Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Spirits and Shadows

Celeste’s hands shake as she quickly picks up the three cards and stuffs them back into the deck.

“Death is not as bad a card as you might believe. It simply signifies change. Transformation,” she stutters.

“I assure you, there is no need to sugarcoat the truth for me,” Matthew whispers, his eyes dark. “I’m well aware of what the card means.”

Celeste glances nervously at him and then toward me.

“I’m sorry, Kate. I should have listened to you.” She bites her lip regretfully. Miranda steps forward and puts an arm around Celeste.

“And that’s the lesson we learn when we try to discern fate so long after sunset. Surely, it’s clear that the spirits are still around, playing their tricks, trying to frighten us. We shouldn’t trust these foolish cards tonight.” She rubs Celeste’s arm affectionately and smiles toward me, but there is tension and worry in her eyes. “Why don’t we all go to bed? The hour is late, and there is much to do in the next few days.”

Celeste gathers her deck back into the folds of her skirts.

“Good night, Kate,” Miranda says to me. “I look forward to getting to know you better tomorrow, Matthew,” she says. He bows his head to her as she walks Celeste out of the kitchen.

He watches them leave before walking over to the sink. He grabs a soapy plate from the warm water and begins to rinse and dry it off. I am still rooted to my spot, staring at the marble countertop where the three-card spread had been. The kitchen should be warm, but there is a chill on my skin.

“Matthew—” I say, walking over to him as he puts another piece of china onto the drying rack.

“I’m a shadow hexan, Kate,” he interrupts. “I haven’t had a tarot spread absent of the Death card since I turned thirteen.” He turns to me and smiles, tucking a finger under my chin. I study his face, searching for some sign of concealment or hidden worry. I find none. His blue eyes are soft, his smile warm, and his jaw isn’t clenched with tension.

My shoulders ease with relief, and I let out a small laugh.

“Of course—I should have realized,” I say.

“I’m afraid your poor sister might be traumatized over it, though. Perhaps I should admit my craft to her before we leave for the night? To ease her worry?” he says with a smirk, turning back to the sink and cleaning the final piece of china.

I shake my head. “It’s a miracle she didn’t immediately recognize you and tell Miranda. No, I need time to prepare before we say anything about you.”

“And have you decided what you will tell them about the other thing?” he asks.

“About the King Below? I don’t know.” I shake my head. “A part of me wants to keep them out of it.”

“A decision for tomorrow, then,” Matthew says, folding the dish rag over the edge of the sink and pulling the drain up. “Now, let’s see what I can do about this.” He grabs the tray with the broken crystal glass. “I’d prefer to work on it back at yours. Shall we?”

Together we walk out of the kitchen and through the dining room, where several plates are still scattered about along with the handful of sea glass Miranda is using for her divination. We make our way to the family room and out the door onto the back lawn.

It’s a moonless night, but the first part of our path is lit by the soft glow from the jack-o’-lantern display Matthew finished setting up while I cooked dinner. Thirty-one carved faces smile and leer at us, scattered in the hedges of the lawn and casting long shadows in their midnight glow.

“We need to blow all these out,” I say. “Otherwise they won’t last through Samhain.”

Matthew pauses and stares at the pumpkins. The still night picks up with a soft but biting breeze. A mist-like shadow moves across the lawn, and the lights of the jack-o’-lanterns extinguish one by one as it passes over them.

Matthew turns to me with a wink and holds out his free arm. I shake my head and grin, wrapping my arm around his, expecting him to lead the way back down the hill. But he doesn’t, he simply stands there in the darkness, staring at me, candle smoke wafting over us into the night sky.

“What?” I ask.

“You look lovely in the starlight,” he says simply, his voice low and quiet.

“Thank you,” I whisper, grateful there is no moon to expose the sudden red flush that has covered my neck.

He leads me down the hillside, toward the forest and my cottage. The ground is semi-frozen beneath us as we walk. With Matthew in his formal black suit and me draped in this flowing lace gown, we look like quite the ghostly pair. The shape of my cottage on the edge of the woods grows sharper as we get closer. The outlines of the trees sway unnaturally, their top branches bending inward, as if pointing toward something hidden deep within the forest.

