“We cannot question the ancestors. Their reasons will never be known to us, so we must do their bidding.”
Trying to push my rebellious thoughts down, I remembered the words my mother had said about respecting the ancestors and never going against them. Small questions had often come to mind when I spoke with others about the dead witches who had been before, but I had never voiced them out loud. Now that I’d met with them, I had even less reason to fight against their rule.
“Hold my hand,” Helga said, reaching for me. “I need to use you as an anchor.”
Tentatively placing my palm against hers, I closed my eyes when she threw her head back and started a Latin chant. It was the same as the one the witches in the factory had been chanting. One to raise the dead. Although, hadn’t they brought up a demon?
Sweat broke out on every inch of my skin as I opened my eyes, staring at the bowl of pasted ashes on the ground. Wanting to rip my hand away, I gulped in fresh air as the temperature in the room rose, causing my hair to stick to my neck.
Helga’s chanting grew louder as the church started to vibrate, the walls echoing the sound of her cries. As the bowl started to shake, I squeezed Helga’s hand, trusting that she wasn’t bringing a demon back, but my father. If she dared to drag something untoward up from hell, I would kill her on the spot. Okay, maybe I was a little afraid. This wasn’t a horror film, there would be no demons. I just had to keep telling myself that.
The bowl smashed suddenly, the loud shattering blasting my ears as the glass smashed against the invisible barrier. A puff of dust flew in the air as a human formed in front of my eyes, the body of a man growing on the ground. Helga stopped chanting as the dust settled. My father’s bare back faced us as he shivered in a foetal position.
Letting go of my hand, Helga grabbed a robe and threw it into the circle. My father’s hands felt for it, dragging it over his body as he slowly rose facing away from us.
The hunch of his shoulders and the dusty brown grey of his hair made me swallow. My heart rebounded off my chest repeatedly, causing my stomach to churn as he turned towards us. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to hurl all over the church floor.
“Jeremy Abbott,” Helga said loudly. “Welcome back to the living.”
Breathing incredibly slowly, my father glanced between us, his dark green eyes not focusing properly. Had his soul been aware that he was going to be brought back from the dead before it had happened?
“Who are you?” His voice hissed from his mouth, his gaze finally concentrating on me.
As his eyes roamed over my face, I cringed, wanting to duck my head so he couldn’t study me so intently. I had been a very young child the last time I’d seen him, aware of what his fate would be the day he was killed.
“Gemma?” his voice softened as he stumbled forward, blinking in confusion when his outstretched hand met with the barrier spell around him. He looked at the ground, his head swinging around to check the circle of salt he stood in.
Trying to keep my hands from shaking, I cleared my throat. His attention came back to me as he shook his head. “You’re not going to let me stay alive, are you?”
The question threw me. I hadn’t really considered what would happen after we got the information we needed. Not that I knew what the ancestors wanted with my father, that had been a mystery.
“Unfortunately, no,” Helga said, retreating as she waved me forward. “Gemma needs some answers.”
His gaze hadn’t left me the whole time Helga spoke. The intensity of it made the skin on my arms heat. Bending his head to the side, Jeremy Abbott clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. A tear rolled down his cheek, shocking me into inhaling sharply. Was the man crying?
“I can’t believe how grown up you are.” Rubbing his head, he moved closer.
“Yes,” I said with a shaky voice. “It’s been a few years since I last saw you.”
Ah, there was the bitter tone, the resentment laced words. I hadn’t even realised how much anger I felt towards him. My whole being boiled with rage as he held his hands up in surrender.
“Yes, I did you and your mother wrong. I... had an addiction I couldn’t control.”
Leaning forward, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Couldn’t control? You gave me away in a bet!”
Wounded child alert. My brain almost imploded when he smiled to himself. Did he think it was funny?
“You’re so feisty, just like your mother. I’ve missed you both terribly. However, you’re right, I was wrong for making, and losing, that bet. Are you married to him yet?”
My mouth hung open as I stared at him. Was he fucking insane?
“I take it from your expression that’s a no.” He sighed as he cracked his knuckles. “That’s not good, Gemma.”
“Excuse me?” If he wasn’t careful, I was going to shoot a fireball spell right up his backside.
Coming even closer to the wall of his prison, my father’s teeth pulled up in a snarl. “The witch I made a bargain with isn’t someone to avoid, my love.”
“Don’t call me that,” I hissed, clenching my fists hard to prevent myself from hurting him.
Holding up a hand, he licked his lips. “Do you not know who it is that I made a bargain with?”
Shaking my head, I flicked my hair behind my shoulder. “No. Mother won’t tell me. In fact, she only mentioned the whole first-born thing the other day.”
A hiss left my father’s mouth as he spun away from me, his movements becoming jerky. “What is the woman playing at? He’s
