by Teri Harman
He smiled. “Perhaps.” He held out his tree-bound arm. “Do you mean to trap me here?”
Her golden-brown eyes caught the sunlight, glinted with humor. “Perhaps.” She stopped in front of him, put her wet hands on his chest. The tree released its grip, and he pulled her into his arms.
“I am forever under your spell,” he whispered in her ear.
“And I will never release you.”
Now, kneeling in front of her burned, blackened body, Bartholomew had never felt a more wretched pain. Never again would he touch her beautiful face, never kiss her lips, never watch her card wool near the fire with sure, strong hands. Her angelic voice would never float through the yard as she tended to her garden, and her magic would never spark in his blood.
The pain gripped his heart and soul with breaking force. He collapsed to the dirt alongside her body, a moan of pure agony escaping his mouth. The moan escalated into a scream, a yell of impotent anger, with all the power of his magic behind it. The ground shook beneath him, birds fled the nearby trees. The magic again tried to reach out to him, to comfort with its Light, but Bartholomew only roared louder.
“Stay away from me,” he growled. “I no longer want your warmth.” Lying on his back, Bartholomew lifted his hands before his tear-wet face, the charred necklace hanging down near his mouth. “All this power, and she died. She died! Burned as a heretic, a witch.” He moaned again, this time a pathetic, beaten sound. A whimper.
After a deep breath, he rose to his feet, unsteady for a moment and then solid, a pillar of cold anger. He lowered her necklace around his own neck again and then scooped her body into his arms, headed for their home.
He’d bury her near the pond, under the willow.
Then he would exact a terrible vengeance upon those responsible.
Chapter 23
Waxing Gibbous
July—Present Day
Twenty minutes after awaking from her nightmare, Willa was still shaking. She and Simon sat on the back porch steps of Plate’s Place, sipping tea and watching the sun inch slowly into the sky. The fresh, flower-scented air and growing light did nothing to improve her mood. Huddled next to Simon, his solid form an anchor to the present, she tried desperately to rid her mind of the gruesome image of the terrifying man holding the woman’s charred corpse. A hopeless effort; that image would never leave her mind.
All her witch dreams were powerful, vibrant, and effecting, but there was something different about this one. Not only was it the first traumatic dream she’d had in months, it also felt desperately important. And she had no idea why. The events in the dream were so far in the past that she struggled to make any connection to the present.
What does it mean?!
The side door opened with a quiet squeak, and footsteps sounded on the wooden planks of the refurbished porch. Willa and Simon looked up as Wynter came around the corner. She smiled and sat next to Willa, putting an arm around her shoulders. “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” she said quietly. “Is something wrong?”
Willa leaned into her a little and sighed. “I had a dream.”
“Bad?”
“Very bad.”
Wynter hugged Willa a little tighter. “Tell me.”
Willa launched into a recount of the dream, her voice hushed and quiet; it felt wrong to spoil the new day with such things. Having told the terrible tale, she said, “I don’t know what it means. I can’t find a connection to anything.”
Looking out across the backyard, Wynter frowned. The willow began to sway. “Witches haven’t been burned like that for hundreds of years. And despite the perception, it wasn’t all that common. So yes . . . it is hard to see what that has to do with now.”
“What about the other witch?” Simon asked. “The man. Have you ever heard any stories about someone like that?”
Wynter shook her head. “There are many witch legends, but it sounds like Bartholomew the Dark. He lived in the Dark Ages, and it’s said he wielded unspeakable power. The stories I’ve heard also mentioned his strange eyes—that’s what made me think of him. But who knows how much of his legend is actually true or if he existed at all. I can’t imagine why you would dream of him.”
“I threw up,” Willa said weakly.
Wynter swiveled her head and raised her eyebrows. “After the dream?”
“No, during. I threw up in the dream, and when I woke up I’d also thrown up for real. That’s never happened. I’ve had a few lingering pains and definitely panic after waking from a dream, but this was different. I know it’s important.” She inhaled unsteadily. “I just don’t know how or why.”