The unease that I’d been working so hard to keep at bay ever since we’d left Salem Library, sinks its teeth back into me.

When we enter the cottage, Matthew sets down the tray on the nearest surface. I can hold my tongue no longer.

“What about the Tower card?” I ask in a whisper. “Does that one haunt you as well?”

He doesn’t answer at first, running his hand along the cracked and shattered edges of the crystal glass.

“No,” he admits. “That one was less expected.”

My stomach twists, even though I’m not surprised. “Do you think it was a warning? About the King Below?” My voice wavers.

Matthew studies me silently. We both know the answer, but he forces a cheerful grin onto his face. “It could be more to do with the fact that I am a Pacific hexan living among the Atlantic Key. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised that my near future looks a little grim.” He laughs.

“Dammit, Matthew. Take this seriously!” I cry, annoyed by his dismissive attempt at humor. “No good ever comes from that card. And Celeste doesn’t read false—”

He is standing over me before I finish the sentence. Gently he takes my hands into his and looks down at me with a smug yet softly delighted smile.

“Hecate Goodwin, are you worried about me?” The question is asked with amusement, but his eyes are burning into mine.

“Yes,” I admit, trying to ignore the red flush returning to my neck and chest, both from my anger and from his close proximity. “If you give me a minute, I can look through my Herbal. I have a few counter-hex bags I can create that might offer some protect—”

He cuts me off again by cupping my face with both of his hands. “It’s not your job to protect me,” he says in a low whisper, as his fingers brush softly against my skin.

We stare at each other for a moment.

I lift both my hands to his arm and slowly unbutton the cuff of his sleeve. He looks on curiously as I push the crisp white shirt and jacket sleeve up, revealing the now faded copper scar. I run my fingers along the edge of where the adhesive has healed into his skin. It’s smooth and cold, like a vein in a marble statue.

“Isn’t it, though?” I ask, looking back at him.

“I’ll remind you,” he says, his thumb stroking my cheek softly, back and forth, “that I incurred this injury while fighting off a pack of creatures chasing you .”

I open my mouth to respond, to thank him for saving my life, but nothing comes. All I know is that I can’t rip my gaze from his. His eyes, his jaw, his lips.

He pulls my face closer. My hands brace themselves against his chest, running over the cool fabric of his shirt. My heart pounds furiously, and I am hyper aware of the quick pace of his own, beneath my fingertips. The warmth of our breath mixes in the air between us as our lips draw nearer.

SMACK!

We both jump as a loud, tumbling thud echoes through the walls. Matthew grips me tightly to him as we both look in the direction of the noise. Over by the fireplace, the Grimoire has fallen off the mantle and onto the floor. Matthew lets out a long sigh. For the briefest moment, his hands knot into my hair, and I think I feel his lips brush against my temple.

“Spirits are bothersome creatures,” he grumbles into my ear before releasing me from his grip. I laugh softly, ignoring the sense of disappointment sinking in my stomach.

I walk over to the fireplace and gingerly pick up the Grimoire.

It’s opened to some horrid ritual of torture, though I can’t make out the language. The sketches in the margin vaguely resemble animals and humans alike being flayed alive. My stomach turns, but I find some small sick relief that I at least do not recognize any of the faces. And my mother didn’t make any notes in the margins. Perhaps she never used this page. It’s all I can hope for as I turn to the next page. My fingers falter. I inhale sharply at the drawings on the paper. Sketches of glowing eyes and snarling snouts, which so closely resemble my nightmare pursuers in the woods. Matthew is by my side in an instant, looking over my shoulder, to see what on the page has distressed me. I read:

Call upon the Cerberaxi.

The Hounds of the King Below. An infernal prayer and either an offering of blood or a sacrifice to shadows will draw these messengers forward. They will do your sacred bidding if you pay a high enough price.

