by J. A. White
Kara curtsied shyly.
“You have my sincere promise,” she said. Kara took his hand and gazed across the town square in wonder. “I still can’t believe you did all this for me.”
Lucas shrugged as though it had been nothing, but Kara knew that months of planning had gone into tonight’s celebration.
“The Shadow Festival was the one thing about the Fold that I actually liked,” Lucas said. “I just wanted you to experience it again.”
“Feels like the first time for me.”
“Well, you only ever did the little-kid stuff,” Lucas said. “You never attended the dance. So that will be a first.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
“Soon,” Kara promised, touching his lips. “There’s something I have to do first. The dance doesn’t start until later. I’ll meet you there.”
Though Lucas was clearly disappointed, he did not ask her what could possibly be so important. His absolute trust was one of the things that Kara loved best about him.
She wrapped her arms around his waist.
“We’re going to be together forever, Lucas Walker,” she whispered.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m a witch, silly,” Kara said, kissing him. “I know these things.”
She found Taff and they rode Shadowdancer to a quiet field flooded with moonlight. Watcher perched on a nearby branch, its eye the color of a ripe nectarine: Curious. Sordyr claimed that the one-eyed bird had no idea of the important role it had played in tonight’s enterprise. Kara wasn’t as convinced.
“Do you think it will really work?” Taff asked, his voice trembling with excitement.
“Stranger things have happened,” Kara said, “especially to us.”
She unclasped her locket and removed the seed.
Its hard casing was midnight blue, and it made a soft whish whish sound when Kara shook it. For as long as she could remember—which was, admittedly, not very long at all—the seed had been a constant presence in Sordyr’s lab, a secret project he could never seem to perfect. Finally, he had made some sort of breakthrough, and only then did Mary Kettle imbue the seed with the necessary magic.
They gave it to Kara on her seventeenth birthday and explained what it did.
She knew that Mary and Sordyr had meant the gift as a kindness, and appreciated the love and effort behind its creation. Nevertheless, Kara found herself hesitant to use it.
The magic isn’t permanent, she thought. Will it cause more heartache than happiness?
For the last eight months she had been carrying the seed around in her locket, considering that same question. But now, with the threat to Taff gone, she felt that the time had come at last.
“You want me to plant it?” Taff asked, holding out his hand for the seed. “You don’t want to get your dress dirty.”
“Let’s do it together,” Kara said.
They dug until their hands were black with dirt, dropped the seed into the hole, and covered it up. Sordyr had told Kara that the seed didn’t need to be planted deep, only “watered by moonlight.” He was right. Stems shot up from the ground and unfolded into strange peonies that gave off a soft silvery glow. Sordyr called them “moonflowers,” and soon Taff and Kara were standing in a small garden of them.
“Children!” exclaimed a voice behind them, thick with emotion.
Father had often told Kara that if she wanted to remember what her mother looked like she need only look in the mirror. But while it was true that Helena Westfall shared her daughter’s dark hair and eyes, there was a certain mischievous energy in her general demeanor that was all Taff.
“Mother?” Taff asked.
She leaped forward, her arms extended. Kara was worried that she might pass right through them like a ghost, but her body was warm and solid. Kara could even smell sandalwood in her hair.
“The things you’ve done!” she exclaimed, her beautiful face glowing with pride. “My children!”
“You saw?” Taff asked.
“Most of it,” Mother said. “Before they captured me that night, I used my grimoire to cast one last spell, just in case the worst happened. It allowed me to move my spirit into the nearest animal.” She looked over at Watcher. “Luckily this little fellow was in the trees above me.”
“Watcher was you this entire time?” Taff asked, mouth agape.
“Not exactly,” Mother said. “Mostly my spirit just lingered and watched, like a passenger on a ship. But I might have provided a little influence when I could.”
“Like when Watcher led me into the Thickety that first time,” Kara said.
“I knew you’d need a grimoire in the battles to come,” Mother replied. “And I was confident that you were strong enough to overcome its darkness. You are my daughter, after all.”
Sordyr had been the one who figured out that Watcher was more than just a bird. That’s why he had placed a piece of its feather inside the seed, providing just enough of Mother’s spirit to make the spell work.
“Let’s go,” Taff said, grabbing Mother by the hand. “Come back to the village with us. We’ve made such interesting friends! I can’t wait to introduce you!”
Kara felt her heart tear a little. In all his excitement, Taff had forgotten her repeated warnings about the limitations of the spell. It was why she had hesitated to plant the seed in the first place—and why Father had refused to come.
Beneath her feet, a moonflower died, its wilted petals drifting to the earth.
“I’m so sorry,” Mother said. “I can’t leave the garden. And once the last flower dies I have to go. Forever this time.”
