by Teri Harman
At least there was a new queen-sized bed with a barn-wood headboard provided by Wynter. She had told them, “I know you can’t move in yet, but I still want this to feel like your home.” Something about the antique blue-and-green patchwork quilt and pile of white pillows felt very much like home to Willa, despite the condition of the room.
Another quake rumbled through the house, shaking a chunk of brick off the fireplace. Willa picked it up and held it in her hands. “Poor house. I’m not sure it can take many more of these. The whole thing might collapse on top of us.”
Simon lay down on the bed, hands behind his head. He kicked off his boots and crossed his ankles. Willa tossed the chunk of brick into the grate, brushed her hands off and joined him. “So what do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, face serious. “But the way that tree burst into flames . . . something felt so wrong about that.”
“Very wrong.” Willa laid her hand on Simon’s chest, felt the shape of his triangular gift pendant under his shirt. Rachel’s hooded figured flashed in her mind. “I didn’t think it would be like this,” she whispered.
“Like what?” Simon placed his hand on top of hers, turned his head to look at her.
“The unknown. These weird things happening, and we don’t know why or what to do about it.” She scooted closer to him, wanting to feel his solid warmth. “I guess that shows how naïve I was about joining the Covenant. For all we know, it will always be like this.”
After a long sigh, Simon said, “I was thinking the same thing. I assumed Archard’s death was the end of it. It makes it hard to have a normal life with all this crap going on. I’m lucky my professor let me turn in that paper for half credit. That might not happen next time. I can’t mess up my chances at a good med school.”
“I know. I’m not doing as well as I should either. I got a C on a test today because I was too busy looking for Rachel and doing the pool test to get any good studying done. A C! I’ve never gotten less than an A minus before.” She rolled her eyes at the memory of how shocked and upset she’d been, seeing that red C. “And it’s not like we can plan for these things. It’s not like the Dark witches will give us the courtesy of calling in advance before attacking.”
Simon smiled, but a shadow passed through his eyes. Just ask him. Try again. Get him to talk!
“Simon, can we talk about something?”
He noticeably stiffened, but said, “What is it?”
Willa swallowed, pushed past the urge to drop the subject. “I don’t like this . . . this thing where we don’t talk. It feels so wrong.” Simon opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “I know you don’t want to talk about the cave. So let’s start with something small, like why you pretended to fail part of the pool test.”
His jaw tensed; he looked away. “I knew you could tell. Did anyone else notice?”
“I don’t think so. Why do you think you have to hide from them?”
“You’ve seen how nervous they get around me, how they’ve looked at me since the cave. I’m not supposed to be this good at everything. It creeps them out. Hell, it creeps me out.” A muscle twitched in his jaw; Willa touched his face.
“I know, but pretending isn’t going to solve the problem. So what if you are more powerful than any of us? That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Wynter, Rowan, and the others killed Dark witches that day, too. You don’t need to torture yourself.” He sat up abruptly, startling her. The room shook with another quake, and Willa wanted to yell at it for interrupting.
“But they meant to do it.” He swung his legs off the bed, put his head in his hands, elbows on knees. “I had no idea what I was doing. And that’s what scares me . . . and them. My whole life, I’ve been this freakin’ outcast. I thought I’d finally found somewhere I could be myself, somewhere I fit in. But it turns out I’m still the outcast.” He took an unstable breath. “Why can’t I just have one simple gift like the rest of you? Why do I always have to be the freak?!”
Willa’s mouth hung open; she had no idea what to say to that. Maybe that was why she’d been avoiding this conversation—she really didn’t know how to help him. And that hurt in his eyes . . . how she hated that look! Why couldn’t he be a normal witch like the rest of them? What had made him so different? Was there a way to find out? I have to find out.
Sitting up, she knee-walked over and knelt behind him, arms around his tense neck and shoulders. She kissed the side of his neck. “I want to help you, but I don’t know how.”
Simon turned to her, eyes tight with frustration. “I don’t know either.” His hand slipped onto her cheek, and he stretched his neck to kiss her lips. Willa sensed desperation in that one small kiss, so she answered it with a deeper one. Simon sighed, his breath tickling her lips. Swiftly, he shifted, maneuvering her to the bed and under his body. Hands in his hair, Willa met his passion with her own. If she couldn’t give him answers, she could give him comfort.
A quake shook the house, but neither of them noticed.
Simon woke from his cave nightmare a little after three in the morning. Immediately he turned to check for Willa. The contented rise-and-fall of her chest immediately eased his anxiety. She wouldn’t normally be there, but they’d spent the night at Plate’s Place because of the quakes. Rowan and Wynter wanted everyone close—just in case. Hazel, Corbin, and Toby were camped out on couches; and even Cal and Darby, whose house was only a few blocks away, had stayed. It’d taken Willa fifteen minutes on the phone with her parents apologizing for missing dinner and convincing them it was okay for her to spend the night. That it was Covenant business and not some rebellion on her part.
Just a dream, just a dream, Simon told himself. The same stupid dream you’ve had for months. After he managed to slow his heart rate and calm the jittery energy in his core, he turned on the TV, which sat on a small desk in the corner by the fireplace. The television was another gift from Wynter and Rowan.
