by Teri Harman
Willa closed her eyes as the cool mountain summer air trickled over her face. Below the cliff resided a sparkling clear lake, a jewel in the moonlight. Giant evergreens surrounded the lake, like favorite friends around a dinner table. Beyond the evergreens, a dense carpet of aspen trees spread out for miles. Even high above them, Willa could hear the rippling quake of the leaves as the breeze weaved through the aspens.
Simon had never brought her here before. When they’d rounded the last switchback and walked to the cliff’s edge, her breath had caught in her chest at the beautiful view. “How did you know about this place?” she asked.
With a satisfied smile, he said, “I stumbled upon the lake on one of my solo hikes. Figured there had to be a hike to this cliff. Took me a while to find it, though.”
“It’s amazing!” Willa shook her head, kept her eyes wide to drink in the sight. “I can’t believe I’ve lived near this all my life and never seen it.” She turned to him, stepped close and held onto his arm, resting her head on his bicep. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Simon pulled her into a hug. “My pleasure. It’s the perfect moonlight hike. Everything looks so different at night. Like it’s not real, but a painting or a . . . dream.”
He stiffened slightly at the word, and Willa lifted her head to look at the side of his face. A muscle in his jaw twitched. She opened her mouth to say something about his nightmares, but he pulled away, dropped his pack to the ground.
All tension vanished from his face, he smiled and said, “I brought some snacks. Help me spread out the blanket.”
Now, nearly an hour later, the moon higher in the sky, Willa fought the urge to drift off to sleep. It was late, her body tired from the long hike, and she was warm tucked next to Simon. Her eyelids closed as she slipped under.
“One year,” Simon whispered, pulling her back to the surface.
“What?” she whispered back.
“We’ve been together for over a year now.”
Willa opened her eyes. “The best and craziest year of my life.” She smiled. It was hard to imagine that everything they’d been through had all happened in just one year. Looking back, her life before Simon and the covens seemed unreal, like an imagined past or something she’d read in a book. “Do you ever think about what we’d be doing if we hadn’t ever met or if we hadn’t found Wynter in the basement?”
Simon’s face grew serious. “Sometimes. I don’t ever like to think about my life without you,” he hugged her closer, “but I think about how things would be without the Covenant. Kind of hard not to, when everything is so crazy and . . . new. You know?”
“Yeah. I wonder how long it will take for it not to feel that way, for it just to be normal. I wonder when the questions will stop.”
“What questions?” he asked, adjusting his head to look at her.
“All the whys and whats and hows.” She met his gaze. “Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “Too much sense.” He sighed.
She turned her head to the moon’s white face. “At least we have these escapes to the mountains, right? Just us. No questions, no problems.” She sighed. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“Yes, it is.” Simon touched her face. “I love you, Willa. You know that, right?”
She lifted onto her elbow to look down at him, at the dark pools of his eyes and the fleeting worry there. “Of course, I do. I love you, too.”
He put his hand behind her neck and held her eyes. “I don’t want you to ever doubt that. I know things have been a little . . . weird lately, and I know it’s my fault,” she started to shake her head, but he kept going, “but you and me . . .” His words dropped off.
“I know,” Willa said. She pressed a hand to his chest, lowered her lips to his. The meaning of his words, said and unsaid, were a flush of fresh water through her murky mind. At that moment, all was right.
The rustle of wings brought them out of the kiss. A large great horned owl landed on a rock only a few feet away. Regally, he tucked his wings back and blinked at the couple.
“Does he look hurt?” Willa asked. “Is he here for you to heal him?”
Animals still came to Simon on a regular basis. On the hike up, he’d healed a squirrel with a lame forepaw and a blue jay with a bleeding wing. Willa had seen him do it so many times now, but, still, each time the miracle of it warmed her heart in rarely felt places.
Simon lifted onto his elbows to study the owl. “No, I don’t think so.”
Willa smiled. “Should we go? It’s getting pretty late, and don’t you have the breakfast shift tomorrow?”
