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  She nodded, struggling to find her voice under the tight knot of anxiety in her throat. “I’ve never felt Darkness like that. What kind of magic is he using?”

  Rowan shook his head. “I wish I knew.” He exhaled a long breath. Then to the group, he whispered, “Be on your guard. Something is different about Archard.”

  Rowan led the way down the steps. Wynter’s blood rushed in her head, pulsed in her ears, dulling all other sounds. Archard’s cold-as-steel eyes were locked on her across the front grass. Her knees wobbled and she swallowed, searching for strength. She inhaled and called the hot magic to her hands, ready to fight. You can’t have me, Archard. I’ll die first.

  The pale look of fear on their faces was like a sultry, euphoric drug in Archard’s veins. Every inch of him pulsed with pleasure and power. This moment was everything he hoped for—watching the shock on their faces as he stepped into the yard, the delicious panic, the flavor of fear in the air.

  An impish smile on his lips, Archard raised his arms and called to the fire. Eager, ravenous flames burst to life in his palms in two, large, rotating globes. It was a bit dramatic, but he enjoyed the effect; he had their full attention, just as he wanted. Rowan, in all his self-righteous goodness, stepped forward, partially blocking Wynter with his ridiculously broad body. Archard leered at her, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her distress, much stronger than the others’. She would be easy to break, easy to coax into his world.

  “Archard,” Rowan growled.

  “Rowan,” Archard answered back as cool as ice. “I’ve come for what is mine.” His eyes slid to Wynter. Rowan’s entire body strained and Wynter wilted behind him. Rowan’s jaw tensed, his fists clenched and unclenched; the ground shook beneath their feet. Archard thought of throwing the fireballs, just for his own entertainment, but waited to see what Rowan would do.

  Rowan didn’t give him the pleasure of a rebuttal. Instead he nodded to a couple of his witches. Swiftly, their lifted hands sent a wall of water shooting forward. Archard laughed and tossed the burning spheres at the water. The two elements met in a hissing eruption of steam. The two groups stared at each other for a moment before both sides leaped into action.

  Within seconds, the yard was a chaotic mess of wind, fire, and water. The gifts bashed at one another. Whirlwinds cut through walls of water; rocks and mud were slung and deflected with fire or wind. Cracks in the ground opened and closed; storm clouds formed overhead and dumped rain like a shower of bullets.

  The lines stood firm, evenly matched.

  Only Archard was aware of Rachel slipping around the back of the house.

  The noise from the front yard was now deafening. “What are they doing?” Simon yelled.

  “Fighting,” Elliot screamed back. “Using the elements and magic to fight. Basically what you did yesterday, only they are trying to kill each other with it.” He shrugged and turned back to the star. “Hold out your hands. We need to call to the magic and say a spell of protection, Ready?”

  Simon nodded, and so did Willa who stood next to him. “What will this actually do?” he asked.

  “It’ll put a wall up around us that will, hopefully, be hard for a Dark witch to get through. It’ll help keep the others safe, sending strength to their magic,” Elliot explained quickly. “Here we go.” The four young witches raised their hands over the star. Simon felt his palms grow hot as he focused on the magic. Elliot said, “Repeat this spell: Fair moon, protect the Light. Keep us safe from this Dark fight.”

  The room filled with energy, hot and potent. Simon closed his eyes like the others and repeated the spell. On the third repetition of the spell, they all suddenly stopped. The heat was sucked from the room in a quick breath and replaced with cold—icy, biting cold.

  “What is that?” Simon hissed, lowering his hands. He moved around the table, leaving Willa with Elliot and Charlotte. The cacophony was still going on outside, but he sensed someone moving toward them. There was something fuzzy about the presence, something slippery; he couldn’t tell exactly where it was.

  “Char?” he said, taking another few steps forward toward the front hall.

  “Yes, I feel it, but can’t get a grip on it.”

  “Me neither. Do you think it’s one of the Dark witches?”

  “Maybe. Hold on, I’ll keep trying.”

  “Rowan told us to run,” Willa said, her voice shaking slightly. “Is it time to run?”

