She ran down the rutted dirt path, clutching the grimoire to her chest. The farther she got from the house now, the more the moon lit her way, everything taking on a bluish-silver glow. She could make out the odds and ends that littered the property here, the wild shrubbery, and the rows of tall pines lining either side.
Her feet and lungs burned but she continued to run. His wild breaths told her he was exhausted—finally. She hoped it wasn’t due to the burst of cardio, but from how much magic he’d been using. She was banking on that.
Just as she passed the first tree in the line of pines, she shouted, “Now!”
Something almost instantly hit the ground behind her. Something that grazed the back of her ankles. She yelped but kept moving. Willow and Gretchen emerged from behind a pair of trees on either side of the path, hands out and words pouring from their mouths. It was the incantation she’d sent Willow earlier. The sleep spell Edgar had found that could essentially put someone into a coma.
Amber ran a few more steps, then turned around. Kieran was on the ground, struggling to get back up. It was a complicated spell, one that had four “levels.” Each one compounding the last until the person succumbed to sleep. Kieran had a gash in his forehead, blood tricking into his eye. He stood, shakily, and grinned at Amber despite being covered in dirt. Blood smeared his teeth.
“Give me the book, Blackwood,” he ground out, taking slow, shuffling steps toward her.
For every step he took forward, Amber took one back.
Willow and Gretchen still advanced from behind, hands out as they worked their way through the spell. Kieran was caught in the middle of a triangle made by the Blackwood women, and the spell was considerably slowing him down, but he still only had eyes for the book.
“The. Book.” He had a dirt-streaked hand out toward her, just feet from her now.
A faint pulse of blue ignited on both palms of Willow and Gretchen, and Kieran groaned, hands clutching his skull as he listed to one side. He sagged, dropping to one knee. They’d passed the second level of the spell. Two more and he’d be out cold—indefinitely—until they figured out what to do with him.
Just lie down, Kieran. Give up.
With another groan, he stumbled to his feet.
He was like a wild animal who’d been struck by a tranquilizer dart but refused to go down. He shuffled toward Amber again. She and this book were the carrot on the end of a string for him, a distraction for his singularly focused mind, while Willow and Gretchen completed the spell. Amber had hoped that both of them would be enough to knock him out faster.
Another pulse of blue from their palms—the triangle they made was smaller now; they were only six feet away from him—and his knees gave way. He hit the ground, sending up a puff of dust in his wake.
Yet, no sooner had the tension in Amber’s shoulders loosened, Kieran curled in on himself, then flexed, his limbs pointing in four directions, back arched. A burst of his magic pulsed out like a wave. The spell on Willow’s and Gretchen’s lips was abruptly cut off as the blast knocked them clean off their feet. Amber was launched too, though she managed to hold fast to the book, protecting it like a newborn. She hit the rutted road, was rolled a few times—elbows, knees, shoulders hitting rocks and barbed weeds—before skidding a few feet on her side and slamming into what remained of an old tractor. Thankfully her back hit one of the giant tires. It knocked the breath from her lungs, but if her skull had hit the tractor’s metal side, at the very least she would have been knocked unconscious.
Her entire body hurt. She was almost positive there were dirt and bits of rock embedded in the cuts on her arms and legs. Her black slacks were torn at the knees. But she didn’t have time to do a wellness check on herself because Kieran was back on his feet and prowling toward her.
And he looked well and truly ticked off.
Oh crap.
She struggled to stand, but her knees throbbed and her head swam and the book was oh so heavy in her arms. “Willow! Aunt Gretchen!”
No reply.
Amber’s throat tightened. They were fine. They had to be fine.
She had just stood to full height, the tractor against her back and keeping her upright, when Kieran’s hand shot out toward her, palm out.
Amber was too disoriented and off-kilter and in pain to react in time. She watched, as if in slow motion, as that swirling tendril-like magic of his flew toward her. She slammed her eyes shut, bracing for impact.
Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. Willow. Gretchen. Edgar. Jack. Sorry, everyone in Edgehill. And probably beyond. Because this cursed witch was going to kill her and take her mother’s book and rewrite history.
But instead of hitting her, like she’d seen the magic do to others, something unseen grabbed hold of her neck. She choked out a gasp and her eyes flew open.
She kicked her feet, which were hovering several inches above the ground now. She clawed at what felt like fingers squeezing her throat, trying to crush her windpipe. But her fingers only met air. Kieran stood just feet from her. Swirling black poured from his outstretched hand and slowly choked the life out of her.
Her vision blurred at the edges. She kicked and clawed for air.
“If you had just given the book to me,” Kieran said, and then thrust out his other hand.
The grimoire was ripped from Amber’s hands and her choked cry only further robbed her of air. Her limbs felt heavy, her eyelids slipping closed.
An odd, uneven noise played at the back of her mind, but she was so deprived of oxygen, she couldn’t place it.
CLANG!
Air rushed back into her lungs and she hit the ground.
Thud.
On all fours, one hand clutched at her neck, she tried to pull in more air through her bruised throat. Her nose ran and her eyes watered. Her vision was still a bit blurry.
