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  Wynter smiled, a slow, satisfied smile. The fire raged out of control inside him, looking for an outlet. His skin flushed red and then began to smoke. “No!” he screamed. “How are you keeping this wall up? You’re not strong enough!”

  Wynter shook her head. “Not alone, no.” The eleven other Light witches stepped out of the gray rain, hands lifted. Wynter crouched down to get closer to where he had collapsed on the stone floor, leaning against the magical barrier. “Your coven-mates are all dead,” she hissed. “Well, almost all. Rachel ran off into the woods like a coward. But the rest lie dead in the mud.” She leaned closer, her eyes tearing into his. “Whatever strange magic you’ve been using is not enough for you, alone, against two True Covens. You are beaten, Archard, and your talk means nothing. I’ll kill you, taking my revenge, and then Rowan and I will bind a Light Covenant.”

  His whole body shook with anger, boiling, lava-hot fire inside him. He clawed at the wall, hoping at least to make Wynter flinch away, but she only glared. His skin was smoking fiercely now. He dragged off his suit coat and tore at his shirt, trying to release the unbearable heat inside him.

  Wynter stood, lifted her hands. The ground trembled and heads of thick, rope-like vines burst out of the cracks in the rock and slithered toward him. He crawled back, appalled.

  No! Not like Holmes!

  The first vine twisted around his leg, sharp thorns tearing at his flesh—a feature Wynter had not included in Holmes’s death—and moved upward. His fire raged behind his heart, bursting into flames, licking outward, ready to consume him.

  Wynter watched as Archard’s skin smoked, thick fingers of black rising from his pores. He thrashed against her thorny vines now coiling around his whole body and screamed louder and louder. She backed away. Rowan stepped next to her.

  “What’s happening to him?” she whispered, eyes unblinking.

  “His fire is out of control.”

  Suddenly, Archard’s whole body burst into flames. She and all the Light witches stepped back from the hot shock wave. Wynter released her control of the vines. Archard howled in agony, the pitch cutting through the rain, filling the clearing. Flapping his burning arms and throwing his body in all directions, Archard got to his feet and ran to the back of the cave, crashed into the wall and collapsed in a heap of orange-red flames.

  Wynter turned away. “Time to go,” she said quietly. Her coven-mates turned with her and followed. Willa pulled a moonstone from her pocket and they followed its milky white light away from the cave and out into the wet forest.

  The rain stopped, weak afternoon sunlight found its way through the clouds. Willa walked hand in hand with Simon at the head of the group, the moonstone reversing their course back to the cars. She looked up at the sky, glad for the light after all the darkness. The numbness of shock settled over her mind and body. She didn’t know what to think or how to feel. Only one thought cut through the shock: I have Simon back.

  She looked over at him. His face wet and muddy, hair full of dirt and leaves, and his hoodie ripped in a few places. Simon returned her stare.

  I have you back, she said to his mind. There were moments . . .

  He smiled and pulled her closer, putting his arm around her. I know, but I’m here. And I promise nothing will ever pull us apart like that again. Then out loud he asked, “How did you find us?”

  “Amelia Plate’s ghost.”

  “What?” He furrowed his brow.

  “She came to me, told me how to find you.” Willa stopped. “Oh!” She turned. Amelia’s flickering form stood back in the trees near the clearing. Willa lifted her hand and waved. Amelia waved back before disappearing. “Amelia?” Willa called out, but the ghost didn’t return. She still had a hundred questions for the dead granddaughter of Ruby Plate, but knew they would have to go unanswered.

  “Come on,” Simon said, pulling her forward. “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter 31

  Waxing Crescent

  Present Day, October

  Two SUVs pulled up in front of Willa’s house and the twelve tired, dirty witches piled out. Willa stood on the lawn looking up at the familiar sight of her home, thinking she’d never seen a more beautiful place. It’d only been a few days, but she felt like she was coming home after a long and arduous journey.

  The front door flew open and her parents ran out, her mom’s arms open wide. Willa ran to her, barely noticing the flow of tears from her mom’s eyes.

