Blood Moon Page 14

  “Yeah, you?”

  “Some.” Wynter shrugged. “But now that you’re awake, I have something for you.” She reached down into a bag on the floor and pulled out three yellow cloth bound books. She held them out. “These are Camille’s grimoires. I thought you might like to read them to pass the rest of the drive. She talks about her daughter, Solace, your friend.”

  Willa took the books. “Thank you. Yes, I’d love to read them. Solace can’t remember her life and she’d be thrilled to learn anything.” She frowned, remembering the hurt on Solace’s face when she’d told her she was leaving. Maybe these grimoires could be a sort of peace offering for when they got back. Willa blinked back a sudden worry. If we get back.

  Although Simon had taken away the pain, he couldn’t take away the lingering fear of Archard. He’d left behind a film of darkness that she struggled to shake, but wanted desperately to be rid of. She hoped that placing time and distance behind her would help ease her anxiety. She set the books on her lap and opened the first one.

  Wynter said, leaning forward, “Camille was an Air. You’ll see several of her spells written to music and notes about traveling, finding things for people. Airs are very good at all that. Anyway, most of it is pretty boring, day-to-day stuff, but some of it I know you’ll enjoy.”

  Willa smiled. “Thanks again.”

  Wynter nodded and then sat back. Willa settled in her seat and started to read. The first several pages detailed Camille’s fervent desire to have a child. There were recipes for herbs and potions to help fertility and spells for health. But nothing seemed to be working for her. She wrote:

  March 10, 1910

  Ronald and I have been married for over ten years now and still no children. I despair that we will never be parents, that the magic will never see fit to send us a healthy, living child. After the sorrow of five miscarriages and the morbid, endless pain of one lost baby, our sweet Connor who lived only an hour, I don’t believe I can try anymore. My heart has been broken too many times.

  Willa put a hand on her own heart and eagerly read on. Several pages later, Camille wrote:

  February 2, 1912

  I’m forty years old today. I try to hold on to hope, but I fear I have missed the window of motherhood. I’m too old to carry a child now. I spent most of the day sitting in the rocker by the fire, holding Connor’s blanket on my lap.

  I didn’t know it was possible to ache so much inside, to want for something until it carves out a jagged hole in your heart.

  Ruby and Amelia visited today, brought me a chocolate birthday cake. Ruby has been so blessed—a daughter, and now a beautiful granddaughter. I love when they visit, but today it only reminded me of what I will never have. My envy is shameful. I would give all that I have, even my magic, to have a little girl of my own. Someone sweet and beautiful to love, to visit friends with, to make chocolate cake with.

  The final entry in the grimoire made Willa cry.

  June 2, 1916

  Sun and moon be praised! I have a daughter! She is the most beautiful and perfect thing I have ever seen. Her hair is thick and soft, the color of midday sunshine. Her eyes are so round and bright that my first look at them softened all the jagged edges inside me. I knew when Ruby placed her in my arms that she was my savior, my solace. That will be her name: Solace. Nothing else would fit. I never thought I would survive the pregnancy, but all that bad is now forgotten.

  She sighs in her sleep next to me and nothing has ever sounded so sweet.

  “That is beautiful,” Simon whispered. “Solace will love to read that.”

  Willa’s head jerked up. “What?”

  “I could hear you reading. That last part about Solace is beautiful.” He nodded to the book in her lap.

  “Wait, you could hear me reading. In my head?” Willa laughed, amazed and also a little uncomfortable.

  “Yeah. As soon as you started reading, I could hear the words in my head. Like you were reading them out loud. I was gonna say something sooner, but it got interesting.” Simon looked over and frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—it just happened. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, of course. It’s fine. It’s just a little weird. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Willa looked down at the book and pressed her hand to the page, trying not to feel awkward about Simon being able to hear her thoughts so easily. She closed the first book and opened the second. The first page was dated October 16, 1931, fifteen years later. Confused at the time gap, Willa opened the third book, but the first date was December 10, 1965.

  She turned to Wynter. “There are big gaps in time between these books.”

  Wynter nodded. “Yes, I know. But Camille only gave us those three books. I have no idea what happened to her others.”

