Black Moon (The Moonlight Trilogy)

by Teri Harman

  Willa gripped Simon’s wrist in a reassuring gesture. “We’ll find out why.”

  “But what if we can’t? And what do I do until then?”

  Rowan answered, “We do our best to help you learn how to handle it. It will take extra effort on your part, especially as we get into more serious magic. Can you do that?”

  Simon exhaled, nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  Rowan nodded. “Good. I think that is enough for tonight. Go home, get some rest.”

  Simon nodded again, looked to the door again.

  “I’ll go get our stuff,” Willa offered.

  A few minutes later, the couple was parked outside Willa’s house, the heater finally warming up the frigid car. Simon had his arm propped on the back of the seat, lazily twirling one of Willa’s curls around his finger. She could tell by the creases in his forehead that he was still thinking about the candles.

  “I know you hate this question, but are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

  He gave half a smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It wasn’t that big a deal.”

  “You suck at lying,” she smiled back.

  The half-smile spread. “I know.” He tugged gently on her hair. “I just don’t want it to get worse, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. But why would it get worse? If anything, you’ll get better at controlling it.”

  “I hope so.”

  Willa studied the worry on his face. Do I dare ask? She wetted her lips. “Anything else you want to talk about?” He’d know exactly what she meant, and she couldn’t help feeling that she’d breeched some code of their relationship in asking. She held her breath.

  He stared out the windshield for a moment, then said “You better get inside before your mom puts her face through that window.”

  Willa turned. Her mom stood at the front window, curtain pulled back, watching. Even in the dark, her expression looked worried—not that it ever look differently lately. Willa sighed. “Okay.” She opened the door, wincing at the rush of cold air.

  Simon came around the Jeep and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

  “I know.” And she did, but she was starting to wonder if he’d ever talk to her, or if she’d ever be able to stop asking. Solace’s words echoed in her mind: He won’t let it out, and you won’t let it go.

  On the porch, Willa lifted to her toes to kiss him. “Good night. I’ll miss you.”

  Simon sighed, wrapped his arms around her. “Miss you too!” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “Love you, too.”

  Reluctantly, Willa pulled away and went inside. Later, as she lay alone in bed, she searched her mind for a way to help Simon. When nothing came, she rolled over and closed her eyes. Maybe an answer will come in a dream, she thought hopefully.

  Chapter 5

  Waning Crescent

  March—Present Day

  Willa hurried to the Twelve Acres Diner, late for her dinner shift. After changing into her uniform—a white polo shirt and short black skirt—she hustled to the server’s station to get her note pad. Two tables were already waiting.

  She greeted the first table, an older couple that came in every night at five o’clock sharp. “Hi, Pearl. Hi, Bob. How are you guys tonight?”

  Pearl, a wispy-haired woman in her late seventies with a kind face and several strings of fake pearls around her neck, said, “Oh, just fine, Willa. Same as always: old, tired, and hungry.”

  Willa smiled. “What can I get you tonight?”

  Pearl pointed to the menu and started talking, but Willa didn’t hear a word. Movement out the front window caught her eye; she looked up. Her gaze snagged on a dark figure across the street.

  A woman, huddled in a long black coat, hood pulled low over her face, her white-blonde hair spilling out onto her chest, stood watching the diner. Willa couldn’t see her eyes in the shadow of the hood, but she had no doubt the woman was looking at her.

  The triangular pendant tucked inside Willa’s shirt flared hot. She gasped, pressed a hand to the spot.

  “Willa? Willa, honey?” Pearl reached out to put her hand on Willa’s arm. Willa jerked away, disoriented and unsettled. Her eyes flashed to Pearl and then back to the window.

  The woman was gone.

  Order pad gripped in her hand, Willa ran from the table, bolted out into the cold night, ignoring Pearl’s and the hostess’s calls after her. Only a few weak streetlights lit the street, circles of yellow on the black asphalt. It smelled like snow and . . . smoke. Is that smoke? She jerked her head from side to side, scanning for the mysterious figure. Her necklace pulsed hot against her chest.

  Nothing.