Simon flipped through several channels, not really paying attention, hoping to distract himself from the fear with some brainless entertainment. A thought nagged at him, an itchy scab he tried to ignore. He’d picked at it before and then let it heal over, but again he wanted to scratch. Willa’s comment about this not being what she expected gave him enough reason to reopen the thought.
So he dropped the remote on the bed next to him and picked at the question.
What would happen if we left the Covenant?
It was a small thought, not yet a qualified idea, but one his logical mind couldn’t leave alone. Lately, he felt like he and Willa made the decision too quickly, floating on the high of defeating Archard and discovering the source of their supernatural abilities. Now, he wasn’t sure he’d make the same decision.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be a witch or to learn magic; instead it was the Covenant, the obligation to be in the line of fire of Dark witches. Without conscious thought, he’d killed three of them already. How many more might he have to kill? The idea made him physically ill. Did I sign up to be a killer? The others had killed members of Archard’s covens without a second thought, just like Willa had said, but he couldn’t seem to move past his own transgressions.
But if they stayed, he knew—as hard as it was to hurt instead of heal—that he would do it to keep Willa safe.
So is it better in the long run to leave? Avoid the whole thing?
Simon rubbed his arm nervously. A chef on the TV expertly flipped the contents of a large skillet.
What would Willa say? The Covenant made her happy. She wasn’t accustomed to being alone like he was. She thrived on the camaraderie of being a part of the covens. She adored her home here in Twelve Acres and her work at the Museum. And although he’d grown to enjoy the company of the witches and a home in a small town, it’d be easy to slip back into the anonymity of independence.
Maybe his lifetime of broken relationships skewed his view. He expected it to fail; there was no previous evidence to support success. Everything good
in his life had ended because of what he could do. Why would the Covenant be any different? What if they turned on him too? His exceptional abilities made him an alien even among other witches. Eventually they’d want him gone, or he’d get sick of pretending to fit in.
What would happen if we left the Covenant?
The Covenant bond might be for life, but it couldn’t stop him from taking Willa and walking away. If it kept her safe and kept him from killing anyone else . . .
Could I really do it? What would Willa say? Would she come?
Willa stirred in her sleep. “Another nightmare?” she mumbled sleepily.
He brushed the hair from her face. If I need to leave will you come? I can’t go without you. “Yeah, but I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”
“Are you sure?” Her pretty eyes fluttered open for a second and then closed.
He wondered if he should ask her. She’d said earlier that she hated how he kept bottling things up, not talking to her. “Willa, would you come with me if I needed to leave? Would you leave the Covenant?”
“Hmmm?” she said.
Simon exhaled. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.” Willa didn’t answer, already asleep. Simon turned off the TV, rolled onto his side, and gathered her warm body into his arms.
But sleep eluded him, the question set on repeat.
What would happen if we left the Covenant?
The next morning, no one had answers.
“Not one thing?” Wynter asked, sitting on the couch in the front room, sipping tea. Willa sat next to her, nursing her own cup of hot mint tea, which helped take the edge off the chill in the morning air.
“Nothing,” Darby confirmed. “I called every one of my contacts. No one has heard anything about Dark witches stirring up trouble.”
Wynter looked around the room. “Same for all of you?” Everyone nodded and mumbled confirmation. She shook her head. “So strange.”
“So, what now?” Simon asked from his perch next to Willa on the arm of the couch.
“Well,” Rowan said, spreading his hands in a gesture of defeat, “we keep an eye to the sky and an ear to the ground. If it happens again, we can try repeating the spell. Maybe what happened last night was a fluke.”
Elliot, who had been looking at his phone during the conversation, leaned forward. “Holy moon!”
“What is it?” Char asked, leaning over to look at his phone.
Elliot frowned and then read from a news article. “‘Thirteen people have been reported missing in the areas within and surrounding Denver. There appears to be no discernible pattern to the disappearances and no evidence left at any of the last known locations. The Denver Police suspect foul play but are unable to point to the source of the disappearances. As of this morning, no bodies have been recovered, and no one has been located.’” He looked up, his brown skin somehow paler. “Thirteen people.”
Rowan inhaled sharply. “There were exactly thirteen quakes
last night.”
Willa’s skin prickled with cold, the hairs on her arm standing up. “What does it mean?”
Wynter shook her head. “Well, it’s hard to imagine, but . . . it may mean that whatever Dark magic was being performed last night required sacrifices.”
“Whoa! Like human sacrifices?” Simon asked, eyes wide.
Rowan rubbed his beard. “It’s an ancient practice—done away with centuries ago. Dark witches once used the blood, or worse, the death of others to control the magic in terrible ways. Sacrifices—human or animal—are dangerous, and unpredictable. And they are the worst kind of affront to the Powers of the Earth, which is why the practice was done away with—even among Dark witches.”
“Looks like we got a serious crazy running around,” Darby said.
“Rachel had blood on her forehead,” Simon said quietly, looking at the floor.
“What?” Wynter breathed.
“She had a red dot,” Simon pointed to the middle of his forehead, “right here when she attacked Willa, Char, and Elliot. I’m pretty sure it was blood. It didn’t look like a wound or spatter because there was a thumb print in it, as if put there on purpose.”
