Blood Moon Read online

  Several seconds passed and the water stayed clear and still. She didn’t lose confidence. Instead, she steadied her mind and called for more magic. Her mind drained of everything but the image of her future self and the desire to see it. The words of the spell fell from her mouth with more authority and power, her hands trembling from the effort, the surfaces of her eyes grew hot and moist.

  The air around her was electric, charged with magic. Everything but the surface of the water fell away; she was not even aware of Ruby anymore. Sweat poured down her face and neck, her blood rushed through her body like a mighty river.

  The water sloshed in the bowl, splashing up onto her palms, and in an instant, grew eerily calm.

  Very, very slowly, an image flickered to life and rose to the surface. Amelia gasped, a strangled cry of shock stuck in her throat. Cold fear moved through her, pushing aside the heat of the magic. Then, with unexpected, stunning power, the water exploded from its bowl. It hit her hard in the face and sent her toppling backwards, crashing onto the porch.

  Ruby screamed in surprise and rushed to help her granddaughter.

  Amelia, huddled on the ground, was hugging herself and sobbing. Ruby knelt down next to her. “Amelia! Amelia? What did you see? Tell me what you saw.”

  Between racking sobs the girl managed to say, “Me. I saw me!”

  Chapter 6

  Waning Crescent

  Present Day, September

  The first week of the semester had been busy. Between conflicting class schedules and shifts at the diner, Simon hadn’t seen Willa in two days. They’d spent every day together since that first day in June and it surprised him how uncomfortable it made him feel to be separated from her. Thankfully, it was now Friday afternoon, which meant they had the whole weekend together.

  His last class for the day over, Simon bolted to his Jeep and sped all the way back to Twelve Acres. Willa was just finishing a shift at the diner. He parked out front and sent her a quick text. I’m in the parking lot. Hurry!

  Not thirty seconds later, Willa came running out. Simon exited the Jeep and opened his arms. She jumped into them, her arms tight around his neck. “I officially hate being an adult,” she said.

  Simon laughed. “Why?”

  “’Cause working and going to classes keeps us apart.”

  He laughed again and then nodded with a mock expression of seriousness. When she started laughing he bent and pressed his lips to hers, no longer able to resist. She answered his kiss with eager passion. He pushed her backward until her body was against the Jeep and then he brought his hands to her face, deepening the kiss even further.

  A delicious sigh escaped her throat when he trailed his lips down her jaw line and to her neck. “What do you want to do tonight?” he mumbled against her velvety skin.

  Willa laughed, the reverberations of her voice moving against his lips. He had to close his eyes, take a deep breath. With a slow exhale, Simon pulled back, but kept his hands on her arms. She smiled up at him, her blue eyes bright and sparkling like the ocean in the sun, her lips plump and red from his kisses. He was just leaning in for another kiss when the squealing sound of tires brought up both their heads.

  In the road only ten feet away, a gray truck braked to avoid a small golden retriever running across the road. Simon braced; the truck wasn’t going to stop in time. Willa gasped when the back tires rolled over the puppy. The truck didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. Engine roaring, the driver pressed the gas and sped away.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Willa said. “Was that the guy who lives in Ruby’s house?”

  “I think so.”

  Willa pulled away from Simon and ran to the poor broken dog lying in the middle of the road. Simon froze, every muscle tensed. For months he’d been able to avoid having to use his healing powers in front of Willa. On a few of their summer hikes, a bird or rabbit, even a coyote, had wandered out looking for his help. But he’d been able to carefully separate himself from Willa for the few seconds he needed to heal them.

  But here . . . this . . . He couldn’t let the dog die because he didn’t want her to see. He’d never turned away from something or someone who needed healing.

  “Simon! He’s still breathing.” Willa looked up at him from the road, her eyes pleading and confused.

  Simon jogged over and knelt next to her. His palms itched to reach out. “Is there an animal hospital close?” he asked.

  “It’s on the other side of town. Do you think he’ll last that long? He’s so hurt!” Willa’s eyes were wet with tears. The dog whimpered weakly as she put a gentle hand on its head.