“Will he send them again? To finish the job?” I ask aloud. Ginny had said how reckless it had been for the King Below to use hellhounds against me. Either he wouldn’t risk it again and would get to me some other way, or he was desperate enough to try anything. I don’t find comfort in either of those options. Especially given how dark it is outside.

Matthew straightens up.

“If he does, they won’t get close to you. Not if they have to go through me first,” he says.

“No! You aren’t allowed to fight them again. They could kill you!” I look back at their images. The sharp claws glint off the page, I can almost hear the baying sounds they made ripping into Matthew’s arm.

“Please,” he scoffs, “I took down three of them within a span of thirty seconds.”

“And almost became permanently disfigured in the process,” I admonish him. “Had the wound on your shoulder been any deeper, you might have lost your arm.”

He’s chastened, but only just so.

“How did you fight them?” I ask after a moment. Perhaps if I learn, I won’t be so defenseless should they come again.

“Hellhounds are made almost of pure shadow magic with only a drop of Gwaed. They are entirely too easy for a shadow hexan to manipulate. If you can get your hands on them, Siphoning is the easiest way. I drew their energy into me, essentially sucking away the very shadow magic that held them together.”

I frown. “The chances of me successfully using shadow magic for offensive protection are slim.”

“You have more power than you realize,” Matthew says gently. “But it’s a moot discussion either way. Those creatures can’t get to you while I’m here.”

“They got to me before,” I remind him.

“Yes,” he says, sighing, “but I’ve extended the protective barrier around the cottage, and as long as you don’t drink any more of the Tranquilum, we don’t have to worry about you Shadow Walking beyond it again.” He says all this with self-assured confidence, but his smile wavers when he sees my shocked face and realizes what he has said.

“I … Kate—”

“What protective barrier?” I interrupt. My head reels. More magical interference that I hadn’t known about? Matthew remains silent, no doubt hesitant to speak while I’m staring at him with such an aghast expression.

“Answer me!” I insist. “How long have you had a boundary up?” The fireplace flares, the heat of it washing over the back of my legs.

He is quiet for another moment. When I open my mouth to demand answers again, he speaks.

“Since the night I arrived,” he answers definitively.

“Why?” I ask.

“To protect you,” he says calmly.

My mind hurries over a hundred thoughts. The endless internal battle over whether to truly trust him rages inside me. He seems determined to put himself in danger to make sure the King Below stays far away from me. He’s told me time and time again that I can trust him. But he hasn’t even be honest about the ways he has helped. He has so many secrets, I think even he’s starting to lose track.

With a slight start of surprise, I realize I don’t care about his secrets. As much as I know that I should, I don’t. At least, not as much as I care about—fear, really—the possibility that he might get hurt again. I might not be able to fight hellhounds or the King Below with shadow magic, but there must be something I can do. Something to protect myself. Something to keep Matthew out of the fray.

“Teach me to Shadow Walk,” I say, looking up at him again.

“What?” He blanches.

“You heard me.”

“No,” he says firmly.

“Why not?” I cry. “Apparently I’m capable of it. I walked the night of the hellhound attack. And you said it’s one of the tenets of a hedge witch. If I can learn to control it, I can outrun them.”

“You won’t need to outrun them, Kate. I’m not going to let them near you. I’m not going to let you out of my sight again.”

“You’re not thinking this through!” I insist, crossing the living room. “You can’t stay in Ipswich forever. Eventually, you will have to leave. I should learn something—anything—that might offer me protection. And we already know I’m capable of it.”

“Let’s just get through Samhain, okay? And then we can discuss it.”

I shake my head. “I’m not going to be a sitting duck for the next few days. Teach me.”

“No,” he says firmly. “It’s too risky.”

“Why?” Anger is building up in me. He’s been talking of Shadow Walking since the day he arrived, and he chooses now to clam up about it.

“Because there are other things in the shadows, Kate, remember? Things worse than hellhounds.” He speaks passionately but in a stilted way, almost unsure in his word choice.

I’ve had enough of his excuses. And I’ve had enough of feeling like I have no say in the matter. The time has come to force his hand. I leave the living room and walk into the kitchen. Sitting under my spice cabinet is the vial half full of swirling Tranquilum. I grab it.

