by Teri Harman
After a roll of her shoulders, she lifted the stone out in front of her and said the spell that would bring her dream to life. “Dream cradle, reveal your nighttime keep. Moonstone, show what you hold deep.”
The stone grew warm, then hot, bursting to life with a blinding flash of light. The light flickered a few times, like an old movie projector. The Twelve Acres Cemetery fell to the background, and an ancient graveyard, black and foggy, materialized as if from a thick fog.
The dream progressed in silvery shadows. The Dark witch crested a hill, a moonstone in his hand, this one etched with the death’s head. Willa shivered as he pulled the ghosts from their graves, hooking them like fish on a line with his twisted magic. When he ravaged the townspeople of their souls, she wished Simon would step closer and put his arms around her. She dared to turn her head and look at him. A strange expression contorted his face, a mixture of emotions and thoughts she couldn’t identify. His eyes darted back and forth, following the movements of the witch.
Finally, the witch boxed up his plundered souls and the dream switched to a new scene: this, the one Willa had mentioned: Archard and the Dark witch flanking Solace. Solace, in her purple dress and curls, hung her head, slumped forward as if asleep standing up. The Dark witches stared forward with looks of triumph and satisfaction.
Willa’s bones grew stiff with cold. She looked away.
She was surprised to find Simon standing right next to her, gazing at the ancient witch with a curious expression. The moonstone flickered off, the light retreating. She lowered her arm, continuing to look at Simon.
“That’s the witch you’ve been dreaming about?” he whispered, his eyes focused on the spot where the dream had appeared.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Simon turned to look at her, his eyes pinched, forehead wrinkled. He took her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
Rowan interrupted by saying, “I didn’t know that was possible—pulling souls from the grave.” He reached out to steady himself on a tall headstone.
“It shouldn’t be,” Darby hissed.
“Who is that?” Rain asked, her arms hugged tight around her torso.
“I don’t know,” Willa answered. “Wynter mentioned legends about a witch named Bartholomew the Dark, but I have no way to know for sure.” She slipped the moonstone back into the dream cradle. “I started seeing him in my dreams the night Simon was attacked on the cliff.”
Rowan nodded. “I see why you believe Archard has taken ghosts. If he somehow discovered that other witch’s magic . . .” A chilled wind moved through the cemetery. Koda gave a low growl.
“But why?” Wynter said. “What’s the point of taking Solace, Ruby, and the others?” She touched Ruby’s tombstone tenderly. “It can’t just be revenge.”
Another wind blew across the cemetery, and a thick cloud moved over the late July sun. Willa sat down in the grass, too tired to stand anymore. Koda trotted over to sit next to her. Then, one by one, all her coven-mates sat in the grass.
After several long moments of restless silence, Rowan said, “It’s time to go to Oregon.”
Willa’s head jerked up. “What?” she and several others said together.
“There’s one more spell we can try to find Archard.” Rowan looked from face to face and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a fountain pen, black and sleek as a dagger. “I found this at Archard’s old house. It’d fallen among the rocks in the driveway. I’m going to assume it belonged to him, or at least that he used it. If so, we can use it to find him.”
Rowan turned the pen over in his hand, and Wynter added, “We know one very powerful locator spell, but it must be performed by the ocean.” She looked at Rowan. “We know the perfect place on the Oregon coast. We’ll do it on the black moon, to reinforce the spell.”
Rowan leaned closer to Wynter. “We could stay with her. I mean, if you are all right with that.”
Wynter frowned and then exhaled. “Yes, it’s fine. I’ll call her when we get back.”
“Who are you talking about?” Willa asked.
“My mother,” Wynter said, looking at Willa. “She has a big house near the cove. We will stay with her for the night, after the spell is done.” There was an edge to Wynter’s voice; and when she looked away, Willa wondered what had passed between Wynter and her mother.
“But before we go,” Rowan said, “We should finish Simon and Willa’s Elemental Challenge.”
