Witch Myth Super Boxset

by Alexandria Clarke

  Aura. The word resonated with me. There was a name for the weird radiation of light that accompanied my inner energy. It sounded right, like I’d been missing that piece of vocabulary for all these years and someone had suddenly supplied it to me.

  “And?” Morgan prompted.

  “She got away.”

  “She got away?” Morgan repeated. “Gwenlyn, did I not tell you that it was absolutely crucial to capture whoever broke through the ward? What did I say before you left to apprehend her?”

  “Look at my eye, Morgan!” Gwenlyn pointed to her face. Blood ran down her cheek and neck from the laceration, and the skin around her eye socket had already begun to bruise. “She was ripped. It wasn’t a fair match. One round knockout.”

  I arched an eyebrow at the unintended compliment. Morgan, on the other hand, heaved a defeated sigh. “Did you at least get her name? Whatever coven she’s from? Did you happen to see where she went after she sucker punched you?”

  Gwenlyn stewed in defiant silence.

  Morgan leaned across the dining room table. “Do you mean to tell me that this woman—this witch—crossed through our very carefully crafted ward without a hitch and now she’s roaming around Yew Hollow with free access to our entire coven? What if she’s the problem, Gwen?”

  Before Gwenlyn could answer, the woman called Laurel returned from the kitchen. I ducked below the windowsill before she could spot me. Me… a witch? With a coven? It didn’t make any sense. If I belonged to a coven, it was the simple duo that Nora and I had created together. Nothing else. And when had I crossed a ward? There was no sign of any force field around Yew Hollow. Nothing stopped me from entering the town… or had something tried? After all, Nora’s car inexplicably broke down, and there had been that strange feeling of walking through water near the welcome sign. Did I break through the Summers coven’s defensive spells without even realizing it? Once more, I chanced a peek into the dining room.

  Laurel smeared a thick orange paste across Gwenlyn’s wound, murmuring unintelligible words under her breath as she did so. I did a double-take at the sight of her. She looked like Nora, but her hair was paler than my sister’s, almost white-blonde, and her eyes were gray rather than green. Like Morgan, she appeared sickly. She broke into a light coughing fit, at which point Gwenlyn gently relieved her of the bowl of paste.

  “I’ll do it,” Gwenlyn said softly. “You rest.”

  Laurel rested a hand on Gwenlyn’s forehead, where a spark of sky blue energy flared and went out. Then she excused herself from the room, rubbing excess paste into her hands as if it was expensive moisturizer.

  Morgan rubbed the circles beneath her eyes. “Gwenlyn—”

  “Morgan, I’m tired,” Gwenlyn interrupted. “I know you’re upset with me. I know I should’ve done more to catch the other witch, but you’re forgetting that I have no one to help me. Please. I’m exhausted.”

  As Gwenlyn slumped over the table, the healing salve matting her hair, a look of concern came over Morgan. She brushed Gwenlyn’s hair away from the younger woman’s face with a motherly touch.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “This hasn’t been fair to you.”

  “I’m doing my best,” Gwenlyn mumbled, resting her head on her arms. “But I’m used to having someone else to back me up.”

  The pair idled in silence. Morgan’s fingers combed through Gwenlyn’s dark hair as her gaze drifted toward the window opposite mine. Gwenlyn turned ever-so-slightly, revealing the injured side of her face. The laceration had closed, and the bruise was nearly gone. Either these women knew of some undiscovered herb with exceptional healing powers, or that salve was infused with witchcraft too.

  “What about the girl?” Morgan asked.

  I perked up, adjusting my precarious footing to get a better view of the dining room.

  “She’s asleep in the barn,” Gwenlyn answered. “I think yesterday’s ritual wore her out. Do you feel any better?”

  “Marginally,” Morgan said. “But that’s not why I was asking. What if we trained her to make rounds with you?”

  Gwenlyn propped her chin in her hands. “Do you think that’s a good idea? She’s so young.”

  “So were you.”

  “Touché. I’ll go get her.”

  “No, no,” Morgan said, gesturing for Gwenlyn to relax. “Let her sleep. She worked hard yesterday. She deserves the rest. Here. Have some coffee.”