Wynter sighed and put her hand over her mouth for a moment. “I’m growing very tired of not having any answers. Who knew Covenant life would be so confusing?”
“Do you think it has something to do with what happened to me on the cliff?” Simon asked. He slipped his hand on top of Willa’s, and she looked at the side of his face. The explosion of the grandfather clocked echoed in her head.
Wynter said, “They happened too close together not to be connected, I think.” She pressed her lips together and then added, “How are you feeling now, Simon?”
“Fine,” he mumbled, looking down at the steps. “Just a little leftover buzz. I’m really sorry about the clock, Wynter.”
She waved her hand. “It’s just a clock. Willa and I will happily shop for another one.” Smiling, she added, “Now it’s time to find out what happened. Let’s go, huh?”
“Yes,” Simon said as he stood. He held out his hand to Willa and then Wynter.
The two-mile hike up to the cliff was tedious and irritating. Simon couldn’t help but compare it to the pleasant experience of yesterday—at least until the pain and the owl. Yesterday, he and Willa had walked side by side, sharing conversation or companionable silence. Today, no one talked and, while he walked at the head of the pack, Willa hovered at the back, distracted and distant.
He couldn’t detect any remnants of the strange tension he’d felt last night, and only a tiny fraction remained of the rough, bubbling energy that had helped destroy the grandfather clock. Besides fending off the thick, confusing emotions coming from Willa, he felt mostly back to normal.
Simon couldn’t decide if he should feel relieved or worried.
Finally, they turned the last corner and emerged on the cliff. A collection of scavenger birds were busy pouncing on and tugging at the owl carcass. The scene repulsed him, and bile stung his throat. Memories of the pain and of Willa’s scream made it worse. He picked up a rock and threw it at the gorging birds, who instantly took flight, cawing in protest at having their free meal disturbed.
Rowan and Wynter stepped up next to him. Cal, Darby, Rain, Corbin, Hazel, and Toby hovered behind. Simon didn’t see Willa. He craned his neck to look over the group, searching for her. Where did she go? A burst of panic punched his chest, and he flicked his head from side to side, looking for her. He could feel her . . .
“Willa?” he called out.
“Here,” came the weak response. He whipped his head around to find her standing at the cliff’s edge. Somehow she’d slipped past the group. He moved forward, avoiding the owl’s mutilated remains.
“Are you okay?” Simon asked when he stopped next to her.
She looked up at him, her face round and vulnerable. “It’s so sad; this beautiful place is ruined for us now.” She reached out and touched his arm.
“Yeah,” he nodded. Simon scanned her face, studying the echoes of the vulnerability and hurt that the dream had brought her. He wanted to wipe it all away with a touch or a kiss or a word but didn’t think any of those could fix it.
“Willa. Simon. Come join us,” Rowan called, waving them back to the group.
Willa moved to walk back, but Simon stopped her with a hand on her arm. The words came out before he considered them. “We can leave.”
She blinked and then lowered her eyebrows. “Simon . . .”
“Leave the Covenant. Leave
Twelve Acres. Whatever we need to do. I think this counts as things getting worse.” Simon tightened the grip on her arm. He knew her answer before she spoke, but he held his breath hoping for something different.
“Simon,” she whispered, flicking a quick look at the group. “This isn’t something we can run away from.”
“Willa, I didn’t . . .”
“Come on,” she cut him off. Disappointment and frustration flickered in her eyes. “They’re waiting,” she added, and he released her arm.
Simon pressed his teeth together. Why did I ask that? Willa’s not a runner . . . like me. A catalog of all the times he’d run away pulsed through his thoughts: all the times he’d run from his parents’ anger, only to come crawling back, too young to go anywhere else; then, at seventeen, running away for good to a hole of an apartment and working nearly full time to pay the rent while finishing his last year of high school. He’d spent one summer working in an orange grove in California because he wanted to be far away. And yet, he always ended up back close to home. He even decided to go to school at the same University where his parents taught.