  Simon looked at her, then down at the dog.

  “Simon? What’s wrong?” Willa bent her head, trying to catch his eyes.

  He didn’t look up, but kept his eyes on the dog and its smashed broken body, its shallow, difficult breaths, its pleading black eyes. “Willa, please don’t freak out,” was all he said before he reached out his hand and laid it on the dog’s head. The heat rushed out quicker than normal, as if extra eager to do its work.

  A moment later the dog barked, scrambled to its feet, licked Simon’s hand and then ran off for home. Willa let out a sharp squeak of surprise and covered her mouth with her hand. Simon hesitated a moment before looking up at her. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he was certain it wouldn’t be good. Suddenly, he was dizzy with regret. Did I just ruin everything with Willa over a dog’s life?

  He held his breath when her hand found his arm and finally forced himself to look up. What he saw took his breath away. Willa was crying, small tears dripping down her cheeks; she was smiling. A huge, beautiful smile.

  Willa’s heart beat against her ribs—it was hard to draw a full breath. She’d watched in awe as Simon reached out his hand and healed the dog. She’d felt a curious heat ripple from his body as he did it, similar to the heat that existed between them, but different, more calm. At first she’d been too stunned to fully grasp what he’d done.

  He looked at her, eyes wide with apprehension. She said, “Simon, did you really . . .?”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered and looked away.

  She reached out and put a hand on his cheek, pushing his face back to her. “Why are you sorry? That was amazing. Just . . . amazing, Simon.”

  He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “But . . .”

  “But what? Did you expect me to run away screaming?”

  His brow furrowed. “Well, kind of. Yeah.”

  She laughed and took his hand, pulling them both up to their feet. “Come on.” She led him into the park behind the diner. She sat on the first bench they came to; he sat stiffly next to her.

  Willa held his hand tightly in hers. For the past three months, she’d wondered if she should tell him about the odd things she could do. Every day she asked herself the question, and every day she answered no, too afraid of the consequences. Things between them were so comfortable, even blissful. The last thing she wanted was to spoil it all with her strangeness. But Solace had been right! He was more like her than she realized and the revelation was intoxicating freedom.

  “I see ghosts and have dreams about real events.”

  Simon’s head jerked up, his eyes as wide as chocolate coins. “What?” he asked, doubtfully.

  Willa nodded. “You heard me. And you can heal. Is that all? Is it only animals?”

  “No,” he whispered. “I can heal people, too. I also sense emotions, sometimes hear thoughts, but that’s very rare. Or at least it was, until I met you.” He paused to bite his lower lip. “Sometimes I can hear your thoughts.”

  Willa blinked, surprised, but thrilled. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “Should I be embarrassed?” She offered him a playful smile.

  He smiled back. “No, not at all.” He put a hand on her thigh.

  “Do you know why you can do those things? Have you always been able to?”

  “No, I have no idea why. I was born this way and have fought with it all my life. I wan
ted to tell you before, but—”

  “But you were afraid,” She nodded. “Me too. People don’t usually react so well, right?”

  Simon scoffed. “No, not at all.”

  “Yeah, been there, done that.”

  Simon laughed. “So, ghosts, huh? And freaky dreams? Sounds like fun.”

  Willa shrugged. “Probably about as fun as always feeling what others are feeling.”

  “Yeah, that sounds right.” He shook his head. “This is weird, right? You and I, what we can do, how we found each other? I knew we were alike, but this . . .”

  Willa nodded, scooted closer to him, and dropped her head on his shoulder. “Very weird, but also very right. I’ve been alone all my life. My parents won’t even talk about it.”

  “Me, too,” Simon said in a tight voice. “Do you have any idea why we’re like this?”

  She sighed. “No. It’s one of my mysteries. More than anything I’d like to know why.” Knowing that Simon also had strange abilities wasn’t exactly a clue in her search, but it was a comfort. The fact that she wasn’t alone pointed to the existence of an answer.