“Let’s stay a little longer. I’ll take a nap after my shift.” He smiled and lay back down, opening his arm for her to slip down beside him.
She reached for her pack and pulled out her phone. “I better text my mom. Let her know I’ll be later than I said.” She typed, Still on our hike. Be back late. The reply came immediately. Be safe! Willa frowned at it.
“What’s wrong?” Simon asked.
“I’m just sick of doing this,” she lifted her phone. “It’s worse than high school lately—having to check in all the time to avoid a fight.” She put the phone away and snuggled next to him.
“Well, it’s not much longer. Unless you give into them again.”
“No way. This is getting ridiculous. Next week, as we agreed last night—I’m out, no matter what. I’ve been patient long enough.” She watched a sliver of cloud move across the moon and then added “I just hope I can make a clean break. I feel like they think I’m a two-year-old playing in the knife drawer, that every decision I make is going to get me hurt.”
“I promise it’s better than having them not care.”
She nodded against his shoulder. “I know. I just . . . I’m ready to move forward, not go backward. I should have been out on my own by now, living as an adult. With you.” Willa paused and then, before she lost her nerve, blurted out, “My mom thinks we should get married.”
Simon shifted, and she sensed a hesitation or perhaps some shock. After a long pause, he said, “And what do you think?”
Willa sighed, “I’m not sure. My great-grandma Mabel told her that ‘Marriage between soul mates is a perfect magical circle.’ And last week, I stumbled across the witch wedding ceremony in one of those grimoires Wynter got from her friend back east.” She rubbed her hand back and forth over his chest. “It’s beautiful. Simple and perfect. It’s called a Handfasting.” She wanted to look at him, see his eyes, but was nervous about what she might find.
Simon put his hand on top of hers. His heart beat faster under her ear. “Willa, I . . .” The owl let out a high pitched, mournful hoot, cutting off Simon’s words. They lifted their heads. The bird spread its wings and started to pace back and forth on the rock, continuing to hoot. Willa sat up. “What’s he doing?”
“I don’t know,” Simon said as he sat up next to her. “It looks like something has spooked him.”
The owl watched them, round golden eyes as bright and piercing as the moon. A chill lifted the hairs on Willa’s neck and arms. She scanned the dark landscape around them, searching for the source of the bird’s anxiety. Suddenly, the air was saturated with a heavy cold, so heavy it seemed to press down on her. Then her necklace flared hot. “Simon!”
He gripped her arm and leaned forward, senses tuned outward. “Mine, too,” he said in a hushed whisper. “I don’t feel anyone, but there is something.”
“What is it?” Together they moved to their feet. Willa braced, mind frantically going through all her training on how to defend against a Dark threat. No, no. Please not here, not now. The large bird continued to pace and hoot. Willa watched its eyes, trying to follow the gaze, but it seemed to only look at them.
The cold continued to press on her skin, and a pulse of instinct made her turn. Behind Simon, curled near his shoulder, flashed a thin string of pearly white light. With a panicked yelp, she reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward her. He stumbled, reachi
ng out to grip her shoulders.
“What?!” he said.
“There was something . . .” Breathing hard, she looked around him, but found nothing. She spun, trying to find the ribbon of light she was sure she’d seen. Pawing at his shirt as if batting away a swarm of bees, she circled him once.
Simon grabbed her arms. “Willa? What is it?”
She blinked, focused on his face. “A light. I thought I saw a light behind you, but . . .” Her eyes moved around the cliff and over the trees. The only light was the moonlight, filtering down through a few wispy clouds. Was it a trick of the moonlight?
Simon abruptly cried out, jerking away from Willa. He stumbled back a few steps and then fell to his knees, gripping his head. “Simon!” Willa screamed.
A strange, painfully cold pressure sliced down through the top of Simon’s skull, like a deadly icicle pushed into his head. Willa dropped next to him, her hands fluttering frantically from his arms to his chest.
“Simon?” she cried again.
