by Teri Harman
She scoffed lightly. “But now? With everything turned upside down? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It does. Let’s do something normal, something solid, something just for us; not for the Covenant, not for your parents—although I’m sure they’ll be happy—but just because it’s what we want.” His heart raced, sweeping him away in his excitement. “Tonight! We’ll do it tonight. Here, in the backyard. Do you think Rowan counts as a minister or whatever?” His mind tumbled over the ideas, the images that followed. Willa in a white dress. His breath caught.
“What?!” Willa shook her head and looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. But behind her confusion he saw it: a glimmer of happiness.
He latched onto it. “Marry me, Willa. Be my best friend, my soul mate, my partner, my wife.”
Willa shook her head again, more slowly this time. She put a hand over her mouth. When she lowered it, her face transformed. A smile spread her lips, the kind he hadn’t seen since the trouble with Archard first began—carefree, unrestrained happiness.
A laugh bubbled out of her, and the space behind his heart grew comfortably hot. Simon pulled her to him and kissed her until the candles on the mantel melted.
Archard sat in the same place he’d been sitting for the last twenty-four hours, the kitchen table spread with Bartholomew’s and the Dreamer’s grimoires and all his notes about the two most important spells of his life. He was so close to perfecting them. Now they only had to wait for the full moon in three days.
The front door slammed shut, and he looked up to see Rachel hurrying in out of the rain. She shook off her raincoat and dropped it lazily to the floor. He turned back to his work. “Anything?” he said.
She scoffed. “How long are you going to make me follow them around like some grimy P.I.?” She dropped dramatically into a chair.
Archard ignored her complaint. “Anything today?” he repeated.
She exhaled sharply and then said, “The girl Dreamer has officially moved into Plate’s Place. I assume her big boyfriend will also. They spent the morning up in the mountains, doing some kind of spell. The Mind boy can’t seem to control his powers.” She laughed. “He threw his girl and Rowan thirty feet through the air.”
“Any indication that they suspect us?” he said while scribbling another note on his papers.
“Of course, not. They are so clueless. So much for all-
powerful Covenant magic.”
Archard finally looked up again. “I’ve been thinking about that. I was sure they’d have been onto us by now, even with all the protection and blocking spells. I’m beginning to think that something is wrong with their Binding.”
“What do you mean? How could the Binding work at all if it was flawed?” Rachel picked up the mug at his elbow and threw back the cold coffee.
Archard shook his head. “I’m not sure. It was just a thought. I have much more important things to worry about.”
Rachel hummed an acknowledgment. “Well, at the very least, it will make it much easier for us to break the Binding.”
“Exactly,” Archard nodded, flipping a page in one of the grimoires.
Chapter 27
Waxing Gibbous
July—Present Day
Willa stood in the kitchen of Plate’s Place, her chest tight with delicious anticipation. Wynter, Sarah, and Charlotte fluttered around her, fixing this and adjusting that. Willa waited to feel nervous, for her pulse to quicken or her stomach to twist; but instead, effulgent peace filled her from head to toe. She had never felt so calm, so content. None of the worries of the last weeks and months existed at this moment. All their problems pushed aside, saved for another day. Whatever might happen, now they faced it not only as soul mates, but husband and wife.
Dressed in her great-grandma Mabel’s wedding dress, Willa had also never felt as beautiful. The satin dress, once white, but now turned winsome cream with age, gleamed in the lamp light. The glossy fabric was cool against her flushed skin, and the dress was nearly a perfect fit. There hadn’t been time to properly clean it, so it smelled of dust and age, but Willa didn’t mind; she adored that smell. The dress had a shallow, sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves made of delicate, flower-
patterned lace—also yellowed with age, and paper-thin. The lace continued down from the sleeves to the high waist line, draping over the satin skirt in two A-line layers. Tiny silver beads lined the lace like droplets of dew. The skirt fell to Willa’s bare feet, a small train flaring out in the back.
