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  Willa nodded, still smiling; she couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She didn’t really feel the need to make small talk, but she did want to hear him talk, to listen to his deep, soft voice. “Did you have to work today?”

  “Yeah, breakfast shift.”

  “Ouch. I hate the breakfast shift.”

  “I know, but I guess everyone does, so that’s why the new guy got stuck with it every Saturday for the next month.”

  Willa laughed, “Oh, no. That’s so not fair.”

  Simon shrugged. “It’s not that bad, I guess. I usually get up early to hike anyway.”

  “You’re a hiker? Then you picked the right place to move. There are so many good trails around here.”

  “There are. I used to drive out here during high school and explore the mountains. I’ve always liked this place.” He caught her eyes and a ribbon of heat moved between them.

  A few minutes later, still lost in their conversation, they pulled up at the museum. Simon met her as she got out of the Jeep and took her hand. Then he turned to the cream-colored stone building. “So this is your favorite place in town, huh?”

  “Yes, it is,” she laughed. “Kind of hard for a historian not to love the local museum.”

  Simon nodded and smiled. He waved his hand to the wooden double doors. “Well, I want to see everything.”

  They spent the next hour roaming the museum, Willa excitedly explaining each item and Simon asking questions, a captivated audience. Solace followed them around, ogling Simon and giving Willa a thumbs-up every time they made eye contact. Willa didn’t really mind Solace tagging along, but her being there was a stinging reminder of what Simon didn’t know about her. The tangle of nerves in her stomach returned and she had to fight the urge to turn to Simon and tell him everything.

  As they exited the museum, Simon put his arm around her waist, pulled her close and asked, “So, what’s your second favorite place?”

  “Definitely Plate’s Place, Ruby Plate’s old house. It’s just around the corner by the park. Wanna walk over?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Simon kept his arm around her and they ambled slowly around the museum and down the road. Willa inwardly smiled at how he couldn’t seem to let her go; they’d been touching in some form or another since they left her house. The heat between them remained, settling into a quiet simmer of contentment.

  The night was warm and a sweet-smelling breeze ran through the streets. The sun lounged low in the sky, deepening the colors of the grass and trees. As they walked, Simon told her about his plans for medical school and how he hoped to work as an intensive care unit doctor.

  “What about your parents and family?” she asked when he paused. “Where do they live?”

  A shadow passed over Simon’s face, fleeting and quick, but obviously there, and his jaw tensed. “They live by the University. They’re both professors there. And it’s just my parents. I’m an only child.”

  There was pain in his voice and Willa, though suddenly curious, decided it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. “I’m an only child, too. After I was born, my mom got really sick. She couldn’t ever have any more kids.”

  “Are you close with your parents?”

  “Yes, we’re a pretty close family.”

  Simon nodded, looked away. “That would be nice.”

  Willa wasn’t sure what to say next, but thankfully they had arrived at Ruby’s house. “Here it is!”

  Simon’s eyebrows rose. “This? This old dump is the house of Ruby Plate—town founder and, as far as I can tell, sort-of your hero? What happened to it? It doesn’t look like the picture you showed me in the museum.”

  Willa sighed and ran her eyes over the peeling green paint, broken clapboards, sagging porch, and dead grass. For her whole life, she’d romanticized this place, looking past the neglect to picture what it must have looked like when Ruby built it. Simon was right—Ruby was a hero to her. She’d been a woman in the late 1880s who’d headed west and founded a town. She’d had a hand in every decision that shaped Twelve Acres. That was no small achievement.

  Willa hated that her fabulous house was now a scar of neglect on the town landscape. More than once, she’d begged the town historical society to buy it back from the current owner—whom no one seemed to know—and restore it. She’d even volunteered to organize fundraisers, but each time she was told the owner refused to sell. There was nothing they could do.

  Simon looked down at her, waiting for an answer. “Sometime in the 1930s the house fell out of Ruby’s family. We’re not sure how, but it’s still owned by the family of the people who bought it then, and they refuse to sell it. But they do nothing to take care of it. It’s terrible.”

