward, half-submerged in the water. A small wave sliding beneath her made her squirm, like sandpaper on her raw nerves. As the water receded, a wave of darkness crashed over her, pushing her deeper into the sand and surf; a shadow latched onto her mouth and kissed her as formless hands tore away her camisole and panties, leaving cool trails of respite.
He didn't have to coax her open: with the water thrusting at her back, she gathered the darkness to her, urged it to enter. Her hands found no purchase on the shadow form so she pressed them into the sand, the heat and power of her desire turning the grains into dozens of gems that spilled from her fingers as he pumped harder and harder. Splashes of water slid and sizzled between their bodies, skin and shadow. By the time she came, she was voiceless, so hypersensitive that even touching the sand made her moan. As her head lolled to the side, she saw the sun's first rays shimmering on the water and groaned when he entered her again, harder, faster than before. She tried to keep pace but soon succumbed, losing herself in the sensuous darkness completely.
When she saw light again, she was in her hallway once more, her wet hair leaving rivulets on the baseboards, the worn carpet rough against her bare skin. Hastily, she sprang to her feet and ran into the bathroom, turning the shower on cool. The spray felt harsh against her sand-scrubbed skin, but when her hands echoed the movements of the shadow, she slid down the wall breathless. "Cassie? Want pancakes for breakfast?" Adam called out.
"Uh ... sure." Cassie finished showering, making sure there was no sand under her nails before she slipped into her bathrobe and padded down to the kitchen. She was debating whether to tell Adam about the vivid dream she'd had last night--that's what it must've been, though her skin screamed otherwise--when she realized he wasn't alone. Loud sobs ricocheted up the stairwell, punctuated with hiccoughs and strained words. Peeking around the corner, she saw Laurel and Melanie at the kitchen table, their faces drawn and tearstained. "What's wrong, you guys? What happened?" The heat the shadow had infused her with dissipated, leaving her detached and weak.
"Diana...," Melanie began, her normally cool eyes brimming with sorrow.
"Diana's dead," Laurel blubbered. "On the beach. We found her this morning when we went to find some shells."
Dashing out of the house before they could give her more details, Cassie saw other Crowhaven Road denizens hurrying to the beach. In the centre of a half-cast circle, her shift askew and heavy with blood, Diana was sprawled in the sand, a smattering of gems haloing her head. While the others busied themselves tending to their co-leader, Cassie discreetly scanned the beach and tucked her discarded underwear into her robe pocket before going to give her Coven her support.
* * * * * * * * *
Two nights later, when the voice and heat beckoned her again, Cassie strode to the beach of her own accord: the stress of Diana's death and leavetaking had weakened her resolve to fight. "Who are you?" she demanded, scanning the darkness around her. "Did you kill Diana?"
He caressed her back with one long stroke that nearly melted her muscles. That's not why you're here. Shadowy hands slid inside her robe, drifted from her breasts to her hips, fingers easing her thighs apart. You don't really care.
Yes, she did. She should. Shouldn't she? Cassie writhed against the shadow, unable--or perhaps just unwilling--to answer her own questions. When he pushed her face-first against the rock and thrust into her relentlessly, filling her darkness with his own, her body sang with power. When she opened her eyes, she saw herself glowing under his touch as he lowered her to the sand and entered her so smoothly she could scarcely feel it. He took her hands in his, using her own fingers at times to pleasure her. She felt herself melting under his power, transforming just like the sand that blossomed into jewels around them.
Only after she climbed back into bed, freshly showered, did she realize that she still had not seen his face.
* * * * * * * * *
Nick, Deborah, Doug, and Chris were the next to die. Nick had taken Diana's death hard and had asked his cousin and friends if they wanted to help him christen his latest refurbished car. Their celebratory ride ended at the bottom of the cliffs, the car and its passengers ravaged by the sharp rocks. The police later said that they found stones of various sizes in the fuel line, concluding that the car had been tampered with.
The night of the leavetaking for the Armstrong cousins and the Henderson brothers, after all the mourners had succumbed to sleep, Cassie returned to the beach. "There's still blood on the rocks," she murmured to herself.
Still warm too, if you want some. The shadow lifted her easily onto the stained stone. Blood is power, he purred. The blood should have been long dried, but when wisps of the darkness passed over the stains, it bubbled then started flowing like a slow creek. He peeled off Cassie's robe, now a mere formality, and placed her in the scarlet stream, painting her body with the renewed redness. Wherever her skin was coated in blood, she could touch him as if he were solid, so she luxuriated in the thick liquid, then bade him to stretch out in the stream so she could straddle him. Streaked with blood like a victorious huntress, she took the darkness into herself, revelling in the body beneath her. As their moonlit liaisons increased in frequency and intensity, he became more tangible, more recognizable; the more they touched, the more there was to touch.
