by Teri Harman
Rain and Corbin stepped forward, summoning up a huge wave and sent it rolling toward him. He lifted his hands instinctively to send a burst of air in defense. The air plowed into the water, dissipating the wave. Test one done.
“Nice work,” Rowan called. “Here comes number two.”
Simon frowned, the wet blindfold moving against his forehead. Rowan had pulled him aside before the challenge. “You need to be extra careful tonight. What we are doing will open your mind and expose your powers to stress. Can you keep everything under control?”
Simon had stiffened at the implied meaning under the question. “So you want to know if I will hurt anyone?”
Rowan frowned, touched his beard. “No. But you refuse to talk to me about what’s going on, so I do get a little nervous. We are moving into more serious magic here. I want to keep you and everyone safe.”
Simon exhaled. He couldn’t berate his Luminary for his own shortcomings. “I’ll be very careful; I promise.”
Now Cal broke off from the group and moved up to the spectator benches. Simon saw it clearly in his head. What should I do? He knew Cal was about to throw a stream of fire his way, and he knew he could stop it easily. Maybe I shouldn’t? The idea shocked him. Fake a failure? The shock gave way to intrigue. If he faked a failure, everyone would stop looking at him like some kind of freak. This challenge was supposed to be hard; he was supposed to fail at least once. So why not give them what they wanted?
Cal’s fire came on, and Simon pretended to flinch, duck out of its way, and loose his footing. He crashed into the cold water. He swam to the side where Willa waited. Lifting himself out, dripping, he met the smiles and words of encouragement from his friends. Exactly what he’d been hoping for. No narrowed eyes; no fear.
Darby whooped out a laugh. “Well, who knew? Even the mighty fall.” The rest of the Covenant laughed. Simon smiled, a little high on the success of his fake failure. Then he turned back to Willa, who was not laughing or smiling. She lowered her chin and looked at him as if trying to solve a problem.
“You okay?” he asked, stepping closer.
She hurried to clear the look from her face. “Yeah, yeah. You?”
“Yes, but you were right. That fall is awful.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Rowan stepped between them, blocking Willa. “Okay, okay. Let’s keep going. Back up, Simon. We start over.”
Simon moved forward, his biker boots squashing loudly as he walked. At the ladder he looked around and caught Willa’s eyes. She knows. I can’t fool her. All happiness he’d felt a moment ago evaporated, replaced by a dull ache behind his heart.
He climbed the ladder to finish his challenge, which he knew would be as easy as it’d been to fall off the board.
Chapter 7
Waxing Crescent
June 1936
The Tuscan hillside was bathed in sumptuous sunlight. The light embraced the vineyard, highlighting the tops of the vines in their comforting straight lines, pooling in the deep recesses of the curving hills. The sky, a blinding blue, rose up from the earth to set the background for life in its quiet rhythm. The scent of sun-baked grapes and thousand-year-old dirt swam on the breeze.
No matter how many times Camille sat here, the scene still took her breath away. The remnants of her humble lunch—bread topped with arugula, tomato, and olive oil—sat next to her in a small wicker basket. She’d carried it up the hill an hour earlier; and now she sat in quiet contemplation, preparing for what she would do next.
She glanced at the empty grass beside her. Usually, Ronald, her husband and partner in magic, would sit there; but he’d been gone for over a year now—an unexpected heart attack in the night, Camille waking to his cold body beside her. His heart had finally given out under the weight of their grief. She couldn’t get used to his absence and to the throbbing emptiness that followed her around. She lived with grief every day, but it never got easier and never got lighter as people often told her it would. Instead it grew, like an untreated tumor, metastasizing through her whole soul. And she knew one day it would stop her heart, too.
Alone.
One small thing brought her an ounce of fleeting joy these days. Although bittersweet, at least it still made her smile.
From her small basket, Camille took a wooden bowl, some herbs, and a thermos of water. She poured the water into the bowl and then dropped in a fresh sprig of dill, a small chunk of mica, the petals of several fragrant flowers, and, lastly, one round aspen leaf.