She managed to look up and see Edgar standing over Kieran’s prone form. Edgar tossed the object he’d been holding aside.
“Did you … really just hit him over the head … with a shovel?” Amber asked.
Edgar shrugged. “When your magic is depleted, sometimes you have to go old school.”
Amber laughed despite herself, then instantly regretted it. She got to her feet. “Thanks, cousin. I was pretty sure I was a goner.” Then she started limping past him. “Willow! Aunt Gretchen!”
“We’re okay!” Willow called back from several feet away. “That protection tincture really helped, I think. But Gretchen was knocked into some brambles and is pretty banged up. We should probably actually go to the hospital this time.”
Relief that everyone fared okay almost brought Amber to her knees, especially now that whatever adrenaline had been coursing through her veins was fading. Turning back to Edgar, she saw that he had the Henbane grimoire in his hands.
“I think this is yours,” he said.
She took it from him, running a gentle had over the smooth cover. “You think you can teach me how to cloak it again? And soon? Who knows how many Penhallows are aware of it now.”
“Of course,” he said. “But, speaking of …” He jerked his head toward the rumpled, dirty, and bleeding Kieran at their feet. “What are we going to do about this guy?”
She sighed, gently touching the tender skin at her throat. This was only one Penhallow, and who knew how many others there were. How powerful the others were. She needed to know if she had the skills to protect people—her loved ones especially—from their cursed magic.
“Let’s get him inside,” she said. “I have a spell to do.”
Chapter 23
Amber, Willow, and Edgar all placed sleep spells on Kieran before they attempted to move him. Aunt Gretchen had gathered her wits about her by then, and even though she had a split lip, scratches all over one side of her body, and a significant limp, she refused to be escorted to the hospital until the “Penhallow problem” had been taken care of.
Once they were sure Kieran was out cold, Edgar and Willow used levitation spells to float the cursed
witch across the property and into the house. Amber would have helped—this particular spell seemed to be depleting what energy Willow had left—but Edgar told her to save everything she had for the next spell. Magic could only be replenished by rest, so she took it as easy as she could.
Amber had always known that using one’s magic was like flexing a muscle, but neither she nor Willow had used their magic as much in a month as they’d used it tonight. It was like training for a 5k and then deciding at the last minute to run a marathon. They were both exhausted.
After placing Kieran on the kitchen island, Gretchen hobbled up the stairs to check on Jack. Amber hoped he’d slept through it all.
Amber stood in front of Kieran’s head, then set up the grimoire beside it. She eyed him warily, worried he’d wake up at any moment and try to choke her again. Her neck still ached horribly, and she knew it would be even worse tomorrow.
“You can do this,” Willow said from across the island where she stood at his feet. “We’re here for whatever you need.”
“I just need you two to make sure he stays asleep. The spell you and Aunt Gretchen were doing before was ten times as powerful as the ones on him now and he still fought it. I’m worried once I start, it’ll wake him up.”
“We’ve got you covered,” Edgar said, standing to Kieran’s right, the Blackwood grimoire opened to one of the pages he’d bookmarked. “I’ve got a couple Willow and I can do after you get in there.”
In there. Kieran’s mind.
Taking a calming breath, she went to the last page of the Henbane grimoire, scanned her mother’s warning one more time, and then flipped past it.
Oddly, the spell itself was short. What was depicted here were mostly suggestions. Things to look for. Things to avoid. There were also notes scribbled in the margins.
A complete severing of power has yet to be done, remember that—what is shown here is what I think will work. But I’m not sure. I’ve never had a Penhallow to test it out on, nor a non-cursed witch who was willing to run the risk of losing their powers.
Be sure this is what you want, girls. And then go in with pure intention. Do not waver.
Edgar and Willow waited patiently for Amber to decide if she was willing to go through with this. But at this point, what was the alternative? Keep him in a coma forever?
She looked up at them. “Ready?”
They nodded.
Amber gave the spell another quick glance, memorized the words, then closed her eyes. She placed her hands on either side of Kieran’s skull. Just the touch alone ignited her magic. She said the incantation, stated her intention, and then … she was somewhere else.
She didn’t have a physical form—not like she did when she was in someone’s memories. There was no host to inhabit here. There was no light, no sound. There was just a pull.
So she followed it.
She imagined it was like being in a maze with her eyes closed. Her destination could only be reached if she utilized the rest of her remaining senses.
The pull was similar to what she felt when her magic itched to be used. A tingling, an urge, a compulsion. That was what she was following.
She let it pull her this way and that, not resisting when she was suddenly yanked in a new direction.
A sound reached her. More a sensation of noise, though. A vibration.
Something told her Kieran was fighting this now. Resisting.
She needed to move quicker.
The more Kieran fought, the more objects started to pop up in this not-place. Blurred images. Nothing she could label concretely. Bursts of color that faded as quickly as they appeared. A picture desperately trying to form.
And then suddenly, she was surrounded by the sensation she’d been following. It was like being caught in a tornado. There was an ache in her chest that nearly brought her to her knees. It swirled around her. Round and round and round it went. A mind-numbing desire. A need so great, she felt vaguely nauseous with it. She craved it so badly she wanted to scream—and yet she wasn’t even sure what “it” was. Just that she needed it now or it would surely kill her.