  “You can tell it was amazing in its day,” Simon said. “And look at that weeping willow in the back yard. I’ve never seen one that big. Good thing the house has some acreage around it to accommodate that tree.”

  “Ruby planted the tree herself. It’s the only thing about the house that still thrives.”

  Simon shook his head. “It’s too bad.”

  Willa half-smiled, pleased that he seemed to understand how important this house was to her and the town’s history. Most people refused to acknowledge it; some even wanted it torn down. “It really is too bad. Poor Ruby. If she saw it now, it would break her heart.”

  “So, no one lives here?”

  “Nope. No one’s ever lived here.”

  “Then how come a light just went on upstairs?”

  Willa’s head snapped up and she gasped. She blinked at the square of yellow light for a moment and then walked down the sidewalk and looked at the driveway. A gray beater truck squatted near the rear of the house. “Oh, my gosh! Someone is living here? I can’t believe it.”

  Simon was at her side. “Maybe they’ll start taking care of the place.”

  Willa nodded absently, “Maybe. It’s just weird. Why now? No one has lived here in like eighty years.”

  Willa and Simon both jumped when the side door near the rear of the house opened and a figure stepped out into the shadows. With the setting sun behind the house, it was hard to see details, but Willa could just make out a bulky, solid figure, the shine of a bald head, and the darkness of a beard.

  The man turned slowly, sensing their stares, and Willa instinctively took a step back. Goose bumps rose on her arms; a cold tickle of dread moved down her neck. Two penetrating eyes bore down on her with an icy stare. Simon took her hand and pulled her away, hurrying down the sidewalk, back toward the museum.

  Willa shook her head trying to clear the haunting feeling of cold in her head and chest. Who is that?

  When they were a good distance away, Simon stopped and pulled her into his arms. “Are you okay?”

  Willa lifted her chin and looked up at his face. “You felt that, too?”

  Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “There was something about that guy. Something . . . cold.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I felt.” She shivered and Simon hugged her tighter. “I don’t think it’s a good thing that he’s living there.”

  “Me, either.”

  Willa had walked or driven past Ruby’s house every day for most of her life. She’d spent many childhood hours tucked into the branches of the old oak trees in the park across the street, staring at the house and daydreaming. “I don’t know why, but I feel like that man living there is worse than no one living there.”

  Simon nodded, and for a moment they were silent. “Okay, how do we forget about the creepy guy in the old house? You hungry?”

  Willa put her hands on his chest and stepped back to look at his face. She reached up and tugged on one of his spiraled curls, something she’d wanted to do all night. “I’m starving. I’ll eat anything but diner food.”

  Simon laughed. “Agreed. Come on, I’ll take you to a little Italian place I know by the University.” He took her hand and led the way back to his Jeep. Willa couldn’t help glancing back over her sho
ulder at Ruby’s house. The light in the second story window was now out.

  Chapter 5

  Waxing Gibbous

  August 1923

  The sun breathed fire across the late evening sky. Deep, rich red, pink, and orange washed the underbellies of the clouds, bathing the earth in decadent light. Thick, fresh summer air swirled down from the heavens and circled around the tall willow tree, tossing its lithe branches back and forth.

  Amelia Plate put out her hand and let the slender leaves tickle her palm. She laughed and pulled her hand back to rub away the sensation. Tilting her head back, she looked up through the branches, watching them dance and play on the breeze. The motion made her pleasantly dizzy.

  Standing there, under the umbrella of the old tree, she felt the magic moving, alive and vibrant. She often daydreamed of living in the willow, of climbing into its open branches, settling in and never leaving. A fun childhood fantasy. Willows are sacred trees, strong in the magic, and this one had whispered to her since she was an infant. As far as Amelia was concerned, the tree was as much a part of her family as anyone. Just another stalwart woman to look up to.

  “Amelia? Come back to me, girl.”