As the water absorbed the energy of the offerings, she looked out over the picturesque scene. Then, to focus her mind and power, she closed her eyes and listened to all the tiny sounds of nature. A flock of birds passed overhead, their calls faint and illusive on the air. Leaves quivered on trees, small creatures scurried over and under the ground, and grapes grew on their vines.
Finally, with her mind clear and her heart turned to the Earth, she called to the magic, now her rare, seldom-seen friend. The heat was subtle at first, like a warm passing breeze, but then it flared, rushing into her body like a flood. She gasped at the suddenness of it, her head rocking backwards. Part of her called out in joy to have the magic back, but another part of her cringed as memories of all the sadness it had caused filled her head and heart. Camille fought with both parts, trying to calm her emotions enough to perform the spell.
With effort, she quieted the excitement and dammed the memories.
Deep breaths.
Without opening her eyes she held her hands over the bowl and sent a wave of magic into the water and its contents to charge them. Then she sang her spell, a soft and lilting chant, “Power of the Earth, please accept my humble gift. This day, take my power of Air, carry it sure and swift. Let me see the one I left behind, a sweet, revealing vision, clear in my mind.”
First came a snap in her head, like a camera shutter flicking, and then she opened her eyes. Clear and bright on the surface of the water, the vision took shape. A small girl—five years old, dressed in a striped sundress of pink, green, and orange—flew through the air, back and forth, on a backyard swing. She smiled a glorious smile, her long bronze hair twirling out behind her.
Lilly!
Amelia Plate’s sweet baby—no longer a baby, but a bright, beautiful little girl. Camille smiled, inhaling the scent of lilacs from a tall hedge near the swing set.
After a few more minutes, the girl jumped off the swing and skipped over to a large garden. She walked along the edge, singing to herself. At the head of the garden stood a small stone birdbath, a simple open basin with blue and green marbles in the bottom. The girl stopped beside it and looked around.
Hesitantly she dipped her fingers in the warm water, flicking them, throwing little splashes across the surface. She looked up again, moved her eyes back and forth as if to make sure she was alone. Her eyes returned to the rippling water, and then she submerged both her hands up to the wrists and closed her eyes.
Camille leaned forward, her heart skipping.
After a few quiet moments, the girl opened her eyes again. She lifted her arms up; and the water came too, a clear liquid bubble encasing her small hands. A wide grin spread her lips. She clapped her hands together; and the water burst apart, separating into a million tiny diamond droplets. Stirring her hands in front of her, she guided the droplets to dance and swirl around her.
Camille gasped and put a hand over her heart. Just like her mother.
The midday sunlight cast colorful rainbow prisms through the drops. Surrounded by sparkles and colors, Lilly giggled, a fairy princess in a sparkling wonderland, weaving the drops into elaborate patterns.
“Chloe!”
The water fell from the air with a sad swoosh as Lilly—Chloe to her adoptive parents—lost control. Her clothes and red-brown hair wet with the water, she looked across the yard at her mother’s hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide with shock. Her mother was a thin woman, with a kind oval face and short black hair. She marched across the yard to h
er adopted daughter, knelt down in front of the girl, who stared back with fearful, guilty green eyes.
“What did we talk about, Chloe?” the woman asked quietly.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Chloe answered sheepishly, fiddling with the hem of her dress.
“You have to promise not to do these things. It’s bad, and it scares Mommy. Okay?” The woman placed a tender hand on her daughter’s head.
“Okay. I promise.”
The woman stood, offered a tiny smile. “Okay. Run inside, and get ready for lunch.”
Chloe jumped up and ran away, eager to please.
The mother waited until the child went into the house, out of sight, and then she turned to look at the birdbath. She bit her bottom lip, shook her head, and looked suddenly worried, even desperate. She bent down, placed her hands on the lip of the basin. She stood blinking forcefully for a long moment, and then with a grunt she pushed the bath over, the basin breaking off from the stand to roll into the fence with a disappointed thud. The blue and green marbles bounced over the grass and disappeared among the blades.
