SACRIFICIUM (THE UNDERGROUND Book 1) Read online

  For Miss Robson.

  I once told you that if I accomplished anything, it would be because of you. Well, here it is…

  Thank you! x

  Copyright © Alexandra Doherty 2019.

  First Edition.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any manner whatsoever including photocopying, recording or any other means without the express written permission from the author – except in the case of brief quotations used in critical reviews, and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  CHAPTER ONE

  With each flick of my wrist, the flame of the candle extinguishes and reignites in a perfectly-timed pattern. My eyes are unblinking; all of my focus is on the task in front of me.

  Flicker. Dead. Flicker. Dead. Flicker –

  “You’re getting good at that.” I startle at the voice and the candle goes out. I don’t bother to relight it as I listen to him speak. “The high council wants to see you.”

  My skin bristles. “I don’t want to see the council.”

  “Zamlia requests you do her this favor and make an appearance at the council meeting,” he tells me. There’s no fluctuation in his pitch or tone and he sounds robotic, almost. It’s not a favor, it’s an order, and that puts me on edge.

  “Zamlia?” I ask.

  “She’s a High Priestess.” A flicker of admiration stains his words.

  I still haven’t turned to face him because I know how he’ll look at me. His voice is enough to deal with.

  “And what does a High Priestess want with me?” I ask, picking one of the iron pokers from the side of the barely-lit fireplace. I strum it between my fingers.

  “She’s been paying attention to the witches on the rise in the academy. You’re the one who’s caught her eye.” I hear him take a step back, as though he fears what I might do with the poker.

  “Because I can light a candle?”

  “You can do so much more than that and we both know it…”

  I finally turn to look at him and he takes another step back. He’s standing with the same confidence as always, but his grey eyes are baggier than usual and his almost-black hair is more dishevelled than I’ve ever seen it.

  “I don’t want to see the council,” I repeat.

  “Theodora, you don’t say no to a High Priestess.” He scoffs at me like I’m some kind of ten-year-old taking a tantrum. “She’s come all the way from the Tunisian consulate to meet you!”

  “Then you can tell her that I hope she has a nice trip back.”

  “I’m afraid as the academy’s superior; I am going to have to insist. You have three hours to make yourself presentable.” There it is, the condescending tone telling me that I’m still a minor witch under his rule, and there’s no room for argument. But I’m not blind – I saw him swallow the lump in his throat before he spoke.

  I close my eyes and focus on him until I hear his heart beat in my ears. It’s fast and unsteady. He’s nervous, which makes me nervous…

  “Okay,” I say with a nod.

  He leaves, looking smug, and I return to the flame; only this time, I don’t light the candle. Instead, I focus my sights on the cold iron poker.

  I set it down on the desk and take a seat. The buzz of my power vibrates through me until it's strong enough that I can almost clutch it. I take a breath and push it through me until it hits my head and blink once to moisten my eyes. Then I keep them open, unmoving, focused solely on the poker end.

  Slowly, the black turns a dark shade of red. It’s harder to keep the momentum than it was with the candle flame, but I push on.

  Breathing harder, I keep my mind on my task. The red burns brighter and turns almost orange. The power becomes painful to sustain, as it always does. I let out a low scream, but I don’t stop. My brain begins to pound and sweat beads on my forehead.

  The pain becomes immense and failure is imminent.

  Ignoring the black swarms in my vision telling me I’m close to passing out. I force them to stay open as my breaths come faster. I can’t give up! I won’t give up! Not until –

  The poker burst into flames.

  With one final scream, I let the power drain from me and take a second to admire my work. I sigh, disappointed in myself; the end is alight but the rest of the poker lays cold.

  “Not good enough,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair and closing my eyes.

  I rest them for a moment before focusing my energy once more. The buzz is more of a low hum now, indicating that I did too much magic, too fast. If I were in class, it’d be at this point that Miss Reyes would tell me to rest and wait for my energy to build back up.

  Not that I’d listen to her. I don’t listen to anyone; least of all the voice in my head telling me to stop.

  I force the hum to increase against its resistance. It takes a moment but, finally, the power vibrates hard. Again, I grasp it and push it to my head. I stare at the poker with the intent of moving the flame up to the hilt, covering every inch in between.

  The pain started the second I reignited the buzz and now, it’s so intense that I can barely see straight. The room around me spins and try as I might, the power is dwindling.

  The flame has moved slightly upwards.

  I take a breath, pushing on, but something inside of me snaps. The power is gone and the rest of the poker is still cold.

  “Damn it!” I shriek and kick the wall. My brain pounds harder within my skull and I grip my head, willing it to stop but it doesn’t, it increases. The anger that I’m feeling manifests and suddenly the poker lifts from the desk and spins in the air.

  I’m losing control because I’m fighting the pain.

  I stop fighting and drop to my knees, allowing it to take me over. The shadowy clouds invade my sight, but the vibrations come stronger than I’ve ever felt them. The need that I have to accomplish the task is so strong within me, and if I don’t stop pushing, I’m going to lose consciousness… just like last time.

