Martha couldn't close her eyes without seeing Fred's mangled body. Hell, Martha couldn't do anything without seeing it repeat in her mind like a scratched record. Round and round she spun as bones cracked, snapped, and twisted to the beat of a macabre melody. Saw the bloodstream from his eyes as they popped like ripe grapes between phantom fingers. Fred was only a boy, no more than sixteen. Now he was just another casualty, a number in a body count.

It was not the first death Martha had witnessed, it wasn't even her second or third, but it was the worst of them. The monsters, ripping into flesh and muscle with their gaping maws, were like wild animals. They weren't vindictive and plotting-- they were indiscriminate and vicious. This was something else entirely. It felt intentional, down to the glaze of his eyes, every detail crafted to perfection by a spectral monster.

"You didn't see what did it?" The High Priestess's brows knit together with deep concern. Shannon did not like it when she felt out of control, especially when the issue concerned the safety of her coven. There was an undertone of panic in her voice, something urgent and searching.

Sat in the center of the room, surrounded by the four elders of the Coven, Abigail and Martha clutched hands. It felt to Martha that the contact was all that kept her tethered to the earth. Her mind and heart severed from her body, stuck in that horrible clearing with whatever demonic creature butchered that boy.

"There were no physical signs of the monsters, but there was a... feeling." A chill ran down her spine like a rat skittering along a cord. "It was the same as at the Equinox." Martha's voice was steadier than she expected. She almost sounded normal. She clutched the blanket George draped over the two of them tight to savor its warmth. If she never felt that way again, it would be too soon. Shannon's lips pressed tighter together.

"These murders aren't like anything we've seen. The monsters, The Shadow, all presented similarly. They had a physical manifestation. This is completely outside the normal pattern." George examined his niece with surgical precision, taking stock of every line and crease in her expression. The moment she came through the trees with Abigail white as a sheet, he'd checked her over for injuries, but there were none to find -- none physical, anyways.

"Gates open, creatures come through, people get killed." Martha listed it off like a grocery list, nodding her head to every item. As bizarre as every incident was, this one took the cake.

"It's almost like their deaths opened the portal." This thought scratched at the back of her mind like a cat begging to be let out. Though her logical mind told her that this couldn't possibly be true, she knew better than to let logic interfere in supernatural matters.

"It takes a sacrifice to close one. It makes sense that it would take a sacrifice to open one, too." Abigail piped up, straightening her posture as she addressed the room.

"But why now? They've opened before, and it didn't take this. If it did, there would be bodies scattered all over Hawkins. The gates never had a clear pattern, but this feels deliberate. It's almost ritualistic." Jodie perched herself on the window seat, eyes scanning the witches out in the cool spring air. They were oblivious to the gravity of their situation. She pressed her lips into a thin line, no doubt rearranging the puzzle pieces in her mind

"I don't know," Bernard, the eldest of their coven and longest-standing elder, cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him. His voice cracked with age, his skin spotted and drooping. His eyes, a striking cerulean, were sharper than a blade. "But I do know that we can't leave the gates open. We need to close them tonight."

"Tonight?" Abigail looked around in alarm. The elders each wore matching resigned frowns.

"If we wait, we risk letting the monsters through. They may already be here."

"If these killings are what opened the portals, to begin with, we'll end up with another gate to close and another dead kid if we don't stop the source," Martha explained.

"The first step is keeping anything else from coming through. Then we deal with the creature. We need to stop the leak before we clean up the water." Shannon frowned deeply, her forehead creasing. She'd developed little wrinkles in recent years from stress. A drawer slid open with a soft scrape, and Shannon produced the large blue velvet pouch out into the light.

Martha felt bile burn in her throat. There hadn't been an occasion to use the stones in over eight months. Nothing good ever followed. Unlike previous times, Shannon dropped an iridescent white stone into its depths, where it clinked against its counterparts. There would be not one death but two. By night's end, their thirty-one would be twenty-nine.

"Great Goddess, Diana. We beseech your divine guidance in choosing our offerings this night. May they be protected in your light as they make the ultimate sacrifice for you and your children. Hail fair moon, ruler of the night; guard me and mine until the light." She swallowed hard and reached her hand into the bag to pluck a stone from its depths. A small tumbled black onyx sat between her fingers. The High Priestess would not join Diana that night.

George was next, and Martha saw the telltale sign of worry in his clenched jawline. His stone, again, was black onyx. The process went on. Each leader reached into the bag and pulled a black stone. Shannon winced almost imperceptibly when she looked at Martha and Abigail.

Martha stared at the pouch with an unreadable expression. Within was a storm of turmoil. Perhaps Diana would choose the daughter of her previous champion and let them be together in her divine light. A part of her wanted the stone to be white. She wanted to be the one to restore peace to their town, to protect their coven. Yet, another part was frozen in terror. She would stand before a tsunami of evil and hold it back with every last drop of her blood-- It would consume her. She would face the darkest part of this world before being claimed by the light.

Martha reached inside and ran her fingers along the smooth stones. She thought that one might stand out to her, that her hand would sense the right one, and her fate decided. That is not what happened. She only felt the same surface of stone wherever she touched it. Plucking a random sphere from the pouch, she held her breath. Black onyx stared back at her from the palm of her hand. There was an audible exhalation from the room— relief, and disappointment.

