by Lenore Wolfe
TWO
CLAIRE
Her sister had reappeared from the dead. At least, that’s how Claire saw it. Entering her apartment, she stared at the one chair she owned through vacant eyes. Looking around, but not seeing anything, she shuddered as a single tear slipped down her face. Sagging against the door, she pressed her knuckles to her middle, fighting back the tears of hope that swam before her. She couldn’t believe Morgan might actually be heading home, or even be there now—at this very moment.
And that both excited—and terrified her.
Morgan shouldn’t go back there—not alone.
Hands and legs shaking, she tried to push away from the door. Perhaps she was more than a bit scared to believe. After all, Morgan disappeared over ten years before. Now it seemed like a lifetime ago. Though their aunt searched for her for many years, dragging Claire along with her, on and off, for the first of those, they’d never found her.
Considering Claire and Morgan were not her children, but her nieces, their aunt Jacelyn had been decent to spend many good years of her life watching out for them. After their mother was killed, she’d loved them as her own. Loved them deeply, Claire had little doubt about that.
Now, perhaps their prayers had been answered.
Claire glanced around at her bare apartment but saw nothing, unable to believe how quickly this one thing, Morgan’s returning home, could transform her life—literally overnight.
Years before, Morgan’s disappearance seemed like any other abduction of a child. Yet, this one came at the hands of old magick. Magick that four young children shouldn’t have been playing with in the first place. And, in this case, Morgan’s father had taken Morgan away, out of anger for the trauma Morgan suffered because of the magick they’d done that day. And—who could blame him?
Morgan’s terrified mind locked her memories away—wiped them clean, and out of rebellion against the will their mother had drawn up to protect her girls in trying to prevent him from coming near them, they’d unwittingly given him the ammunition he’d needed to do just that.
At some point, her aunt Jacelyn figured Morgan’s father wouldn’t harm her, and that helped—but it didn’t give them a whole lot of peace since—although they could be fairly sure Morgan’s father wouldn’t hurt her, she wasn’t with them either, so there wasn’t a way of knowing for sure. Nor could they be sure that she hadn’t suffered any illnesses or been in any accidents.
Exhausted, Claire crossed the room like a zombie, stepping into the spare room to open the closet and dig into the back to pull out her suitcase. Hauling it back to her room, she laid it on the bed and unzipped it, flipping open the cover.
They had no way of knowing that Morgan was okay, so Claire periodically scoured the web for obituaries—for years. Even then, they couldn’t be sure. After all, Morgan’s father could have changed Morgan’s name….
As the years passed with no word about Morgan, their aunt settled down and even got married. Claire settled down too and went to college—all this without hearing one word from Morgan.
Then a few weeks ago, their Grams passed, and just like that—Morgan reappeared.
Claire crossed over to get her laptop off her dresser-top, and set it on the bed, then sat down, her hands shaking.
Not now.
Claire pressed her fist against her middle, willing the nausea away. With determination, she opened the lid, getting online to buy a ticket back to Denver. She didn’t care what else went on—she’d think about that later. Right now, she was going back to Ravenwood. She needed to see Morgan’s face, know this was real…. She wouldn’t live another moment away from her. So, next, Claire found a company, and arranged for her things to be shipped home, as well.
She looked up, tucking her dark chestnut hair around her ears. Now, how to say goodbye to Collin.
Claire knew good things didn’t come along every day. And when something did—she knew she shouldn’t be quick to throw it away. But lately she’d been making a lot of excuses for staying. She had to admit, Collin had a lot going for him, but he seemed forever promising her a better life—a better future—and he didn’t appear to stick to any of his promises.
Claire wanted more than dreams. She knew that with hard work, she could turn her dreams into reality. And if she was willing to do that work—she could live anything she dreamed. But building a future with a guy who couldn’t seem to get past the dreaming part made her leery.
When she’d printed out the paper with the information on her ticket, she closed the lid of her laptop, leaning over to set it in her wallet, staring at it. She knew their relationship seemed to have reached an impasse—and Claire didn’t want to wake one day to find herself stuck in a quagmire of broken promises—and excuses.
She went to her dresser and pulled out all the clothes, one drawer at a time, setting them on the bed. She pulled the suitcase closer to her, folding a thick sweater, tossing it into the bag in her haste, having no patience for anything that held her up from getting home.
They say when one door closes, another opens. She sighed, amazed at how the doors knew to open when she needed them most. Finished with the clothes from her dresser, she pulled the clothes out of her closet, grabbing a handful at a time. Laying the whole group on her bed, she began pulling each piece off the hangers, folding and putting them in her suitcase.
As she closed her suitcase—her hands shook. She looked around. Reminding herself that she’d already hired someone to pack her place. She wouldn’t have to take the time to do that. Not right now. She just needed what she couldn’t get by without, right now. And she needed to get going, get to the airport, return to Ravenwood. Morgan shouldn’t be there alone.
Morgan was alive—and home—but she was in more danger, now than ever.
Nothing prepared her for the excitement—and the fear that followed swiftly in its wake. She wouldn’t ask Collin to move across the country, just because she had to go. Besides, she wouldn’t subject him to the danger they’d all be in now. She’d just have to hope he wouldn’t hate her for choosing her family over him. She knew he shouldn’t take off and leave him—but they’d found Morgan…
Now, Claire was getting on a plane, departing for Red Bluff—and away from Collin—for good.
Claire stared at the suitcase she’d packed. She wanted her sister back, more than anything in the world. If she’d been less selfish, she’d never want this life for Morgan. Never want her to come back to this war.
Yet she couldn’t pretend. She needed her—and not just as her sister.