  The hostess, Rosa, appeared at the door, yelling. “Willa! What the heck are you doing? It’s freezing, and you got tables. Get back in here.”

  Willa looked once more up, down, side to side. Her trembling hands were warm with magic, ready to act; but she saw nothing. The pendant of her necklace began to cool.

  Nothing.

  Reluctantly, she turned back, her heart racing, mind spinning. “Sorry,” she said as she stepped past Rosa. “Thought I saw someone.” Rosa shook her head and pulled the door closed.

  Willa returned to Pearl and Bob and took their orders, apologizing for her behavior. She looked out the window several times while she scribbled down their regular order of pot roast and fried chicken. They eyed her nervously but said nothing.

  After she placed the order with the kitchen, she ducked into the break room and dug her phone out of her purse to text Simon.

  I just saw Rachel outside the diner!

  Simon didn’t see the text until after his physics night class as he was climbing into his Jeep. At first, he could only stare, wondering if somehow the name was a typo. There is no way!

  Then the only thing he could think about was how he’d watched Rachel stab Willa in the back, slicing into her lung and heart, nearly killing her; how he’d seen Willa’s hot, sticky blood spill out all over the floor of Darby’s kitchen, and then stepped in her blood to follow Rachel outside.

  He sent a quick text back—I’m coming!—and slammed the Jeep into gear.

  His panic grew with each passing second. Not only had Rachel been the one to sneak up behind Willa, Charlotte, and Elliot, but she’d also cut Wynter’s arm so Archard could test Simon’s healing ability. The last time anyone had thought about Rachel was when she ran off into the woods during the battle at the cave.

  Would she really come after them? Alone?

  Maybe she’s not alone.

  Simon pushed the gas pedal to the floor, his body flushed with heat, anger, worry . . . and magic. He couldn’t let Willa get hurt again.

  A flicker of blue power flashed to life in his gut.

  Squealing to a stop in front of the diner, Simon jumped out of the car and barreled inside. The simmer of power inside him flared when he saw Willa standing at a table on the other side of the restaurant. Her back was turned, her long wavy hair up in a ponytail. His eyes moved instinctively to the spot on her back where Rachel had stabbed her.

  He exhaled, pulling the magic back from his hands. She’s safe. Calm down. All eyes turned to him as he rushed through the tables to take Willa into his arms. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  Her arms tightened around him before she pulled back. “Yeah, but umm . . .” She looked passed his shoulder to the diner full of staring people. She smiled reassuringly at the customers as she pushed him toward the kitchen doors.

  They passed Rosa at the hostess station. Her eyes widened and called out “Simon, you’re not on the schedule tonight. What’s going on with you two?”

  Simon ignored her, continuing toward the break room in the back of the restaurant. When they were alone, he pulled Willa into his arms again. “Are you sure it was Rachel?” His body still felt tense, ready to spring at the first sign of trouble. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and ease the push of power bubbling inside him. Calm down. Stay
in control.

  Willa trembled slightly in his arms. “Not positive, but I swear it was her. She was standing out in the road in this creepy hooded coat and staring right at me. And my necklace—it turned hot when I saw her. Rowan said that means danger is near.” She pulled back to look at him. “Do you think she’d really come after us? I thought we were safe!” Her voice pitched near to hysteria on the last word, and he tightened his hold on her.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.” His stomach churned. It was supposed to be safe now, the threat was supposed to have died with Archard. Simon had felt comfortable joining the Covenant because it was safe.

  “What do we do now?” Willa asked, gripping his leather jacket at his chest. “Holy moon! The others. What if she’s there now? I was so freaked out I didn’t even think to text Charlotte, warn them. What’s wrong with me?” Her body shook fiercely. “Oh, no! Simon . . .”

  “Let’s go.” He pulled her with him, out the back door and helped her into the Jeep. “What time did you see her?”

  Willa’s face twisted with emotions. “Umm, it was a little after six, I think.” She moved her eyes to the dashboard. “A half an hour ago!” Her frantic eyes found his.