  Simon turned back to look at her and froze in horror. A woman dressed all in black, as sleek, lithe, and lethal as a panther stood behind Willa. There was a streak of red smudged across her forehead. Her arm drew back and light flashed on a wickedly sharp knife.

  Willa saw the rigid fear in Simon’s eyes just before the sharp, hot pain hit her back. She wanted to cry out, but the pain was too powerful, pulling the breath from her lungs. It seized her whole body and Simon’s image blurred. She heard him cry out, yell her name, but then the pain came again, a jerking reversal of the first. A hot, wet sensation ran down her back. She thought she saw the flash of a knife moving toward Charlotte and Elliot before collapsing to the floor under the weight of the pain.

  Charlotte hit the floor next to her and then Elliot. She tried to focus on their faces, tried so hard to push through the pain to understand what was happening. Simon’s voice cut through the haze, “No! Willa!”

  “Stay there, Mind,” another voice said, female and chilling. “No, I said, stay!”

  “What do you want?” Simon spit, anger trembling on his voice. Willa blinked, looked across the floor at his hiking boots. The brown leather was scuffed and dusty.

  “Just you,” the cold voice said. “Come with me now without a fight and I won’t burn their bodies right here in front of you.”

  Simon’s boots shifted. Willa waited to hear his voice, but it didn’t come. Her mind was still struggling to understand, but all she wanted to do was close her eyes against the pain and sleep. It hurt to breathe, her chest was wickedly tight. The floor beneath her was wet, sticky and warm. Did someone spill something? Simon, it hurts.

  Willa blinked as Simon’s boots moved toward her and then passed her. She wanted to turn, see where he was going, but her body didn’t obey her command. Simon? Panic rose inside her, a vague realization of what was happening breaking through the pain. No. Simon, why are you leaving? Help me!

  Blackness edged into her vision, the pain pulling her down. She closed her eyes, ready to give up. Then Simon’s fingers brushed her head and the pain was sucked away. His voice broke into her head. Stay down! Don’t move until she’s gone! Do NOT follow!

  Chapter 25

  Waning Gibbous

  September 1991

  Amelia blinked against the brightness. Her body felt as light as a breath. Am I crossing over? Golden happiness pulsed in her heart. The last thing she remembered was the rush of heat when the baby had pushed against her palm. Did I die? Sun and moon, I died. I’m crossing over! Thank the earth!

  All the faces of her loved ones moved across her mind: Grandma Ruby, her mother, her father, her husband Peter, Grandpa Charles. Soon, she would see them, be with them again. Maybe even Lilly would be there to greet her mother.

  The light finally dissipated and Amelia squinted, eager to see her family standing before her with open arms. The first thing she saw was the slate of the clear blue sky, marked with a few wispy clouds. A bird cut across the blue, crying out.

  Amelia frowned and turned her head to the side to see a forest of aspens, their spade-shaped leaves the cheery yellow of early fall. She realized she was lying on the cold ground. A ripple of apprehension moved over her heart. No, no this can’t be right.

  Sitting up, she looked down at her body. She wore her white nightgown again, the same one she’d been dressed in when the Dark witches came. It was dirty and stained with Solace’s and her own blood. She shook her head. No!

  She lifted her hands in front of her face, her younger hands, and they shimmered, translucent. I’m a ghost? No
! No, I want to cross over!

  The feeling of eyes watching her prickled the back of her head. Her ghost-body grew cold and slowly—so slowly—she turned to her left, knowing and dreading what she would find.

  The cave grinned back at her with its black, toothless mouth.

  Amelia’s scream startled the birds for miles around.

  Chapter 26

  Waxing Crescent

  Present Day, October

  A single ball of fire streaked upward, slicing the night sky above the house. Archard grinned. Rachel had the Mind witch.

  Excellent.

  He allowed himself only a brief moment of celebration; he needed his full attention to hold back the assault of the Light witches. They were strong, much stronger than he had anticipated.

  Gavin stepped up next to him and yelled into his ear. “I’m sorry, Luminary, but I think we should get the other witch and go. Now.”