  “Oh, my baby girl,” Sarah said into her ear. “What on earth happened to you?” She pulled back, a brilliant smile on her face. She pushed at Willa’s tangled hair and brushed at the dirt on her face.

  Willa laughed. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” Simon stepped next to them, and Sarah released Willa and flung herself at him.

  “Oh! You’re okay. Willa said something had happened.”

  Simon smiled and awkwardly returned Sarah’s hug. “I’m okay.”

  Ethan stepped forward. “Glad you’re home, Willa,” he said quietly. Willa threw her arms around him and he squeezed her tightly. She stepped back to tell him how good it was to see him, but bit her tongue at the look on his face. His eyes were narrowed at the group of witches milling on the lawn, muddy and ragged-looking. “Who are these people?” he whispered.

  Willa briefly closed her eyes. “These are our coven-mates, Dad. Our friends. They are all witches.”

  Contempt and instant hatred darkened his face, his jaw tensing.

  Sarah grabbed Willa’s arm, breaking the tension she was oblivious to. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she repeated. She then turned to the group. “Everyone come in. I’ve got hot tea and a pot of soup. And two showers.”

  Willa smiled at her mom and then looked back at her dad. He was stepping away from the group, arms folded, face closed. Simon joined her and placed his arm around her shoulders. When she looked up at him, she saw the understanding on his face. She shook her head, wishing there was something she could say to make her dad understand.

  “Let’s go in,” she said quietly. She and Simon walked past Ethan, into the house.

  Later, when the sun dipped low in the sky and painted the clouds with sunset colors, Simon slipped away from the chaos in the house to the reprieve of the quiet backyard. Not even his mind-lock could keep out all the joy and excitement being passed around the kitchen as the triumph was relived. He needed some peace to think.

  He sat in a lawn chair and dropped his head back with a heavy sigh. The gravity of what he’d done at the cave was finally settling in. I killed three people. The fact sat uncomfortably in his head. His whole life had been about healing.

  How did I let that happened?

  The incident was a blur in his head. He tried to move back through exactly what had happened, but a fuzzy, blue film covered the memories. All he could remember was the potent exhilaration of his power and Willa’s brilliant eyes through the rain. A portion of that power still tingled inside him. It had never subsided completely, and he knew something had changed—permanently. In a way it was thrilling, knowing such power lived inside him, but if he were honest with himself, it was also frightening.

  The image of the Dark witches’ lifeless bodies lying in the mud rose up before him, haunting, taunting.

  I killed three people.

  It was easy to rationalize, but it still didn’t sit well with him.

  He wanted to talk to Willa about it, but that scared him, too. She was the only thing that brought peace to his confused heart, yet the words wouldn’t form on his tongue. He feared what she might think if he confessed to how he had enjoyed the surge of power, and how a portion of it still lived inside him. The others were already uneasy around him, looking at him differently. He couldn’t bear to see that look on her face.

  The back door creaked open and the hum under his skin told him who it was. Willa sat in the chair next to him and stared out across the lawn for several quiet moments. Then, she turned to him and said, “My dad left. Didn’t even bot
her to sit down with them, talk with them. Just left. Can you believe that?”

  “I’m sorry, Willa,” Simon said, as disappointed in Ethan’s actions as she was.

  She shook her head and sighed in frustration, then turned to him, “Well, what do we do now?”

  He rolled his head and met her eyes. “What do you want to do?”

  Willa bit her bottom lip, her eyes dropped to her hands. “I almost died. You could have died. When you were first taken, all I wanted was to run away from all this, get away so we’d be safe, but now . . .”

  Simon sat forward and took her hand. He kissed the cool skin on the inside of her wrist. “Now, we know who we are and what we are capable of. How could we ever go back to how things were before?” He swallowed, feeling the weight of decision in his chest. “We are witches and we will join the covens.” Saying the words aloud lifted the weight from his chest, leaving behind a light sense of freedom. He knew it was the right choice, even if it wasn’t the logical one.