  Morgan waved a hand, and a navy blue mug appeared out of thin air in front of Gwenlyn. Steam rose from the top as I gawked through the window. Gwenlyn made nothing of it and sipped gratefully. The women settled into a comfortable silence, contemplating the early morning mist that blanketed the dead ground outside. I sank beneath the windowsill. If Gwenlyn wasn’t going to lead me to Nora anytime soon, I would find her myself.

  14

  Unless the Summers coven made a habit of kidnapping teenagers—which at this point I wouldn't entirely put past them—I assumed that the girl Morgan and Gwenlyn had discussed was Nora. More than one aspect of the conversation worried me. First of all, she was sleeping in a damn barn. The peculiar women of the Summers clan couldn’t be bothered to give her a real bedroom. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have the room. From the looks of it, there were only three of them: Morgan, Gwenlyn, and Laurel. The spacious house was sure to have more than one guest room, so what was Nora doing in a barn? Second, they had included Nora in some kind of ritual the day before that she was now required to recover from. These women had not only kidnapped Nora, but they had taken advantage of her as well. I didn’t care what oddities were going on in Yew Hollow. All I knew was that I had to locate Nora and get her the hell out of here.

  I sidled around the edge of the house, keeping close to the wall in order to avoid detection. Around the back, a collection of homemade rocking chairs decorated a screened-in portion of the porch. On a nice day—in a world where Yew Hollow wasn’t a town of dead leaves and parched grass—it would be the perfect place to cuddle up and watch the sunrise while sipping hot tea, but the chairs were eerily inert. They rested in stagnant stasis on the porch, bringing the lack of moving air to my attention once again. What was wrong with this place?

  I rested beside the porch, crouching down in a bed of what once might have been roses, and surveyed the rest of the yard. The space behind the Summers house was vast. Again, in a prettier universe, it would have been gorgeous. The yard went on for several acres, and a thick line of trees bordered the edge. If they were the usual autumnal colors, the entire property would light up with the undeniable glow of the season. In the distance, a rickety swing set sat in a sparse bed of mulch. Were children here at one point? The woods resumed just behind it, but there was no sight of anything that resembled a barn. I frowned. Perhaps the witches had been referring to some structure closer to town, although I didn’t recall seeing any kind of barn on our way up to the house. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so easy to rescue Nora after all. She could be anywhere. I altered my route, swinging to face the front of the house again. I’d sweep the town for Nora first. Then, if I still couldn’t find her, the Summers coven would have to answer directly to me.

  Something caught my eye along the tree line of the woods in the backyard. There was a break in the trees, a footpath that led deeper into the forest. The ground leading up to it looked worn, as though the witches made regular trips along the passageway. Were they hiding something in the deadwoods? My little sister, perhaps? I had to check. The problem was that the only way to the footpath was across the massive backyard. There was no cover along the way. I would be exposed for whatever length of time it took for me to cross to the other side. Good thing I was a runner.

  I glanced up at the house. Hopefully, the women inside were too preoccupied with their morning coffee to look out the windows into the backyard. When I saw no sign of watching eyes, I bolted across the lawn at top speed, coaxing my legs into the longest and quickest strides possible. As my backpack bounced on my shoulders, my hood fell off and my ha
ir unraveled like a spool of thread. I grimaced but thundered on, praying that no one noticed the bright spot of red in the otherwise colorless backyard. I didn’t slow my pace until I had cleared the swing set and plunged into the darkness of the surrounding woods. Then I skidded to a stop to catch my breath. Bracing my hands on my knees, I looked around.

  The path wound through the splintered trees and continued on out of sight in the murky gloom. The sun had risen, but it wasn’t strong enough to permeate the impenetrable fog that lay upon Yew Hollow like some kind of chemical smoke bomb. The forest was even more disturbing than the deserted town at my back. It absorbed sound and essence. As I tentatively explored the path, my shoes made no noise against the rough fallen leaves and dirt floor. I felt as though I’d journeyed into a void, one that punished and confused its visitors by stripping them of their senses. I pushed forward, following the trail as it twisted and turned, and tried to ignore the uneasiness building in the pit of my stomach. At last, something appeared in the space between the trees. It was a small stable painted brick red. Warm, glowing lights shone through the windows, as though whoever was inside relaxed by candlelight. Hope swelled in my chest, but I stopped myself from sprinting to the door and barging inside. If this was the barn currently serving as Nora’s temporary quarters, I had no guarantee that she was alone inside.

