by Pat Esden
“Take care. One day at a time.”
“Yeah. Thanks again.”
Em tucked her phone away, then hunched down with her back against the side of a car. She rubbed her hands over her face, cooling her heated eyelids and wiping away the seep of tears. Dear Goddess, why can’t my aunt and mother vanish from the face of the earth?
The crunch of footsteps against pavement came toward her from less than a car-length away.
Em jumped up, startled, though she wasn’t shocked that someone had followed her. That was the thing about the A.A. crowd: they kept an eye on each other. Undoubtedly someone wanted to make sure she was okay.
She plastered on a smile and turned to greet them.
Gar was striding up to her, camo cap squished over his wild hair. Ripped jeans. Worn Carhartt jacket over his broad shoulders. He looked… like he was part of the A.A. crowd.
He took off his cap and shoved it in his hip pocket. “I didn’t know which meeting you’d be at. I hope you don’t mind if I join in on this one.”
It took a second for the full meaning of what he’d said to register. Shocked didn’t begin to describe how she felt. “You’re a—”
“Two years sober,” he said, briskly
“Oh. Ah—that’s great. I didn’t see you—” She put on a smile and tilted her head to indicate inside the building. Her stomach jittered and burned with conflicting emotions. She was unsure how open she should be with him. Stepping over the line between his job as a Council employee and opening up to her like a close friend didn’t seem to faze him in the least, but she wasn’t so sure it was a smart thing to do. It wouldn’t have fazed Johnny either.
“You probably didn’t notice me because I was standing in the back of the room.” He narrowed his eyes, studying her face. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”
She glanced past him to the ghost, rippling under the streetlight a few yards away, as lustrous as cellophane. “It’s nothing. The speaker, his story kind of got to me.”
He stepped closer, and for a frozen heartbeat she thought he was going to offer her a hug. But he stopped short, his gaze intensifying. She couldn’t imagine what was going on in his mind. Finally, he said, “You were in my room earlier, weren’t you?”
She felt her eyes widen. She should have expected this, but she’d totally forgot. “Ah—yeah. I put clean towels on your dresser. Didn’t you see them?”
“You sat on my bed.” He took another step toward her. “You touched my hairbrush. You touched a lot of my things, Em.”
Her mouth dried. “I don’t remember. I might have. I didn’t know if you wanted me to straighten up your room.”
His expression darkened. “You shouldn’t lie. You’re better than that.”
“I—ah.” She froze as he reached out, the air between them pulsing with the heat of his energy.
His hand stopped an inch from hers. His voice lowered, as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear. “You wanted to tell me something earlier. Was it about the coven?”
She shuffled her feet, not sure if his stepping over the line was his rebel nature or a ploy to get information out of her. But she was certain he wasn’t prepared for the truth. She glanced toward his ghost—
Her mouth fell open in surprise.
The ghost was no longer a rippling outline. It was a fully materialized figure.
One she recognized instantly.
Chapter 7
One day at a time? How about one hour or minute.
—Journal of Emily Adams
New Dawn House. Albany, New York.
Em gaped at the figure standing behind Gar. An older woman. Statuesque. Stylish coat. A silk scarf flowing out from around her neck. Her hair piled atop her head, curly tendrils flying free, as if in defiance. Em may have been bad at recognizing people, but she knew with certainty that this was the ghost she’d seen from the back of the police car 191 days ago. The witch.
The ghost leaned in close to Gar and whispered in a voice so low that Em could barely hear it, “Listen to me. Listen for once in your damn life.”
The ghost’s gaze flashed to Em, her eyes widening with sudden recognition. But before Em could acknowledge their mutual familiarity, her sixth sense shrieked that something was wrong—or about to go wrong.
The air pressure skyrocketed, sending Em’s head reeling. Dizziness pulled in around her. Her ears rang, and the ghost’s face morphed from frustrated to horrified, then her entire being—face, body, even the air around her—exploded into glimmering black-diamond grains and vanished in a pop of air pressure.
“No!” Em screeched.
Gar seized her by both shoulders and gave her a shake. “What’s wrong? Snap out of it.”
“Hey! Leave her alone,” one of the old-timers shouted from the other side of the parking lot. He and another guy sprinted toward them.
Em gulped a breath, trying to regain her senses.
“Everything okay?” the guy asked as they reached her and Gar.
Gar glared at them. “Everything’s fine.”
“Yeah, sure,” the guy said sarcastically. His eyes went to Em. “The meeting’s about to start again. You want to come inside with us?”
Gar widened his stance. “I said, she’s fine.”
“Gar, it’s all right.” Em rested a shaky hand on his forearm, to steady herself and calm him. She looked at the other guys. “Thanks. But, really, nothing’s wrong. We—were goofing around.”
The guy frowned skeptically. “If you’re sure, Em.”
Though Em could hardly believe it herself, she managed to laugh lightly. “You might want to worry about Gar, though. He’ll be in serious trouble if he tries to tangle with me.”
The guy and his friend laughed and waved her off, then headed back toward the steps. As they disappeared inside, along with the group from the correctional center, Gar swung to face her. “What the hell’s going on?”