  They sat in silence for a moment. Simon shifted in his seat, put his arm around her and pulled her close. “We are the same.” He gave a short laugh. “I didn’t think I’d ever say that to someone.”

  “Me neither,” Willa said. “It makes me wonder if there are other people with strange abilities.”

  Simon nodded. “Maybe. At this point, it wouldn’t surprise me.” After a breath, he asked, “Have you ever had a dream about me?”

  “The first night we met I dreamed we stood together in a white field. This creepy, scary black cloud of smoke barreled toward us. When I touched you, a bolt of lightning obliterated the cloud.”

  Simon laughed and Willa’s head bounced on his shoulder. “So, is that going to happen to us? That doesn’t sound like a real event.”

  “Well, it’s complicated. My dreams are still like normal dreams, twisted and weird, but they always mean something. The hard part is realizing what. When I was eight I dreamed my dad was lying on the ground, a bird pecking out his stomach. I woke up screaming and had this overwhelming fear that something was wrong with him. I couldn’t be consoled, so he agreed to go to the doctor for a check-up.”

  “And they found something?” Simon asked in wonder.

  “Yes. A small tumor. Benign, but it could have been life threatening if it had been allowed to grow.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “So is healing a nearly-dead dog.”

  “The animals come a lot. Some came while we were hiking this summer. I always had to sneak away to heal them.”

  Willa laughed, lifted her head to look at him. “Really?”

  “Yep. Kind of embarrassing, now. But hold on, let’s go back to your dream about us. I want to try to interpret it.” He cocked his head and pursed his lips. “I got it—our electric love can fight evil.”

  Willa laughed. “Oh, that’s gotta be it.” After a short pause, she added, “Our love, huh?” Simon’s eyes flashed wide, realizing what he’d said. Willa wanted to laugh again at the sudden anxiety on his face. But then he smiled.

  “I suppose while we are bearing our souls here, we might as well get it all out.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “I love you, Willa. I’ve never been as happy as I am with you. And I will never, ever let you go.” He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, leaving behind a pulsing spot of warmth.

  A pleasurable tingle moved down her spine, heat bursting to life in her chest. “I love you, Simon. Every day—especially today—I’m amazed at how perfect this is, you and I.”

  He leaned down and kissed her so softly goose bumps rose on her arms. With his face still close, he opened his eyes and she was lost in their darkness. She ran her fingertips over his cool lips and he closed his eyes at her touch. Willa studied the shape of his face, traced her fingertips along the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes, under the curls that fell across his forehead.

  It seemed funny to her now how afraid she’d been to tell Simon about the ghosts and dreams. How she’d thought it would tear them apart. But now in the quiet of the afternoon, in the empty park, Willa had never felt closer to him. In a burst of bright understanding, she realized what she now had—a companion, a partner, an equal. Someone who could accept and understand every part of her, someone who shared in the strangeness.

  A lump of emotion formed in her throat and her eyes grew hot with tears. Simon opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak at first. Then, in an emotion-strained voice, she said, “I never thought I would have this.”

  Simon smiled, complete and total understanding in his eyes; she didn’t need to explain her emotions to him—he could sense them, he shared them. “I never thought it either. I never even let myself dream it.”

  Urgently, but tenderly, Willa kissed him. The warmth of their love swirled off their bodies, rustling the leaves in the tress overhead.

  Chapter 7

  New Moon

  Present Day, September

  Holmes could still hear the Light witch whimpering. The pathetic noise drifted up the basement stairs and somehow found its way into the kitchen while he was trying to have his evening meal. Grinding his teeth and glaring at the basement door, he considered going back down and binding her voice with a silencing spell.

  He turned away and commenced eating his sandwich, but threw it down after a few bites. He rose to go down. Halfway to the door his phone rang. He growled and crossed back to the table to retrieve it. At the sight of Archard’s name on the screen, he growled again.

  “Yes?” he answered.

  “Well? It’s new moon. Did she agree?” Archard’s smooth, perpetually angry voice barked at him.

  Holmes pressed his teeth together and tried to calm his voice. “No.”