Wynter handed Sarah a simple, elegant crown she’d woven from willow branches and small white roses. Sarah took it with an emotional smile and stepped in front of her daughter. The mother of the bride wore a simple baby blue summer dress and sandals, her shoulder-length hair curled around her face. Willa answered her mom’s smile with her own and dipped her head. Sarah nestled the crown into place and fluffed her daughter’s long chestnut waves. She took Willa’s hands and opened her mouth to speak but said nothing, her eyes brimming with motherly tears. Willa laughed and leaned forward to kiss her mom’s cheek.
Charlotte lifted Sarah’s camera from the counter and snapped a picture. Willa said, “It’s not as grand as we imagined, but it feels perfect, right?”
Sarah nodded, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. “Absolutely.”
Charlotte opened the backdoor. “Ready?” she said, beaming.
Willa took a slow breath, sparkling excitement in her blood. “Yes.”
The women moved out into the backyard where the rest of the covens, Ethan, and Simon waited under the willow. Willa gasped. Rowan had transformed the yard into a gorgeous wonderland. Garlands of roses and sunflowers were fastened to the porch and strung across the length of the grass to the willow, the smell blissfully intoxicating. Lanterns swung from the flower garlands, tea lights ablaze, throwing soft, glamorous light through the yard. Sprigs of rosemary and thyme lay out in lines, making a path from her to Simon. Along the path several ceramic urns stood proudly, overflowing with creamy peonies and lavender. The sun hung low in the sky, just about to slip behind the mountains. Nearly full, the snow-white moon rose opposite, adding its glistening light to the atmosphere. The willow shivered with joy, its leaves glistening in the candlelight.
Willa padded down the stairs, feeling suspended in a fantasy, a rare, mystical moment. Hazel handed her a bouquet of small sunflowers, mixed with rosemary and lavender sprigs. Tied to the stems of the flowers and herbs was a length of twine; from the end swung a rose quartz crystal. Willa caught her father’s misty eyes and smiled warmly. The tension that had existed between them for so long melted away. Looking at him, she felt like she had as a kid, when he would take her into his arms.
Simon stood near the trunk of the tree, next to Rowan, dressed in the same fine black suit with its handsome frock coat that he’d worn for the Covenant Binding. He didn’t wear a tie, leaving his crisp white shirt open at the neck. His blond curls glowed. His smile quickened the beat of her heart, and the look in his eyes made her stomach flutter in the best way.
Walking forward, the lush grass cool on her feet, Willa held Simon’s eyes, aware only of him. He eagerly stepped forward to meet her, taking her hand and tucking it into the bend of his arm. The air hovered at the perfect temperature, that pleasant spot between hot and warm. The owl that lived in the willow hooted loudly.
Reluctantly, Willa pulled her eyes from Simon to look at Rowan, who smiled broadly. Also dressed in his black suit, shirt open, beard neatly trimmed, the Luminary looked very much his part as leader. He nodded and began the ceremony. “The poet David Whyte wrote, ‘We are literally sparks struck from the creation of life itself.’ If we are fortunate to find our soul mate, we instantly recognize that spark. It is not only magical, but essential. Mr. Whyte also wrote it is ‘a human necessity to have an experience of the timeless in order to invigorate everything we must do in time.’ The joining of two soul mates, a timeless, eternal ritual, allows us to go through our time, our lives, with the person who mo
st perfectly helps us rise to the happiness and challenges that come.” He paused to smile and give directions. “Simon and Willa, please join right hands.”
Willa handed Charlotte her flowers and then held out her hand; Simon gripped it strongly. She smiled, feeling not only light and dizzy with happiness but also aware of a deep connection to the man in front of her. There had always been that powerful sense of joining, of being linked; but tonight it grew, matured.
Rowan stepped closer, four long silk ribbons in his hand: green, blue, red, yellow. He lifted the green ribbon first. “Will you stand together on a solid foundation of love, kindness, and forgiveness, as strong as the earth beneath your feet?”
First, Willa said, “Yes,” and then Simon.
Rowan draped the green ribbon over their joined hands. He lifted the blue. “Will you honor and respect one another, vowing to never break that honor, to be as faithful as the sea to the shore?”