The Coven seemed to be stalked by death the following week. Sean was found hanging in his attic; an hour before Dulany's leavetaking, Melanie and Laurel were found dead in the Quincys' kitchen, their deaths later attributed to poison. The rest of the Coven, knowing the two were too skilled to have botched a spell, was forced to admit that the likelihood of new witch hunters was an unfortunate reality. "I think we should leave," Suzan said, huddled around her spiked hot chocolate. "Regroup. They know we're spooked." She gazed out the diner window suspiciously, as if expecting the murderers to attempt a drive-by shooting.
"We shouldn't run," Cassie insisted, drinking her coffee straight black for the first time in years. Black as pitch, as shadow, as night.
"Easy for you to say. You and Adam have strength in numbers," Faye snorted, picking at her nail polish. She didn't believe the witch hunter theory, but had no better ideas to offer.
"Then you and Suze should start sleeping together." Cassie couldn't help the smirk that curled her lips. "As in at each other's house, of course," she added sweetly.
"Or maybe Suze should stay with Adam and you should stay with me," Faye countered, examining Cassie closely. "You look like you need some sleep. Your eyes are dark."
Cassie shrugged. "We're all worn out." She left a tip on the table and, as the others left the diner, snuck a peek at her reflection in the napkin dispenser. Her pupils were huge; what remained of her irises was a far darker blue than she remembered. As dark as the water, but not quite dark enough. Not yet.
* * * * * * * * *
That night he didn't even let her get down to the beach: he intercepted her on the rocky path, stopping her from disrobing and embracing him. "Later. We have other delights to attend to first." His voice, finally sculpted by a sensuous mouth, resonated in both her mind and her ears, more real than ever before.
Cassie gazed into his eyes--for he had eyes now too, usually dark, but sometimes hazel or even moss green--and relented. Whenever she was close to him, her will seemed to bend like a willow in the breeze; as soon as he touched her, she forgot every grievance, every care. She stroked his cheek and smiled, feeling the familiar euphoric daze seep into her mind. Some small part of her railed against the intrusion, but it was quickly doused. "What is it?" It was difficult to keep pace with his long strides; she almost tripped on the hem of her robe, but he righted her with ease.
"The end," he answered simply, leading her to Faye's house. "The beginning." He stroked her hair and kissed her gently. "They're liars, you know. All of them. They're plotting against you. And Faye is trying to seduce Adam."
Cassie stopped, feeling the tiny rebellious spark in her mind gaining momentum. "The Coven? No. No, they aren't. We're trying to find the witch hunters...."
His eyes glinted maliciously. "They think you're the witch hunter, my dear."
"But... but I'm not...."
His smile was dazzling, dizzying, as enigmatic as the moon. "Aren't you?"
Before Cassie could defend herself, she saw three people step onto Faye's porch, peering out into the darkness. "Cassie?" Suzan called out tremulously. "Who are you talking to?"
"Daddy dearest," he replied, then shattered back into shadow and swarmed the rest of the Coven. Suzan succumbed first, her spine snapping as he tossed her from the porch. As he fought with Adam, Faye tried to sneak away, but he burst her eyes in their sockets and shoved her through the nearest window.
Cassie watched the carnage with curious detachment. She thought Adam's suffering would have made the Silver Cord reverberate with agony, but she felt nothing. Nothing but longing for the darkness that was destroying the remains of her coven with garish grace. Faye had stumbled outside again, armed with her athame, but she flailed uselessly at the attacker who had stolen her sight. Black John easily plucked the ceremonial blade from her grasp and plunged it into her heart, launching her corpse towards Suzan's.
"Cassie! Run!" Adam bellowed, trying to stave off the menacing shadows. But the darkness enveloped him in a cocoon, slowly strangling him. Black John smiled at his daughter as he tossed Adam's shrouded form onto the pile of corpses and set the bodies ablaze.
She knew she should have felt something for the bodies burning in the makeshift pyre--remorse, regret, maybe relief at the very least--but her emotions were focused solely inward. For the first time in months, she felt powerful, free....
Black John embraced her, kissing her forehead. As Cassie looked up at him, she realized that he was finally complete, though his face still seemed to change: at times he had Nick's brooding pout, then the mischievous glint in the eyes that the Hendersons had perfected, then Diana's serene smile. "I am whatever you need me to be," he murmured, sliding his hands beneath her robe.
The thought--the reality--of having sex with her father would have disgusted Cassie mere weeks ago. Yet she had never felt more alive, more right, than when he was inside her. She had finally found someone whose darkness surpassed her own. As she took in the smouldering bodies before her, the empty ancestral houses looming over Crowhaven Road, she felt only contentment. "What now?"
"We rebuild the Coven, you and I." He lay her down on Faye's lawn, mere feet from the burning corpses, and entered her. As she writhed underneath him, he let his hands drift to her navel. Beneath his fingers, Cassie felt her darkness roil inside, rising to meet his power. "We'll rebuild the Coven," he repeated, "the way it was meant to be."
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