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  She lifted her hand and summoned water from a bowl on her nightstand. A trail of drops arced through the air and gathered in her hand. She then swirled her hand over the baby, moving the individual droplets on Lilly’s skin, scrubbing her clean.

  Dry and swaddled in a clean blanket scented with rose and lavender, the baby turned her head into Amelia’s body, rooting for milk. Amelia tenderly brought the baby to her breast, cradling the small body in her arms, savoring the warmth of the baby’s skin against her own.

  A perfect moment in time, suspended in heavenly happiness.

  Camille and Solace finished cleaning up the room. Camille set a small red candle on the nightstand, snapped it to life and then handed Amelia a cup of red raspberry leaf and willow bark tea. “Do you need anything else, my dear?” she asked.

  “No, thank you so much. You are both so wonderful.” Amelia sipped the sweet, soothing tea.

  Camille smiled. “You did wonderfully.” She stroked Lilly’s head. “I’ll check on you in a couple hours. Peter and the others should be back soon. He’ll cry when he sees how beautiful his daughter is.”

  “He’ll never forgive himself for missing her birth, but it couldn’t be helped. I just hope they are all right,” Amelia said, looking at Lilly’s eyes, noticing they were the same round shape as Peter’s.

  “I can’t believe these Dark covens,” Solace said shaking her head. “Poisoning a whole town! What is the point of that?”

  Camille nodded. “It’s terrible. Peter’s potion will save them though. He’s good at fixing things.” She leaned down and kissed Amelia’s forehead. “Good night, dear. And don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. You enjoy that little one.”

  “I will.” Amelia smiled sleepily. As Camille and Solace left the room, she settled back into the pillows, the baby asleep at her breast. She didn’t want to worry about Peter and the others, didn’t want to dwell on what the Dark covens might be planning, but suddenly a shocking jolt of doubt clouded the room. She looked down at her child’s peaceful face. “What have I done?” she whispered.

  My poor little baby. How could I be so foolish, so selfish to bring a child into the world at this time?

  Amelia had seen the future in the water, and although she held out hope that it would change, deep inside, she could feel time slipping away, like sand in an undertow. Her denial had been absolute when she allowed herself to become pregnant. All she wanted was happiness, a family with Peter, her partner in magic and in life. But she had been fooling herself, and Lilly was now the victim of her obstinacy. What did she have to offer this child but a shame-filled, motherless future?

  “Holy moon! What have I done?”

  Panicked tears formed in the corner of her eyes, and silent sobs hitched in her chest, disturbing the baby as she slept. A chill moved over Amelia’s heart, so cold that she found it hard to draw breath. The flame of the red candle on the nightstand puffed out, and no smoke rose from the extinguished wick.

  Suddenly, Solace burst back into the bedroom, her face flushed and eyes too-wide.

  “Solace!” Amelia cried, sitting up so abruptly the baby Lilly began to cry.

  “Oh, Amelia,” Solace cried breathlessly, stumbling forward to the bed, collapsing to the floor next to Amelia. “Peter . . . and the others . . .” Solace up gazed at her friend with round, wet eyes and Amelia knew what she would say. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

  Solace gasped out the terrible words. “They are all dead!”

  Chapter 15

  Waxing Crescent

  Present Day, October

  It didn’t matter that they were all exhausted, Willa wanted some answers as soon as possible and the hour-long drive to Wynter’s house was a perfect chance. She needed to know if what they were doing was the right thing. As soon as she could push back her tears, she turned in her seat to look at Wynter in the back.

  “Wynter, can you tell us more about what’s going on? Who we are? How we can do the things we do?”

  Wynter smiled, her eyes half closed. “Of course, sweetie. I want to answer all your questions. I know you must be so confused and scared.” She straightened up and exhaled. “Hmm. Where do I begin?” Wynter looked out the window at the night. Willa looked over at Simon and he took her hand.

  “Let’s start with the Six Gifts,” Wynter said. “Every witch is born with a specific, dominant talent or ability. There are six in all. The four elemental gifts: Earth, Air, Water, and Fire. And the two gifts connected to the Otherworld, or the world beyond our own: Mind and Dreams.”

