by Teri Harman
Soon, they stood at a heavy wooden door. The iron hinges shone flat black in the light of the white flames, with no signs of age. In the center of the door, carved into the wood, was the five-pointed star.
“This is it,” Archard whispered. He moved the bough close to the door, leaning away, fully expecting it to flair red.
When the enchanted flames did not react, Rachel scoffed. “Not even the door is protected. I don’t believe it.”
Archard cocked his head, listening. The air grew even colder. “Is that . . . singing?” he asked, leaning his ear close to the door. A sound, deceptively faint, almost nonexistent, floated on the air. “I can’t quite . . .”
Boldly, Rachel reached forward and tried the latch on the door. Unlocked. She pressed the heavy timbers aside and candlelight flooded the hall. Singing, soft and sublime, filled the hall.
Hearts racing and stomachs tight, the witches stepped into the chamber beyond. Hundreds of candles lit the cave-like room, and in the center was one simple wooden chair. Their jaws dropped at the sight of the creature sitting in the chair—was it a ghost, or something else? The pine bough flared blinding red and crumpled to ash in Archard’s hand. Rachel’s ring hit the stone floor with an ominous ping.
The mysterious woman turned two fathomless black eyes on them, her red lips moving as she sang her lilting song. Her black dress and raven feather hair floated around her like a cloud. The song stopped and she smiled a cold, unfriendly smile.
Archard looked at her, unblinking, and felt suddenly like a scared child peering into the eyes of a cruel teacher. He knew immediately that whatever she commanded he would obey.
“So you’ve come,” the woman said in a voice like diamonds—hard, but indescribably beautiful.
Rachel, not as impressed with the woman’s beauty or power, stepped forward to retrieve her ring. With it safely back on her finger, she asked, “What do you mean?”
“He told me you would come.”
Rachel widened her eyes. “Who told you?”
The creature ignored Rachel, focusing her eyes on Archard, smiling her horrid smile. “You came for them, did you not?”
Archard nodded submissively. Rachel narrowed her eyes at him. “Who are you?” she demanded of the woman.
The woman continued to look at Archard. “I am what I am,” a cryptic, breathy reply.
Rachel moved her eyes past the creature to the stone wall into which was carved a single shelf. On the shelf, a row of iron boxes. “Archard! The boxes.”
Finally, Archard was able to pull his eyes from the woman, the sight of the boxes and of so much power, deadening her enchanting hold on him. He took a step forward. The woman, seemingly without moving, stood, blocking his path.
“You may take only one.”
“What? No. I mean to take them all.” Archard found it difficult to look her directly in the eyes.
“Then you will die,” she said airily.
Archard folded his arms. “Speak plainly, woman.”
“When he left the boxes, it was on the condition that no one take them ever, except you.” She waved a white hand in front of his face. “And you are allowed to take only one.” She extended a slender, ghostly finger. “That one.”
Her eyes and finger pointed to the box farthest to the right. Archard followed her eyes to the plain, unassuming box. Only one thing set it apart from the rest: the True Healer symbol burned into the lid.
“Why only that one?”
“Because he said.”
“Do you mean Bartholomew?” She nodded once. Archard’s heart thudded. “And if I try to take them all?”
Her grin spread. “Then I kill you. And quite plainly, witch, your powers are no match for mine. I did my best to prevent this, but here you are. So if you try to do more than he said, I will enjoy ending you in the most painful way possible.”
Archard believed her. He did not know what she was, but he sensed enough to know that she was not a witch and not a mortal. “Do you know how many souls are in that box?”
She blinked once. “Not for me to know.” She turned away and was instantly back in her small chair. “Now, go. I do not enjoy company.”
Archard moved his eyes to Rachel. She narrowed her own and then crossed the room. Her hands hesitated a moment before lifting the box off the shelf. The room around them sighed. She tested the weight in her hands. “Feels empty. Archard, are you sure this isn’t some trick, some . . . decoy?”