I am so messed up.
Maybe running away wasn’t the answer; it hadn’t solved much in the past.
He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his hiking shorts and followed Willa over to the group. He could feel their eyes on him, but he kept his own focused on the dusty earth.
“All right,” Rowan began. “Simon and Willa, we are going to create a link between you and this place. I will help create the connection between you and the earth, working with your minds, while the others help focus the magic. The goal is to have the earth reveal to us what happened, replay the events of last night from the perspective of everything around here. Hopefully, we will get a clear and complete picture.”
Willa shifted next to Simon, her arms folded tightly against her chest. The day had started off sunny and warm, but now black clouds gathered overhead, and a cold wind blew over the cliff. He wanted to step close to her and put his arms around her for warmth, but he hesitated and the moment passed.
Rowan said, “Stand here with me.” He motioned Simon and Willa closer. “The rest of you form a circle around us.” The other witches moved into place, and Willa stepped forward, Simon following a step behind. They faced each other in a small triangle. Rowan moved his eyes from one to the other, lingering on Simon. “Are you ready?”
“I guess so,” Simon muttered.
Rowan frowned. “Simon, this spell requires that you open your mind to me and to the surrounding wilderness. For this to work, our three minds must be connected. It won’t affect Willa or me very much; but, with your Mind gift sensitivity, I’ll need you to stay in control, to really focus. Pull out your emotions, like we’ve been practicing.” He paused to study Simon’s face and then said, “Can you do that?”
Simon swallowed nervously. There’d be no buffer, no barrier between him and everyone else’s minds and emotions. And what about the spell? How would that amplify things? He looked over at Willa, and she nodded and took his hand. The gesture made his throat tight. Even when she’s mad at me . . .
“I can do it,” he said.
Rowan nodded. “Good. You’ll have to push away the distractions that will come from our minds and focus only on the information coming from the wilderness. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, I think so.” Simon shifted his feet, suddenly restless.
“Give me your hands,” Rowan said solemnly. Simon lifted his free hand, placing it in Rowan’s outstretched palm. Willa put her hand in Rowan’s other hand, their small circle complete. Rowan took a deep breath as he closed his eyes.
Simon looked quickly over at Willa, who returned his apprehension. She closed her eyes, and so he did too. After a breath, he carefully opened the magical door protecting his mind. The downpour of emotions and thoughts weakened his knees. He had to grip Willa and Rowan’s hands tighter to stay upright.
“Simon?” Rowan asked.
“Sorry. I opened my mind, and it’s really intense.” His heart began to race, and his chest felt a size too small.
“Are you okay?” Willa asked.
“I don’t . . . just give me a minute.” He kept his eyes pressed closed and worked to focus his Mind gift on just Rowan and Willa, shutting out the rest of the Covenant and the sensations he seemed to be getting from everything around him. Soon his hands were trembling with the effort.
“Simon,” Rowan asked, “can I start? Can you do it?”
Simon ground his teeth together. Not only could he feel emotions, but whole thoughts and memories from all of them pounded into his brain. He’d only ever been able to hear Willa’s thoughts—and then only occasionally—but now every mind cut open and bled into his. With so much coming at him, he couldn’t even distinguish who the thoughts belonged to. “I’m trying. Why is it so much worse than ever before?”
“What do you mean?” Rowan asked, his voice heavy with concern. “How is it different?”
“I can hear everyone’s thoughts and feel every emotion.” Willa stiffened next to him. “It’s . . . overwhelming.”
There was a beat of stunned silence, and then Rowan said. “Try to filter it.”
“I am! But there’s so much . . .” his words broke off, finding it too hard to try to filter through everything and talk at the same time.
“We can’t do the spell,” Willa said.
“No!” Simon exploded. “No. We have to find out what happened. I can do it. Just give me another minute.” Desperate, Simon pushed as hard as he could against the onslaught of thoughts.