Was this how Kieran felt all the time? How all the Penhallows felt?
Amber hated it. She needed out. This wasn’t drive or passion—this was obsession. An all-consuming one that felt so impossibly wrong to Amber that she could hardly stand it and she’d only been here for a matter of minutes.
Focus, she told herself. Find the source.
She willed herself to sift through this jumble of feelings, this bone-deep ache for something she didn’t even have a name for. She dove deeper, pushed further.
And then she sensed it. She pictured it like the scorch mark that marred Edgar’s back. A fixed point before her from which the chaos emanated. A twisted, gnarled tree whose roots had rotted. She needed to yank it out. Not pluck off the leaves, or trim back the branches—the whole thing needed to go.
The swirl of panicked colors, of the thing that was trying to take shape, was moving in closer now. Kieran was fighting with everything he had. His magic didn’t want this. His magic had taken root decades before and had turned him into a dedicated, unflinching follower. A brainwashed, powerful witch who had lost his free will and was now at the twisted magic’s beck and call. She wondered if this magic—the magic that had turned Kieran into this twisted version of himself—would simply cease to exist if she did this right.
Was it fighting for its own survival?
She focused on the eye of this magical storm.
And she pulled.
The colors burst around her like a fireworks show at close range, minus the sound. Explosion after explosion of color. It was disorienting. An overload of the senses. But she willed herself to focus. This was for Kieran. To give him a chance to live his life without this festering thing warping him into something he wasn’t. Some horrible essence that had become an insult to magic.
And pulled.
Light and sound and upraised voices assaulted her ears.
Her ears!
She stumbled back, hitting the bank of cabinets behind her. Losing her footing, she slipped and fell to the ground. Willow’s face swam into view. Amber’s eyes couldn’t seem to focus on anything.
“Did it work?” she croaked out. That just-ran-a-marathon feeling hit her like a ton of bricks. Her head lolled forward, but she forced it back up. Her throat throbbed in time with her heart.
Willow had Amber’s face in her hands, tipping her head back. “It worked.”
Amber managed a faint smile, then slipped into unconsciousness.
When Amber woke up, it was in an unfamiliar bed. It took a moment for that initial panic to subside, and then recognition started to kick in. She lay on a twin bed in a tiny room with only a three-drawer dresser and nightstand for furniture.
She was still in Edgar’s house.
The bed creaked something awful as she attempted to sit up.
Willow was in the open doorway in an instant. “Oh thank God!” she said, then hurried to Amber’s side, pushing some of Amber’s sweaty hair out of her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Horrible,” she said groggily, scooting back until her back touched the wall. “What time is it?”
“A little after two in the morning,” Willow said sitting on the foot of the bed. “You’ve been passed out for three hours.”
Memories of her time in Kieran’s mind came rushing back in. She gently pressed a hand to her throat and willed herself to stop sounding like a seasoned smoker. “You said it worked? That wasn’t a dream?”
Willow grinned. “You were amazing! Kieran woke up about the same time that you passed out. He almost immediately started sobbing. He remembers all of it, but said it was like he’d been trapped in his own body for his whole life. The magic ruled him. You freed him from that.”
“Is his magic gone?” She wondered how bruised her neck was—could non-corporal hands still cause bruises? It certainly felt bruised.
Willow offered a small nod. “We t
hink so. We’re pretty sure he’s fully human now.”
Amber blinked at that. Somehow some part of her still felt guilty for taking something away from a person that made them who they were.
“Want to come talk to him?” Willow asked softly.
Amber hesitated, then nodded, mostly curious how his transformation could be so complete that the others felt comfortable having him in the house after everything he’d done.
It took a while to get down the stairs, as every part of Amber’s body hurt. Someone had tended to the gashes on her knees, but she was still a grimy mess and her other scrapes and bruises would need to be tended to.
“How’s Aunt Gretchen?” Amber asked just as they reached the base of the stairs.
“Hopped-up on pain killers—Edgar had some left over from some dental work a few months ago, apparently,” Willow said. “She said she wouldn’t go to the hospital until she knew you were okay. Stubborn old bat.”
Amber managed a laugh, though it hurt.
“Jack is still here, too,” Willow added in a whisper.
Amber’s stomach flipped. “How’s he taking it?” she rasped.
“Uhh … why don’t you deal with Kieran first.”
Great.
They all—Kieran, Aunt Gretchen, and Jack—were in a room just off the foyer. A room Amber hadn’t known was there, since this front area was usually kept so dark. The door for it had completely blended into the wooden wall.
Even though the door stood open, and likely had been for a couple of hours, the room still smelled musty when Amber followed Willow inside. It looked like an old Victorian woman’s sitting room—maroon, old-fashioned, wing-backed sofas and chairs dotted the space; a giant gaudy rug designed with swirling patterns in burgundy, dark blue, and cream covered most of the floor; and heavy, dark curtains covered windows that were already boarded up on the outside. The crackling fire in the fireplace was a nice touch, though.
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