Willa’s jaw dropped, immediately forgetting about Wynter and her mother. Simon scoffed. “Are you sure, Rowan?” he asked. “It seems . . . insignificant right now.”
“On the contrary, having the strength of a True Witch will greatly aid you both when we find Archard. Because if we find him, there will be a fight—one far worse than last time.” Rowan let his gaze rest on Simon for a moment. Then he looked over at Willa. “The challenge is far more than a rite of passage. It solidifies, balances, and enhances your powers. You both need that.”
Willa nodded tentatively. “Okay. But is there time? The black moon is two days away. When do we do it?”
Rowan slid Archard’s pen into his pocket. “Tomorrow. Dawn.”
Rachel waited until the Covenant left the cemetery and then hurried back to the house. Seeing through the blocking spell Wynter set had been easy; Bartholomew’s divination spell cut through the Light witches’ concealment like a wind through the fog. And his cloaking spell let her observe the light witches undetected.
Archard sat at the kitchen table poring over Bartholomew’s book, making notes on the spell they would use to Bind the ghost Covenant. He wrote slowly, awkwardly, his right hand wrapped in bandages.
Without looking up, he asked, “Have you seen my black fountain pen? It would be easier to hold with these damn bandages.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped in surprise. Archard looked up at her. “What is it?”
“The pen—I just saw Rowan with it. Apparently, one of their Dreamers saw the house in Denver. They went to check it out. Rowan found your pen.”
Archard huffed and adjusted the ballpoint in his awkward hand. “Sun and moon! So they do suspect I’m alive; and now they’re going to do a locator spell. Well, it’s about time they did something.”
“Yes, and they plan to do it on the night of the black moon.” Rachel leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on another. “In Oregon.”
Archard narrowed his eyes and then sighed. “Ocean magic. Hmmm.”
“They also found the marks on the graves.”
Archard threw down his pen. Absently, he scratched at his healing sores through his bandages. “Do they know what it means?”
“Not really, but the other Dreamer—the girl—she’s having dreams about Bartholomew.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Now that is interesting. Anything that could hurt us?”
Rachel took a long drink of water from Archard’s glass. “She saw you, too. They know there is a connection, but are clueless beyond that.”
Archard pursed his lips as if he smelled something foul. “Interesting.”
Rachel nodded, took another drink.
“Make the arrangements for us to go to Oregon,” he said.
“Why?” she set down the empty glass.
“Because we are going to crash their little spell, and then make them watch as I Bind a Dark Covenant made of Light witch ghosts.” The pleasure of the idea filled his body, his skin flushing red. “That will be much more satisfying than killing them now and Binding the ghosts later. This event deserves an audience.”
Rachel nodded in approval. “I’ll get everything ready.”
“Be sure we have something strong to pack the box in. The power has grown exponentially since the full moon, and I’m worried about the integrity of that old iron.” He looked down at his notes. It’s almost time! Archard’s confidence and arrogance had also grown since the full moon.
“I have a feeling we are going to need every ounce of that power if we are going to pull this off.
” Rachel dropped her feet to the floor with a loud slap.
Archard furrowed his brows and looked back up. “Do not doubt me, dear. This will be one of the greatest successes in the history of Dark magic, next to my accomplishment on the full moon. I will sit beside Bartholomew as a lord of Darkness.”
“Of course, Archard,” Rachel said blandly and then left the room.
Chapter 35
Waning Crescent
July—Present Day
For a moment, there was only the promise of light, a glow behind the mountain peaks as dawn grew in the east. Then, suddenly, ripples of pink flowed over the sky. This morning the weather was pleasant, the temperature hovering between warm and hot. Willa whispered a morning chant to herself, “Hail fair sun, ruler of day, burn clear and bright to light my way.” An extra whisper of warmth touched her cheek.
A hum under her skin announced Simon’s approach. He stopped just behind her, stood silent for a moment as he too watched the sun rise. Then he said, “They’re ready for us.”
Willa turned and smiled at him nervously.