  Amelia brought her chin down and smiled over at Grandma Ruby, who sat in a rocker on the back porch of her home—Amelia’s home, too, since her father died in the Great War. She’d been only eight-years-old, and Ruby immediately became her whole world, the only source of comfort for her tiny broken heart—her poor mother was too lost in her own grief.

  The familiar, rhythmic creak creak of the rocker brought a smile to Amelia’s face. Noticing the wooden bowl of water and the blue candle, she didn’t hesitate to answer her grandma’s call. She skipped her way back to the porch, her auburn ponytail bouncing behind her.

  “I’m back,” she sang as she jumped up the steps.

  Grandma Ruby smiled, her green eyes winking at her granddaughter, her pride and joy, her hope for the future. “Good girl. Sit with me and let’s work on your powers.”

  Amelia sat, tucked her legs under her, and rested her chin in a propped-up hand, her full attention on her mentor.

  “Beautiful sunset tonight,” Ruby said.

  With a contented sigh, Amelia agreed, “Yes, sunsets are my favorite.”

  “Mine, too.” After a moment of gazing at the colorful display, Ruby nodded and said, “Now, you are thirteen on Saturday, a very important age. You’re ready to begin the training you’ll need to take your place in the Covenant one day. Very exciting, isn’t it?”

  Amelia beamed. “Very!” Even at her age she knew the rare importance of the Covenant; she knew the history. Her grandmother stood at the head, as Luminary, and Amelia hoped one day to be worthy to take her place. She smoothed her face and with due solemnity. “I am ready.”

  Grandma Ruby smiled. “I know you are. You are strong, my girl, very strong. I know you will do great things with your magic.” She reached out a wrinkled hand and patted her granddaughter’s cheek. “Let’s try something new tonight.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened and she sat up straight in her chair, eager and ready.

  The older witch took a deep breath and then began her lesson. “Your gift, the Gift of Water, is very special. Water represents love and healing. You have a great capacity for love, and one day you will be a great healer. Water is also one of the most powerful tools for divination. It can open many worlds to you.

  “Until now, you have learned only simple spells and charges. And you are extremely accomplished for your age,”—a proud-grandma smile—“but now it’s time to start specializing in more complex things. Tonight I will show you how to tune into the Otherworld, to read the past, present, and future in the water.”

  Amelia’s skin prickled with goose bumps in anticipation. It was a truly great moment in a witch’s life to learn divination, the sight of things unseen. So much could be learned, although not everything was meant to be known. Divination was a double-edged sword: good and bad, profitable and dangerous.

  She took a deep breath and steadied herself.

  “Now,” Ruby continued, her face also solemn, “first charge the candle with magic and then light it.”

  Amelia cupped the tall, wide, blue candle in her hands and closed her eyes. Breathing deeply, she projected the energy of the magic into the candle. Her hands grew warm and tingly with the effort, signaling the task was complete. She set the candle next to the wooden bowl and, with a sharp snap of her fingers, commanded fire to burst to life on the wick.

  “Very good,” Ruby said. “Push the candle a little closer to the bowl so that you can see the flame reflected in the water. Good. Now, charge the water as well.”

  Amelia leaned forward, her head dipping over the bowl. Her pale face and green eyes, framed by reddish-brown hair, stared back at her from the surface of the water. The reflection almost exactly matched that of her grandma at the same age.

  Right hand stretched out over the water, hovering only an inch from the surface, Amelia closed her eyes and once again called to the magic. Hot energy flowed down her arm and into the water. The water in her body reacted to the magic, growing warm. She wanted to show off, to lift the water from its bowl, send it zooming around the porch and then back—something she had been able to do since she was two—but she resisted the urge, knowing Grandma would not tolerate silliness now.

  She focused her mind and energy. The water bubbled for a moment and then stilled.

  Amelia lifted her expectant eyes. “What now?”

  Ruby tipped her body forward and quieted her voice. “Place your hands above the water and continue to send magic into it. Clear your mind, take deep breaths, and gaze into the water.” Amelia complied, her heart pounding, the heat from the magic pushing a thin sheen of sweat onto her brow.