“Kate, no!” Matthew shouts. He rushes across the living room and into the kitchen, but not before I uncork the bottle and tip several drops of the sleeping mixture into my mouth. It coats my tongue in a bitter and minty film. I have to steady myself to keep from recoiling at the taste. Matthew snatches the vial from my hand.

“Are you out of your mind?” he shouts, his eyes wide in shock as he glares at me.

It’s my turn to be smug. “You said this was why I Shadow Walked two days ago. I’m recreating the process.”

He lets out a long-defeated sigh and runs a hand through his dark hair, untidying it and making him look even more frazzled than he had before.

“Are you forgetting how helpless you were, Kate? You barely had any control over yourself.”

“Relax,” I admonish him lightly. I took a lower dose than before, but I don’t tell him this. “You’re going to need to show me how to Shadow Walk now, since I’m going to do it anyway,” I say with a sweet smile.

For a moment, amusement flashes across Matthew’s face, but he forces his mouth into a stern line.

“Fine,” he says darkly. Before I can react, he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the kitchen and into the dark hallway between our bedrooms. He pushes open my door. Merlin is curled up in his chair, sleeping soundly.

“Lie down on the bed,” Matthew says sharply. I don’t move as he shrugs off the formal coat he had worn to the dumb supper.

“Why are you undressing?” I ask, alarmed.

“What, you’re not shy all of a sudden are you?” he says sardonically. I don’t answer as he sets his jacket over my vanity chair and then takes a seat at the edge of my bed. He beckons me toward him.

“We need to do this quickly, before the Tranquilum sets in and confuses you.”

“And is there a reason we have to be on the bed?” I ask, staying where I stand.

He stares at me, through the darkness, for a single moment before answering. “Shadow Walking starts with projecting your spirit beyond the confines of your body. If you’re not lying down, there is potential for injury.” He holds his hand out to me. Slowly, I walk forward and take it. My earlier bravery has dissipated. I realize with displeasure that I’m trembling slightly.

Gently, more gently than I deserve, Matthew takes my hand and lightly pulls me down next to him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” he asks quietly.

I nod.

He places one of his hands on the back of my neck and the other at the base of my throat. There is no doubt in my mind that he has taken note of the furious beat of my pulse, the way it sputters and speeds up at his every touch.

He shifts his weight, drawing me closer to him, and then lightly leans me back until we are lying down together on top of my quilt. I feel the weight of him off to my side, the warmth of his palms on my neck and chest. My head can’t focus on any one sensation long enough. I am about to intentionally practice shadow magic. If the elders knew. If my sisters knew!

“You want to focus on these two points,” Matthew urges, lightly pressing on my neck and chest with his fingers. “Center the core of yourself at the top of your spine here. And then release it, above your heart.”

I stare at him wildly, confused. He stifles a slight smile.

“Close your eyes,” he urges. I comply, shutting out the dim room. I wait a few moments, absolutely at a loss for what is supposed to happen.

“Listen to your breath,” he whispers in my ear. His deep voice is so soft but with the slightest faraway rumble. “Take note of every sensation in your body. The way the fabric of the quilt feels on your legs, the way the air in the room settles around every inch of your skin. Draw all of that awareness of yourself up right here.” He presses more firmly at the base of my neck and his touch is like an anchor. Where I had been momentarily distracted by a vague itch on the top of my foot, all my attention is drawn up to where his fingers are touching me. I almost forget that any other part of me exists. My breathing is starting to slow down, and the world feels heavier than it did only moments before.

“Very good,” Matthew says, his voice far away. “Now, take a moment to center yourself. Then sit up when I release you.” His voice fades away from me. But I can still feel his hand on my chest, his thumb drawing small circles above my clavicle. I relish in the sensation of it, the way my skin warms under his touch.

He pulls away. For a moment I am left disconcerted by the lack of feeling, but I do not linger in it. Instead, I force myself to sit up through the heaviness, to follow his touch and find it again in the darkness. There is intense resistance holding me down, like the weight of several lead blankets, but I force myself through it. Suddenly, I am free. The room comes into view, though I don’t remember opening my eyes.