  Archard barred his teeth at the sniveling man.

  Gavin put up his hands. “We risk losing one or more of us in this fight. They are strong. If one of us dies, we will be worse off than before and this would have all been in vain. We must get the woman and flee.” He took a cautious step back. “It’s the smart thing to do. For the Covenant.”

  Archard glanced at the man, the chaos reflected in the surface of his insufferable glasses. Most of all, he hated that the man was right.

  “Fine. Yes. Tell them to be ready.” He pointed to his line of witches.

  Gavin nodded with relief and disappeared down the line.

  Archard moved his attention to Wynter. She fought valiantly and was strong, even after five months of Holmes’s abuse. Breaking her and forcing her to join him would be a sweet pleasure.

  Movement from behind the Light witches, on the front porch, caught his eye. Three more witches came running from the house.

  Why are they not dead?

  Rachel’s job was to kill any witches with the boy, then take him back to the cars. Rachel didn’t screw up; her skills were refined, lethal. Archard squinted through the mess in the air. He recognized the girl who helped rescue Wynter from the basement, the one whose mind he’d violated. She and the other two were covered in blood.

  Rachel doesn’t leave survivors. What the hell?

  The girl grabbed Wynter by the arm and gestured wildly. Wynter faltered, her hands dropping to her sides. No matter what had happened, he knew Rachel had the boy and this was the moment he needed.

  This is it.

  “Get ready!” he yelled.

  Wynter yelled something to Rowan, and in that short moment of distraction, caused all the Light witches’ powers to falter for just a split second.

  “Now!” Archard called out.

  The Dark witches combined their powers and sent a rush of wind and heat across the lawn, backed by one of Bartholomew’s spells. It moved across the lawn with the speed of a diving falcon, knocking the Light witches backward, scattering their bodies across the yard and front steps. Archard was right behind it. Wynter lay on the ground, unconscious. He scooped her up into his arms. Rowan was ten feet to the left. He lifted his head and caught Archard’s eyes. Fury and hatred flashed in his blue eyes; Archard savored it, let the moment linger. When Rowan moved to stand, Archard grinned wickedly and enveloped himself and his prisoner in a pillar of fire.

  His coven-mates had already fled. Archard sprinted down the drive, laughing as Light spells bounced off his protective magic.

  Willa’s ears were ringing, her head faint from the impact of being thrown back several feet. She pushed herself up, fighting the dizziness. The Dark witches had disappeared down the driveway. She took off after them, but made it only as far as the first maple trees. Slamming into an invisible wall of magic, she fell to the ground, stunned. She crawled back, placed her hands on the cold barrier, just as she’d done in her dream.

  No! Not this dream. No!

  “Simon!” she screamed. Having him ripped from her side was like having one of her lungs collapse. It was worse than the pain of being stabbed in the heart only moments ago. She couldn’t breathe right, her heart didn’t beat right, and things inside her started to die. She called out in her mind, Simon, Simon, Simon, but he didn’t answer; she couldn’t feel him anymore.

  By the time she, Char, and Elliot had recovered from being stabbed—thanks to Simon’s healing touch—the mystery woman had disappeared with him. All Willa could think about was his pale, bloody face in her dream and how she’d watched Holmes cut Wynter. Is she hurting him? Please don’t hurt him!

  Rowan was now at the wall, too, his hands lifted, pouring magic at it, but unable to break it. Frustrated and helpless he pounded at it and then dropped to his knees next to her, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

  “I can’t lose her again. I can’t!” he sobbed. With a guttural growl, he lifted his fists and brought them down on the dirt, splitting open the earth in a crack that traveled down the length of the driveway. Prostrate, forearms on the ground, as if in prayer, Rowan screamed in frustration.

  Startled, Willa looked back at the rest of the covens, who stood huddled together, watching Rowan with helpless expressions. Willa, feeling as lost and angry as he, reached out and put her hand on his shaking back. To her surprise, Rowan placed his head in her lap, like a child in distress.

  “Five months,” he said in a small, broken voice. “I thought she was dead and he was torturing her. Five months. She puts up a strong front, but she’s not over it. How could she be? She has nightmares every time she falls asleep.”