Another moonflower wilted.
“But that’s not enough time!” Taff exclaimed, tears rolling down his cheeks. “This isn’t fair! We just got you back and—”
“Hush,” Mother said. “Any time with those we love is a gift, son. The trick is to use it well. Besides, this isn’t an ending. I live on, in you and Kara. I might have been a competent witch, but nothing I could cast or conjure could ever compare to you. I’ve left my mark on the world in the most astounding way, and I didn’t even need a grimoire to do it!”
She drew them close.
“You, children, are my Last Spell,” she whispered.
And so, no longer looking at the moonflowers, the three figures talked quietly in the dark. They spoke of the past and present but mostly of the future that stretched before the children like an undiscovered forest. Taff, inspired by the architects of Sablethorn, hoped to design even bigger buildings one day. And Kara imagined a quiet life of caring for animals and teaching witches how to use magic properly. Their mother barely spoke, preferring to listen in awed fascination, every word a revelation.
No one noticed when the last moonflower died. One moment their mother was there and the next she was simply gone, leaving the smell of sandalwood in the air.
The siblings sat in silence for a long time.
“Are you okay?” Kara finally asked.
“I’m not sad, if that’s what you mean,” Taff replied, sounding surprised at his own reaction. “I’m glad we saw her. I always knew that Mother loved us, but it’s different, actually seeing it in her eyes. Now I know for sure. I wouldn’t trade that memory for anything in the world.”
“You made her so proud,” Kara said.
Taff grinned madly, looking for just a moment like an eight-year-old boy again.
“Not just me,” he said. “Both of us.”
Kara smiled, recalling the look of pride in her mother’s eyes. I have a memory of her again, she thought. One that I can keep forever. A warm bloom of joy filled her chest. Sordyr had indeed given her a gift beyond compare.
Taff turned toward the village.
“We should get back. Lucas will be waiting for you.”
Kara raised her eyebrows. “Or maybe you’re just worried that all the best candy will be gone if we don’t hurry.”
“Exactly!” Taff exclaimed, already starting along the path. “The Shadow
Festival only comes one time a year!”
Kara began to follow him and then, after a moment’s consideration, untied the wooden locket from around her neck and left it at the base of the tree. She took her brother’s hand, and together the witch’s children made their way toward the warmth and lights of home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I first started writing The Thickety, I envisioned a sixty-thousand-word stand-alone novel that I could pound out in five months. Little did I know that it would take me three hundred thousand words, six years, and seventy-two thousand cups of coffee to reach the final page.
I could not have pulled this off without the following people:
My editor, Katherine Tegen, is clearly a time traveler who goes into the future, reads the published book, and bases her feedback on the differences between that and my initial draft. It’s the only reasonable explanation for such startling insights.
Alexandra Machinist gives sagely advice and makes me laugh, often simultaneously. She is a good friend as well as a brilliant agent.
These novels would not be the same without the amazing illustrations of Andrea Offermann and design genius of Amy Ryan—thank you!
I also want to thank all the folks at HarperCollins/KT books, especially Kelsey Horton, who is painstakingly meticulous about making my books perfect, and Jenny Sheridan and Kathy Faber. They convinced countless independent booksellers that A Path Begins was worth checking out, and I think that has made all the difference in the world.
Thank you to my three sons—Jack, Logan, and Colin—for understanding why their dad has to lock himself in the basement with his laptop and can’t always play Monopoly.
My wife, Yeeshing, is a never-ending source of patience, love, and inspiration. I don’t deserve you.
And finally, thank you so much to the readers, both old and young, who have taken this journey along with Kara and Taff. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride.
BACK AD
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. A. WHITE is the author of the Thickety series. He lives in New Jersey with his wife, three sons, and the ghost of their hamster, Ophelia. When he’s not making up stories, he teaches a bunch of kids how to make up stories (along with math and science and other important stuff). He wishes dragons were real because it would be a much cooler way to get to work. You can visit him online at www.jawhitebooks.com.
Discover more about the Thickety at www.thethicketybooks.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
BOOKS BY J. A. WHITE
The Thickety: A Path Begins
The Thickety: The Whispering Trees
The Thickety: Well of Witches
CREDITS
Cover art © 2017 by Andrea Offermann
Hand lettering by David Coulson
Cover design by Amy Ryan
COPYRIGHT
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE THICKETY #4: THE LAST SPELL. Text copyright © 2017 by J. A. White. Illustrations copyright © 2017 by Andrea Offermann. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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ISBN 978-0-06-238139-2
EPub Edition © March 2017 ISBN 9780062381415
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FIRST EDITION
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