Willa and Simon gave their yes, and Rowan draped the ribbon. Willa’s pulse quickened as she continued to hold Simon’s eyes. Marvelous warmth radiated from behind her heart.
With the red ribbon, Rowan said, “Will you share each other’s pain and seek to erase it?”
“Yes.”
“Finally, will you share each other’s laughter and look for the brightness in life, to keep each other’s spirits as light as air, carefree and unburdened?”
“Yes.”
Rowan draped the final ribbon and then gently gathered the ends, tying all four ribbons together in a large knot on top of Willa and Simon’s hands. “As your hands are bound together, so too are your hearts, your lives, your souls joined in a union of love and trust. Above you is the great moon . . .” Rowan lifted his head to the sky. A shimmering ribbon of moonlight serpentined down from the sky to wrap around the couple’s hand, hot and electric. Willa gasped as the energy entered her body, filled her soul, and connected her to Simon.
Rowan continued, “Below you is the earth, around you, the air.” A breeze shuffled through the weeping willow branches. “Inside you, the fire of your bond. This bond is yours forever to tend, to cherish, to savor. Cultivate it carefully, and your love will grow into the sturdiest tree, the most beautiful flower, the most enduring star in the firmament.”
Rowan stepped back. The moonlight circling Willa and Simon’s hands retreated quietly, leaving behind a glowing trail of opalescent white. “Simon, you may give Willa her ring now,” Rowan instructed.
Simon reached into his pocket. Willa lifted her left hand. As Simon’s hand came out to meet hers, it trembled, and his face shone with joy. “This ring belonged to Rowan’s great-grandmother,” he began. “It was passed down through several generations. When I saw it, I knew it would be perfect for you.” He opened his hand, and Willa gasped.
An oval moonstone, not only milky white but also with flecks of blue and green, sat in a bed of silver, the setting designed with small loops along the base of the stone. The band, an intricate weaving of silver Celtic knots, was wide at the top to support the stone but thinned near the bottom. The metal had a beautiful patina, obviously old, but well cared for. The ring as a whole was poetic and lovely.
Simon slipped it onto Willa’s finger, the metal warm from the magic. She beamed at Simon and then smiled her thanks at Rowan, who nodded proudly.
Willa also had a ring for Simon, this one a gift from her father. Charlotte reached forward and handed it to her. “This ring,” Willa said, “comes from my family.” She moved her eyes to her parents, standing together, holding hands. “This is my father’s father, Grandpa William’s, wedding band. Dad inherited it when William passed away a few years ago.”
Willa slid the simple white-gold band onto Simon’s finger. In the center of the band, a square of deep blue, beautifully veined turquoise sat regally. Simon gazed at the ring for a moment and then pulled Willa close for the softest, most tender of kisses he had ever given her.
When he pulled back, in his eyes she saw reflected all her emotions and sentiments. Something inside her settled, as if it took a deep sigh and eased into a more comfortable position. She felt like she should say something to voice her joy, but words fell short, inadequate. Simon smiled knowingly, sensing her thoughts. He lifted her hand and kissed the knuckle above the ring he’d given her.
Rowan stepped forward to wave his hand over the knot of ribbons. Slowly, the slips of silk untied themselves and then floated through the air to Sarah. Her eyes wide, Willa’s mother reached out to take the ribbons, a precious keepsake.
The group, their family, erupted in cheers and applause.
Chapter 28
Blessing Moon
July—Present Day
Willa and Rowan rode in silence to the cave.
Willa had never thought she’d return to the place. It didn’t feel like a real place anymore—she wasn’t sure it ever had. Instead, it felt like somewhere she’d seen in a dream, intangible and elusive. It didn’t feel like a location one could drive to on a sunny summer day, especially the day after a blissful wedding.
It felt like a haunting.
Unease wriggled in her stomach. What if it didn’t work? What if Amelia wasn’t there? Or worse, what if she was but wouldn’t talk? But Amelia had helped once before, gone to great lengths to leave the place of her afterlife and come to Wyoming with news of Simon and Wynter. If not for Amelia . . . Willa shuddered at the thought.
The ghost was the only way Willa could think to get the whole story, if her theory proved right to begin with.