I lift myself off the bed and stare at the door in front of me, a little uncertain about the point of this exercise.

“Impressive.” Matthew’s voice is right in my ear, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders as he stands behind me. I inhale sharply and move to turn toward him, but he holds me firmly, keeping me in place. “No, don’t turn around. If you see your body, it might shock you back to it.”

“What?” I choke.

See my body? Had I done it? I look down at my hands. They look real enough. I take a small step forward; the ground holds me in place, though I do note with some interest that the wooden boards of my bedroom don’t creak beneath my feet.

“Welcome, Kate. To the land below,” Matthew says, and I don’t miss the grim note in his voice. “Now, think of another location within your cottage. We’ll go there next.”

I move toward my door. No sooner do I think about heading back into the living room than a darkness passes over my eyes. When it lifts, I find myself transported, standing near my writing desk.

“Whoa,” I breathe, stopping in shock at the sudden change in scenery.

“Really, quite amazing,” Matthew says, once again from behind me. I whirl around to face him. He is standing beside the fireplace, which is still lit, but the flames are ghostly and strange, as if their light is shining from a different room, and not a single crackle emanates from the burning wood.

“I’ve really done it?” I ask, staring at Matthew. His eyes are bright and excited.

“I’ve never seen someone take to veil crossing so quickly,” he says, beaming. “You’re a natural! A true hedge witch.”

“I wish I could take credit, but I have no idea how I did whatever I did,” I admit, though I’m immensely pleased by his praise.

“Once you get the feel for it, it will get easier and easier. But we’re not done yet.” He walks over to me as he says this.

“You’ve already started to figure out the mist step, the ability to shift location at will. But this time we are going to aim further. Imagine yourself outside, at the edge of your garden—”

I don’t hear the rest of what he says before the darkness envelops me.

When it lifts, I am not in my garden, but I hadn’t expected to be. Because when Matthew said to imagine myself outside, my first thought was of my forest.

I stand among pine trees, but their familiar scent doesn’t fill my nose. They look strange, brittle. Like glass. Memories of the hellhounds come rushing back along with Matthew’s threat of other things lurking in the shadows. My heart begins to race as a surreal panic sets in. I’ve gone too far. Matthew won’t know where I am. The hellhounds will find me. I need to get out of these woods. I break out into a sprint, praying I make it back to my cottage before the forest knows I’m where I shouldn’t be. Twenty yards. I can hear Matthew calling my name in the distance. Ten yards. I shout back quickly, hoping he hears me. Five yards. The edge of the trees are so close, I can see the murky outlines of my cottage through the branches. I scan the area frantically for Matthew.

Hands grab my arm. “There you are.”

The shriek that escapes me is like a banshee’s cry, and I feel a tugging sensation in my stomach as shadows envelop me again.

The world comes into sharp relief. The air is bitterly cold, the ground hard and freezing. Where the sounds of the forest had been muted and muffled only moments ago, now the cacophony of the autumn night fills my ears. Crickets chirping, owl hoots, crunching grass beneath my feet, and the dying echoes of my screams shaking the branches of the trees around me. I turn wildly, searching for whoever grabbed me. I am alone only for a single breath until a quick swirl of shadow surrounds me. I open my mouth to scream, but it dies on my lips as Matthew steps out of the shadows and rushes over to me.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s me.” He pulls me close to him, his eyes scanning the night around us.

“We’re not safe. There was someone else here,” I say in a rush. “Someone grabbed me.”

“That was me,” Matthew says.

“No,” I argue. “It was before you came. They grabbed me but I screamed, and they disappeared.”

“That was me, Kate,” he repeats. “I grabbed you. The only reason I disappeared was because you corporealized and couldn’t see me anymore.”

“I did what?” I ask, breathless.

Matthew laughs.

“I have never seen a witch take so effortlessly to Shadow Walking while not even aware of it.” He chuckles. “I am in awe of you, Hecate Goodwin. It took me six months to learn what you just did.”

