Blood Moon Page 13

  “Yes, powerful magic,” Wynter said, now seated next to Rowan again. “Open it.”

  Simon scooted closer. Willa lifted her hand and trailed her fingers across the golden willow, her skin picking up the book’s warmth. Then slowly she lifted the cover, which creaked, the binding giving with the movement. Another rush of heat hit Willa, and her body quickly absorbed it, pulling it into her blood. It sparked inside her, speeding her pulse.

  The first page read, “Ruby Plate, Gift of Mind, Twelve Acres, Colorado.” Willa pulled a fingertip over Ruby’s name. “Simon, Ruby was a Mind, like you.”

  Simon nodded, his eyes fixed on the page. Under the words was a single symbol, a sun. “What’s the sun for?”

  “That’s the symbol for a Luminary,” Wynter said. “Rowan is our Luminary.” She smiled at her husband.

  Willa turned to the next page. More symbols stared back at her, these more familiar. “These symbols—I found them written on a note hidden inside a candlestick that Ruby owned. What do they mean?”

  Rowan leaned forward to look at the page. “Those are the symbols that represent the Six Gifts. Each gift has a specific symbol. See the labels next to each one?”

  “Oh, yes,” Willa pointed to an upside down triangle with two interlocking circles inside it. “Here’s mine—Dreams.”

  “The two circles represent this world and the Otherworld and how, for a Dreamer, those two worlds overlap,” Wynter explained.

  Willa nodded. The Otherworld, the place where her dreams came from. “And here’s yours, Simon.” The Mind symbol was a triangle with a small dot just inside the apex.

  Simon squinted at it. “Does the dot represent the mind?”

  “That’s right,” Rowan said. “In this grimoire, Ruby documents the founding of Twelve Acres and the binding of her Covenant. The Binding spell is there. We think it may be the only grimoire left that contains this priceless information.”

  “Do you still want to form a Covenant?” Simon asked as Willa flipped a few more pages, each one increasing her awe.

  She looked up in time to see Wynter and Rowan exchange a pregnant look. Wynter turned back. “Yes, we do.” She scooted forward and placed her forearms on the table. “Willa and Simon, we’d like to ask you to join our covens.”

  Willa’s hand stalled halfway through turning a page and Simon’s jaw dropped open.

  “What?” Willa asked breathlessly.

  “The two coven-mates we lost to Archard—one was our female Dreams and the other our male Mind. I believe the magic sent you that dream of me, Willa, because you and Simon are meant to be a part of our Covenant. I think you are destined to be. Your gifts are so powerful and unique. You’re tailor-made for this.”

  Willa dropped the page and blinked at Wynter, her mind numb, not quite registering the full weight of what the witch had just asked them. All she could think of was what Simon had said. We can’t get more involved in this.

  Willa turned slowly to Simon who was also staring in shock at Wynter. She opened her mouth to say something, but was stalled by blinding, searing pain in her head.

  Suddenly and violently, Willa’s whole body convulsed. She screamed, shrill and chilling, clutching her head. Her body jerked backwards, falling hard to the wood floor.

  “Willa!” Simon yelled, reaching for her. She only continued to scream, her body arching and flailing on the floor as she clawed at her head. He crouched next to her, hands quaking above her, trying to grab her, but not wanting to hurt her as she thrashed.

  Simon spun to face Rowan and Wynter who had risen from the table and were standing over Willa, faces frozen in terror.

  “What’s happening?” Simon demanded. “What did you do?” Willa’s scream intensified, pitching and peaking, filling the room with fear.

  “It’s not us, Simon,” Wynter said loudly. “This is Dark magic. Someone is trying to break into her mind.” She and Rowan both dropped to the floor beside Willa and held out their hands.

  “What are you doing?” Simon said.

  “Trying to stop it!” Rowan said, his eyes closed tight in concentration.

  When Willa only screamed louder, Simon yelled, “Then do it! I can feel her terror. Stop it, now!” He’d never felt anything like this before, such pure, black terror. His whole body ached with the need to stop it, get it away from Willa. He looked from Wynter to Rowan and back at Willa. Whatever they were doing didn’t seem to be helping. He reached out a quivering hand and placed it on Willa’s head. Instantly, her screaming stopped.