A weighted pause followed. “So maybe Archard used blood sacrifices,” Rowan thought out loud. “That could explain some of the powerful things he was able to do. But, even for him, that seems extreme.”
“Well, if he was, then maybe this is Rachel, trying to pick up where he left off,” Darby added.
“Does it say anything else, Elliot?” Rowan asked, nodding to the phone.
“No, not really. The police are clueless, and there were no witnesses to any of the disappearances.”
“Even more reason to suspect magic,” Cal offered. “People leave behind clues—witches don’t.”
The clock on the freshly-polished mantel chimed seven. “We gotta go, Willa,” Simon said, standing. “It feels weird to leave right now, but is there anything we can do? Or should we go to class?”
“Go,” Wynter said, waving her hand to the door. “We’ll monitor the situation and contact you if there is any reason to come back.”
Simon nodded and turned to Willa. “Let’s go.”
“Okay. I just need my bag.” She stood. “I’ll meet you at the car.” Taking the stairs two at a time, Willa rushed into their room, grabbed her purse, and then hurried back downstairs. They’d have to stop at her parent’s house for her backpack.
It felt so odd to think of the need to get her backpack and go sit through classes when thirteen people were missing and a Dark witch might be out there.
Her heart thudded uncomfortably as she came back down the stairs, another issue on her mind. Hesitating at the door, she turned to look back in the front room. An idea had come to her late last night, right before she fell asleep. Wynter and Rowan had been looking for an answer to Simon’s strange powers, but they weren’t trained historians. Willa knew how to research, how to look for small details, connections. She planned to take over, to read through their extensive collection of grimoires. She wanted to do it anyway, but now she had serious motivation. And then she’d also ask how to find other grimoires, other sources of information. She’d go anywhere and talk to anyone she had to. Simon needed answers, and that was something she was good at.
She stopped outside the front room. Her first class started in half an hour. She sighed in disappointment.
Now wasn’t the right time to ask, but she’d take the first opportunity she had.
Chapter 10
New Moon
April—Present Day
The earthquakes came again on the April new moon.
Willa was at home with her parents, sitting in the family room, reading yet another dusty grimoire when the first one hit.
She’d spent the last weeks poring over every grimoire in Wynter and Rowan’s collection. Then she’d driven all over the state looking for others. So far her search for the key to Simon’s multiple gifts had turned up nothing. She was, however, learning a lot about magic and witchcraft; but none of it immediately helpful, which frustrated her.
Her mom sat next to her on the couch, reading a novel she’d brought home today from the bookstore where she worked; her dad lounged in an arm chair watching the History Channel. Sarah wore yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt, her brown hair pulled into a messy bun at the base of her skull. Ethan wore black fleece sweats and a t-shirt, his favorite after-work attire, since his job as manager of the local grocery store required a shirt and tie.
Willa, also in yoga pants and a tank top and comfortable under a heavy blanket, looked up from the dull spellbook of an Earth witch to check the clock. Eight-forty-five. Simon had the closing shift tonight, but planned to stop by after—around ten o’clock. She sighed and turned back to the boring passage on growing parsley.
The house shook without warning.
A tremor, strong enough to shift the magazines on the coffee table but not buck the pictures off the walls, rattled the structure. Sarah instinctively reached out to touch Willa’
s arm, and Willa reached back. The quake lasted only a few seconds, but Willa’s heart rate spiked.
When the house quieted, Sarah said breathlessly, “Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”
Willa exhaled, “Yeah, of course.”
Sarah huffed and leaned forward to stack the magazines, mumbling about needing to get an emergency storage together. A magazine in each hand, she stopped and turned back to Willa. “Last month—the quakes—you said something about magic.”
Willa frowned. Last time, she’d downplayed the seriousness of the situation, telling her parents the quakes were caused by magic, but it was nothing to worry about. Should she tell them about the whispers of the trees and the unbalanced Powers? The missing people? Should she tell them that the Covenant had been searching for a cause for a month and hadn’t found anything?
The memory of the tree bursting into flames filled her mind. If the quakes were back, did that mean more people were missing? And what was happening to them? Despite her dad’s distrust of Rowan and Wynter, and her mother’s certain worry, maybe it was time she let them in on more of what she knew.
Sarah dropped the magazines, narrowing her eyes. “Willa? What’s going on?”
At Sarah’s tone, Ethan looked over, also waiting for Willa’s response. She carefully closed the book and held it against her chest like a shield. After a breath, she said quietly, “It’s Dark magic.”
Her father’s eyes widened, and then he scoffed and turned away. Sarah, however, scooted closer. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not normal. We . . .”
“Of course, it’s not normal,” Ethan interrupted, still turned to the TV. “But it’s an earthquake. There’s nothing magical about that.”
Willa rolled her eyes. “Dad, come on! Why do you still insist on pretending magic doesn’t exist? Magic is the energy of everything around us. When the balance of that energy gets thrown off by Dark witches, bad things happen. Like those thirteen people who went missing.”
That got his attention. He turned, eyes pinched in anger. “What do you know about that?”