The woman answered, her wasted eyes still locked on Archard. “No trick. Souls have no earthly substance, you fool.”
Rachel grimaced, bared her teeth. “If you are lying, creature . . .”
The woman’s eyes flashed to Rachel, and with the full weight of that unearthly stare on her, Rachel shut her mouth. She moved sheepishly back toward Archard and the door.
“Did Bartholomew say anything else?” Archard asked, intrigued beyond reason at the idea that the powerful witch had left a box just for him. How did you see so far into the future, Bartholomew? How did you know I would come?
The woman only blinked.
Archard looked at Rachel. “Well, let’s go then.”
“A warning,” came that strange voice. “If you open it, you will regret it. Most grievously, I’m afraid.”
The creature’s enchanting nature could not deaden Archard’s arrogance. “Oh, I doubt that,” he shot back. Then, without a backwards glance, he led Rachel to the door and closed it hard behind them.
Back at the hotel, Archard and Rachel sat on the bed, the box between them, the sounds of mournful, muffled cries leaking from it. Archard could not pull his eyes away from the True Healer symbol burned into the top of the gray metal. Rachel trailed a finger along the lid of the box, over the etched lines of the Healer symbol, until her skin stung from the cold of it. “Will one box be enough?” she asked.
Archard frowned. “All of them would certainly be better; but yes, I believe one will work. Don’t you feel it—how angry, how powerful they are?”
She nodded reverently. “So we wait until the black moon to raise the ghosts?”
Archard stroked his goatee. “No, I don’t think so.”
When he didn’t continue, Rachel scooted closer and said, “But the power of the black moon—”
“The power in these souls is even more than I imagined,” he interrupted. “We need the black moon for the Binding. The ghosts we can get anytime.”
She shifted her eyes to the box. “But a Binding is supposed to take place under a blood moon.”
“Traditionally, yes, but this is no ordinary Covenant—a rare moon, for a rare kind of Covenant. The black moon’s power will ensure that the Binding holds the souls here in this world. Otherwise, I fear, the Otherworld might call them back.”
“So why take the ghosts early? Are you thinking the full moon in a couple weeks?”
He shook his head slowly, brows pulled low in thought. “June’s sun moon would be too soon. I need time to get all the spells right. We’ll wait until July’s, the blessing moon, just to be safe. We pull the ghosts from the Otherworld, with the help of these souls, and then two weeks later Bind them under the black moon.” He patted the box. “That will give us enough time to be sure we can keep them here, and also allow them time to marinate in the box. Add their anger to this and increase the power. We will need that power.”
Rachel widened her eyes in realization. “To break the Light Covenant.”
“We can’t bind our own until their bond is broken.”
Moving closer, Rachel ran a cool fingertip over the rippled scar near Archard’s right eye. “Who will you raise, Archard? What ghost-witches will you steal for your Covenant?”
Archard lifted his metal-gray eyes to her. “I know exactly who I will take.” He eyed Rachel conspiratorially but didn’t elaborate. He lifted the box and shoved it into a black velvet bag and tightened the strings. “Time to go. We need to get back to Denver. I have a lot to do to perfect the spells we’ll need.” He wi
dened his eyes. “And I want you to find us a place in Twelve Acres. We’re relocating.”
Chapter 17
Waxing Crescent
June—Present Day
“Any more news from England about those poor monks?” Solace sat in her favorite rocking chair in the Early Life of Twelve Acres room, a book opened on her lap. Willa moved through the room, dusting the display cases.
“Nope. Nothing,” Willa answered.
“So, that’s it then? No one has any idea who did it, and now two new moons have passed without any more quakes?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Willa swished the feather duster over a collection of chipped china and avoided Solace’s waiting stare.
The ghost snapped her book shut. “Willa! Tell me what’s going on! Is it over? Did the Dark witches just give up?”
Willa dropped her arm. “I don’t know, Solace! We don’t know. The whole thing is just . . .” Willa stabbed the duster at the front of a glass case, her frustration bubbling to the surface.