“Not exactly effortlessly,” I grumble, embarrassed. “I can’t even get directions right.”

“An easy fix with practice.” He smiles, running his fingers through my hair. “But you figured out the real trick, which is coming back to yourself. Look around. Welcome back to the land above.”

As soon as he says it, I know he’s right. When Shadow Walking, it had felt like moving in a dream. Everything slightly wrong, distant and near all at the same time. But now, it’s all so clear and real again.

I stare at my hands. “How—” I can’t even form the question.

“That is Shadow Walking. It’s not simply an astral projection. It’s calling your body to your spirit. Corporealization to a new location. With enough practice, you will be able to project and then materialize almost instantly.”

An owl hoots and I’m hyperaware of our vulnerable position out in the open.

“We should get back inside, we should—”

Matthew shakes his head. “We’re safe. You’re safe. I told you I extended the boundary. Nothing necrotic can come within a few miles of your cottage without my permission.”

I glance over to my back garden and the stones of my home, not more than twenty feet away. I’m relieved, knowing I don’t have to be afraid of the forest anymore. Still, I am shaken by Matthew’s display of care.

“That seems like a slight overexertion,” I say quietly. The amount of intention, sacrifice, and concentration it would take to maintain such a large spell is almost incomprehensible to me. Matthew shakes his head and cups my face with both his hands. My skin erupts with flushed heat from his touch.

“Not when it comes to protecting you. Brilliant, amazing, precious you,” he whispers as our eyes meet.

My heart clammers again. The thrill of my success, the exhilaration of his touch—it all erupts inside me. Burning, stunning desire. He is bent over me, his face so close to mine. I lean forward, closing the small gap between us, and press my lips to his.

The world tilts around me the moment we connect. Matthew’s breath hitches in surprise. He returns the kiss, his lips yearning and hungry as they find mine over and over again. His hands, once gentle around my face, grip fiercely into my hair, pressing me closer. I lean into the pleasure of it all, slowly wrapping my arms around him, letting myself be consumed by the scent of cinnamon and rain that has exploded around us.

My hands clutch at his back. Pent-up tension ripples through his shoulders and releases itself in the passion of the kiss. One of his hands remains swept up in my hair, the other trails down the side of my body. He wraps an arm around my waist and clutches me to him. I gasp, breathing sharply in the brief moments of reprieve. I want it to never end. But my head begins to swim, half from the pleasure, half from a desperate need for air.

Reluctantly, Matthew gives me one final slow and delicate kiss before pulling away. He rests his forehead against mine.

“You have no idea,” he whispers, his breath ragged, “how badly I have wanted to do that.” He buries his face in my hair and nuzzles my temple.

I huddle against him, shivering both from the cold and from his touch.

“Are you all right?” he asks, pulling away to look me over.

I nod and slowly lift my hand to his face, letting my fingers brush softly over his cheeks, his nose, his lips. He closes his eyes appreciatively at my caress.

“I think …” I pause, considering my words, not quite sure how to express the soaring emotion filling me in this moment. “I think the whole world might have rearranged itself.” I shake my head and laugh, embarrassed. But Matthew cups my chin with one of his hands and lifts my gaze to his.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he says softly, “because mine rearranged years ago.”

I’m transported in time. Back to ten years before. Back to when we were two friends standing together in a dust mote–filled beam of light inside the abandoned gatekeeper’s cottage. The way he had looked at me before my mother found us. The same way he’d looked at me when he showed up on my doorstep a week ago. How he had sent his magic out to greet me like you would an old friend or lover. How his eyes had filled, not with smug mischief as I’d always believed, but with awe and adoration.

He is looking at me in that same way now, at the edge of Ipswich Forest. It all clicks together, his behavior since we met. His protection, his help, his support. Even through all the secrets, that constant undercurrent of care and attention. There are still so many questions to be answered. But those can wait until tomorrow. For now, I just want to exist in this moment. This moment in which I simultaneously know I love him and know he has loved me for a third of my life.