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  He had to find her before he went crazy. He had driven his black Jeep Wrangler through the sleepy streets of Twelve Acres, passing only a few other cars. The pulsing energy inside his chest guided him, pushing him on. For perhaps the first time in his life, Simon had forgotten about logic. He didn’t wonder, didn’t even care, if what he was doing was right. He only knew he had to find her. Tonight, he didn’t care about consequences.

  The heat and electricity inside him had crackled and bounced the moment her house came into view. He stared at the two-story Tudor-style home with its ivy-covered walls, inviting flowerbeds and big paned windows. Somehow, he sensed her sleeping, almost saw her cocooned in quilts on her bed. He’d parked the Jeep and stood under the streetlight for only a moment before she appeared.

  Willa.

  Now she stood only a few feet away.

  He took a few hesitating steps forward, and Willa did the same until they met face to face on the front lawn, under the canopy of a giant ash tree. For a moment, only breath passed between them, their eyes searching each other’s faces. Finally, Willa broke the silence.

  “I’m glad you found me.” Her voice was like music carried on a fragrant breeze. Simon’s face spread into a wide grin and he laughed softly.

  “Me, too.”

  He reached out and slid his fingers down her arm, her skin like cream, and then took her slender hand in his. The fever between them surged and the simple touch sent waves of longing through him, including a strange familiarity—the feeling that somehow they were not actually meeting for the first time, but coming back together after a long absence. A reunion.

  Willa watched his thumb stroke the back of her hand. Then, lifting her eyes, she searched his face and took a step closer to him.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” she whispered.

  Simon shook his head, lifted his other hand and brushed a few stray hairs away from her face. There were streaks of gold in her dark waves. “Neither do I, but this is the best strange thing that has ever happened to me.”

  She smiled. “Me, too.” She took one step closer and rested her forehead on his chest. He put his arms around her, holding her. Never before had he felt so content, so at home. Never before had he felt so connected to another person; his strange abilities demanded a careful distance. But the threads that pulled him toward her, now busy tying knots, felt timeless, ageless, eternal. As if they had, and always would, exist, and most certainly could not be ignored.

  Her mind seeped into his, bits and pieces of happy and confused emotions, but for the first time he didn’t care. It didn’t feel like an intrusion as it usually did, it felt like a conversation, his heart questioning and hers answering. Never before had he wanted to hear another’s thoughts, but with Willa he wanted to know everything. And to tell her everything. A flicker of emotion he didn’t recognize burst to life behind his heart and he had no idea what to do with it.

  Lifting her head, Willa looked up into his face. She raised her hand and gently stroked his cheek and jawline. He watched her as her emotions flickered through his mind.

  The rustle of wings brought them both out of their thoughts. Above them, a great horned owl landed in the ash tree, adeptly folding his wings back and casting his bright gaze down at them. His coin-sized eyes blinked slowly, the yellow irises almost glowing in the night. He hooted.

  Willa smiled and looked back at Simon. “Speaking of strange things.”

  Simon laughed. “Yeah, very strange. Willa, I . . .” His voice faded away, words failing. Instead, he brought his hands to her face, cupping her jaw. “You’re so beautiful, my Willa.” The term of endearment slipped out easily, surprising them both. Simon bit his lower lip, suddenly anxious and a little embarrassed. What are we doing?

  Willa eased the moment by lifting a finger to trace his lips. “My Simon. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Simon smiled, but it quickly faded as he considered her, studied her. Anticipation, eagerness, and . . . peacefulness pulsed out of her and, surprisingly, his emotions exactly matched hers. She held her breath as his eyes moved over her face and settled on her lips.

  Simon leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers.

  Willa sighed, her breath on his lips, the taste sweet and tempting. Simon kissed her again, deeper, longer. The strength of their connection flared, a febrile shock in body and soul. Simon’s hands slipped from her face and wound themselves in her long, waist length brown hair. Her arms now wrapped around him, pulling his body against hers.

  A sudden wind raced around them, a whirlwind spiraling upwards. Simon’s rational mind stepped completely away, his heart and soul moved to embrace her. The kiss slowed, and soon, they were forehead to forehead, breathless and laughing.

  Chapter 2

  Waning Crescent

  June 1890

  Ruby Plate stood in the dirt road, a half-hearted wind tossing her skirt around her legs and coating her shoes in a thin layer of dust. The shadow of her house—her very own house!—fell across her pretty, heart-shaped face. The two-story Victorian structure rose triumphantly from the dirt, framed by a wraparound porch and accented with pitched gables. The clapboards were painted a cheery light green, the same color as the aspen leaves in summer, and the Queen Anne trim sparkled white.

  Pleasure and pride swelled in her chest. Beyond her beautiful home were the bold, mighty mountains of Colorado. Twelve Acres, Colorado—she loved the sound of it. And she loved that this small town, tucked in a valley, protected by the mountains and their thick forests of pines and aspens, was home.

  Finally, a home!

  The memories of all the years leading to this moment traveled across her mind like a train down a track, one miserable car after another. Each memory clicked through her mind, loaded with its cargo of pain and emotion, each scar fresh and pungent. The strain on her heart and soul had aged her prematurely.

