Ameena fingered the stake tucked in the back of her full skirt, considering her next step very carefully. The darkness threatened her from all sides, but she wasn’t scared. No. She reveled in it. She breathed it in, welcoming the stench of death.

Checking behind her to make sure that she had followed the instructions given her to the letter, she pushed open the door. She ascended the stairs purposefully and, facing the locked door, she pulled the ornate brass skeleton key from her pocket.

It glided into the lock and she twisted it sideways, pushing the door back. It slid an inch and then stuck in the door jam, almost as if it didn’t want to open. She shook the handle, thrusting the door back and forth until it finally ripped open, slamming it against the back wall. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, allowing the darkness to swallow her.

She trailed her fingers along the wall until she reached the ledge. Feeling it, she found a candle and matchstick. As soon as she struck it, the smell of sulfur drafted through the air. Her black hair curled in the humidity of the room, and the candle allowed her to see a glimpse of her pale face reflected in the crude mirror placed over the mantle. She smirked at her reflection, noting the deadly set in her eyes. Then she turned to face the middle of the room.

An eerie music played in her mind as she approached the bed and, for a second, fear slammed into her heart so strong that she was tempted to bolt from the room. She gripped the edges of her black skirt, breathing in and out deeply, saying the words that she’d been instructed. Setting her lips in a determined line, she forced herself forward and pulled opened the curtains.

The man was as still as death.

The candlelight revealed his stark nakedness and she grinned, showing her blackened teeth. Oh the fun she could have with him. She dithered, trying to make up her mind. If only she wasn’t a woman of her word.

Raising herself on her tiptoes, she climbed into the bed and straddled the man. Her full and lengthy skirts spread out under her and she tucked them in tightly. Then she blew out the candle, put it next to her on the bed, and let the shadows envelope her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of salt. Mumbling a few words, she spread the salt in a full circle around her and threw a pinch over her shoulder for good measure.

Then her athame was in her hand, it was always within easy reach, and she called to it. It sparked to life, the etched runes glimmering a crimson red, like glowing ember eyes. It was warm and comforting in her hand, and she stroked the handle with her thumb.

Her confidence growing, she grabbed the bag swaddled in between her breasts and pulled the drawstring open. The clipped feathers moved under her steady fingers as she pulled two of them out. She centered them in her hand and then sliced deep into her palm with her athame. The familiar metallic smell hit her nose and she bathed the plumes in the deep maroon liquid, soaking them until there wasn’t a speck of white in them.

Satisfied, she raised them to her forehead and closed her eyes. She marked her forehead and sprinkled the man. Then she put the feathers to her mouth and, swallowing them whole, she began to recite.

“Birdy audi accitem meam.”

A slight trickle of blood slid through her lips and dribbled down her chin. She repeated herself, louder. “Birdy audi accitem meam.”

A flutter in her stomach made her groan but she repeated the words, again and again. As her volume grew, so did the ache in her stomach. It traveled up from her stomach to her esophagus, choking off her breath until she spewed the dead bird onto the bedcover. The bird was a raven, coated in blood and as she swept it from the bed, it gathered bits of salt under its wing.

Her voice rang out now, and echoed through the small room. “Cinerēs, exaudi accitem meam, cinerēs, exaudi accitem meam. Advenite mihi ante casurus.”

His eyes sprang open, dark and obsidian.

Before she even saw him move, his hand was on her neck, squeezing it tight. She choked and grasped his hand, trying to push it off as he pulled her to him. His grip was a vise on her throat, crushing her esophagus, and she struggled to push it away.

Slowly she descended, and she counted the seconds it took to reach him. One. Her daughter, still enfolded in her blankets, safe and sound under her protective spell. Two. Her secret. The secret she’d guarded close. Too close. The one she never told anyone. And now she never would. Three. The woman buried under her house, that she hoped would never rise again.

The man’s breath reeked of rot and lust, and it flit through her nose as he sat up, slightly loosening his hold.

“Baash…” She pulled him close so that his lips were on hers, dropping the athame. “…Tard.”

“I know your thoughts, witch.” He tasted like death as his tongue slid through her lips, searching for any remnants of the feathers. Finding none, he twisted his fingers, splaying her bare as his sliding incisors bit into her neck. Her breath caught in her throat, and she grinned as a warmth spread down to her privates. At least she would be satisfied in death.