City of Ghosts Read Online Free PDF Page A

up their bowls and setting fire to their herbs—inside the sparkling, viciously bright dome.
    The only good thing was that Lauren Abrams could no longer see her. The circle would block her view. It was some relief.
    Smoke filled the circle, thick, choking smoke the same purple as the circle, the same color as the fire burning in a large firedish opposite her. She didn’t want to breathe it in. Breathing it in was part of the Oath, part of the Binding. Even she didn’t know what some of those herbs were, but when they entered her lungs they would enter her bloodstream, locking every cell of her body into the magical oath she was about to take.
    Powerful binding herbs, too. The calamus herbs, vetiver, and sweet flag, combined with the deep, throbbing energy of licorice root. She could feel them spreading through her, finding every empty place, drawing her own magic and mixing with it. She was naked, open to them; they swept through her without caring, without feeling, winding from her feet to her head and forcing her to bend to their power.
    This wasn’t like the oaths she’d taken when she was initiated, not like the ones when she began her training. This was … this was heavy, dark magic, trapping her, squeezing her with so much pressure that she thought she might implode. Like nothing she’d ever experienced before. This wasn’t right, it couldn’t be right …
    Dimly she heard the Elders speaking, saw vague movement as they added more herbs to the glowing purple fire in the north end of the circle. Myrrh and cedar, bergamot and dragon’s blood. Her vision blurred. Shapes formed in the smoke, open mouths, staring eyes. Someone moaned. She wasn’t sure if it was her.
    Elder Thompson started chanting, low and slow, his voice thick with smoke and power and the spine-tingling thrust of command. She moved without intending to, bound by him. Bound by his commands. Somewhere deep down she fought against it.
    She didn’t want to do this anymore. She’d changed her mind. Her heart slammed around in her chest like a pinball caught between the paddles, trying frantically to escape. Her mind fought against the Elder, against what he wanted her to do, but she was caught. Trapped. Her hands rose at his words, turned so her pale wrists, veins blue-purple beneath the thin skin, faced the top of the dome.
    Elder Griffin’s hand on her arm. Desperately she swam through the smoke before her eyes, fought to see him. Fought the spell that slid hard hands up her legs, curled over her shoulders, caressed her stomach and breasts and stroked her neck. Everywhere.
    Phantom hands, unfamiliar hands, all over her body. No . No, she’d sworn she wouldn’t ever—wouldn’t lie there, she wasn’t a child anymore, she didn’t have to do this. Didn’t have to let them do this, she could fight, she was powerful. She was a witch, a fucking Church witch; she was grown up and she had the power now. She did not have to let them—not anymore—she didn’t want this anymore, no …
    “Stop.” Her voice didn’t work; her dry lips ached around the word. She couldn’t do this, didn’t want to be controlled anymore, couldn’t give up her power. Couldn’t give up her autonomy. Her independence. The strength she’d fought so fucking hard for, the right to keep her own thoughts and her own body, not to be forced to let other people use her like a fucking toy, to ignore her until they took her out of her box to play with her some more and cast her aside when they’d had their fun.
    “Stop!” she tried again, but all that came out was a gurgle. Panic overtook her. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel her hands or feet. Elder Thompson’s voice grew louder, thundering in her ears; his power forced itself into her, over her. Fighting with her to keep her still.
    Her feet moved, like wading through half-dried cement. She had to get out. Had to. Fuck the money. It wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth this, wasn’t worth being