  But now . . .

  Now, the nightmare was over and a new road lay before her. It had taken three long, grueling years and more secrecy and death than she’d anticipated, but they did it. The first Light Covenant in America, the joining of two True Covens to harness the Powers of the Earth. The most powerful of witch circles.

  It was a triumph to be sure. A triumph spearheaded by Ruby herself. Destiny and desperation had propelled her forward, and, thank the Earth, the others had been looking for something more, for something better, and had been receptive to her offer of powerful good. No true Light witch would turn that down.

  From the moment she had read about the joining of two True Covens, the words drifting off the dusty page and threading themselves into her mind, she knew she must try. To find others, to join together, to have power and protection—that was all she wanted.

  She’d hidden her powers all her life—the idea of sharing in magic with others was too tempting a course. Ruby knew it might be an impossible task, but the thought of not trying was more painful than failing. She had to try.

  Charles was the first. It was a chance meeting, late at night in a misty churchyard. She’d been there visiting her parents’ graves, and he, walking past, had stopped at the sight of her. A bright spark behind her heart pulled her toward him, and fate unraveled.

  Before Charles, her life had always been lonely. She knew she needed to keep her distance to hide her unnatural ability to sense others emotions and sometimes hear their thoughts, but everything with Charles was different because he was just like her. Their connection was silken energy, wrapping her in a heavenly cocoon. For the first time, someone looked at her without pinched eyes or judging smirks. For the first time, someone looked at her with understanding and compassion, and it thrilled her beyond words.

  He’d immediately agreed to the idea of searching out other witches to form a Covenant. But forming a Covenant was not enough. They had to hide themselves away from the suspicious and superstitious; the turn of the century was near, but people were still uneasy with witchcraft and magic. It was also important to distance themselves
from any Dark threats from the evil witches who might seek to destroy her Covenant.

  Once Ruby and Charles had found the other ten Light witches, it was decided that they needed a new place to establish their own way of life in peace and safety. So, they headed west, where there was still open land and people were too busy trying to survive to notice a group of witches.

  The twelve witches—six female, six male, two joined True Covens—traveled together and settled their own town, fully independent and hidden away. Or so they prayed. Everything possible had been done to ensure their new peace. Once well established, Ruby hoped to bring others to this place, others in need of refuge and the freedom to practice magic the way it was meant to be.

  A whole town of witches—that was her vision.

  The first thing they did was divide up the land and build houses. A house—that was Ruby’s first priority, her life-long dream, her aching need. A place rooted, stationary, comfortable and unchanging. She’d spent so many years bouncing from place to place, never having a true home. But now . . . here it was, rising out of the earth in front of her, magnificent and perfect, down to the very last detail. It was decadent and luxurious; not at all the norm for a settler’s home, but that was one benefit of having magic.

  Ruby now walked the perimeter, her right hand held out, the fingers waving through the air, setting the last spells of protection and longevity. The land, long ignored, swelled up around the house, hugging it, happy to welcome and hold the magic. The land promised to do its part to keep the house safe and standing. Ruby smiled, one of her first true smiles in a long time.

  She felt, rather than heard, footsteps in the dirt, the thrill of their connection humming in her mind as he approached. Warm hands slid around her waist. “It’s done and it’s perfect. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Plate?”

  She laughed, turning her face into Charles’s neck. “Yes. Perfect. And I plan for it to be that way for a very long time.”

  “Oh, it will be. I have no doubt.” He ran a thickly calloused hand over her dark auburn hair tied up in a loose, simple bun near the base of her neck

  “I’ve waited a long, terrible time for this. I want peace here. I want children here, grandchildren. I want it protected for as long as it can stand and to always know the joy of Light magic.”

  Charles smiled, “I believe it will be a haven for our family for many, many generations. This town, Twelve Acres, is a special, magical place.”

  Waning Gibbous

  Present Day, June

  Archard and Holmes stood side by side, staring up at the sagging Victorian home. Archard half-smiled at the run-down state of the once-great home of the once-great Ruby Plate, the last Luminary of a Light Covenant. It gave him an immense sense of pride to own it, knowing what it once represented, and especially what he would do with it now.

  For years, he’d been planning and scheming, trying to find a way to fix the mistake his grandfather was famous for among Dark witches. The man who almost formed a Dark Covenant. The man who almost erased Ruby Plate’s great legacy. It was an embarrassing family history to own, and Archard couldn’t wait to erase it with his own triumph.

  But it couldn’t be as simple as forming a Dark Covenant. It had to be poetic; it had to be revenge against the people who were responsible. It had to include the ruin and degradation of Ruby Plate’s legacy. And that is exactly what he was doing.

  “I have to live here?” Holmes whined.

  Archard shot him a warning look and Holmes looked away. Archard stared at the back of the man’s bald head. Then, in his crisp tenor voice he said, “It’s only until she breaks. How fast that happens is completely up to you.”

  Holmes turned back and smiled, his lips curving under his heavy black beard. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

  “Good because I’m not a patient man.”