  “So, I have the Gift of Dreams?” Willa asked.

  “Yes, but not just that. You also have an extra talent, a rare one that only a few Dreamers receive—the Power of Spirits. This, of course, means that you can see and communicate with the spirits of the dead who have not crossed over into the Otherworld.”

  Willa nodded. Gift. She had never thought to give that term to her abilities. If anything it had always felt more like a burden. “And what about Simon?”

  Wynter looked at the back of Simon’s head. “Simon is a bit of a mystery to me. You said you can sense emotions, hear thoughts. Is that right, Simon?”

  “Yes,” he said, quickly looking back. “I feel what people around me feel and can sense their intentions, the kind of people they are, I guess. It’s rare that I hear actual thoughts, except with Willa. The longer we’re together the easier it is to hear her.”

  Wynter nodded, “Yes. That is because you two are connected in the magic. The magic makes you closer, actually binds you to each other. Your souls are connected and always will be.” Wynter smiled. “But what about the healing? Tell me about that.”

  “Well, I’ve always been able to do that, too. I’ve healed all kinds of animals with all kinds of injuries. And a few people, including you. Oh, and I guess myself. Any time I’ve had an injury, it heals almost immediately and I don’t get sick.”

  Willa blinked in surprised; she hadn’t realized that his healing power extended to his own body.

  “Hmm,” Wynter mused. “That is where the mystery comes in. You see, witches with a talent for healing are usually a Water witch, or have the Gift of Water. But you have the Gift of Mind. Have you ever been able to manipulate or control water?”

  Simon shook his head, “No.”

  Wynter nodded and narrowed her eyes in thought. Willa studied Simon’s face. A line of tension pulsed at his jawline. More mystery about his abilities was probably not what he wanted to hear. She tightened her grip on his hand and offered him a reassuring smile when he shifted his eyes to her.

  Simon asked, “So, I have more than one gift?”

  “Well, it certainly looks that way, but the thing is, that’s not possible.”

  Simon looked from Willa to Wynter and then back at the road. His hands kneaded the steering wheel. “Not possible? But . . .”

  “I know how that sounds, since you obviously do. That’s the mystery. Witches are born with only one gift. I’ve never seen or heard of an exception to that rule. Of course, a True Witch, or a well taught witch, can use the magic of all the elements, and many witches even become proficient at sensing others’ emotions, but they remain the most proficient in their one gift.” Wynter sighed. “But there’s more.”

  Simon opened his mouth, but then shut it again.

  Willa asked, “What is it?”

  “Even the most talented Water witch cannot heal with the touch of his hand. Waters use potions and herbs infused with magic to heal, but Simon . . .” Wynter paused and looked out her window. “There are legends of a kind of witch—even rarer than a Dreamer with the Power of Spirits—known as True Healer. I think, Simon, that you are a True Healer, able to heal animals and humans with magic already inside you.”

  A significant silence followed Wynter’s declaration. Willa watched Simon’s face, his eyes narrowed and the muscles in his jaw flexing and releasing. Finally, he said, “Is that a bad thing?”

  Wynter laughed, “Of
course, not, sweetie. It’s amazing. You don’t need to be worried. In all my forty-two years, I’ve never come across a more talented, more magic-rich couple than the pair of you. You should feel . . . well, proud. Your gifts are incredible and you will be able to do great things with them once you are trained.”

  Willa and Simon held each other’s eyes for a protracted moment, as long as Simon could manage to look away from the road. Willa rolled the information around in her head and found only more questions.

  “Okay, but how did we become witches? Why were we born with these gifts?”

  “It’s usually through family lines, something in the genes. You have to be born with magic; it’s not a learned talent. Willa, your mom said you had witches in your family. How about you, Simon? Any strange family history?”

  Simon tensed. “Not any that I know of; I know very little about my family history. My parents are as far from magical as you can get.” In five months together, Simon had only briefly mentioned his parents and always in such vague terms. Willa had never met them or even seen a picture. How did they hurt you so much?