  Willa looked back at the second book. 1931. Something twitched in her mind, a thought trying to form. Something is missing. What am I missing? Then it hit her. That was the year Ruby’s house was sold to the mysterious owners. “Wynter, what happened to Ruby and her Covenant?”

  Wynter inhaled and exhaled. “Well, we aren’t entirely sure. Ruby died young; she was only sixty. So, that is when her grimoire ends, and at that time the Covenant was thriving. The last note in it was to make her granddaughter, Amelia, Luminary of the Covenant. So, we know the Covenant stayed together, at least for a time. There are rumors of some Dark covens coming to Twelve Acres in the early 1930s, but we don’t know exactly what happened.”

  “It’s not in Camille’s grimoires?”

  “No, and she wouldn’t tell us when we spoke in Italy.”

  “Hmm. That’s strange.”

  Wynter nodded and Willa went back to the books. The first entry, under October 16, 1931 simply read:

  I planted Lilly in a safe place.

  A note on gardening? In mid-October? Confused and intrigued, Willa flipped through the rest of the book. Camille had stopped writing about magic. There were only notes on gardening, her daily routine, a few mentions of neighbors and recipes for dinner meals. Not a spell, not a potion. Nothing.

  What happened, Camille? Willa silently asked the pages.

  The last entry read:

  July 14, 1932

  Checked on the Lilly today. Safe, healthy, and thriving.

  Something was odd about these notations about a Lilly. Why would Camille capitalize the name of a simple flower, and why did she check on it so often? Willa flipped through the third and last grimoire. It was filled with more boring, magic-free entries, several of which mentioned the Lilly, always in vague, quick notes.

  An idea hit her. “Wynter, who’s Lilly? Did Camille have another daughter?”

  Wynter furrowed her brows. “Lilly? No, I’ve never heard of a Lilly connected to Camille. Is that in the grimoires?”

  “Yes, look.” Willa pointed to the first entry in the third book.

  December 10, 1965

  The Lilly has reproduced. So strong, so beautiful. If only she could see her.

  Wynter read the entry and frowned. “Maybe lilies were Camille’s favorite flower?”

  Willa shook her head. “No, look. She always writes Lilly capitalized and spells it like a name, not a flower. And here she says, ‘her’—‘If only she could see her.’ I think Lilly was or is a person. Camille was checking up on her, watching her, but trying to keep it secret or at least not obvious.”

  Wynter’s eyes widened. “Wow, you really are a good historian. I totally missed that when I read those.” She shrugged. “You may be right, but I’ve never heard of any Lilly. Sorry.”

  Willa sighed and turned back to the front. A tickle of instinct told her that she was right and that Lilly was important. If Camille was trying to protect her then there was a reason. But how could Willa find out more?

  She turned to her window. The sun was high in the sky now and more cars spilled onto the roads, carrying people off to busy, normal Saturdays. Willa rubbed absently at the cloth on the books and wondered. Another mystery. Maybe Solace would wan
t to help with this one, too. Maybe she could remember who Lilly was. If Camille knew her, there was a good chance Solace did too.

  Who are you, Lilly?

  Sweet, glorious destruction! The catharsis of it was almost enough to quell Archard’s blistering fury. The heat of the fire reached out to him, caressing his face. It tripped happily from fuel to fuel, consuming eagerly, feeding itself. Furniture, books, clothing, wood, metal. It wasn’t picky; it would eat everything, its flames growing fat in the gluttony. Destroy and create.

  Lustrous orange light radiated from the structure of Rowan and Wynter’s cottage, painting itself on the trees, the ground, and the afternoon. The heat of the fire glimmered and moved, like walking vertigo. Bizarre, broken shadows burst to life and danced in a circle around the dying cottage. Sparks sashayed upwards, giving up their light to the cold air. The accustomed quiet of the forest was tainted by the crackle and hiss of the fire.

  Archard clenched his jaw, pushed his tongue against his teeth, a statue of black in the orange light. He blinked quickly, the surface of his eyes hot and moist.

  Twice! Twice these witches have eluded me. How?