He wobbled on his knees as the pain flared. Collapsing to the ground, he wanted to claw into his brain and stop whatever was happening. Is someone breaking into my mind, like Archard did to Willa?
Then it pulled away, so fast it left him gasping for air.
He sucked in a strangled gulp of air and flopped onto his back, his head throbbing madly. Willa leaned over him, her face pale, frightened. “Simon? Are you okay?”
He swallowed and took a few more breaths. His heart pummeled his ribs. “I . . . I think so.”
“What happened?” She pushed the hair back from his forehead, her warm hands a sweet relief from the cold pain. “Oh, you’re so cold. Your skin is like ice.”
“There was this awful pain in my head.” He put a hand on his chest, willing his heart to slow.
“Like someone breaking into your mind?” Her eyes widened. “Did you see anything? Any images? I thought your mind-lock was supposed to stop that sort of thing.”
He started to shake his head, but the movement was jarring. “It is. It does.” He exhaled and tried to think. “I didn’t sense anyone trying to push in or see anything. Just a cold pain. Holy moon, what was it?”
Willa bit her bottom lip, stroked his forehead again. “I don’t know, but I think we better get out of here fast. Can you stand?”
He closed his eyes and took another long breath. “Give me a minute. I can feel my healing powers working.” He took her hand, held it against his chest, and closed his eyes. “Just give me a minute.” The heat of his unique magic swirled in his blood, quickly pulling away all remnants of the pain. He sat up.
“Better?” Willa asked, leaning over him, eyes still scanning up and down his body.
“Yeah, I think so.” She stood and held out a hand. He took her small hand and dragged himself up to his feet. The pain was gone, but he still didn’t feel right. He nodded, “I’m okay. Let’s get our stuff.”
Willa turned, took a step toward the blanket and their packs but stopped short. On the ground at her feet, yellow eyes wide and accusing, lay the owl.
Wings spread out to the side.
Dead.
Willa’s scream sent a shivering ripple over the lake below.
Chapter 19
Waxing Crescent
September 1946
Chloe Winfred sat on the edge of her bed, gripping her new baby blue book bag to her chest. Her red plaid skirt, white blouse, and clunky Oxford shoes felt awkward on her tall, lanky frame. The blouse scratched her neck, and she knew the shoes would give her blisters if she walked more than a few feet, but at least she would blend into the crowd.
Just like her mother wanted.
Her mother meant well, but all her life she had tried—often with an alarming desperation—to make her daughter as normal as possible. And Chloe did her best to comply, meeting desperation with desperation, never knowing exactly who she was. There was a constant struggle inside her, a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts that never matched up with what her mother told her she ought to be. Something inside her was dying to get out into the light of day, but Chloe didn’t know how to let it out.
First day of high school. Oh, goodie.
It would have been a thrilling day for her if she weren’t so terrified about keeping her true self hidden and worried about doing everything her mother wanted her to do. Chloe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her eyes drifted to the tall oak bookshelf on the other side of the room. She had all the respectable books that a girl her age should: a shiny set of encyclopedias, all the latest Nancy Drews, a collection of Shakespeare, a few Arthur Conan Doyle, and a spattering of pleasant novels. But the book that really mattered, the one that called to her in the dark of night, was tucked behind the bookcase, smashed against the wall, gathering dust.
Chloe set her book bag aside and crossed the room. She looked to see that her door was locked and then pressed her head against the wall next to the bookcase, squinting until she could just make out the dark form of the book on the floor behind the shelf. A familiar thrill fluttered in the space behind her heart and made her breath catch in her throat. Warmth grew around her.
Biting her bottom lip, she looked at the door again. There was enough time—her mother was busy cleaning up breakfast. Quickly, she dropped to her heels and then carefully slipped her hand into the small opening until her fingers brushed leather. Just that tiny touch sent tendrils of heat up her arm.
Awkwardly, she forced her smashed fingers to grasp the book and pulled it out.