  Wynter nodded, seeming to sense the shaky ground that was Simon’s parents. “Many witches don’t know exactly where their gifts come from. Magic can skip many generations.”

  Willa nodded. “Okay, that all makes sense, I guess. Now, what about Holmes and what he did to you? What’s going on there?”

  Wynter frowned and looked away. “Witches choose a path, either Light or Dark. Basically, good or evil. Light witches use the magic to help, to improve. Dark witches bend the magic to hurt, to destroy. They use it selfishly. I’m a Light witch and Holmes was a Dark witch.”

  “You said he wasn’t working alone?” Simon asked.

  “Yes. Witches often come together to form covens, or groups. The magic is always stronger with more witches together. The strongest kind of coven is a True Coven, all male or all female, one of each of the Six Gifts. The Six Gifts together form a perfect magical circle. It’s very powerful, but there is something even more powerful, and that is a Covenant. A Covenant is the binding together of two True Covens, one male and one female. It’s a perfect balance of magic. As a Covenant the witches control a unique hold over the magic or the Powers of the Earth. All magic is rooted in the earth.”

  “Are you in a Covenant?” Willa asked.

  Willa smiled wanly. “No. Covenants are extremely rare. It’s difficult to find all the witches needed to form two complete True Covens. Some gifts are more common than others and there are fewer witches in the world than there used to be. Also, the secrets of how to bind a Covenant are well protected.”

  Simon asked, “Is Holmes in a Covenant?”

  “No, but he and his coven-mates are trying to form one. They are led by a man named Archard, a particularly Dark witch.” Wynter inhaled. “He will stop at nothing to form a Covenant.” Wynter laid her head back on the seat. “This summer my husband and I, after nearly fifteen years of efforts, found the last witches we needed to form two True Covens. We were ready to bind the Covenant and needed only to wait for the October full moon, the blood moon, to do it. But Archard found us.

  “He attacked late one night; we were completely unprepared.” She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was strained. “We lost two dear friends that night before we were able to flee to safety. A few days later a letter came, addressed to me. From Archard. He declared that he had taken hostage another member of my covens, and that if I wanted her back, I must come to Twelve Acres and bargain for her life.”

  When Wynter paused for a long time, her eyes glazing over as she stared out the window, Willa gently prompted, “So you came?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t get in contact with my friend—the one Archard claimed to have; her home was empty. Foolishly, in an effort to protect the rest of my coven-mates, I came alone to Plate’s Place. It was a trap. Archard is hellbent on binding his Covenant this blood moon, only a couple weeks away, but he’s missing one witch to complete his covens. One Earth.”

  “You’re an Earth,” Simon said.

  Wynter lifted her head and nodded. “Yes. Rowan and I are both Earth witches.”

  “So, Holmes tried to force you to join their covens?” Willa added.

  “Yes. Holmes was a Mind witch, a powerful one, and he used his skills to break into my mind and try to break down my free will, my ability to clearly make the choice. He tried to manipulate me. Not even magic can force a person to do something against her will. So Holmes tried to change my will.”

  Willa shook her head. “I’m so sorry.” She looked down at Wynter’s right arm and the line of scars. A chill crept up her neck at the memory of watching Holmes cut her. “Why the knife then?”

  Wynter also looked down at her many hash-mark scars. “He thought pain would hurry my change of mind.” She ran a finger over the marks. “One for every time I said no.” Wynter finally looked at Willa, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  A knot of emotion formed in Willa’s throat. “I’m so sorry, Wynter.”

  “Willa, I owe you my life. That was something you did not have to do and I know what it has done to your lives. Please know how truly grateful I am and always will be. I’ll do all I can to make things right.”

  Willa only nodded, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  Wynter exhaled a long breath and looked out the window. “Take the next exit, Simon. We’re almost there.”

  Wynter pressed her face against the window, smiling at the sight of her land, her trees, her home. The Jeep bounced down the narrow dirt road. Only minutes until she was home. Back at Willa’s house she’d thought of calling Rowan to let him know she was coming, but what could she say, how did she explain? It would be better to do it in person.