She lifted her gaze to his. The blue of his eyes simmered with magic as bright as a wolf moon. His energy smelled like rain against evergreens. It left the taste of wilderness on her tongue. So many sensations roiled off him, unfamiliar to a girl who’d spent the majority of her life inside hotels and conference halls, and in the back of a van with blacked out windows. Familiar to a girl who’d been saved by a river’s cool water and a night in the pines. By Johnny.
He skimmed his hands down her arms, pausing where he’d grabbed them only a few minutes earlier, touching tenderly now, as if to make up for the roughness. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”
She drew a breath, calming herself. She’d promised not to confront him about this. But she had to. It was only fair and right. “You need to know, I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”
“I trust you, Em.”
There was no way to sugarcoat it, so she said it flat-out: “You’re haunted.”
He backed away from her, shaking his head. “You’re wrong. I couldn’t be. The High Council watches out for things like that.”
“I’ve seen the ghost around you before, and I just saw her fully materialize.” Em’s confidence set in. “My telling you this has nothing to do with the Northern Circle or your investigation. This is about your well-being, and a spirit who deserves to find peace.”
His lips tensed. “You’re—”
Before he could call her crazy or full of crap—two things she was used to hearing from non-witches—she fired her questions. “Have you heard whispers? For how long?”
He stood stock-still, hands clenching at his sides. After a moment, he grumbled, “Since early last spring.”
“One voice, right?”
He nodded.
She didn’t want to say what had to come next, to risk losing the openness that he’d offered. But to help the ghost she needed to get to the root of the problem. “Your anger toward the Northern Circle is misplaced
.”
He scowled. “I thought this wasn’t about the coven.”
“It’s not. There’s something strange going on with this ghost, and I suspect your misplaced anger and frustration is the result.”
“I admit, I’m angry at the coven. But it has nothing to do with a ghost. I was trying to warn you before—in the office. You’ve had enough trouble in your life. I don’t want to see you hurt again. For the Gods’ sakes, I admire you for having the guts to take life by the balls and start over, not just back then but now, by staying sober.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Devlin and his family aren’t as innocent as you think, Em. They’re guilty of murder.”
She gaped at him. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s a fact. They murdered a relative of mine.”
She shook her head, trying to begin to make sense of what he’d said. It couldn’t be. But Gar’s energy, his stance… everything about him said he believed it to be the truth. “Who? When? Why would they do such a thing?”
“Her name was Saille Webster. She raised my mother like her own child.” He unfolded his arms and rested a hand on her shoulder, as if to let her feel his sincerity. “She was the high priestess of the Northern Circle, an older woman. Devlin’s grandfather—Zeus Marsh—got sick of waiting to take over control of the Circle. He decided to speed things up.”
“If it’s true, why isn’t Zeus in jail? For that matter, why would the High Council send you to evaluate the Circle? Isn’t your connection to the coven a huge conflict of interest?”
“I don’t know why they chose me. But I didn’t ask for the assignment, if that’s what you’re implying.” He paused, raking his hand through his hair before relenting. “But I didn’t refuse it.”
Eerie thoughts began to link together in Em’s head, like the whispers of faint spirits growing closer. A ghost she recognized. A ghost haunting him. A dead high priestess. “The coven wasn’t always in Vermont, was it?”
“No. When Saille was high priestess, the Northern Circle was in Upstate New York.”
“In Saratoga?” Now that things were coming together, Em knew she should have realized it earlier. The first night she’d come to the complex, Devlin had told the initiates an abbreviated history of the coven, including where it was located before moving to Vermont.
“Actually, it was Saratoga Springs,” Gar said. “Why?”
Em closed her eyes. In a hushed voice she said, “The night I bottomed out, I was in Saratoga Springs. I saw a ghost from the back of a police car. She told me I was at a crossroads.” Her throat choked with emotions at the memory of that moment. She let the feelings subside, then continued. “Just now, before I screamed, I saw that same ghost behind you. I think it was Saille.”
“You don’t know how much sense that makes. Saille wasn’t just a high priestess. She was a recovering alcoholic. Her reaching out to a witch who was in trouble is exactly what she would have done when she was alive.”
Em bit her bottom lip, her belief wavering even as she could sense his growing. “I don’t think Saille could have realized I was anything more than a medium. Before I came here, I barely practiced the Craft. Truthfully, I don’t have any other abilities.”
Gar scoffed. “Don’t say that. You’re outstanding, Em. Your energy is powerful. Amazing.” His gaze met hers, filled with deep sincerity. “Saille was a medium, like you—and she was an incredibly formidable and respected high priestess. You are exactly the kind of woman and witch she would have wanted to take under her wing.”
Emotions jumbled in Em’s chest, and the words she’d kept to herself since she joined the Circle came bubbling out. “Truthfully, I feel like an outsider when I’m around the coven. They’re all so experienced and educated. Chloe with her spells. The Lady of the Lake gave her a sword of light to drive Merlin’s Shade back into the otherworld. The amount of energy Devlin can control is unbelievable. Chandler welds metal with magic. Midas, Brooklyn, even the coven’s satellite members have a multitude of skills. All I can do is communicate with the dead, that’s it.”