If Amelia wasn’t the old crone . . . If this doesn’t work . . .
Rowan turned off the main road, and the SUV bumped down the dirt lane that led into the forest and to the cave. Willa turned to him, and they exchanged a weighted look. She gripped the door handle, staring out the window, waiting to see the clearing where the cave resided.
When it came into view, Rowan stopped the SUV and turned off the engine. She felt like a wind-up toy, jittery and stiff. Her eyes scanned the landscape, heart beating uncomfortably.
“Look at this place,” she said. “It’s even more of a mess than when we left it.” Half the trees were bent, broken, or stripped bare, and the ground had been chewed into a mangled mess. Goosebumps rose on her arms. “What happened here?”
Staring out the window, Rowan muttered, “Nothing good.” He put his hand on the door handle. “Let’s see if we can find out.”
Willa squeezed her eyes shut, took a breath, and then got out of the car.
They crunched their way through the trees to the clearing. Neither of them stepped immediately out into the open area but instead hovered in the trees, staring at the black mouth of the cave, plagued by memories. Rowan’s expression was pained; Wynter had almost died here too. Also, if Archard’s fire hadn’t erupted, she would have been the one to take his life, just as she had Holmes’s. Wynter had killed to protect the covens, but she didn’t seem affected by it like Simon. What was the difference?
“Rowan, is Wynter okay?” Willa asked quietly. He turned to her. “I mean, she killed Holmes and almost Archard. How does she deal with it?”
Rowan looked down at the ground and folded his arms. “Death is a natural part of life and magic. Sometimes killing to protect that which is good is necessary but never easy. Wynter understands that delicate balance, but it still hurts her. She has moments when she questions, when she cries over the life she took. Killing, even when necessary, is not easy for a Light witch because taking a human life for any reason touches Darkness.” He looked up. “It’s a fine line; one that is not easy to walk.”
Willa nodded, understanding and also fearing. If killing always meant Darkness, what happened if a Light witch killed too much? She hugged herself, trying to fight the crawling feeling in her stomach and the chill inside the trees. Not only was the air cooler here near the cave but also heavy with something, like Marley’s invisible chains: there, but untouchable; wrong, but unavoidable.
Rowan added, “It’s easier fo
r Wynter because she did it knowingly.”
She nodded. Exactly right.
Rowan gave her a small smile and then looked back out at the mess of the clearing. She pushed her thoughts aside and turned back to the clearing too. Frowning, the Luminary dared a few steps forward. He knelt, placed a hand on the disturbed dirt, and closed his eyes. Willa watched, a trickle of nerves moving down her spine. Rowan flinched, stumbled back. “Rowan?” Willa gasped, reaching for him.
His normally rosy cheeks turned white under his beard. “Corpses,” he whispered.
“What?” Willa gripped his arm.
He met her eyes. “The ground is full of dead bodies and soaked with blood.”
Willa’s limbs turned cold; her heart picked up speed. Looking with disgust at the dirt, she wanted to run far away. A wind raced through the trees, circling the clearing with the shushing sound of whispered words. She strained to hear, but the sounds fell off too soon, cut short. “Rowan?” she hissed.
He looked up into the canopy of leaves. “It’s the trees.” He listened. “They recognize us, and they speak of awful things. Sacrifices. All those bodies were sacrificed!”
The words felt like a slap. “The quakes? The missing people? The whole time it was here!” Willa inhaled sharply. “Who? Who did it, Rowan?”
Rowan pressed his eyes closed as he put his hand on the trunk of the closest aspen. “The trees cannot say.” He exhaled in frustration. “Darkness has touched this place too many times.” He turned to her, eyes wide. “Find Amelia. Quickly.”
Willa glanced nervously at the ground, her stomach turning with thoughts of dead, rotting bodies. Her heart beat rapidly. She looked at the soot stains on the cave’s entrance, the marks of the flames that had killed Archard. The thought of Rachel’s menacing figure standing outside the diner flashed in her head. She spun back around. “Rowan, do you think . . . ? Sun and moon, was this Archard?! Who else would use this place to make sacrifices?”