  She raised her head and nodded, a slow smile forming on her lips. “It sounds crazy, but I think that is what we are supposed to do. And with Archard and his covens dead, we’ll be safe.” She smiled. “Did you hear Wynter and Rowan talking about moving here? They are sure Archard destroyed their cottage, which is really sad. I liked it there.” Willa looked out at the sinking sun. “Wynter has most of them convinced they should move here, too. She says this was once a town of witches, and it should be again.”

  Simon laughed. “Well, that will certainly make things a little more interesting around here.”

  Willa laughed, and then her face fell serious. “In a few days we will be a part of a Covenant, Simon. It’s for life.”

  Simon exhaled. “For life.” He nodded. “Sounds about right.” He smiled at her as she shifted, bringing her face close to his. She smiled and then pressed her warm lips to his. The concern and worry he’d felt before melted away with her passion. Without breaking the kiss, he pulled her into his lap, enjoying the sparks in his blood and the stir of magic around their close bodies.

  Never had a scent smelled so wonderful. Willa stood in the entrance of the Twelve Acres Museum and drank in the smell of history. That dusty, intricate smell unique to time. She smiled as she gazed around at the small reception desk, the bulletin board of faded notices, the simple chandelier overhead, and the shiny tile floor.

  But her joy was lessened by the reason for the visit, her stomach clenched with nervous energy.

  “Can I help you?” a plump, friendly woman with coiffed blond hair asked. She leaned forward from the reception desk, a welcoming smile on her coral lips.

  “Hello, Bertie!” Willa answered with a small wave.

  Bertie gasped in surprise. “Willa?” Bertie, in her mid-sixties and suffering from two bad knees, wobbled forward. “Oh, my goodness! You look different.” She stopped in front of Willa and looked her up and down. With a beaming smile she added, “Yes, there is a brightness in you. You look older and even more beautiful, and it’s only been a few days! New York really agreed with you.”

  Willa laughed, blushing. “Thanks, Bertie. How are things?”

  “Oh, fine, fine.” she said. “So, how was the trip to the Big Apple? Did you have fun?”

  Willa smiled, certain the word liar was about to pop into place on her forehead. “Yes, it was great.”

  Bertie sighed and looked Willa up and down once more. “New York is so fabulous, especially if you’re young.”

  Willa smiled back, but was out of things to say. “Well, I’ve got to catch up on the dusting.” She took a step toward the exhibit entrance.

  “Oh, sure,” Bertie said, waving her hand toward the interior of the museum. “Go catch up.

  Willa laughed politely. “Thanks, Bertie. See you later.”

  As soon as Willa wandered into the main exhibit her stomach flopped with anxiety and excitement.

  Solace. Willa couldn’t wait to tell her friend everything, but worried that Solace might be too mad to talk, too hurt by Willa’s sudden, unexplained departure.

  It didn’t take long to find the ghost-girl. She sat in an antique rocking chair in the Life of Early Twelve Acres exhibit room. A book rested open on her lap, but her eyes were closed, head laid back. Her body appeared thin and translucent, like a sheer curtain. Willa’s stomach clenched with a new kind of pain. She didn’t realize the strength of how much she had missed Solace. She wanted to run over, throw her arms around her friend and talk about everything that had happened in the past few days.

  Suddenly, Solace sat forward, her eyes wide. “Willa! You’re back!” The ghost flickered out of sight and reappeared in front of Willa. She threw her not-there arms around Willa. “When you came that night—the way you talked—I thought I would never see you again.”

  Willa wished there was something to hug back. Instead, she sighed in deep relief. “I know. I’m so sorry I made you worry. I really missed you.”

  Solace moved back. “It was only a few days!” She smiled mischievously and then smoothed her features. “I missed you, too. Now, tell me what happened. I’ve been cooking up all kinds of crazy scenarios.”

  “Solace, you are never going to believe this—we are witches!”