Gar chuckled. “You want to know what it feels like to be an outsider? You should try being me. I feel like the devil incarnate around them. Not that it’s a feeling I’m not used to, being an investigator, among other things.”
She smiled. In a debate about who was more of an outsider, he’d win hands down. “You have kind of been… an ass to everyone,” she said teasingly.
He stared at her as if taken aback by her comment. She instantly regretted having been so cavalier. But saying it had felt normal, like an extension of how easy it had been between them so long ago. Besides, he had opened up first. He’d joked about himself. He’d stepped over the line.
He grinned, then leaned close to her and whispered, “I come by it naturally.”
The tension in her chest eased and she longed to reach out and entwine her energy with his. But that wasn’t a smart idea. She cleared her throat, glanced around the parking lot to make sure they were still alone, then steered the conversation back a step.
“The thing is,” she said, “maybe I’m not trained in other areas of the Craft, but I am an expert on hauntings. No matter how logical and kind Saille was in life, that doesn’t mean she’s the same now. She could be asking you to help uncover the truth behind her death, and might be frustrated because you haven’t done that. On the other hand, she could be mad at you because of your investigation into the coven. She could see you as a threat to something she built and loved.”
“I’m assuming the rest of the coven knows about the haunting?”
“Yeah, I told them this morning.” Em wet her lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first. But I don’t think you should be worried about what they could do with that information. There is a larger issue with the haunting. There’s something unnatural about it.”
He glanced at her. “Unnatural?”
“Saille reached out to me several times today. Every time, our connection broke before I could speak with her. It was like something was pulling her away from me—and you. Something powerful. That, combined with the haunting, is causing your headaches and mood swings.”
His face went slack, his bravado falling away. “Fuck.”
“We need to talk to Devlin. Get everything about this out in the open.”
He shook his head, but there was resignation in his frightened eyes.
“Come here,” Em said, spreading her arms out to offer a hug. She couldn’t stop herself.
“Em,” he murmured as he stepped into her arms and let her hold him tight.
She rested her head against his. It felt like something they should have done long ago.
Chapter 8
Rich ladies like little girls with pink bows in their hair.
They feel sorry for skinny girls and give them chocolates
and money, while they cry over messages from dead husbands and sons.
—Journal of Emily Adams
Memory from the beginning. Eight years old. Massachusetts.
Devlin did an about-face and paced back to Gar. “So, you admit to being biased against the Northern Circle?”
Gar’s rigid expression didn’t waver. “That doesn’t mean the Circle isn’t guilty of other violations—or that I believe Athena was murdered.”
“What you believe doesn’t change a thing.” Devlin folded his arms across his chest, refusing to give an inch. Still, even from where Em stood, with her back to the living room’s tall windows, she could sense a ceasefire building. Devlin unfolded his arms and held out his hand. “I guess the only solution is to agree to disagree?”
Gar gripped Devlin’s extended hand in a firm shake. “Fair enough. For now.”
When Em and Gar got home from the meeting, all the coven’s full-time members were already gathered in the living room: Chloe and Devlin, Brooklyn and Chandler. Peregrine was on the floo
r, teasing the kittens with a feather. Midas leaned against the side table, listening intently as Em related what she’d told Gar about the ghost. He was a burly guy, always immaculate in his colorful button-down shirts and gold-rimmed glasses. Em doubted he ever dribbled coffee or failed to make high honors in anything. For the most part, Midas acted like she was invisible, which was probably for the best, since most of what he liked to talk about went right over her head.
“To tell you the truth,” Devlin conceded to Gar, “I’d like to know what happened to Saille myself. Rumors have resurfaced lately that make me suspect my grandfather Zeus might have been involved in her death after all.”
A knowing smile played at the corner of Gar’s mouth, but he smothered it with a tightening of his lips. “From what my mother said, the Circle was beyond reproach. They were a power to be reckoned with back then—almost as influential as in the early days when they worked closely with the fae.”
Em crept away from the window to stand behind Chloe and Chandler, seated in a pair of matching artsy chairs. She rubbed her hand across her throat, building up her nerve. It seemed smart to act fast, while there was tentative peace in the air. “We should try to contact Saille soon, to ask her how she died and what keeps pulling her away.”
Chloe glanced over her shoulder at Em. “If you want to lead a séance, I could ask Keshari to help.” Chloe’s friend Keshari wasn’t a coven member, but she had inborn magic and was trained in communicating with spirits. But Keshari had been hurt in the club fire and was only released from the hospital a few days ago.
“Do you think she’s feeling well enough?” Chandler asked.
Chloe took out her phone. “I don’t know, but it won’t hurt to message her.”
Brooklyn appeared from the lounge with a pair of beers in her hands. “Even without Keshari’s help, I doubt any spirit could resist our conjoined presence.” She passed a beer to Midas, then smirked at Gar. “I mean, everyone who is a coven member. Your presence would probably kill the vibe.”