  A section of the cottage roof gave way, crumbling into the flames with a satisfying, crunchy whoosh of air.

  The girl couldn’t have recognized him, or suspected what he was up to—he was sure of it. The invasion of her mind should have only brought pain, not understanding of any kind. But the cottage was empty. No Wynter. No boy Mind. No one to channel his anger toward.

  He could smell their magic on the air, the thick, gagging smell of Light. It hadn’t been long since they left, but their trail was cold, and a magical wall blocked his attempts to find it. A dead end. Anger trembled inside him, as potent and hot as the flames destroying the house. His control was slipping, which made him want to throw more fire at the house, throw it from his hands like punches and to yell, scream and kick. Rachel and Leon stood twenty feet behind him, arms folded, eyes accusing him as if this was his fault.

  The handful of days until the blood moon rose up before him in his mind. The days stood shoulder-to-shoulder, legs apart, weapons cocked and aimed. Ready to shoot him down, poke holes in his body, each one a failure. He had to bind the Covenant this year, or the covens would surely turn on him, and everything would be lost.

  The fire jumped to a cluster of trees near the front porch and the branches lit like matches, puttering for a brief moment before flaring to life. Archard craned his head upward, his eyes instantly cooling as they moved away from the flames. Where are they?

  More and more trees caught fire.

  Time to go.

  He wished he could stand there until everything around him turned to smoldering ash, then breathe in the completed destruction. But time was cocking its gun. One deep breath and he turned and walked away, his head bowed toward the ground in concentration. Rachel and Leon watched Archard approach with wary expressions

  Rachel boldly opened her mouth, “What now, Luminary?”

  Archard raised his eyes to her, his chin still tucked to his chest. The whites of his eyes sneered at her beneath his hollow irises. She stood her ground and met his stare with equal power.

  “We find them,” was the cryptic reply. He meant it, but he was at a loss as to how to do it. It irritated him like an itch he couldn’t scratch, that his cleverness had been trumped—twice. Now, no clues, no plan.

  The Dark witch stepped past Rachel and Leon and slid into the car, his fine suit whispering over the leather seat. The door’s slam echoed in the forest.

  Chapter 19

  Blood Moon

  October 1931

  Amelia’s eyes and forehead itched terribly, covered by a heavy wool cloth. She wanted to drag it off her face, hurl it away, but her hands were also bound behind her back. The air around her smelled fresh, like forest-breath, but also enclosed, like a cave. She shivered, her skin too exposed for the cold October night. She swiveled her head from side to side, following the sounds of feet moving around her and whispers drifting over her head.

  Next to her, Solace whimpered.

  It’s happening. Holy mother moon, it’s happening!

  Amelia’s pulse fluttered, skipping viciously. Her brain seemed to pound within the confines of her skull. Ever since the moment the dark figures had burst into her house, dragged her out into the night, all she could think about was her sweet, tiny Lilly. Please, dear earth, help Camille keep her safe. And one day, help her to forgive me.

  Solace’s whimpers were rising to hysterical sobs. Amelia leaned her face down closer to the sounds. “Solace, I’m here. Take some deep breaths. Stay with me.”

  Solace hiccupped, whimpered. “What’s going on, Amelia? What is going to happen to us? I can sense Dark thoughts. I can feel it all. Holy moon!”

  Amelia knew what would happen to herself, but she couldn’t tell her poor young friend the truth; she was frightened enough as it was. It was her duty as Solace’s friend, and as her Luminary, to keep the situation under control as much as she could. She had to give Solace some kind of hope, some thread of strength, even if it was a lie.

  “Solace, listen to me. I need you to calm down. Can you do that please? I’m here. Lock your mind as tight as you can. You don’t need to hear any of that.” Amelia scooted closer, lowered her voice. “These are the Dark covens. They took us as some part of their plan to break up our Covenant and bind their own. Just like when they lured Peter and the others to that town.”

  “But they were killed!” she interrupted, her chest heaving with more sobs. “The Covenant is already broken!”