Willa shook her hand in his. “Find me, Simon. Find Rowan. Stay with us.”
Sweating through his T-shirt, the cold air chilling him instantly, Simon tried harder. About ready to give up, he suddenly found them. Just Willa and Rowan. The rest quieted. He exhaled. It was still a lot of work, but he thought he could survive the spell now. “Okay, do it.”
Rowan didn’t waste a second. “Earth, solid and sure, open our eyes. Let us see, let us know, make us wise.” The words came out in a rush. After a quick breath, he repeated the spell a second time, slower.
Energy ignited on the air, and for a moment Simon thought he would lose control of his mind, but the tenuous connection to Willa and Rowan held. He tried to ignore the actual thoughts, hanging on to the feeling of them standing next to him.
The magic grew fiery hot around them, pushing away the chill of the gray clouds. Then a picture formed in Simon’s mind: the cliff in the moonlight and he and Willa lying together on the blanket.
Rowan spoke out loud, giving the rest of the Covenant the play-by-play. “We see the cliff top, dark, but flooded by moonlight. Willa and Simon are there by the trees.” The scene shifted. “We are the owl, flying up from the lake. His nest is in one of the tall pines. He senses their magic. He sits on the large boulder opposite the trees.”
Engrossed now in the vision, Simon almost forgot about the effort it required to keep his mind engaged. He watched from the eyes of the ill-fated owl, every detail sharp and clear.
Rowan continued, “The owl senses something coming over the mountain. It’s not an animal or a person. It makes him nervous, frightened.” Rowan inhaled. “It’s getting closer. The trees see it too and pull their branches away from the chill of Darkness. It’s so close . . .”
Simon leaned forward as if that could make things appear sooner. The bird’s screeching hoots echoed in his ears. A light appeared behind a tree, glowing white.
Without warning, an excruciating flash of power surged from his mind, with no way to stop it.
The spell collapsed, and the vision ripped away. Simon opened his eyes with a gasp.
Power erupted from his body like a shockwave, sending Willa and Rowan hurtling backwards through the air, their hands ripped from his. Simon rocked back, staggered, staring for a drawn-out moment, unable to understand what had happened.
Rowan and Willa’s bodies crashed to the hard ground
, near the cliff edge.
Rowan groaned and rolled to his side.
Willa didn’t move.
Horrified realization smacked Simon across his face. I hurt Willa! He dove forward, dropping beside her, lifting her limp body into his arms. No! How could I do that? Cradling her in his lap, he put a hand on her head and sent his healing magic into her body. Her eyes fluttered, and then she gasped, fully awake and looking up at him.
The first ridiculous thing that spilled out of his mouth was, “Why didn’t you tell me my mom came to see you?”
Chapter 24
Waning Half Moon
May—Six Weeks Ago
Willa had to stop herself from throwing the door open with magic. Instead she pushed with all her strength and sent the history building’s front door swinging so hard it slammed against the bricks behind it, the loud bang partially satisfying.
She looked down at the paper in her hand, the red B+ at the top, and she ground her teeth together. When she’d turned in the research paper on underlying causes of the Salem Witch Trials, she was certain she’d earn an A+. Every fact was well supported, every theory solid, and the writing sharp. Willa ground her teeth harder.
The B+ smirked up at her, mocking. I’m a witch! How could I not get an A? More importantly, I’m a really good historian. Even with so little time to do the paper amid all her grimoire searching, she’d been sure this paper was good. But her professor, who probably knew less about Salem than anyone, assured her that the paper “lacked a solid foundation.” Whatever that means!
With an exasperated sigh, she shoved the paper into her messenger bag and turned left down the sidewalk, toward the student union. It didn’t help matters that she was starving.
The broad sidewalk, lined with trees, provided shade from the hot afternoon sun. Willa followed the path down a hill and around the English department building. As she approached the union building, a voice called out from behind her, “Willa Fairfield?”