Chapter 1

One

Gemdelyn

When I walked into my bookshop and apothecary on this crisp fall morning, the last thing I expected to find was a leather-bound book the color of human flesh sitting on my counter. A shiver ran down my spine as I sensed the dark energy radiating from it. I had no idea what this book was, but something about it felt profoundly wrong.

Curiosity and dread battled within me as I opened the cover. The writing inside was in red ink—or so I thought. Leaning closer, my stomach churned as I realized it wasn’t ink at all. It was blood.

What kind of book is this, and why is it in my shop? I wondered as I continued to flip through the pages.

This must be fake. No one would make such a thing. But the deeper I delved, the more undeniable the truth became. This was no ordinary book—it was an ancient spellbook. Yet, as I scanned its contents, I realized I could only decipher about half of it. The rest was written in languages so foreign that I hadn’t even heard of them before.

Why was this here now? Where did it come from? My thoughts raced with questions until the sharp trill of my phone’s alarm broke the spell. Sighing, I silenced the alarm. I had to get to town hall for the committee meeting to finalize the Samhain festival plans. There were only three days left until Samhain—the biggest holiday for our witch community.

I slid the book under the register, deciding to deal with it later. Wrapping my red button-down coat around myself and tucking my plaid scarf into the collar for warmth, I left the shop, locking the door behind me. The short walk to town hall took me through Haven, our little town in Vermont, where autumn was in full swing. The morning air was crisp, and the wind sent leaves skittering across the sidewalk, a reminder of the season's vibrant energy.

Town hall was an old granite building that had stood since the town’s founding in the 1700s. I walked up the worn steps to the large wooden doors and pushed one open. The wind tried to catch the heavy door, but it failed as I closed it behind me and headed toward the meeting room.

“Ah, Gem, there you are,” Mayor Lightfoot greeted me with a warm smile on her wrinkled face. She was the eldest witch in town—next to my own grandmother, of course. But Gram wanted nothing to do with politics; she preferred to help me in the store.

“Sorry, I got distracted at the shop,” I replied, offering no further explanation until I knew more about the book. I’d definitely need to talk to Gram about it later. Mayor Lightfoot just nodded and smiled in understanding.

Running the largest apothecary in town kept me busy. As a kitchen witch, I knew the community needed a well-stocked store for the many ingredients we used. Over time, I started carrying recipe and spell books, including rare ones that were hard to find. Soon, people began requesting other obscure books, and with enough interest—and some "gentle" nudging from Gram—I bought the space next door and expanded the shop into what it is now: half bookstore, half apothecary.

Owning a successful shop that drew witches and humans alike from all over kept me constantly occupied. It’s why I was the youngest witch on the committee at thirty-five. Earning the trust and respect I had usually took decades, but my hard work and dedication had fast-tracked my standing in the community, a position most witches wouldn’t achieve until they were Gram’s age.

Turning my attention back to the Samhain festival, I mentally reviewed the plan. We would close down Main Street, allowing patrons to wander through the shops until six p.m. A jack-o’-lantern contest was scheduled, with judging also at six p.m. Then, right down the middle of Main Street, food vendors would set up for the feast portion of the festival, serving from four until ten p.m. At eight, we’d light the bonfire, where people could gather for cider and caramel apples.

While this wasn’t a traditional Samhain celebration, it had become a beloved event, drawing humans and witches from all over. Thousands of people would flood our town over Halloween weekend. Although we honored Samhain, the kids in town also loved the Americanized Halloween with its costumes and trick-or-treating. Our festival had grown to embrace both traditions, creating a unique blend that kept everyone coming back year after year.

After finalizing the festival plans, my only remaining task was to supply the ingredients for my friend Ophelia and her husband, Cormac, who run the bakery next door. Ophelia and I are the same age and went to school together, so we’ve been friends forever. With that in mind, I headed back to my shop to grab the mysterious book and then go see Gram.

But when I walked into the shop, Gram was already there. Though she was well into her 100s, she didn’t look a day over 60. That’s the thing about us witches—we age slower than humans. Her hair had only turned silver a decade ago, and her gray eyes mirrored my own. While I was curvy—okay, extra curvy—Gram was thin and spry. She’d raised me since I was a baby; my mom hadn’t wanted a child, and my dad was never in the picture.

“Gram, I was just about to come see you,” I said, setting my bag down in the office behind the counter. That’s when I noticed what she was holding. “Yeah, that’s what I needed to talk to you about.”

“Where did you get this?” she asked, flipping through the pages with a furrowed brow.

“It was here when I arrived this morning,” I replied. “Can you understand all of it?”

“No, not all of it. But this isn’t just a spell book. There’s something dark about it,” she said, her voice tinged with a weariness I’d never heard before. I had never seen Gram this shaken. “You’re sure it just showed up here?”

“Yes, Gram, I swear,” I said, growing uneasy as I watched her reaction. “What do I do with it?”

“There’s a reason it showed up here,” Gram said, her eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and something else I couldn’t quite place. “There’s a professor in Knottwood who can translate this. He’s a warlock about your age, but his grandfather was a well-traveled and highly knowledgeable warlock.”

“Was?” I prompted, sensing there was more to the story.

“He passed about ten years ago—bad heart,” Gram replied, her tone softening. She always kept her love life very private. My grandfather had died when my mom was a young girl, and I had never seen Gram with anyone else since.

I nodded in understanding and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She offered me a small smile in return. “Knottwood is three hours away; I’d better go pack,” I said. She nodded, then shooed me off with a wave of her hand.

Leaving the shop, I stepped to the left and entered my apartment. Living right above my store saved me a lot of money, especially now that I owned both buildings. When I knocked down the wall between the shops, I did the same with the apartments. Now, I had a large, open-concept space with a spacious master bedroom and en suite, plus a decent-sized guest room for when Gram stayed over.

I packed a bag for a few days, just in case. Then I went back downstairs to find Gram. “Will you be okay by yourself for a couple of days if it takes a while?” I asked, hugging her.

She pulled back, her hands resting on my upper arms. “Yes, my Gem, I’ll be fine. I’ll call in the girls.” The girls were her two long-time best friends—essentially my aunts—so I trusted them to handle things at the shop.

I kissed her cheek. “You’re more than welcome to stay upstairs if you’d like.”

“We’ll see. You know I like my space.” I nodded and gave her a warm smile. “Text me when you get there and keep me updated.”

“Yes, Gram, I will.” I grabbed my bag and the mysterious book, then sat in the driver’s seat, already dreading the trip ahead.