  I take a breath and let it go, watching as the iron drops from the air and lands on the wooden floor, starting a small flame.

  “Shit!”

  The fire spreads and I panic. Grabbing the throw from my bed, I move quickly to put out the flame, but it’s useless. As long as the hot poker lies on the pine floors, it won’t stop catching fire. I reach out and grab it by the cool end; only it’s not that cool. The rest of the poker may not have caught fire like I intended, but it definitely heated up.

  I hiss as the searing burn melts the top layer of skin on my palm.

  “Shit!”

  I don’t have enough power left to extinguishing it and there’s no water supply in the dorm. I realize my idiocy in not planning ahead, but I can’t go back now. I stop putting them out and instead focus on the quiet whisper of a vibration within me. I hope it’s enough. Carefully, I reach out my hand and hover it above the poker. Feeling the heat radiating from it, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply.

  Bringing my hand down, I grip it tightly. The searing of my skin is enough to make me want to throw up, but I refuse to let go. Lifting it from the ground, I hold it; my skin bubbling and blistering under the touch.

  I don’t scream, I just let it happen.

  Finally, the pain becomes too much and the vibration stirs fully. I use the small window of opportunity, grasp the power firmly, and make my intentions known.

  “Put out the flame,” I cry softly. “Put out the flame…”

  I squeeze my eyes tightly; the pain becoming too much to handle, and let out an ear-splitting squeal.

  “Put out the flame!” I demand a final time.

  The pok
er goes cold in my hand and I drop it. Opening my eyes, I breathe a sigh of relief. The flames on the ground are gone and all that remains are the burns on the hardwood. I lift my hand to eye level and observe the damage – the skin is practically gone and the smell makes me nauseous.

  It’s disgusting, red, and agonizing as all hell. Hissing and jumping from one foot to the other, I do the stupidest thing and try to shake it out. I let out a humourless laugh, thinking of how I could have avoided this, if I had only listened to the voice in my head.

  But then again, the same could be said about the rest of my scars.

  My eyes pulse in my head and the swarms of dark threaten to take over completely. I could fight them, but I don’t.

  Instead, I pass out.

  ***

  Blinking away the blurriness, I wait for the world to stop spinning and pull myself up from the ground. Unaware of how much time has passed, I look at the clock on the desk and see that I’ve been out cold for almost two hours.

  “Less than last time,” I groan, pushing myself to my feet and stumbling to my bed.

  I hit the mattress with such force that it almost knocks the wind out of me. My hand hits the silk sheets and sticks. I rip it away, feeling like I’m gonna pass out again, and then I remember the damage.

  It’s bad! Worse than anything I’ve ever done before, and it’s probably going to leave a scar.

  There’s only an hour left before I’m to be shoved in front of the High Priestess like some pretty little show pony, and I know she’s going to want a demonstration of my power. I think maybe that’s why I drained myself… because if I can’t perform, then maybe I’ll be left alone.

  Gaining enough strength to push off the bed, I make my way to the communal bathrooms. It’s empty because every other girl in the academy is tucked up in bed; meaning that I have my pick of the showers. I go for the end cubicle, knowing the pressure is the best.

  Stripping down, I step under the intense cascade and let out pain-fuelled moans every time a bout of hot water coats my hand. Thinking about the council, I take a deep breath and realize something I hadn’t before: I am terrified – not of the council themselves, but the reasoning behind them wanting to meet with me out of all of the students in the academy. I don’t get top marks in any of my trials, I don’t have the best track-record for turning up to class on time – or at all – and my potions need major work. Hell, I’m not even in the highest grade. At seventeen years old, I’m still considered a fledgling witch! Most witches don’t get the honor of being within breathing distance of a High Priestess during their entire lifetime, least of all a young witch like me, and so I can’t help question the motives behind this meeting…

  Why me?

  And after everything that’s happened in the past six months… why now?

  Back in my room, I get to work masking my terror with makeup, a pretty white dress, and a very prim and proper up-do.

  “How’s this for presentable?” I ask, sensing his presence at my door.

  I watch him nod in the mirror with a slight smile. “Very good. You chose well. It’s a perfect dress for the occasion…”

  “What is the occasion?” I turn to face him, keeping my injured hand hidden at my side.

  “You’ll find out soon.”

  My lip pulls between my teeth and I gnaw on it nervously as I stand and follow him out of my room.

  I zone in on his heart rate again as we walk, but it’s drowned out by the sound of my own, beating so hard in my chest it could crack a rib.

  We veer off from the usual route that goes in the direction of the classrooms and the grand hall, and instead follow a path leading to a part of the academy I’ve never seen before in all of my years living here.

  He stops, urging me ahead of him. “You should be in front.”

  I move forward and follow the dark, winding corridor. The wallpaper is ancient, covered with golden swirls on an emerald green background.

  “What is this place? I’ve never seen it before…”

  “Nobody has, not until they are called up to see it,” he tells me, his voice cold. “A couple of your friends have...”

  I go over my friends list in my head. “River? Penelope? Meghan?”