  He slammed the Jeep into gear and peeled out into the street. “If she went after them, she won’t stand a chance. Don’t worry; I’m sure they’re fine.” Simon offered her the comforting words, but his own heart beat a worried staccato against his sternum. Is this really happening? I can’t do this again.

  Willa gripped the door handle as Simon raced down the road. Her mind was a chaotic jumble of thoughts. When she first saw the hooded figure in the dark street, she was sure it was Rachel, but now . . . now, doubt nagged at her, eroding her confidence. Maybe it had been someone else, or a trick of the shadows, or a twisted reflection in the window. Maybe there hadn’t been anyone there in the first place.

  But . . .

  Rachel was alive—none of Willa’s coven-mates had killed her. She could show up in Twelve Acres. Willa’s stomach tightened. Leaning forward, she reached around to touch the spot on her back where Rachel’s blade had pierced her. Thanks to Simon’s healing powers, there was no scar; but the memory of fiery pain lingered, an invisible mark, now throbbing and cold. She closed her eyes and swallowed the bile in her throat.

  Not again! Please not again!

  Simon screeched to a stop in front of Ruby’s house. Everything looked normal: yellow lights illuminating the windows of the two-story Victorian, the old green clapboards stripped for new ones, the wrap-around porch under repair, cars in the driveway, the massive willow tree’s branches framing the structure from behind. Simon leaned forward to stare at the house. “They are all in there, safe and undisturbed.”

  Willa let out a shaky breath. “Oh, thank goodness.”

  They hurried inside. Most of their coven-mates were sitting in the living room on the sheet-covered couches, the room freshly painted in a steel blue, the built-in bookshelves restained. The air was thick with harsh chemical smells mixed with wood smoke from the fire in the hearth.

  “Hey, guys,” Char called out, smiling until she saw their faces, sensing their fear. “Whoa! What happened?”

  Everyone turned to look at the couple. Rain and Toby came in from the kitchen.

  Willa and Simon exchanged a look and then sat near Wynter and Rowan. Willa held her icy fingers out to the flickering fire. “I think I saw Rachel outside the diner tonight.”

  Wynter and Rowan flinched; a few others gasped. Wynter reached out, gripping Willa’s forearm. “What happened? Tell us everything.”

  Willa recounted the details quickly.

  “Why do you think it was Rachel?” Rowan asked, his face bright with the firelight. “It could have been anyone.”

  Willa looked around the room at the expectant faces of her friends. “My pendant burned,” Willa lifted the necklace out of her shirt and fingered the symbol, “and also the way she looked at me . . . I could feel her eyes, but . . .” she looked back at Rowan, “I suppose I could be wrong.”

  Rowan shook his head thoughtfully. “A witch’s instincts are rarely wrong.”

  A brief silence followed, heavy with menace. Any relief Willa had felt at finding her friends safe evaporated. I wasn’t wrong. I did see her. She wished she were wrong.

  “We were worried she might have come after you guys,” Simon said quietly, scooting closer to Willa. “If she’s here for revenge, she’ll come after all of us. So what do we do?”

  Rowan abruptly stood. “Cal and Darby, check the protection spells around the house; reinforce them. Rain and Corbin, do a scrying spell; look for threats. Everyone else, set up watch at the windows and tune your magic outward. If she’s coming, we’ll be ready.”

  “Do you think she’s alone?” Rain asked. The Water witch, a short, twenty-something Asian woman with spiky black hair, the tips dyed royal blue, rubbed nervously at her tattooed arm.

  Wynter and Rowan exchanged a worried look. Rowan sighed and then said, “She may not be, but all her coven-mates and her Luminary are dead. I’d wager she’s acting alone—and probably out of desperation.”

  “But why now?” Darby asked. “It’s been months since the cave.”

  “Who knows?” Rowan said. “We’ll worry about details later. Right now, let’s make sure we are safe. If she comes . . . well, I’m afraid we will have to do the job that didn’t get done last fall. Understood?” Rowan looked around the group, accepting the nods of understanding. His eyes settled on Simon.

  Willa’s stomach twisted with a new worry. Rowan meant that, if Rachel attacked, they should kill her. It was the only way to stop her from hurting them any further. It was why they had killed the rest of Archard’s followers. Death was the only way to end a serious Dark threat.