“You ready?” he asked as he stepped forward and took her hands. Dressed in T-shirts and shorts, they looked ready for a day at the gym.
Willa exhaled. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Right now, I’m just looking forward to it being over.”
Simon nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
“It’s hard to focus on this with . . . everything else going on.” She closed her eyes, fresh fear rising in her gut. What’s going to happen? Can we save Solace, Ruby, and the others?
“I know, but I’m sure, once the challenge starts, we won’t be able to think about all that stuff.” He frowned.
Willa nodded, folding her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling chilled.
The couple turned and walked down the hill to the field chosen for the challenge. Rowan had picked an abandoned farm field with a spattering of old cottonwood trees, overgrown and wild, and just far enough out of town to be private.
The Luminary met them at a fallen rail fence, the boundary of the field. None of the other Covenant members were in sight. He folded his arms and smiled soberly. “Well, here we are. Everything is prepared. I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but I have every confidence in both of you. Try to put aside everything else.” He blinked his blue eyes and then added, “Willa, you’ll go first.”
Willa’s stomach dropped. “Okay,” she managed to say, despite the sudden tightness in her jaw and throat. She hadn’t practiced for a week, and she still had an exhaustion hangover from her vigil at the museum. Simon turned to her and took her face in his hands. His dark brown eyes focused on hers. “You will be amazing.” After a smile, he brushed a kiss onto her lips.
His words helped in a tiny way, enough to steady her nerves so she could follow Rowan out into the field without shaking knees. Touched by the bright light of dawn, the dry grass glowed gold and the trees’ leaves shimmered green. As Willa followed, she listened to the sound of a running irrigation line, doing her best to clear her mind.
Rowan stopped in the middle of the field and turned to her. “Now, remember, you may only use the element I call out to defend the attack. It doesn’t matter how you use it, but it must be that element. And we will not go easy on you. Everyone will push hard.”
Willa nodded and chewed her bottom lip. “Okay, I’m ready.” Am I?
Rowan smiled with empathy. “I know you are. I’m sorry we have to do this now, but know you can still triumph.” He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she nodded. “Best of luck, Willa.” And then he was gone, moving away to place himself behind her, leaving her alone in the middle of the field.
Just a test. Just a test. I’m good at tests.
Her heart tripled its speed; her pulse throbbed annoyingly at her neck and wrists. Two long breaths did little to help. Fists at her sides, Willa closed her eyes.
Breathe.
“Ready!” Rowan yelled from behind her. Willa braced her whole body, ready to act, trying to ignore the shaky sensation in her core. “AIR!”
Rain appeared out of nowhere and threw a wall of water at Willa. It hit her full force, knocking her off her feet. Soaking and sputtering, Willa scrambled to her feet. Instantly, another blast of water hit her in the face, the liquid pushing into her eyes, nose and mouth. For a moment, she was drowning standing up. Then with a forceful cough she steadied herself.
Air. Use the power of air.
With a quickness that surprised her, Willa rolled out of the way of the next water wall and sprang to her feet. She called to the magic. Another wall came at her; she ducked under it. Then two walls, one from either side, raced down upon her. Just in time, Willa dove out of the way but was again soaked when the two collided midair in a dramatic splash.
Focus.
She hurried to her feet. Swift and effectual power of air . . . ! Immediately, her hands grew hot, she lifted them in front of her. The next wave rolled only a few feet away, glistening in the sun, churning over the grass. Her hands grew hotter. A small cyclone of air appeared before her. She gasped, but kept her focus. She pushed more magic and energy into the cyclone until it grew as tall and wide as she.
Unleashing it, the air pummeled through the wall of water, sent it spattering backwards in a million scattered drops.
“Ready!” came Rowan’s call. She didn’t even have time to smile at her first success. “FIRE!”
Oh, no!
Fire was her weakest skill. Her failure at the candle test haunted her.
Willa dropped to the ground in a crouch, eyes and ears attuned, waiting for the next attack. The field was eerily quiet except for the huff of her breath.