  Wynter and Rowan looked over at him, shocked.

  Willa whimpered and rolled onto her side. Simon pulled her gently into his lap, cradling her. She was muttering, unclear and jumbled.

  “What is it, sweetie?” Wynter urged.

  “He knows,” she mumbled into Simon’s chest. “He’s coming.”

  “Who?” Rowan pushed. “Did you see a face?”

  Willa whimpered again, began to cry in earnest. “Long, thin face. Black hair, goatee. Empty gray eyes.”

  Rowan stood up slowly, his face pale. His hands clenched into fists. “Archard.”

  Chapter 18

  Waxing Crescent

  Present Day, October

  Willa was still tucked protectively in Simon’s arm as he sat on the floor. The conversation drifted over her aching head and only half registered in her violated mind.

  “Archard?” Simon asked. “It was Archard hurting her! But why and how?”

  Rowan was at the windows, his eyes searching the yard. “He used her mind to find where we are, to gather information. I protected the house, but failed to think about protecting your untrained minds.”

  “So this is your fault?” Simon yelled.

  Wynter knelt down next to him. “Simon, this is not Rowan’s fault. It’s Archard’s. He obviously found Holmes and has used magic to discover what happened. He knows you and Willa helped me escape.” She paused. “He knows who you are.” Uneasiness moved through the room and Simon shifted, his heart thumping faster under Willa’s ear.

  “I’m so sorry Willa was hurt.” Wynter put a hand on Willa’s arm. “The last thing I want is for her or you to be hurt, but by saving me you’ve become a part of this, whether you want it or not.”

  Simon looked down at Willa and she blinked up at him, trying to focus on what was being said. Simon kissed her forehead. “So what now?”

  Rowan crossed to another window. “It’s not safe. We have to leave. Now.”

  Willa shifted and turned to Wynter. “We have to leave again? We just got here.” All she wanted was to sleep. Her head was pounding, her body useless. How could they run—again?

  Wynter frowned, her eyes sympathetic. “Yes, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

  “Where will we go?” Willa asked.

  Rowan answered. “Jackson, Wyoming. A couple in our covens own a ranch there. It’ll be safe while we plan what to do about Archard. I’ll call everyone.” Rowan fled the room, already in action.

  Wynter turned back to the couple. “Before we do anything else, we need to protect your minds. Simon, you’ll want to remember this spell. It can help block out all the noise from other minds, others’ emotions, and it also protects the mind from invasion.”

  A spell? Willa looked up at Simon, his face scrunched in disbelief.

  “In your minds picture a strong, solid door, and imagine placing behind it all your thoughts, memories, everything. Picture that door with a nice sturdy lock. Got it?” Wynter explained. Willa looked from Wynter to Simon and back to Wynter, unsure of what to do. Simon also looked confused.

  “Wynter, I’m not sure . . .” Willa began.

  “Just close your eyes and picture the door. Focus on it. Magic starts in the mind. You have to first visualize what you want it to do,” Wynter urged patiently. Willa closed her eyes and did as Wynter instructed. Soon, she could clearly see a big, black door with a solid deadbolt lock.

  “Good,” Wynter said. “Now, hold on to the image and repeat these words
: Powerful Earth, accept this mind-lock. A magical door, make it solid as rock.”

  Feeling a little awkward Willa repeated the words and on the second time Simon joined in. On the third chant the door in Willa’s mind began to glow and a wave of heat moved over her. “Is that it? Did we do it?” She asked, carefully opening her eyes.

  “The door is glowing,” Simon said in wonder.

  Wynter nodded. “Yes, good. Now get your stuff,” she said gently. “We leave in fifteen minutes.” Then she was gone, off to help Rowan.

  Simon didn’t move. He looked down at Willa. “Willa, I don’t know what to do.”

  “We have to go with them. I felt him . . .” she winced at the pain in her head, “in my mind. He’s . . . evil. The kind of evil I didn’t know really existed. If we go back alone, he’ll be able to find us and he’ll come for us. Our only chance is to stay with Rowan and Wynter. They can protect us.”