  Simon pursed his lips and looked away. Willa watched him, sensing his sudden tension. She waited for him to answer, wanting desperately for him to say something—anything —about what happened at the cave. The muscles in his jaw and neck tensed and relaxed several times; he said nothing.

  Wynter broke the moment. “Willa and Simon, stay close to either Rowan or me. You’re not ready to fight a Dark witch on your own.”

  Willa nodded, partially relieved. “Okay.” Simon still said nothing. Charlotte put her hand on Willa’s arm and gave her a sympathetic smile which seemed to say, give him time. Willa only frowned. He’d had plenty of time.

  The group dispersed to their assigned places. Willa and Simon each went to one of the tall living room windows, currently covered in brown paper to protect them from the paint. Willa pulled back a corner of the paper to look out. Wynter and Rowan hovered near the fire, whispering.

  Willa scanned the dark street, waiting for Rachel’s hooded figure to appear. Her mind stuck on the question in Rowan’s eyes when he’d looked at Simon. Would Simon be able to kill again, if he had to? What would it do to him if he did? Willa shivered. The others had killed Dark witches—Wynter, Rowan, Hazel—but they didn’t seem as affected by it as Simon. Why was he still hanging on to so much regret and anger about the cave?

  Please, no more Dark witches. We can’t do this again.

  A car rushed passed. Willa watched its tail lights disappear. She looked over at Simon, tall and brooding next to the other window, the paper on the window casting contorted shadows across his face and darkening his blond curls. The short distance between them felt heavy with unsaid words.

  “Simon,” she whispered.

  He looked over, eyes hidden in a shadow. “Yeah?”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  She exhaled and dropped her hand from the window. “Well, with what Rowan said . . .” She hesitated and then, before she lost her nerve, said, “Please talk to me.”

  Simon stiffened, turned back to the window. Willa waited, holding her breath. He looked at her, opened his mouth, then closed it again, and looked away.

  “Simon?” she whispered.

  “There’s nothing to say.
I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect you.”

  Willa turned away, face to the window, and fought to hold back a rush of hot tears. This isn’t about me!

  When Rachel arrived back at the cabin, she went straight into Archard’s room and was greeted by the hiss and hum of all his medical machines.

  Awake and waiting, he stirred, winced at the pain, but ignored it. “Well?” he asked impatiently.

  Rachel pulled off her long black coat, threw it over the end of the bed, and dropped into the leather armchair next to him. She crossed her legs, tossed back her hair, but avoided his eyes. Archard wanted to spit at her for making him wait. Finally, she said, “They are there. Wynter and Rowan bought Ruby’s place. A few of them are living there; the others spend most of their time there. One big, ridiculous family.”

  “I knew they’d buy that old dump.” He wheezed. “Do they have any idea I’m alive?”

  “Not as far as I could tell.”

  A slow, hideous grin spread on Archard’s red, lipless mouth. “Now, we just have to make sure we have all the parts of Bartholomew’s healing spell correct. The book is so deviously protected. Bartholomew was nothing short of genius in hiding his best spells.”

  “We are closer. Only a few more lines to uncover, and then we will be ready.” Rachel pushed out of her chair, retrieved the large black tome from its table, and cracked it open. “Shall we work on it now, or do you need rest?”

  Archard’s heart picked up speed. “No. Let’s get to work. The new moon approaches.”

  Chapter 6

  Waning Crescent

  March—Present Day

  Three days after Willa’s sighting of Rachel, the Covenant gave up their vigil. They’d performed dozens of spells, searched the whole of Twelve Acres, and even some of the surrounding towns. They found no sign—not even a hint—of Rachel’s whereabouts.

  Exhausted and discouraged, the witches decided it was time to return to normal life. What else could they do? Simon and Willa had both missed a few shifts at the diner and a couple classes. If they didn’t get back to things soon, the consequences would be serious. The diner manager, Ron, had already threatened to fire them, and Simon had forgotten to turn in an important assignment in his anatomy class.