  He smirks. “No, those three can barely string a spell together. Think older friends…”

  My blood runs cold and my legs tremble. “What do you mean by older?”

  “You know exactly what I mean,” he says, forcing me forward with a shove. “Krista, Allie, Mia… Anna.”

  My terror triples hearing Anna’s name. Her missing posters flash in my mind and my stomach turns as waves of realization hit me like bricks.

  “My sister… what happened to her?”

  He doesn’t respond. Instead, he pushes me forward again, harder this time, until I reach the brown, double doors, encrusted with the same gold swirling patterns, and suddenly I know exactly what this is.

  My body goes rigid with fear and every thought in my brain is telling me to run, but I can’t seem to take control of my legs.

  “No, I don’t want to… I – I don’t want to go in there,” I tell him.

  “It’s too late for that, Theo. You don’t have a choice…”

  I shake my head, refusing to open the doors. With a growl, he grabs me by the back of my neck and hurls me through them. I land on my hands and knees, the slapping sound of palm on concrete echoing through the giant room. It’s cold and dark. The only light in the room comes from the touch of moonlight streaming through the giant mosaic window, and the flickering of the fire sticks decorating the walls.

  My head lifts to find six high-ranking council members staring down at me with faces like stone.

  “Theodora Blackthorn, you have been brought upon the presence of the high council to fulfil a sacred duty, do you know what this is?” An old man asks from behind a tribunal bench.

  I nod, stifling a cry. The pages of the history books recite themselves in my mind: girls, strung up or tied down and bled for their essence in times of great need. Times that I had thought were behind us. Their life-force was drained in order to add to a collective of great magic; it was then bestowed upon a high-council of warriors who fought the demons and won the old war.

  “You want my power.”

  “Not I, young one… it is the High Priestess Zamlia whom requests it. We are in the beginnings of war and sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Your power will join the collective, for the sake of the coven, the academies and witches everywhere. Your sacrifice will be celebrated in history.”

  “My sacrifice?” I scoff. “You mean my murder.”

  A beautiful woman sits forward in her seat. She is decorated with jewels and oozes an air of authority.

  “The ceremony doesn’t always kill, Theodora.” She smiles. It’s sickly sweet, and the sight of it almost makes me gag. “It is more likely however, since your sister didn’t make it through.”

  “Please,” I beg. “High Priestess, I have nowhere near the power Anna had. You don’t want my power. It is low and would do nothing for the collective.”

  “Don’t be modest, Theodora. You have thrice the amount of power of any witch we’ve ever drained, including your sister. It is sad, however that your power is very closely aligned to your lifeline. It is like performing invasive surgery on a hair without touching your scalp.” She laughs and is joined by the rest of the council, and my superior. “Of course, it would be safer to transfer your power to me in pieces, using you like a faucet and taking a bit at a time. You’d probably survive that process, but really, who has the time or the patience?” Again the laughter rings out and my stomach turns. They’re about to kill me without a moment's hesitation and they find it amusing.

  “Strap her down,” Zamlia orders and two men dressed in grey and black suits come from behind me.

  “No, please!” I beg, feeling one of their arms reach around my waist. He holds me in place and I kick my legs out as hard and fast as I can, seeing the other one a
dvancing on me. It beats him back a little as he grips his stomach, but it’s only seconds before he regains focus.

  I sob, begging for my life, and scream that I don’t want to die, but no one moves, or does much more than blink at me.

  “Please, stop!”

  They’re unaffected by my fear – one or two of them even seem to be enjoying it, moving forward until they’re on the edge of their seats; as though they’re watching the climax of a horror movie instead of the murder of a teenage girl.

  All too quickly, my hands are bound in braided ropes, tight enough to halt circulation and cut the skin, and a stainless steel table is brought in. Burning hot tears are streaking my face, and the panic flooding my body is paralyzing me. My brain is screaming at me, telling me that I can’t just stand here. I have to do something...

  Anything!

  But my body is frozen as I watch the instruments being brought in on a tray. Knives, tubes, and what looks to be a syringe housing, what I’m guessing, is a paralytic drug.

  If you don’t run, you will die.

  Of all thoughts swimming around in my head, that’s the one that kick-starts my adrenaline, and I’m not even sure it’s mine…

  My terror mixes with the rush and the buzz comes harder and faster than ever before.

  I refuse to give up. I can’t let them kill me, like they did Anna. I see a way out, but I have to work fast. I close my eyes and focus on the ropes. They’re flammable. Easy!

  I take control and ignite the ropes. The agony of my wrists burning like my hand is excruciating, but what are a few burns in trade for my life?

  “Her ropes,” Zamlia shouts and my two captors to rush for me.

  I lift my hands and scream. Letting go of all control I have over my power, I allow it to consume me completely. Suddenly, their limp bodies suspend in mid-air and gasps of horror make their rounds. I ignore them and keep my sights on the task at hand. I can feel in my gut what my mind is telling me to do. Like a whisper, I hear it urging me on: kill, kill, kill...

  Slowly, I twist my wrists and along with the motion, I feel their bones break. A final crack sounds out as they fall in a heap to the ground.