  “No? What is the problem, Holmes? It’s been three months. Much longer than I ever expected to wait.” There was a weighted pause. “I’m very disappointed.”

  With a sigh, Holmes said, “She is much stronger than we anticipated. Her magic is impressive.”

  Archard scoffed. “Your job is not to admire her magic, Holmes, it is to break her. Now, can you do it or not?”

  “Yes, of course, but these things cannot be rushed. It takes time to break down a mind, especially a witch’s mind.”

  “By next new moon—that’s only a couple of weeks from blood moon—or I will have to fill two places in my new covens. Understood?”

  Holmes barred his teeth. “Yes, Archard.” The line went dead. Holmes threw the phone down on the table. It slid across the table and knocked over his beer bottle. For a few moments, he watched the liquid drip to the rotted wood floor, his anger boiling. Then he spun back to the basement door. He would take out his frustration on the whimpering witch chained to the wall.

  Chapter 8

  Waning Crescent

  Present Day, October

  Willa and Simon fell asleep before the movie was half over. Lying together under a heavy blanket on Simon’s humble Ikea couch, Willa was too comfortable to stay awake and quickly drifted off. But her rest was soon interrupted.

  The dream came on fast with unusual potency.

  First it was only darkness and the musty smell of mold. Crisp, cold air brushed against her skin and Willa wrapped her arms around herself. Slowly, the small space around her came into focus. Directly in front of her a woman sat on a dirt floor, reclined against a stone wall, legs spread out, arms limp at her sides, and head hanging down on her chest.

  Willa inhaled sharply at the pathetic sight of the woman. The woman wore what was once a white, peasant-style dress, now filthy, crusty, and stained with large brown splashes. Her hair, a peculiar shade of bright strawberry-red, hung over her face in oily strands. Willa wasn’t sure if the woman was asleep or dead.

  When the woman moaned and shifted, Willa flinched and stepped back, bumping into a set of stone steps. P
ulling her eyes from the person on the floor, she realized the space was some kind of basement, old, with sweaty stone walls and a packed dirt floor. A collection of forgotten junk was pushed up against the walls. A tiny window, slightly open and stuck at a crooked angle, let in grayish light and a small portion of fresh air.

  The woman moaned again, followed by the ominous clanking sound of chains dragging against the stone. Chains. The poor woman was chained to the wall. Two heavy chains drilled into the stones snaked down to her ankles and clamped around her thin white legs with a thick band of metal. The chains had rubbed the skin on her legs raw and bloody.

  A wave of hopelessness and despair descended on Willa, so strong her knees buckled, and she knew the dream was giving her a taste of what this prisoner felt. Willa dropped to the dirt next to the poor woman and caught her first glance of the prisoner’s face. It was filthy, caked in dirt—the dirt tracked with lines from tears. At the same time this woman was also beautiful. Her radiant bottle-glass green eyes pierced the darkness, her slender cheekbones and nose curved as gracefully as a stone sculpture.

  The woman lifted her delicate, graceful hands and pushed back her hair. The small amount of light in the basement caught the edges of a line of scars on her right hand and arm. Willa leaned closer. The small hash lines started on the back of her hand, tracking up her forearm nearly to the elbow. The ones on her hand were healed, lines of white, but the ones farther up her arm were pink and red, some scabbed, and a few festering and weeping infection. Willa recoiled, her stomach tight.

  A crack of thunder startled them both and Willa turned her head to the small window as the first drops of rain tumbled down from the sky. The woman sighed and pushed herself to her feet, which seemed to take her a great deal of effort. Willa wished she could reach out and offer some support. Haltingly, cradling her right arm, the woman dragged herself forward, the chains clinking loudly as she went. She stopped under the window and stared up, mesmerized by the rhythm of the raindrops splashing onto the windowsill. She raised her right hand, palm lifted upward, and winced as her sores pulled with the movement. She closed her eyes and a stillness filled the basement, followed by the stirring of heat. The woman’s hand trembled slightly, and then her eyes flashed opened.