  Instead, I peered through the little windowpane set in the humble door. The interior didn’t resemble a traditional barn. There was no moldy hay or smelly horses or grain sacks stacked along the stalls. The structure had been remodeled into a modest apartment. The ground floor sported a full-sized kitchen and living area, while a simple staircase made of strong wood planks led to a cute loft space with a bed and a writing desk. It was warmly decorated. Delicate sconces and periwinkle curtains kept the cold gray light from seeping inside, and if I wasn’t mistaken, the alluring scent of blueberry muffins swept out to meet me on the doorstep. I glanced skyward at the sleeping space, and my heart leapt at the sight of Nora’s long blonde hair.

  I knocked gently, but she remained asleep. I tried again with more force. When Nora didn’t stir, my rib cage tightened around my chest. Yes, she had always been a heavy sleeper, but this felt wrong. I reached for the doorknob. It was unlocked. There were only two reasons for Nora to leave herself open to visitors. One, she felt safe enough in the barn to not need the lock. Or two, she had no hope of defending herself against those keeping her captive anyway.

  My anxiety mounted as I moved across a cozy rug in front of the couch. The barn was immune to the dampening effects of the surrounding woods. A radio played oldies softly from the corner of the kitchen counter while a timer on the stove counted down the minutes until the muffins were ready. My boots fell heavily on each stair as I made my way to the loft, but Nora’s slumber persisted. She faced away from me, toward the wall. My heart pounded as I sat on the edge of the bed and gently brushed her long hair away from her face.

  She was warm. Thank goodness. Her cheeks were pink and her breath was long and steady. She appeared healthy and, more importantly, very much alive. I jostled her shoulder.

  “Nora,” I whispered. “Wake up, kiddo.”

  She rolled over and rubbed her eyes, gazing sleepily up at me. At first, she didn’t recognize me. Then she threw her arms around my neck. “Kennedy!”

  I hugged her, stifling a sigh of relief. “Got your messages.”

  She withdrew and leaned against the pillows. Now that she was awake, I saw that she was just as exhausted as Gwenlyn. Her eyes were red and puffy as though she’d cried herself to sleep the previous evening.

  “I’m so glad,” she said. “I wasn’t sure it would work.”

  “No, you did amazing. I had no idea you were capable of that,” I told her in a hushed tone. There was no one around—to my knowledge—but it felt dangerous to speak above a whisper. I squeezed Nora’s shoulders, noticing that the sleeves of her pajama top extended far past her fingers. “Let’s get you out of here. Do you have a change of clothes?”

  “In the dresser.”

  The chest of drawers was white with hand painted flower detailing, and like the rest of the barn, it exuded a homey warmth that warred with the concept of Nora’s captivity. I opened the top drawer and drew out a black T-shirt. It was soft with age and featured a tour schedule for Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. I tossed it to Nora.

  “Whose are these?” I asked her as she changed out of her oversized pajamas. “Does someone else live here?”

  “Morgan used to,” Nora replied. “She’s—”

  “The head of the coven,” I finished for her. When she glanced at me in surprise, I shrugged. “I did some research. Is this real, Nora? Are they—are they really witches?”

  Nora nodded as she tugged on a pair of black leggings. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? That’s what we are, Ken. That’s why we have these weird powers.”

  I swallowed, unsure of how I felt about this revelation. “I gathered.”

  Nora glanced up at me. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you? I can tell. Your eyes do that weird darting thing when you freak out.”

  “I’m not freaking out.”

  “Mm-hmm. Pass me those boots.”