  “Now think of a memory. Something from the past. The past is easy to divine because it has already happened. Picture the moment in your head, focus on it. Then repeat this spell: Water so cool and clear, I hold no envy or fear. Open my mind, clear my sight. Reveal to me your mystic light.”

  Amelia inhaled the clean summer air and gazed into the water, willing her eyes to see the unseen. She pulled a memory from the recesses of her mind—a crisp fall day, picking apples with Grandpa Charles and her father, both gone now. “Water so cool and clear, I hold no envy or fear. Open my mind, clear my sight. Reveal to me your mystic light.”

  After a moment she could smell the sickly sweet perfume of apples rotting into the earth and the tartness of fresh apples in her basket. The deep, resonant laughter of her two favorite men drifted to her ears.

  Magic sparked along her skin.

  The surface of the water rippled ever so slightly; an image formed in the bottom of the bowl and slowly floated to the surface: Amelia, six-years-old, with pig tails, grinning as her father lifted her up to reach an apple, and Grandpa watching with an equally happy smile. The sensation of the apple’s warm skin against her palm, the heat of her father and grandpa’s good magic filling her young heart, the weight of her dad’s hand on her head as she lovingly looked up into his face—all became intensely real. The emotion of the moment grew so thick and tactile that a few tears pressed out of her eyes and dripped into the water.

  She wanted to reach out and touch the men, to make them real, but then the water rippled and the image was lost. Amelia gasped and looked up to her grandma, slightly disoriented, the past still present in her mind and senses.

  Ruby’s eyes were wet and alive. She whispered, “Very good, my love. A sweet memory. And on your first try. I’m so impressed!” She stroked Amelia’s forearm as it rested next to the bowl. “Now, let’s try the present—a little more difficult.” Ruby waited for Amelia to nod that she was ready. “Do the same thing, but this time focus on your mother, on her right now, in this moment.”

  Amelia nodded and extended her hands, focusing her gaze on the clear water. Repeating the words of the spell, she filled her mind with thoughts of her mother, on trying to see her rig
ht now. Nothing came. An owl hooted in the willow and she lost her focus. She looked up sheepishly at Grandma.

  “That’s okay. Try again. Focus harder.”

  Taking deep breaths, Amelia repeated the steps, saying the spell with more force and determination. This time the water rippled and an image floated to the top. It wasn’t as clear as the last image, but she could still make out her mother, tall and skinny, her sunny blonde hair falling down her back as she reached for a book from a top shelf. It was her mother working at the library, where she currently was at that moment.

  The water bounced and swallowed the picture.

  Amelia raised her head and smiled triumphantly.

  Ruby beamed back. “Excellent, Amelia! Now, we can either try to see the future or save it for another night. Seeing the future is extremely difficult and draining. Also, it takes most witches several attempts to see even the faintest of images.”

  Amelia’s limbs were tired, her mind fatigued from the previous efforts, but she wanted to test her abilities. Seeing the future was too intriguing to pass up. “I want to try.”

  Ruby grinned, pleased. “Good. I knew you would, but don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work these first few times. Many experienced witches can’t divine the future. The future is very slippery, always changing, moving, morphing into something new as people make different decisions. Very few things are set in stone. Understand?”

  Amelia nodded.

  Ruby adjusted herself in her rocker, moving closer to the bowl and her young witch. “All right. Same routine but, this time, focus on you. On yourself in the future. Pick a specific time, an age or even a day, and then ask the magic to reveal it to you.”

  The younger witch nodded, eager to try, knowing she would likely see nothing. She wanted the experience anyway. Hands out, breath flowing and hot magic pulsing in her veins, she focused on her future self. A young woman of twenty-one. She imagined what she would look like, what she might wear and what she might be doing.

  Water so cool and clear, I hold no envy or fear. Open my mind, clear my sight. Reveal to me your mystic light.