  Amelia took a deep breath. “I know, I know, but if we work together, maybe we can find a way to escape, or at least survive long enough for our coven-mates to rescue us. Okay? I’m here. Just stay with me and lock your mind.” She bit her bottom lip and held her breath, wishing she could look her friend in the eyes.

  Solace hiccupped again, but then her breathing steadied. “Okay, okay. What do we do?”

  “We wait until they leave us alone. Then—”

  “No one is going to leave you alone, pretty Amelia,” a silky, male voice whispered in her ear. She flinched away from its warmth and evil, and flinched again when a cold finger trailed across her collar bone where her nightgown left the skin exposed.

  “Don’t touch me!” she spat.

  The voice chuckled darkly. His body, so close to hers, smelled of coffee and jasper, his icy fingers lingered at her neck. “I’m going to make you mine, Amelia. I’m going to make you a part of my Dark Covenant. I need one more, and you, my dear, are the lucky one.”

  Amelia’s skin crawled. “You can’t force me to join you, not even with magic.”

  Another laugh, smooth and warm next to her ear. “Oh yes, I can. I found a way. A way to possess you.” His finger moved over her lips. She snapped her teeth at him, barely missing flesh, shocked at her own ferocity. He laughed, loud this time. “It will be my pleasure to break such a willful spirit.” His body shifted away. “And this sweet Mind . . .”

  Solace whimpered and Amelia lashed out her feet, kicking toward the sound of his voice. “Stay away from her!”

  Two surprisingly strong arms grabbed Amelia’s shoulders, pushed her backwards and pinned her to the ground. Her head hit the rock ground with a sickening thud. The man’s voice hissed right in her face, his breath moving into her mouth as he spoke. “Control yourself, Amelia. I do not tolerate tantrums.” With that he pushed roughly against her and was gone.

  Amelia rolled onto her side, curling into herself. Hot tears collected on the wool mask, the soggy fabric now sticking to her skin. Solace whispered her name. Amelia wanted to ignore the girl, to withdraw into herself and wait for what was to come, but she couldn’t abandon her terrified friend.

  Amelia half-crawled, half-rolled back to Solace. “I’m okay. I’m right here.”

  Solace began to cry in earnest again. Amelia sat up and leaned her body against Solace’s in an effort to give them both some comf
ort. Several quiet and agonizing hours passed. Solace and Amelia drifted in and out of hazy sleep, propped against each other and resting back on the cold stone of the cave. Then, all at once, as if materializing next to her, the voice was in her ear again.

  “It’s time, Amelia.”

  Those same cold, rough hands lifted her up to her feet and ripped the wool blindfold from her face. The light was dim, but she still had to blink her eyes into focus.

  No!

  There it was.

  The landscape she had seen in the water when she was thirteen—the cramped interior of a cave, a stone altar with thick chains, and the two nearly complete Dark covens gathered like wraiths around it, watching her with hollow eyes.

  She shook her head. “No.” Panic gripped her body and she screamed it, “NO!”

  “Oh, yes, my dear.” The voice had a face. It was thin and oval, rimmed by neatly trimmed black hair and a beard, dominated by frigid silver eyes. He pushed her toward the altar. She fought, but his strength was too much for her. She tried, for the thousandth time, to summon the magic, but nothing happened. They had put some kind of block on her powers.

  She was alone.

  Helpless.

  Facing her horrible, set-in-stone future.

  Another grim figure had dragged Solace to her feet. The girl was whimpering and collapsing in his grip. Amelia turned to her captor. “Let her go. You don’t need her. Just let her go. Please.”

  Her desperate plea had no effect on the madman beside her.

  “Actually, we do need her,” he said, sounding perversely amused.

  He jerked his head, signaling to the witch holding Solace, who then dragged the girl closer, placing her in front of Amelia. The Dark Luminary ripped away the trembling girl’s blindfold, and Amelia stared directly into her friend’s wide, terrified eyes. She groaned with the emotion of watching Solace suffer, so innocent, so scared. Why Solace? Camille must be going out of her mind.

  Solace’s face was an abyss of terror, swallowing Amelia whole. “Please,” Amelia begged again, “please let her go. I will stay, do whatever you want.”