  I stooped to collect a fashionable black pair of heeled booties from the corner of the loft, marveling again at the care the Summers women took of their hostage. Nora looked totally different. Gone were her lush cashmere sweaters and tailored designer jeans. In the old rock n’ roll shirt and dark pants, she looked more like a haphazard punk from the eighties than a wealthy teen in present day. She laced up the boots and gathered her long hair in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. That was different too. Nora never put her hair up. She loved to let it flow along behind her like a pale golden cape.

  “What happened, Nora?” I asked her. “The night of the gala. The police found your dress. Your blood—”

  Nora shook her head firmly as she stood up from the bed. “Not here.”

  I followed her to the ground floor, where she lifted a black leather jacket from the back of the couch and swung it across her shoulders. “But who are these people?” I pressed, trying to ignore the fact that the leather completed Nora’s transformation into a girl that I didn’t seem to know. “Why did they take you?”

  “Because I’m the only one that can help them,” Nora answered darkly. She zipped up the jacket, flipped her messy bun out from under the collar, and led me to the door. “Or so it would seem.”

  As we emerged into the chilly morning, I squinted against the white glare of the sun through the clouds. “Why didn’t you just leave? It’s not like they’re keeping a close eye on you.”

  Nora marched along the footpath toward the main house. “There’s a ward around the entire town. Nothing can pass through it. I tried the very first night they brought me here and I bounced right back. It nearly singed my nose off, but you got through it. I knew you’d find a way—”

  “Yeah, about that—”

  “I feel bad for them,” she went on as though she hadn’t heard me. “But they kidnapped me, Ken!”

  I wasn’t familiar with this version of Nora at all. She was tall and angry and tired. She seemed older too, but not in a good way. It was as though in the time since her disappearance, she had forsaken the last of her innocence. She’d recognized that the world was no good. She reminded me of the woman I’d been just a month ago, a realization far from comforting. I hated the Summers coven for turning her into this. They had stripped my little sister of her unshakeable positivity in less than three whole days.

  “I heard something about a ritual,” I mentioned. Nora’s shoulder blades tightened as she hopped over a thorny bramble in her way. “What did they do to you?”

  The main house came into view as the footpath widened and the trees thinned. Nora kept to the shadows, circling around the edge of the yard. I followed behind her since she was more familiar with the area than I was, but the forest opened up and we were forced into the uncovered area of the backyar
d. As soon as I stepped forward, a wave of energy blasted me off my feet. Unprepared, I slammed into the trunk of a tree and toppled to the ground, dazed and disoriented.

  “No!” Nora cried.

  “Stay out of it,” Gwenlyn’s voice growled from somewhere across the way.

  I tried to get to my feet, but the force behind the attack rendered me immobile. Nora stepped in front of me. Her hands shimmered with her rosy glow. Her aura. I’d never seen her like this, wielding her energy offensively. In that past, she’d only used it to heal herself, myself, and the occasional injured animal. It wasn’t just her wardrobe that had changed in the past few days.

  “Don’t do this, Nora,” Gwenlyn said in a tired voice. Through my hazy vision, I saw her approaching us at a steady pace, surrounded by her own aura, a sign that her craft was still active. “You don’t understand the danger—”

  “You aren’t in any danger,” Nora spat. “She’s my sister.”

  Gwenlyn stopped short, one eyebrow raised. “She is?”

  “Half-sister,” I managed to get out.

  Gwenlyn lowered her hands, and her aura dimmed as she peered down at me. Nora stood firm, planting herself between me and Gwenlyn.

  “Who are you exactly?” Gwenlyn demanded.

  I glared up at her. “Not sure if you deserve that answer after our lovely introduction.”

  She acknowledged this with a shrug that was not apologetic. “I got a vibe off of you,” she said. “A dark one. What I did was instinctive. I had instructions to take you in. Besides, you attacked me back.”

  “That was defensive!” I replied hotly.

  “Are you going to answer my question or not?” Gwenlyn asked, ignoring my agitation. “What coven are you from? Morgan needs to know.”

  Nora’s fingers shimmered pink. “I told you already. We don’t have a coven.”

  Gwenlyn’s nose wrinkled as though she couldn’t understand why we were so dim-witted. “Everyone has a coven. It’s your family.”