The vision ended, and the water cleared.
Camille inhaled and exhaled deeply. She looked down at her folded hands. The part of her that still loved the magic wanted to cry, to go retrieve the girl, to teach her what her talent meant and where it came from, and to tell the child her real name and show her pictures of her real parents. The other part of her, the one that hated the magic, that blamed it for Solace’s death, sat back in pleased triumph.
The old witch inclined her head and watched the sun climb higher in the Tuscan sky.
Chapter 8
New Moon
March—Present Day
Willa grabbed her purse and headed for the front door.
“Where are you going?” came her dad’s voice from behind. “I thought you were staying for dinner.”
Willa clenched her teeth, resisting the urge to sigh. She turned, hand still on the doorknob. “I left my phone at the museum. I’ll be right back.”
Ethan Fairfield was nearly as tall as Simon, but lean and thin, like a sapling tree. He patted the side of his head, smoothing salt and pepper hair. “Okay, but hurry. It’s almost ready.”
Willa studied the man for a moment. As a little girl, she and her father had been inseparable. He’d spent every Saturday taking her to parks, museums, and the zoo. He’d listened intently as she talked excitedly about history facts she’d read. He had bought her books and had recorded TV shows he thought she’d like. She wasn’t sure exactly when they’d drifted apart, maybe high school as her life got busier; but with a twang in her heart she realized that she missed him. She longed to throw her arms around him and hug him tightly and have all the tension between them disappear.
Why can’t you be happy about this? She wanted to ask him, but said, “Yeah. Right back.”
“Okay,” Ethan said skeptically, already turning away.
Willa scowled sadly at his back, biting back a few choice words. I’m not sneaking off to consort with the devil, Dad, just to get my phone. She yanked open the door, fresh cold air rushing into her face. I’ve always been a good daughter. Never gotten into trouble. Done well at school. But suddenly, when I try to follow the true path of who I am, I’m a delinquent to him.
She looked back over her shoulder at the empty hall and then went out the door. Willa spent the few minutes from her house to the museum trying hard not to think about how things used to be.
“Solace? Hey, where are you?” Willa called as she pulled her set of museum keys from the lock and stepped into the dark, empty foyer. “Solace?”
“Hello, Willa! What are you doing back?” Solace appeared next to her.
“I left my phone. Have you seen it?” Willa dropped her purse to the floor and sat under one of the tall paned windows. The lights from the street poured in, casting a grid-patterned shadow on the tile floor. “Also, I’m hiding from dinner with my parents.” Solace sat next to her and held out her phone. “Thanks,” Willa said. “Were you reading my text messages again?”
Solace’s eyes widened. “I would never!” she said sarcastically. “Next time could you make sure they are a little more exciting?”
Willa laughed. “So sorry.”
Solace laughed and then turned to her, eyes shimmering in the gray light. “I’m glad you came back because I just had a weird experience.”
“What happened?”
The ghost’s eyes moved off, now distant and vague. “This picture appeared in my mind. I was leaning over a young woman in her bed—a very pretty girl, older than me, with red hair and green eyes. Her brow was sweaty, and in her arms she held a little bundle wrapped in blankets. I reached out”—the ghost reached her hand forward, imitating the movement—“pulled back the edge of a blanket and found a little baby. Beautiful baby. A girl, I think.” Solace sighed.
“Solace! That sounds like a memory. Do you think it was?” Willa’s heart pumped a little faster with the idea.
“I don’t dare hope, but . . . maybe.” Solace clasped her hands together in her lap.
Willa stared at her friend for a minute, the light cutting through her shadowy figure. “Red hair and green eyes. Sounds like Ruby or Amelia. Probably Amelia. She was about five years older than you, but there’s no record of Amelia having a baby.”
“I don’t know. It was just a brief flash.”
“Has that ever happened before?”
Solace studied her hands. “No, not really. A few times I’ve seen a flash of what I think is forest trees, a full moon.” A stiff pause, her figure almost flickering out of sight. “Pain. Sometimes there is a burst of pain, an echo, just here.” Her sheer fingers fluttered at her neck.
