Scholomance 9 by Logan Jacobs (inspirational books to read txt) 📗

aghast as she looked around, but the stubborn former Wicca still refused to climb down from her throne.

“W-What is this?” she cried out. “My barrier was supposed to keep your filthy Wicca magic out!”

“You underestimated me, Samara,” I bellowed, and the clouds shook when I spoke. “I warned you.”

The elder goddess’ bottom lip quivered with fear and anger as an army of my own reckoning started to come to life, and the soldiers took several steps back as all the Wiccans from hell rose from underneath the clouds and ascended to heaven. Many of the risen witches were eyeless from being burned at the stake, but when they sensed the elder warriors’ presence, the resurrected women turned their heads in the same direction, and broken, bloody smiles crept across their faces.

“Don’t just stand there!” Samara wailed in a broken voice. “Kill them!”

Her men quivered in their sandals, but after a couple of seconds, the elder named Aron ran toward the risen women. He lifted his hand, and with his open palm exposed at my army, he furrowed his eyebrows and shouted with all his might.

“Reditus!”

His bright green spell spurted from his skin and went soaring toward the women of hell. Not one of them moved as the curse continued to fly in their direction, but then one of them raised her hand and stopped the attack in place. Her obscure features furrowed in concentration, and the spell stopped inches away from her face and melted mid-air.

The elder’s expression fell, and the rest of the men inched backward like they were trying to get closer to Samara.

“Look at them,” one woman cackled. Half her face was gone, and only bone and blood remained, as well as one dangling eyeball. “They cower back to their mistress, like a babe searches for its mother’s teat.”

“Shall we teach them a lesson?” another woman with long black hair chuckled. “I think we should tear them into holy shreds. May we devour them, master?”

When I turned to look at her, the entire army I had summoned was solely focused on me and waiting for my command. I smiled and slowly turned to look at Samara’s blank, white-washed face, and her eyes burned into mine before I glanced back at my risen women and nodded.

“You may kill whoever you wish,” I said, “but leave the goddess to me.”

The hellish women grinned with pleasure, and their cackles sounded like a chorus of thunder before they sprinted toward the elders and began to cast countless spells against them. These women used the most ancient magic possible, and blood spilled over the clouds as they tore the holy warriors into bloody ribbons. My heart beat with hot adrenaline as the elders screamed like lambs at the slaughter, but my eyes were locked on one woman.

Samara didn’t move an inch as her men succumbed to painful, brutal deaths, but the color from her face drained, and I could see her fingers trembling as she clutched onto her throne.

“Master,” Akira breathed by my side. “This is the most glorious and gory slaughter imaginable.”

“She’s right,” Vanessa whispered, and when I studied her eyes, they were filled with awe and respect. “Cole, you’ve saved us.”

“But what about the third artifact?” Marina asked as her bright eyes watched the women tear into the holy army. “How do we even know what it is? Or where to look?”

The former siren had a valid point. We still didn’t know where or what the final relic was, but then I stared long and hard at the silver adornment on the top of Samara’s head, and that was when I could feel its magnificent presence radiating like the sun.

“What is it, master?” Circe asked as she followed my unwavering gaze.

“It’s the crown,” I muttered. “That’s the third relic.”

The women all stared at the goddess, and her face crumpled into a mask of confusion and fury. Her men succumbed to their fates, and when all of her holy soldiers were dead, and their tattered limbs littered the once heavenly floor, Samara finally stepped down from her throne and regarded me.

“Yes, it is,” she said as she looked at me from head to toe, “and if you want it, you’re going to have to pry it from my dead fingers.”

“Let’s not be overdramatic, Samara,” I said as I allowed the dome to slowly fade from view and the witches to return to hell. Then I took a small step toward her. “I’m ready for you. Come and do your worst.”

Samara slowly approached me, and the hem of her long gown soaked up the blood of her men as she drew closer. She never blinked on her way over to me, and I could hear the other women suck in a sharp breath of air when I took a heavy step toward her.

Tension filled the air as the two of us sauntered over to the other, and I gripped my wand tightly and held my breath as I studied every inch of the gorgeous goddess. She was tall and slender, and her breasts were full and heaved up and down as she waltzed over to me. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. Instead, she remained as cold as stone, and her expression never altered, even when we were inches away from one another.

“I don’t want to have to hurt you,” I muttered. “Why don’t you just give in to me now?”

“You won’t touch a hair on my head,” she growled before her hand shot up, and her face darkened. “Spiritus!”

A shimmering, blinding white light exploded from her chest and soared right at me, but I quickly raised my hand and pictured the spell swiftly changing directions.

“Motus!” I cried out.

The spell stopped, but only inches away from my nose. Its light was burning hot, and it made sweat drip from my