  Willa put her hand on his head, not knowing what to say. She hadn’t thought about how Rowan would be nearly as traumatized as Wynter by her kidnapping and the lingering effects it had on both of them.

  He said, “She won’t survive that again. He’ll kill her trying to force her into his covens. He’ll kill her.”

  “Rowan, they took Simon, too,” she said, her voice breaking. He finally sat up, swiping at the tears on his face. He looked at her with sympathy.

  “They did,” he nodded. “They need an Earth and a Mind. Oh, Willa, I’m so sorry. But listen to me,” he knelt and took her hands. Willa fought the sobs rising in her chest. “We will get them back, both of them. Do you hear me?”

  She nodded and he drew her into his arms. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have broken down like that. I’m Luminary—I should be stronger.” He pulled back and looked her in the eyes again. “This wall will fall as soon as Archard is too far away to sustain the magic, and then we will go after them.” He stood and pulled her with him. “But right now, we have to figure out a way to find where they are going or we will lose them forever.”

  Archard dumped Wynter into the backseat of his black SUV, next to the Mind boy. The boy was unconscious, under a spell Rachel put on him. Archard waved his hand over Wynter, administering the same spell, so that she, too, would stay unconscious until he woke her at the cave. Rachel came around the car to meet him.

  He spun on her, “Why didn’t you kill those other witches?”

  Her blue eyes flashed defiantly. “I did! I punctured their hearts.”

  Archard frowned. “But I saw them—three of them. They came out of the house and spoke to Wynter.”

  “What?” Rachel folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “But all three were there in the kitchen; I didn’t miss. They should . . .” Her eyes popped open and she leaned forward to look at the boy slumped against the window.

  “What is it, Rachel?”

  Her mouth hung open for a moment. “He touched them!”

  “What?” Archard grew impatient and grabbed her arm. “What are you talking about?”

  She looked at him, blinking. “He touched them. He stepped past them to follow me out the back door and very briefly leaned down to let his fingers trail across them. It was barely a legitimate touch. Do you think . . .”

  Archard inhaled with realization. “Holy mother moon! Is it possible?” Both witches leaned forward again to look at the boy’s face. “You
think he healed them?”

  “What other explanation is there?”

  Archard felt the eager, bubbly feeling of discovery rise inside him. “Unbelievable luck, Rachel! Not only do we now have two full True Covens, we also have a True Healer.”

  Charlotte brought Willa a cup of tea and she took it numbly. She wore a fresh T-shirt, jeans, and jacket, her bloodied clothes stuffed into the garbage. The buzz of the coven’s frenzied conversation floated over her head. She couldn’t focus on anything but the pain of Simon being taken from her and the fear of what might happen to him. I can’t survive without him. I don’t want to. I need him.

  Char sat down next to her and touched her arm. “Willa, I know it hurts. I can feel how bad it is for you. What can I do?”

  Willa looked up at her new friend’s white, round face and broke down. Tears rushed to her eyes, a flash flood of emotions that she was not prepared for. It swept her away and overpowered her.

  Clamping her hand over her mouth, she turned her head into the cool leather of the armchair. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arm around them, trying desperately to stop the flood of emotion. But she was helpless. The levee was broken and she mere flotsam in the deluge.

  Her crying echoed off the walls; she was only partially aware of her embarrassment. Charlotte moved forward, took the hot mug from her, and pulled Willa into her arms. She didn’t talk, didn’t try to tell Willa it would be all right; she simply and magnificently held her. Willa cried into her shoulder and let Char hold the pieces together for a moment until she could find the strength to do it herself.

  After several minutes, Char said, “Simon is so strong. He’s the strongest witch I’ve ever met, including the people in this room. He may be untrained, but he can handle himself.”

  Willa pulled back and wiped her face. She nodded. “I know. But Archard is so . . .”

  “Scary,” she gave a small smile. “Yeah, he totally is, but so are we when we want to be.” Char reached back and retrieved the tea. “Here, this will help calm you. It has a potion in it.”