  Her heart pounded so fast she was dizzy. The hum of their connection flared under her skin and she had to stop herself from leaping from the car before it came to a complete stop. The sight of her cottage warmed her from head to toe. The yellow thatched roof, the cream colored stone walls hidden behind fall-red ivy, the large gardens, and the smiling paned windows. Home.

  Sensing her arrival, Rowan came rushing out of the front door at the same time Simon parked the Jeep. Her chest tightened as sobs hitched in her throat at the sight of his handsome bearded face and radiant, creamy, blue eyes. She threw herself from the Jeep and ran to him, tripping into his waiting arms.

  Together, arms tight around each other, sobs echoing in the night, Wynter and Rowan fell to their knees. “I can’t believe it,” he said into her ear, his rich Scottish accent so familiar. “Wynter. My sweet wife. You’re alive. You’re here. Oh, thank the earth!”

  Wynter laughed and cried into his shoulder, then pulled back to look at his face. She touched his beard. “I’m so sorry!”

  “No, no. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you. I tried everything.”

  She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have gone alone. I walked right into Archard’s waiting teeth.”

  Rowan held her face and kissed her—hard, desperate kisses, pouring in all the love and pain of the past months. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here.” His eyes scanned down her body and stopped at the scars. He lifted her arm gently to look closer. “Oh no!” A fresh wave of tears coursed down his face.

  “Holmes,” she explained and he nodded slowly. He lifted her arm higher and gently kissed the scars.

  Wynter had almost forgotten about Willa and Simon. She looked over her shoulder and found them huddled together, watching, Willa smiling shyly. Wynter got to her feet and gestured to the young couple. “Come here and meet Rowan.” They came hesitantly, nervously. “Rowan, this is Willa and Simon. They saved me.”

  Rowan’s eyes flashed wide as he stepped forward to wrap Willa in his arms. “Thank you so much!” He released a shocked Willa and held out a hand to Simon. “Thank you! I thought the worst. You’ve given me my life back.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Wynter interrupted. “It’s cold out here and I’m sure you’re hungry. I’m starvi
ng! We’ll eat and talk some more before we all get a nice long sleep.”

  After showing Willa and Simon to the guest room and leaving them to put their stuff down and rest, Wynter hurried back to Rowan in the kitchen. He stood at the large stove, starting a batch of risotto. For a moment she stood in the doorway and drank in the wonderful sight of him, here in their kitchen, his shoulder length sandy brown hair falling over his face, the movement of his arms over the pot.

  He looked up, caught her eyes, smiled and opened his arms. She stepped into them again, feeling safe and content for the first time in five months.

  “Oh, Wynter,” he whispered, his Scottish accent growing thick with his lowered voice. She’d missed the lilting sound of his accented words, the deepness of his voice as alluring as the Scottish moors from which he hailed.

  “How did they save you? They are so young.”

  “Young and undiscovered. They didn’t know they were witches, poor things. Imagine a whole life with your powers and not knowing what they mean, not having control.” Reluctantly, Wynter pulled away to set the table, but relished the normalcy of the task. “Willa is a Dreamer,” she said quietly.

  Rowan stopped stirring and turned to her. “A Dreamer! And the boy?”

  Wynter smiled. “A Mind and somehow also a True Healer. The only reason I can stand here now is because of his powers.”

  Rowan’s jaw dropped. “But that means . . .”

  “I know. If they’ll join us, we’ll have two True Covens again and we can bind the Covenant.”

  Chapter 16

  Waxing Crescent

  Present Day, October

  Bent at an odd angle, Holmes’s mouth hung open, his jaw askew in a horrific final scream, the tail of a vine hanging from his sagging lips. The air was already heavy with the putrid scent of death and decay. Archard stood at the base of the stairs, a fine silk handkerchief held over his mouth and nose. With a bothered sigh he ran his other hand over his black, slick hair, making certain not a strand was out of place. He brushed absently at the thin lapels of his new Armani suit as if standing there could stain him.