Abigail was much faster, shoving her hand in and ripping a stone out like the bag was full of snakes. Onyx. She mimicked wiping a bead of sweat from her brow and plastered a false jovial grin across her face.

"Can't get rid of this ass so easily." No one could muster a laugh. They'd picked from the stones four times since turning eighteen. It was the burden of a fully-fledged witch. Martha prayed to Diana that each time is the last, that the children of their coven may never know such a reality.

"I'll send Remus to gather the others. Jodie, would you watch the children?" Shannon spoke softly, smoothing every edge into a gentle caress.

"Of course," Jodie nodded solemnly. She was one of the kindest women Martha had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Her role within the coven was that of a mother hen. She was the maternal figure to all, whether they be from her womb or not. She did have two children of her creation. Charlie and Rose were the cutest rays of moonlight Martha had ever seen. From the moment they were born and presented to the coven as their newest members.

They were beloved by all, even if they were imps in disguise. They hadn't subscribed to the idea that magic was solely to help others. The first spell was turning a chair cushion into a whoopee cushion so that when Shannon sat at the dinner table, it let out a ghastly fart for all to hear. Martha adored Jodie. The woman who, when Martha's mom died, made it clear that she would gladly step in as a surrogate. She was the one to mend her clothes with a durability charm and brush a stray hair from Martha's forehead with such tenderness it made her heartache.

"High Priestess, I'd like to volunteer to stay behind tonight." Martha lifted her chin and set her jaw. It was time to take action. "I can work on finding the creature that's orchestrating the murders. We collected some blood from the scene, and I think it could be possible to alter a tracking spell to locate the creature's signature."

"No," George cut in without hesitation, voice rough and firm. His eyes locked on his niece with a protective glint. "I don't want you getting any closer to this. We only agreed to you and Abigail finding the gate because we thought we knew what we were getting into. There are too many unknowns."

"That's exactly why we need to look into this now." Martha tried to temper her indignation and appeal to the others. Her expression flickered between impassive and sour. There was no point trying to convince her uncle, she'd decided. "This creature has already struck twice. Two kids are dead, and if past patterns can be believed, this won't be the last."

"I'll stay behind, too." Abigail raised her hand like a student volunteering to pass out papers. "She'll need help, and we're the best ones to do it. We were there when it happened."

"They have a point, George." Bernard raised a brow, and George's expression soured further. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, flexed with tension. "They saw it happen, felt its energy. That will give them an advantage. The rest of the coven will be enough to close the gate."

"Shannon, they're still kids. We can't send them after a psycho monster." George was starting to sound a bit pleading. He narrowed his eyes at his priestess in a wince. If she sympathized with his argument, she made no show of it. Her lips tightened as she looked at the young witches on the settee. Shannon took a moment to deliberate, a moment that Martha felt went on for eons. Then, she very calmly and without a glance at any other elder, voiced her opinion.

"They are just as much a part of this coven as we are. They're not children any longer." It was true, and George knew it. Accepting it was another story. For two years Martha had been a full witch, three in Abigail's case. They were accepted by Diana in their coming of age ceremonies, just like everyone else. "But, I don't want you two going after whatever this is until we can form a plan. You can stay behind tonight, analyze the blood, and try to find something. We wait to take action until the gates are closed."

"That sounds prudent to me." Bernard leaned forward onto the top of his wood-carved cane and hummed, "I agree." Jodie bit her lip, eyes flitting between those in attendance.

"I don't want to waste any time. Children's lives are at stake." She said and shot George an apologetic look. Everyone turned to see as he let out an irritated sigh.

"Since I'm outnumbered, fine. Not that it matters much what I think."

"Don't worry, Georgie, I'll keep her in line. Scouts honor." Abigail beamed up at George and gave a mock salute. His frown deepened.

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

In the end, Louisa and Peter were the ones to pick the little white moonstones. It would be their souls to fuel the ritual and close the gates. The spell, a blood spell, one of the most powerful that they could perform, took nearly every coven member's power. Their bodies would be bound together by an invisible thread, pooling every drop of magic into one spell, one caster. When the last drop of lifeblood left the caster's body the gate would close behind them, and the link would sever. The after-effects were like having your heart ripped from your chest and against all odds, continue to beat. It was like losing a limb, for that's what it was to lose a coven member.

It was a somber farewell, a heavy weight upon everyone. The children, the ones too young to truly comprehend what it meant for a witch to be chosen by Diana for such a monumental task, could sense that something wasn't quite right. Louisa was not a parent, nor a romantic partner, but she was in no way unloved. Peter was married almost three years to the day, bound to his partner beneath the light of Diana. Martha tried to hold back her tears as each witch said their goodbyes, but it was no use. She wept with her brothers and sisters, hugging Peter and Louisa with all her might.

"Be safe, I'll see you soon." George looked down at Martha with such care that she felt the urge to cry all over again. She wrapped her arms around his waist and breathed in his familiar scent.

"Love you." She mumbled into his shirt.

"Love you, too." George placed a tender kiss atop her head. Then he was gone.

NOTE
A bit of a bridge chapter but it's important! I promise they will meet the others soon and Steve and Martha will have their time. It is slow burn after all. Lmk what you think!