The ground around her trembled furiously, and the heads of plants erupted in a circle around her, growing faster than she could escape, encasing her in a ring of hawthorn bushes.
Pale pink flowers burst to life on the branches all around her, deceptively hiding five-inch-long thorns. She moved to push the branches aside, but they struck back as quick as snakes, leaving wicked slices on her forearms and hands. Jerking back, she hissed at the pain.
Fire. Find the fire.
Closing her eyes, ignoring the throbbing of the cuts on her arms, Willa focused. Mighty fire . . . The heat answered, and, when she held out her hand, a burst of flame shot outward into the bushes. It surprised her—never had so much fire come when she called.
More.
Soon her palms were torches, spewing out jets of flame that burned a large channel though the bushes. Sweat-soaked and breathless, Willa crawled out. The thorns grew back so quickly that her legs suffered a few more nasty cuts. Collapsing free of the bushes, Willa sucked in fresh air. Her body cried out for a rest, but immediately Rowan’s call came up.
“WATER!”
Willa clamored to her feet and spun, just in time to dive out of the path of a huge fireball. It crashed and erupted in the remains of the hawthorns next to her.
Great. More fire.
Focus. Use the water.
She pushed up and took off, the whizzing sound of another fireball close behind.
I need water.
Whipping her head side to side as she ran, she tried to orient herself. She had to find that irrigation ditch. For a few seconds, she held her breath, listening, waiting to hear the laugh of the water. She turned to the right.
There it is!
She moved toward the sound and soon saw the small ditch, overflowing with cool, clear water. Unfortunately, Darby stood just beyond it, a fresh fireball balancing on her hand. Willa pushed her legs harder.
Get there.
Darby launched the ball. Willa tensed to dodge it, but the ball fell short, hit the ground in front of the ditch and erupted into a ten-foot wall, blocking her way. The heat scorched her skin, Willa put a hand up to shield her eyes.
No! Now what?
An idea came.
Am I strong enough?
Willa squeezed her eyes shut and summoned the water. It responded quickly, easil
y, rising from the ditch in a tall pillar. She held it in place with her outstretched hand. The magic tingled along her arm, put energy in her blood. For the first time during the challenge, Willa marveled at how amazing it felt to have so much magic churning inside her.
She lifted her other hand, brought the two together and then slowly separated them. The pillar split into two. She pulled her right hand back, and the water fell on the wall of flame, extinguishing it with a loud hiss and a rush of steam; left hand thrust out, and the second pillar spiraled its way to Darby.
When the Fire witch cried out, her voice garbled by the water, Willa grinned, all nervousness gone, forgotten. The euphoria of her powers pulsed inside her.
More.
Rowan called the last challenge. “EARTH!”
Willa took a breath and scanned the field, waiting. The air around her began to churn, her hair whipping into her eyes. When she turned, she stood face to face with a towering, ugly tornado. It curled down from the sky, growling and twisting.
Willa bit her tongue to keep from screaming out, backpedaling away. Her mind desperately grabbed for an idea. The power-high she’d felt a moment ago puttered out.
Too much! How do I stop a monster?
The gray cyclone, now as wide as a car and towering to the clouds, surged forward; and Willa continued to back away. She tripped on a large rock and went down hard on her back. The funnel cloud took the advantage and scooped her up into its spinning embrace.
This time she did scream.
Upside down, disoriented and incredibly dizzy, Willa wanted to call out defeat, but gave one last ditch effort.
Focus. One more time. Find the power. Just like with the water.
In the chaos of the funnel, she managed to see the branches of a large tree not too far away. She reached out, but the tree was just beyond her fingers. With everything left inside her, she called to the Earth, to the tree.
Hear me. Help me!
Her hand trembled as she reached, her body continuing to spin.
The tree . . .
Heat leaped from her palm, arcing over to the branches. The tree shuddered in answer to her call, and, with a wooden grunt, leaned itself to the side, extending its branches into the tornado. Limbs and leaves tore at her face, but she managed to get a solid grip before the tornado moved away.