“Just what?” Solace prompted.
“Just insane,” Willa snapped, throwing the duster onto a nearby table.
“Well, you don’t have to yell at me about it!” Solace fumed, her face flickering.
Willa dropped into one of the chairs around an antique wooden kitchen table. “I’m sorry. I’m not yelling at you.” She jabbed her elbows down on the table and then buried her face in her hands. “Ugh. I think my head is going to explode.”
Solace moved to the chair opposite. “Why? What’s wrong with you today?”
Shaking her head, face still shielded with her hands, Willa muttered, “A million things.”
“Well, let’s hear the list then.”
Willa dropped her hands to look at her friend, Solace’s face opaque in the dimly lit room. Willa exhaled a long breath. “It’s not just this weird nebulous Dark threat looming over us. Ever since the buried-alive challenge, things have been . . . strained. Simon agreed to try training with Rowan, and it seems to be going well, but I can’t shake the feeling that the tiniest thing might drive him off, for good this time.”
“I highly doubt he’d actually do it. He’s just trying to deal with the bizarre hand he’s been dealt.”
“I know. But he still hasn’t opened up about the cave. It’s been eight months, Solace. Eight months! I’ve read so many grimoires; I think I might now know as much about magic as the others in the Covenant, but I still don’t have any answers for Simon. There doesn’t seem to be any information on how he could have multiple gifts and be as powerful as he is. Maybe it’s hopeless. Maybe we’ll never know.” Willa pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. When Solace didn’t say anything, she let the floodgate of her stress open. “And then there’s the thing about me moving out. It was supposed to be right after the semester ended. Well, that was a week ago, and my mom keeps finding reasons to stall me. She also keeps asking me if I’ve talked to Simon about getting married, which I haven’t—there is way too much going on to think about that. And now I don’t know if moving in with the Covenant is still a good idea. I don’t think Simon wants to. He’s too used to living alone.” She inhaled and went on. “And the Elemental Challenge is coming up soon. And I didn’t do well on any of my finals. And . . . then . . .” Willa brought her thumb to her mouth and chewed on the already ragged nail.
“What?” Solace asked leaning forward, eyes wide with anticipation.
Shaking her head, Willa looked at Solace. “I still can’t believe it really happened.”
“What happened?!” Solace nearly lifted out of her seat.
“Simon’s mom came to see me.” A cold chill moved down Willa’s neck at the memory.
“WHAT?!” Solace jerked back, blinking several times. “When?”
“A week and a half ago, just before school ended.”
“A week?! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? What did she say?” Her eyes grew even wider. “What did Simon say when you told him?” Solace scooted to the edge of her chair.
Willa hung her head.
“Sun and moon!” Solace gasped. “You didn’t tell him?”
Willa shook her head. “I couldn’t.” She exhaled, the weight of the secret pressing on her. “I wanted to, but . . . he was so stressed out with finals, and his nightmares have come back and everything else. I’ve almost told him several times, but it just won’t come out.” She dropped her face into her hands and mumbled, “I feel terrible. I’m a terrible person.”
“But what did she want? What did she say?”
Willa dropped her hands. “Solace, it was so bizarre. I mean, one of the weirdest moments of my life. She walked up to me on campus—”
“Willa!” Simon’s voice echoed from the hall, startling them both, cutting off the story.
Solace jumped up from her seat. “No!” she whispered. “I can’t sit here waiting to hear the rest of that story!”
Willa moved next to her. “I promise I’ll tell you as soon as I can.” Solace looked up at her with pleading eyes. “Sorry! Bad timing.”
“The worst,” Solace mumbled as Simon walked into the room. She scowled at him.
When he saw Willa his eyes lit up, and she couldn’t help but smile back. He wore a white V-neck T-shirt, khaki shorts and flip flops, effortlessly sexy. “Hey!” he called out as he hurried over.
“Hey!” Willa said, slightly nervous considering what he’d nearly walked in on.