Chloe held her breath, pressing the book to her chest, heart fluttering.
She pushed her feet out from under her and dropped to sit on the floor, her clunky shoes out in front of her, looking a bit too much like clown shoes. She rolled her eyes at the shoes and then looked down at the book in her hands. Her heart thumped more wildly, like a moth caught in a jar. Her eyes flicked once more to the door.
After a few seconds’ hesitation, she laid the book on her lap, resting her right hand on the worn leather cover as soft as silk. Her hand grew hot as a faint light radiated from the edges of the pages. The light grew brighter and soon streamed out of the book in brilliant blue-white ribbons, swirling around her, just as the water used to under her command. It’d been years since she allowed herself to use her bizarre power over water. She missed it with a phantom ache, like a severed limb.
Eyes closed, Chloe lifted her chin to bask in the heat and energy of the light—something she had not done the first time she opened the book.
The book was odd from the first moment she laid eyes on it in Dusty Pages, the tiny antiquarian bookshop in town. Chloe liked to visit the store while her mother did the weekly grocery shopping at the market down the street. She loved the smell of the old books, the weight of them in her hands, and the quiet of the spaces between the shelves.
On that balmy June day, just a few months ago, she’d been lazily running her hands over the crusty spines of weather reference books from the early 1900s, when a blue-white light flickered in the corner of her eye. Blinking from the top shelf of a haphazard and dangerously tall stack of books on the back wall of the shop was a small brown book. Chloe stood unmoving for a moment, her mouth slightly agape, the shush-shush of the ceiling fan suddenly loud in her ears.
She walked forward, almost in a trance, the light growing brighter as she neared. Soon she stood just under the precarious stack, her head craned upward, her heart skipping off excitedly. Heat moved down from the book like a summer breeze rolling over a hill. She gasped, recognizing the feeling, the energy, and knowing she had to get away from it before something happened that would further anger and embarrass her mother.
Chloe turned on her heel and bolted from the store, ignoring the questioning call of the proprietor. She ran out into the street and didn’t stop until she reached the far end of Main Street, next to the city park. She dropped onto a bench and covered her face with her hands, willing her body and mind to be still and forget.
But she cou
ldn’t. That curious space behind her heart throbbed, itching for her to go back. No, no, no. I can’t. I won’t! But the words were hollow even as she thought them. She knew that she would go back to get the book. The thing inside her, the thing her mother tried so hard to suppress, was waking up, taking over.
She fought with herself for another ten minutes, until the force inside her nearly lifted her to her feet. Shuffling and mumbling under her breath, Chloe stepped back into the bookshop, offering a shy smile and shrug to the shop owner, who only shook his head as he went back to work.
The second she turned down the aisle, the light burst out from the pages of the book, filling the room. Chloe put a hand over her beating heart as she stared in awe. She glanced back at the owner, bent over his desk. How does he not see this? Standing once again in front of the stack, Chloe marveled as the heat sparked along her skin.
She reached up her hand, lifting to her toes, but the book sat just out of reach. She glanced around for a step stool, but found none. So she tried again, straining up onto her very tiptoes, extending her arm as long as it would go. No luck. Chloe huffed, glared at the book. She didn’t dare ask the shop owner to get it for her.
She continued to stare at the book, wondering if she could get away with standing on a stack of books without the owner noticing. The book shuddered, flew off the shelf, and nearly hit her in the head. Ducking out of the way, the book hit the shelf behind her, and thunked to the floor.
Chloe blinked at it. Did I do that?
“Everything all right back there, Chloe?” the owner called from his perch at the counter.
She flinched. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Lem. Just dropped a book.”
She had to get out of there. She snatched the book off the floor and took it to the counter. “I’ll take this one,” Chloe said as casually as possible. She held her breath, waiting for Lem to notice the light pulsing off the exposed edges of the pages.
Lem looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. He picked up the book, flipped it open. “Hmm. Forgot I had this old blank journal. You keep journals, Chloe?”