  Holmes nodded and folded his arms over his broad chest. “You sent the letter?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re sure she’ll buy it and come?”

  Archard smiled now, his perfectly trimmed goatee framing straight white teeth. “After what I did to the others, she’ll come running.”

  Holmes lifted his eyebrows, but didn’t question. “Well, let’s go in and see the basement. I have preparations to make.”

  Archard smoothed back his slick black hair, straightened the jacket of his suit, and lead the way into the old house.

  Chapter 3

  Waning Gibbous

  Present Day, June

  History has its very own scent. It is the distinct smell of old, of layers of dust, smudges of oils from fingertips, breath from those long gone, and the weight of time. It’s the collection of so many other scents that have twined together over the years to become an entirely new smell that instantly invokes what used to be. This smell is smeared thickly on the air in libraries, in ancient houses, in the drawers and cupboards of antiques and, most of all, museums.

  For Willa, that smell was the breath of life. She felt most at home in those places where time exhales dust, age, and secrets. The Twelve Acres History Museum, next to her own family home, was her favorite place in the world.

  The June morning was already hot and Willa hurried to the museum for her shift of volunteer work. It was hard to think of being holed up in the dark museum after what had happened last night, but she couldn’t bail on her work just because she’d had an amazing first kiss. The time alone would be perfect for thinking, for figuring out. And she had to talk to Solace.

  Housed in what was the original City Hall, the museum was a squat, long, two-story stone edifice with large arched windows. Cheery flowerbeds greeted visitors out front before they walked through the massive wooden double doors. Inside were several dimly lit rooms filled with quaint artifacts. It was the standard collection for a western town, with a few peculiarities thrown in.

  Glass and stories. Willa knew and loved every piece of it.

  And not just because of the ghosts.

  She often wondered if her fascination with history was because of the ghosts, or if the ghosts came because of her fascination. She couldn’t remember one without the other. But she did remember the first time she set foot in the museum, that dusty, mysterious smell filling her lungs, the zing of excitement running down her spine.

  Even at the age of five, she knew she was connecting to something in her soul, something she was meant to be a part of. Behind the fingerprinted glass, she saw people, not just objects. Each chipped piece of china, each yellowed book, each tattered piece of clothing used to be a part of a life. Each one had been held, used, maybe even loved. Instead of zipping through the rooms like most children, Willa had insisted on going slow and reading every single word on the displays. And even that had not been enough to satisfy her curiosity.

  She wanted to know more.

  That was also the day she first tried to ask the ghosts about the objects in the museum.

  At that age, she was only barely beginning to realize that these people whose bodies shimmered and went in and out of focus were the spirits of the dead, and only she could see them. At two, Willa had pointed out the “almost-there people,” as she called them, to her mom and dad, who would immediately hush her and try to distract her with something else.

  When she was three, around Halloween time, while watching TV, she saw a cartoon in which a little girl’s dog died. The girl cried as her dad buried the small black dog in their back yard. Immediately after the dad finished dumping the dirt back into the hole, a white, dog-shaped wisp rose up from the earth and bounded over to the girl. “Dad!” the girl yelled, “Look, it’s Licorice’s ghost. Can I keep it?”

  A strange bloom of understanding had burst in Willa’s young mind while watching the show, and she triumphantly raced into the kitchen to tell her mom. “Mom! I see ghosts. That’s what the almost-there people are. Ghosts of dead people!” Her mother, a knife in her hand frozen over a potato, had stared wide eyed, the color draining from her face. Little Willa had wa
ited eagerly for a happy response, for her mom to share in the discovery, but quickly sensed what she’d declared was not as great a comfort to her mother as it was to her. Her mom dropped her head and went back to chopping. “Please go play in your room until dinner is ready,” was the only response she gave.

  Willa quickly learned not to mention the ghosts to her parents. Even a three-year-old can understand when something scares her parents, and the last thing she wanted was that fear attached to her.

  But something about being in the museum for the very first time broke down her usual carefulness. She had wanted to know everything, and the ghosts hanging around the displays, the spirits of those who might have lived the history, would have answers. For the first time in her life, she’d tried to talk to the almost-there spirits of the dead.

  Is this your lantern? Can you tell me what it was like back then? Did you read that book? If you’re dead why are you here? And why can I see you?

  The ghosts didn’t answer. Some ignored her completely while others scowled at her intrusion. The next thing she remembered was her mother grabbing her hand, pulling her away, saying it was time to go.

  But Willa wasn’t easily discouraged. She would return to the museum as often as possible, and every chance she got she’d quietly ask a ghost or two her questions. But none ever answered. When she got older, she volunteered at the museum and devoured every piece of town history she came across. By the time she was twelve, she knew as much about Twelve Acres as the museum curator.

  But there was something odd in the history of her little town. Whole pages and sections of documents were missing. The curator didn’t know why and, as hard as she looked, Willa couldn’t find a reason for the missing information or any clue about what had been removed. Her already well-honed historian instincts told her there was a mystery there, one she desperately wanted to solve.