Witchful Thinking Read Online Free PDF

my family members. On the other hand, I found myself growing steadily distant from my mother. She was a very religious woman and, as such, had no idea who and what I was. I was able to keep our conversations limited to trivialities—the weather and the latest television shows. It wasn’t an ideal situation but it was better than nothing.
    So now the Underworld had become my family and I was proud of them—proud of the fact that we had risked everything to fight against the tyranny of Bella and won.
    “Ready?” Rand asked, smiling down at me.
    I nodded. Flanked by Odran and Rand, I entered the courtyard while the soldiers cleared the way for us as if we were royalty. I felt a few pats on the back and heard lots of whispering over the fact that I wasn’t dead along with more conjecture over who would be reanimated and in what order.
    Once we’d made our way through the crowd, Rand stood before our soldiers and held up his hands to quiet everyone.
    “In honor of our victory,” he began, but he was drowned out by cheers and hollering. He managed to get everyone under control again and continued. “I invite you to celebrate—eat, drink, and relish the fact that you are free—that you fought for your freedom and you deserve this victory! Bella’s power has been quashed, and none of us will ever call her monarch!”
    Another round of cheers while Rand smiled andwaited for everyone to quiet down again. “I have heard much talk concerning whether or not Jolie Wilkins died,” he said, turning to me. “Well, as you can see, she is very much alive.” He held up my hand, which was firmly clasped in his. The crowd broke into raucous laughs and claps. I just smiled, my eyes cast down.
    “We heard she died,” someone from the audience yelled.
    “Yes, she did.” Rand nodded. “But as you can see, that is no longer the case.”
    “How is that possible?” shouted someone else.
    “Jordans said he heard there was a prophetess?” called out an old man right in front of us, wobbling with his cane like he was about to keel over right then and there.
    Rand glanced at me with eyes that echoed the same doubts rampaging through my mind. Where was Mercedes? It hadn’t really dawned on me to look for her—I’d just figured she’d show up at the celebration. When she left me in my room, I hadn’t been in the mood for a long-winded conversation about her itinerary.
    “There is a prophetess,” I began, but I was apparently too quiet because there were a few “what did she say”s going through the crowd. “Mercedes Berg is the prophetess,” I shouted.
    There was momentary silence and then hushed whispers as people expressed their shock. The prophetess had always been a legend according to most people—sort of like the Underworld version of Santa Claus, only Mercedes didn’t pack a bag full of presents and I wouldn’t exactly describe her as jolly.
    “Where is she?” asked the old man in front of us with a look of impatience in his eyes.
    I swallowed. “I don’t know.” Hey, I wasn’t her keeper.
    “She is here.”
    I recognized Mercedes’ voice and turned to my right,finding her standing before me—that is, before us. She moved forward and the crowd seemed to double back on itself, almost as if they were afraid of her. I couldn’t blame them—there was definitely a part of me deep down that shared their fear. That little voice reminded me that no one knew what Mercedes was truly capable of … that she was incredibly powerful.
    Yes, Mercedes was the poster witch for power. Hers was a power that vibrated from her—you could feel it coming off in rivulets of energy. She was dressed in the color of royalty, wearing a deep purple velvet gown that tickled the ground as she walked. Her brown hair was pulled back into an array of ringlets and purple ribbons that cascaded down her back. When she glanced at me, her stunning green eyes radiated an almost unnatural beauty.
    Mercedes is centuries old but you’d never