“Hello, Solace,” he said looking around. “If you’re here.”
Solace’s scowl deepened. Willa said, “She says hi.”
“I certainly do not!” Solace stamped a translucent foot and vanished.
“Ready to go?” Simon pulled Willa into a hug and kissed her forehead.
“Of course, yeah. Let’s go.” Willa moved away from him to walk back to the office to get her bag but then stopped a few steps away. She turned back and opened her mouth. “Simon?”
“Yeah?” His smile fell, and he stepped forward. “You okay?”
“Of course, yes.” Willa looked down at her wedge sandals and then back up, her heart pounding. “I just wanted to say . . .” Do it! Tell him!
He put a hand on her shoulder. “What is it?”
“I’m just frustrated with my parents—that’s all. Solace and I were talking about it.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
Simon lowered his eyebrows but offered a smile. “I know. I’m sure they’ll come around soon.” He moved his hand to her neck and stroked the skin with his thumb. “You sure that’s all you wanted to say?”
Willa smiled. Coward! Pushing down her emotions into a place she hoped he couldn’t sense, she said, “Yeah. Let me go grab my purse.” Then she turned and walked away, stomach knotting with guilt. Why don’t I just tell him? As she approached the office, she had a terrible thought. Am I keeping this from him because he’s keeping something from me?
She picked up her purse and looked around the small office. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. She stepped back into the hall, her stomach aching now, leaving the spiteful question unanswered.
Simon watched Willa closely as they drove out of town toward Denver for a night in the city. Tension and worry leaked from her every pore, but he couldn’t get at the cause, with either his gift or his questions. The problem with her parents was bad, but not as bad as what he felt from her. Maybe lingering finals frustration? He felt guilty about that—it was his fault she’d spent so much time researching magic instead of studying. She wanted to help him, but he wished she’d just stop. It wasn’t doing either of them any good. But how could he say that to her?
He’d begun the training with Rowan, which felt too much like therapy, but Simon didn’t complain. He had to give it his best effort, for Willa’s sake and his own. Maybe all of Rowan’s emotional training actually would help; he had to stop being so skeptical about everything.
But his nightmares about the cave had recently come back, worse than before. It was hard not to attribute that to the training.
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Simon flicked on the blinker and changed lanes. Willa stared out her window, body turned away from him. He suddenly wanted to pull the car off the road, gather her into his arms, and make everything better with a kiss.
If I just talk to her, open up, get this pain out, maybe everything would be better. I could fix it all if I just talked to her.
He opened his mouth. Shut it tight.
I am so broken. Why does she even stay with me?
He looked at the side of her face, her skin now tan, soaking up the summer sun, glowing like fresh caramel. Her dark hair fell over her back and shoulders like a shawl for her white halter top sun dress. Sensing his gaze, she turned and offered a small smile. The space behind his heart warmed.
He reached across and took her hand firmly in his. Maybe moving in with the Covenant wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe giving up his independence to lie next to Willa each night would be completely worth it. Maybe it would help bring them back together and close the gap he’d driven between them.
“So, what do you think?” he said casually. “Indian, Italian, or Thai?”
Her smile grew. “I’m thinking a big greasy hamburger and fries.”
He laughed. “I know just the place.” He squeezed her hand. “And I say we forget about everything for tonight and just be two college kids on summer break. Okay?”
“Okay.” She shifted closer to him, leaning over the center console. “Good idea. No magic, no parents, no challenges, no impending doom from a Dark threat.”
“Exactly. Let’s just be normal for one night. Eat greasy food and maybe some ice cream. Sit in a park, make out on the swings.” He lifted an eyebrow at her. She laughed, and the sound was medicine for his soul.
Chapter 18
Waxing Gibbous
July—Present Day
Willa and Simon lay happily tangled in each other’s arms on a soft flannel blanket under the canopy of the night sky and the spotlight of the nearly full moon. From the vantage point on top of the cliff, looking up, it felt like the chiffon sky might swallow them whole.