  Solace looked up, her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “You and I, your parents, the town founders, Ruby, Simon—all of us are witches. We have magic. That is why I can see and talk to you. And why you can see my soul. It’s also why I had to leave—to become a part of a legacy left by Ruby Plate and your parents.”

  Solace blinked once and then twice, gazing at Willa with critical eyes. “Are you playing some kind of Halloween joke, Willa? I know it’s almost Halloween.

  Willa shook her head. “No, no. It’s not a joke. Look,” she shifted her bag around and flipped back the flap. She pulled out the three yellow cloth-bound books. “These belonged to your mother. They are her grimoires, or spell books. Basically her journals.” Willa held them out and Solace took them warily. “I also have Ruby Plate’s grimoire.” She pulled out the large red book. “She was an amazing witch.”

  Solace’s face relaxed, her eyes finally softening. She looked longingly at the grimoires in her hands. “These were my mother’s?”

  “Yes,” Willa smiled, “and she loved you so much. She waited her whole life for you. There’s so much more to tell you. It all solves the mystery about Ruby and the names in her candlestick. And guess what?”

  Solace looked up, intrigued.

  Willa said, “I have a new one for us. It starts with a girl named Lilly whom your mom was trying to protect.”

  Solace’s face broke into a smile. “Well, let’s sit down then, and get to work.”

  Chapter 32

  Blood Moon

  Present Day, October

  The blood moon reigned magnificently in the sky, full and bright. Its pearly, supernatural light penetrated the veil between this world and the Otherworld, drawing it aside for one glorious night. Power radiated from every surface, and magic sparked as easily as tinder, all charged by the full moon’s one-night endowment.

  Tonight Twelve Acres was a witch town again.

  The Light Covenant gathered beneath the branches of Ruby’s willow tree. The lithe arms of the tree trembled with joy to once again have the magic glowing around it. It was only right that the Binding happen in this place, where it had first happened a hundred and twenty years earlier. It had been Willa’s suggestion, after she read about the original Binding in Ruby’s grimoire, but Wynter had insisted on it, surprising them all.

  The yard was completely changed, all signs of neglect vanished. Wynter and Rowan had made sure of that using their Earth gifts. The grass was lush and green, the bushes bursting with leaves, the flowerbeds overflowing with fragrant offerings. Especially for the ritual, Wynter had added moonflower vines and night-blooming jasmine in abundance. Soaking up the moonlight, the flowers glowed like twinkle lights strung for a nighttime party.

  The twelve wi
tches were immaculately dressed for the ritual. The women wore long, glittering, metallic-white dresses, the color of the moon, embellished with silver thread and beads. The men wore crisp, black-as-night Oxford shirts, open at the collar, black slacks, and elegantly tailored black frock coats.

  Willa carried Ruby’s beautiful silver candlestick—

  clandestinely borrowed from the museum for this night—and set it on the small round table next to Ruby’s grimoire. She placed a tall black taper into it and then, after a few attempts, snapped the wick to life with her fingers. Smiling, she watched the flame grow. Tucked inside the stem of the candlestick was the original note, but there was also a new one. Willa had written the twelve names of the new Covenant members on a sheet of fresh parchment and rolled it up with the original.

  Her eyes fell to Ruby’s grimoire. It’d been a pleasure and a thrill to read it from cover to cover over the last week. Now, more than ever, Willa admired Ruby for all she’d accomplished and hoped to follow valiantly in the witch’s footsteps.

  Life had quickly returned to normal. At first, it’d been hard to focus in class or while doing homework, her mind so full of the newness of the magic. But now, life had settled into a comfortable routine with a few thrilling changes. She and Solace spent hours poring over the grimoires, the ease of their friendship more comforting than ever. Every night, she and Simon met with the covens to learn, practice and prepare for the Binding. The strength of her connection to Simon grew deeper with each passing day.

  Willa ran her fingers over the smooth, worn leather of the grimoire, laughing quietly at the sparks of heat in her fingertips. Then she opened it to the page where Ruby had written the Binding spell. In a few moments Rowan would read it.