A chill snaked down Willa’s spine, and she remained quiet for a moment. What had happened to her best friend? “Solace, I . . .”
Solace’s eyes flashed up to her. “Do you think it means I’m close to crossing over? Having these maybe-memories?”
Willa blinked, surprised. “Maybe. There is no way to know. But either way, memories are good. Right?”
“I suppose.” She pursed her lips. “But I’d rather remember my life when I’m there and not still stuck here.”
Willa watched the ghost closely, studying the permanent sadness on her face. Quietly, she asked, “So you want to cross over?”
Solace smiled grimly. “Of course, I do, Willa. As much as I love you, I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t live like this.” She rolled her eyes at the word. “It’s wrong, unnatural.” She looked vacantly at the dark space of the foyer. “I can feel it all the time—a whispering tug from the Otherworld. It’s stronger lately, but still blocked somehow. I can’t answer it, can’t move toward it. I need to cross over, but I’m stuck. And that connection is a constant mockery.”
Solace’s eyes shimmered, almost as if blurred by tears. Willa leaned closer. She’d never heard Solace talk like this before. “I wish there was something I could do to help. I am a witch with the Power of Spirits, after all. You’d think there was something more to that than just seeing ghosts. Maybe one day I’ll find something that can help you.”
“Thank you, Willa. You are sweet.” She inhaled, shook her head. “Let’s talk about something else. Did you talk to Simon about faking it in training yesterday?”
Willa looked over at the crisscrossing shadows. Simon had obviously and purposely failed the second part of the test at the pool. At least it was obvious to her. To everyone else it seemed a huge relief. Because of that, she couldn’t really blame Simon, but something about it bothered her. Was he ashamed of himself? “Not yet, but it’s weird, right?”
“It’s a little weird. Simon has never struck me as one to pretend just to please others.”
“Exactly! I mean, we all pretend a little, hiding our true selves from the world, but that’s different.” She exhaled, rubbed at her forehead. “I don’t know. I guess it’s not that big of a deal. I just don’t understand why everything has gotten so compl
icated with his powers. Why he won’t talk to me or Rowan, make some effort to understand it.”
“I wonder if he’ll make it a habit—the faking.”
Willa shook her head. “I hope not,” she whispered. A rock of concern settled into the bottom of her stomach. “Solace, what’s happening? Why can’t we talk about this stuff? Soul mates are supposed to be close, to tell each other everything. But lately . . . I couldn’t even bring myself to ask him if he really had faked it.”
The floor under them shook violently. Willa instinctively reached out for Solace, but her hand met the cold floor. The window rattled overhead. Willa scrambled away from it, afraid it might shatter down on her.
“Willa! What’s happening?” Solace cried out.
Before Willa could answer, the quake had stopped. Chest heaving, heart pounding, she jumped to her feet, looked out the window. Nothing seemed seriously damaged; the power hadn’t even gone out. “An earthquake,” she answered in disbelief.
Solace joined her at the window. “I don’t think I like earthquakes.”
“Me neither.” Willa had never felt a quake before, and she hoped she never did again. “That was a really bizarre feeling. The floor should not move like that.”
“Not ever.”
It happened again. The window rattled, and the old building shuddered. Solace screamed as Willa dove to the ground. By the time she looked back at her ghost-friend the quake ended. “Whoa! What’s going on?”
Solace hovered, rubbing her hands nervously. “I know it can’t hurt me, but it still makes me nervous.”
Willa’s phone beeped from her purse. She crawled over, dug it out, and suddenly the weight in her stomach felt like a writhing ball of snakes. “It’s Charlotte. She says I need to get to the house right now, that the quakes are not natural.” Willa squinted at the message. “What does that mean?” Solace squeaked in protest. “Will you be okay, Solace?”
She frowned, eyes wide. “I guess so. But will you? If the quakes aren’t natural, does that mean Dark magic? Is it Rachel? Maybe she didn’t leave after all.”