  “But they already failed at that. Your mind—your mind—was broken into, violated. I can’t let you get hurt anymore. It was bad enough watching Ruby use you to channel her magic. Now this.”

  Willa smiled weakly. “Simon, do you really think we can protect ourselves? We don’t know anything about magic. Wynter just helped us protect our minds, so that can’t happen again. But who knows what other crazy stuff Archard can do.”

  Simon frowned and looked away. “What have we gotten ourselves into?” he whispered.

  “Witchcraft,” Willa said matter-of-factly. Simon looked back at her, his eyes flickering with emotions. “We better go get ready.” She moved to get up, but the pain in her head flared and she fell back, dizzy.

  Simon caught her. “I’ll heal you, okay? Take the pain away.” He stared down at her.

  Willa blinked, her pulse quickened. “You’ve never healed me before.”

  He nodded slowly. “I know. Do you want me to? I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

  She inhaled. “No, of course I do. Please do. I can’t even stand up. I need your help.”

  After a slight hesitation as he studied her face, Simon took her hand in his. “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded, swallowed. “Okay.” Immediately, Simon’s palm grew warm against hers and a rush of hot magic, like a wind blowing into her, moved up her arm and swept through her whole body. It tingled pleasantly, working to take away the pain, which quickly disappeared. Her head cleared, her strength returned. She sighed in sweet relief.

  Simon’s face was edged in apprehension. “Okay?”

  “Yes. Wow, Simon. That is amazing. I feel better than I did before Archard broke into my mind.” She touched his face, rubbing at his beard stubble. “Was it you who stopped Archard?”

  Simon blinked in surprise. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Because when you touched my head, it stopped.” Willa wondered if Simon’s healing powers had stopped the attack. It made sense, in a way. Archard was hurting her and Simon stopped the hurt.

  Simon scoffed, shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, thank you. For stopping it, if you did, and for healing me.”

  He nodded shyly and hugged her tighter. “All right, let’s get our stuff.”

  The early morning mists gathered around the feet of the old white church, its roof sagging toward the earth, bowed under the weight of time and apostasy. The stained glass windows, now caked with layers of dust and grime, mourned their once great brilliance. The steeple still reached for the heavens, but its spire was cracked, its brick crumbling, its faith faltering. The front door, a tall, spectacular piece of carved dark walnut, leaned on its frame, gapping open like the mouth of someone who died of shock, empty, sad, and wanting. The only remaining parishioners, a collection of ancient trees, bowed their limbs forward in futile prayer.

  Archard enjoyed the sacrilege of it, the mockery—his Dark covens meeting in this place of goodness and worship to plan and perform their evil deeds. Each time he stepped onto the sacred ground and felt the earth cringe, he smiled.

  They gathered now, ten witches trickling into the church, beads of water into one murky puddle. As a ruse to curious outsiders, the church façade remained derelict, but the inside had been fully restored to Archard’s particular taste. The walls were draped in black velvet and twelve throne-like chairs formed a circle in the center of the room, their backs towered five feet high, each carved with a triangular symbol at the top representing the Gifts. Archard’s chair held an extra symbol: a sun, symbolizing his role as Luminary. In the center of the circle was an iron fire pit, its blazing, crackling fire throwing shadows around the room and puffing its smoke up into the rafters.

  The permanently frigid air always smelled of burned things.

  Archard sat on his throne, leaning his right elbow on the armrest, observing his coven members with his metallic eyes. Occasionally he stroked his goatee. The seats filled, only two vacant. His eyes lingered on the empty seats for a moment, pondering his plan to fill them. Scorching desire rose in his throat.

  Two chairs. Two witches. One solution.

  A sheen of sweat threatened to leak out onto his brow. He rolled his neck, breathed deeply and pushed his desires aside with practiced composure. His hard, scrutinizing eyes returned to the gathering witches.

  None of the witches looked him fully in the eyes as they sat.

  He wasted no time with welcomes or pleasantries. “Why did you call this circle?” he asked with accusation and annoyance.