Even with the danger, Claire couldn’t help but smile every time she stopped to realize—Morgan had found her way back to them. She could hardly contain her anticipation, long enough to make sure she got the things she needed. She just wanted to hurry and get on the next plane.
The Goddess’s call sounded within her, stronger than ever. It moved deep within Claire’s heart. Nothing could stop the Goddesses’ return, not even the shadow. Her grandmother taught Claire what she’d need for this battle—even if she’d refused to prepare her for Dante, himself.
Her Grams had gotten Claire ready for gathering the Daughters of the Circle. The Church ran the Goddesses’ off, hundreds of years before. Now it was time for Her return.
The time was close. Closer than ever….
Claire pressed the lid of the suitcase down with her knee, zipping it closed. She could only hope she hadn’t packed it so full that it would be over the weight limit. She took a large, shoulder bag out of her closet. She emptied the bag out on the bed, heading for the bathroom. She took one look at all the stuff she needed to pack, giving a little of huff of frustration. In the end, she settled for holding the bag open with her left hand, sweeping everything off the counter with one swipe of her right arm, dumping it all into the bag at once. Satisfied, she smiled. She opened the medicine cabinet, pretty much doing the same thing.
She looked around. She had enough stuff for now. She didn’t want to waste any more time. She wanted to get going
. Exhilaration poured through her veins, lighting her way like a bright, colorful lamp. She could hardly wait. If she missed anything important, she’d just have to buy it, but no more packing. She put her bag over her shoulder, walked over and grabbed her suitcase, heading for the door.
She hailed a cab, threw her bags in the trunk, sliding into the back seat. She watched out the cab window as the city, she’d come to know as home, flashed by her. Sniffing, she realized she didn’t have a lot of feeling for what she left behind. She guessed that was telling.
As a sister, Claire wanted her sister to remain ignorant of the danger—stay safe. But as a Daughter of the Circle, Claire knew Morgan existed for this. For that matter, so did the rest of their little group. They would call the Daughters to serve as the gatekeepers to bridge their worlds.
Something caused their parents, and the coven their mother was a part of, to keep the fact they were born witches from them. But even that couldn’t stop the path they’d been put on.
Claire couldn’t help but wonder what this reunion would mean for her and her sister—and their friends. Instinctively, she sensed they were in for a massive transformation. It certainly would be a dangerous one—when the shadow realized they’d returned. She just had to hope this wouldn’t bring about their destruction.
Well, Morgan had returned, so there had to be something good about it, too. However, their separation had served to keep them all safe. Now, all that would change.
She watched out the window as the cab drove through the rainy streets, sending water splashing up towards some pedestrians, as the yellow car headed for the airport.
Claire never could get her aunt to tell her about their witchy background, but that hadn’t kept her sister, or her and their friends, from figuring it out. The truth came out when they were mere teens, and she’d gone to Ravenwood to visit her Grams. Since Claire was nocturnal, she’d gotten up in the middle of the night to explore the creaking of the overhead floor, which was supposed to have been closed off for storage of old furniture and things, and to keep the large manor warmer in the winter months and cooler in the summer.
That night, she’d found her Grams in the attic, and she’d managed to get her grandmother to tell her the truth about their ancestry.
The cab pulled up to the curb at the airport, and Claire shook herself out of her memories, paid the cab driver, opening the door and sliding out of the back seat. He popped the trunk’s lid, went to the rear of the car and pulled out her suitcase, then bag, from the trunk. She put her wallet back inside her bag, placed her bag on her shoulder, yanked out the handle out on her suitcase, turning it and pulling it on its built-in wheels behind her, as she entered the airport.
She went to the check-in counter, then went to the self-check machine and pulled out her wallet to retrieve the paper she needed to get her ticket. She stared at the screen on the ticket kiosks. She was heading home—but her grandmother wouldn’t be there.
She finished pushing the buttons, and pulled the ticket from the slot, staring at the city on the ticket. It said, Denver. This made losing her Grams too real. Her grandmother was gone.
Claire’s eyes filled with tears, but she smiled through them. Her Grams hadn’t a choice when she’d first found Claire in the attic—considering Claire stared at the shelves and shelves containing jars of herbs, mortars, pestles, candles and huge selections of stones, crystals. Among all other things, Claire had seen in the attic, that night. She’d turned this way and that, stunned, stammering something about how her mother could have possibly hidden such a thing from them—while her grandmother tried to explain.
Chuckling, Claire checked in her bag and headed for security, got in line and stood there, seeing the people around her, but not seeing.
There had been some amusing things about that night. But her grandmother was visibly upset, too, when she told Claire about Dante. When she admitted to Claire about what happened to her mother—and further admitted to her that the warlock, Dante, apparently killed their mother in their last battle with him. Though, she still wouldn’t tell her about Dante, himself. She’d stammered all of this to Claire, as Claire stared in horror, listening to her try and explain their choices in attempting to protect the girls from him.
Shaking herself out of her memories again, Claire put her bag on the conveyor belt, walked through the security check-in, picked up her bag on the other end, and went to find her gate.
Her Grams never told her one more thing more about Dante after that night. It still didn’t make sense to Claire. How was she supposed to protect the rest of their group against an enemy she didn’t know a thing about? But that night her grandmother seemed terrified to tell her as much as she had. She’d been shaken and pale. Claire finally backed off to soothe her grandmother’s fear.
Claire hadn’t stopped there. Oh, no.
Though unsuccessful, she’d tried, again, and again, anytime she’d visited her Grams. Yet she’d only managed to get her Grams to teach her witchcraft. She’d never budged about Dante. She’d refused to instruct Claire in defeating him, wouldn’t hear about going after him.
And when she’d died—she’d left Claire alone—believing Dante would come looking for them—with no way to stop him….