  Eyes shifted around before someone finally answered. A stout, muscular, Native American man, built like a battleship, shifted forward in his chair. He sat beneath the Dreams symbol. “The full moon approaches and we hadn’t heard from you in almost a month. I had a dream that Holmes was killed. We want an update.”

  Archard heaved a petulant sigh. “Leon, I have everything under control, as always.”

  “Then the Earth witch agreed?” asked the female Air, a slender woman with pale features, a sharp chin, and wicked black eyes. She wore a yellow dress.

  Archard raised an eyebrow. “No, Dora, she has not.” A ripple of murmurs moved around the circle and he raised his hand to silence it. “She hasn’t agreed because she escaped with the assistance of two undiscovered witches and Ruby Plate’s ghost.” An uproar of murmurs. “And,” Archard yelled, “Holmes was, in fact, killed during the escape.”

  The murmurs erupted into hisses and shouts. Gavin, the male Air, shot out of his seat, pulling at his tweed sport coat and pushing his glasses up his nose. “How could you let this happen? I knew this was an ill-fated endeavor. We should never have trusted you or Holmes to get the Earth witch to join us. We should have been working on the spell our predecessors attempted and gotten it right. But we trusted you; and now look at us. The blood moon approaches and we have two empty chairs.” He exhaled some of his frustration and pushed at his glasses again. “We will never bind a Covenant.”

  Archard listened to the rant with a slack, expressionless face. When Gavin was finished, Archard casually flicked his hand and the man’s shoe spat out fire. Gavin jumped and screamed, dancing around until he could compose himself enough to put forth his own hand and extinguish the flames with a burst of air. Bent in half, hands on knees, huffing and puffing, he scowled at his Luminary.

  Archard stood, cool and reserved—almost bored—and brushed at his steel gray lapels. He then turned eyes as hard as flint upon his subordinate. “You forget your place, Gavin.” The witch slumped back to his chair.

  The other witches watched Archard with trepidation, gripping the arms of their chairs. Angst drifted down from the rafters and hung limply around their heads like wilting halos. They each flinched when Archard’s voice boomed out.

  “Now, I understand you are concerned, but as Luminary, you must trust in my ability to make things right. Trust in the process. We will make this Covenant happen by this blood moon. It is our destiny, our duty, our right. If you doubt that, you are welcome to leave.” He glared at every witch in the room, challenging those wh
o even thought of defying him.

  “Good,” he growled when no one moved. “Now, I have broken into the mind of one of the witches who helped Wynter escape, a girl Dreamer. I know exactly where they are.” Archard cocked his head and let the extent of his skills sink in for a moment. “We will go and get Wynter, and then I will deal with her myself.”

  “And what of the empty Mind chair?” Rachel asked, the female Fire, a blond beauty. She gestured a delicate hand at Holmes’s empty seat.

  “While perusing the girl’s mind, I also discovered that the other undiscovered witch is a male Mind.”

  Rachel scoffed. “A female Dream and a male Mind. And with Wynter returned. They have all the members of their covens. A full Covenant!”

  The circle erupted, people popping out of chairs and yelling again. Archard allowed their tantrum. He sat in his chair, crossed his legs. “Are you done yet?” he finally said, projecting his voice across the room with an air of authority and power. The words brought an instant hush to the room. The witches took their seats and leaned forward, eager to hear the Luminary’s plan.

  “Yes, they do have two complete True Covens, but it means nothing unless they can perform the Binding. We have plenty of time. This is our gain, not theirs. You see, they have everyone we need.” He allowed the moment to stretch, savoring their anticipation. He brushed a piece of lint from his thigh and folded his hands on his lap. “We simply take them both.”

  After sleeping for a few hours, Willa woke with a stiff neck from leaning against the vibrating Jeep window. She blinked at the early morning light and watched the unfamiliar country along the highway roll by. Rubbing at her neck, she turned to Simon. “Do you need a break?”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. Did you sleep?”

  “Yeah, a little.” She turned to the backseat. Wynter and Rowan were both awake.

  Wynter smiled and leaned forward. “Did you get some rest?”