Prologue Autumn

M arriage among witches means sharing power.

It is our duty as Sinclairs to keep the magic alive.

-Entries from the personal diaries of John Sinclair, the founder of the Sinclair Coven.

(Six months ago)

Magic is wondrous and infinite, like the ocean and its depths. We, as witches, have only explored the surface like a sailor's ship at sea. But just like the ocean, magic can be dangerous, dark, and unforgiving.

A witch's power stems from their family and is passed on through the generations. And it just so happens that my family, the Sinclairs, are some of the most powerful witches here in the United States.

Every family has its traditions and rituals on how exactly that magic is passed on from person to person, but since my family comes from such a prestigious line of witches, that also means our traditions are a little…archaic.

This means a Sinclair from each generation needs to marry to keep the magic alive; it's our biggest stipulation. That responsibility usually falls on the firstborn, but my older brother has been missing for the better part of a year. According to my family, he ran from his responsibilities. Which, unfortunately for me, means marrying for love is no longer an option.

Hence why I'm sitting at my favorite gazebo in the park, waiting for my blind date to show up. All around me, people go about enjoying their day, walking in and out of the colorful shops of downtown Heart's Hollow. A dragon shifter with translucent purple wings enters the apothecary just across the street. Off to my left, a group of three teenage witches practice their spell work by making the leaves and branches levitate a foot or two off the ground.

My attention flickers back to the beautiful plant that climbs up the gazebo. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back and savor the refreshing scent before the rain.

A throat clears. I glance up and do a double-take. Orson Bastone, my brother's betrothed. Orson smirks that familiar lopsided grin. His blond hair falls forward just so. The man thinks he's a dreamboat, but he's always seemed a little off. A little too perfect with his square jaw and calculating eyes. But even so, all I see now when I look at Orson is my missing brother.

I offer him a small smile. "Orson, how are you?"

"Good, good." He sits next to me, pressing in close so that our thighs touch. "You look beautiful as always, Autumn."

My shoulders tense, and I scoot over a few inches. Okay. That's new. The man had never flirted with me before.

Orson doesn't seem to notice my discomfort.

"I'm so sorry, Orson, but I'm actually waiting for someone." I chuckle, trying to act casual. "You know how my mom is, always worried they won't find me a husband in time."

His grin widens. "Actually, that's why I'm here."

"What do you mean?" My stomach twists. Oh gods, please don't let him say what I think he's going to say.

"I'm your blind date."

My lips purse and I scoot even further away from his knowing gaze. "What are you talking about?"

"Your mother, I convinced her to set us up."

I shake my head in horror. "But you're promised to my brother."

He waves a hand in front of him. "What brother?" Orson glances around dramatically and even peers under the seat as if my brother might appear. "I don't see him here to claim my hand."

Keeping my mouth shut, I don't reply. How could I? Anger sizzles through me and I have to sit on my hands to hide the magic trying to spark from my fingertips. ‘What brother?' Is he serious?

That creepy, unsettling feeling I always get around Orson is back. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the brother you've been looking for… supposedly. I mean, you're the one in charge of his search party. I would hope you know what brother I'm talking about."

Orson's eyes narrow, not used to me snapping. I've always been the quiet brother. The pretty, delicate, demure Sinclair. Well, news flash, I'm not that way when it comes to protecting my family.

Just as Orson opens his mouth to speak, his phone rings. He swipes ignore only to have it ring again.

"Do you need to get that?" I nod at his phone. "Looks important."

Orson stands, eyes still suspicious. His phone rings again, and he growls with frustration. "Yeah, give me a minute," he says in a sharp tone. Looks like the flirty Orson is gone. I shudder. Good riddance.

As soon as he walks out of earshot, I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out a little bottle with the red potion I've spent weeks making. Perfect timing. A moment like this is rare, and I need to take advantage of the fact that Orson and I are alone.

I pop the lid off, pouring the slick liquid into my cupped palm and immediately start chanting. The potion shimmers and evaporates, turning into smoke and floating toward its target. Orson paces back and forth, but the potion finds him easily, and he breathes it in without realizing it.

I continue to chant, repeating the spell just in case.

"Sorry about that," Orson says, rushing back to me and pocketing his phone.

I offer him a wide smile, hoping it distracts him from how upset he was with me just moments before.

Orson's eyes linger on my lips, and I try not to squirm.

Instead, I stand. Meeting him at the opening of the gazebo, I lean against the white wood rail. I grace my fingers over his hand, knowing my potion will work better if there is contact before I begin my line of questions.

"I'm sorry about snapping at you," I say, hoping my tone is flirty. "I've been on edge. I just miss my brother so much. Has there been any progress, or have you found any clues on his whereabouts?"

I don't actually need Orson to answer my questions. It's not like I slipped him a truth serum. No, this potion is something special I found in the family grimoire. This potion works together with the protection wards that are placed all around Heart's Hollow.

Even though Heart's Hollow is a sanctuary town, the protection wards have their limits. It kicks people out of the town or prevents them from entering if they mean harm to anyone who lives within its borders, but if that person means harm to someone outside of the borders, well, the spell can't really detect that.

My potion will temporarily help extend those wards to a specific person. As long as I can get Orson to focus on my brother, then I can see if he means my brother harm.

"Nothing new. Your brother just really doesn't want to be found," Orson replies. His answer isn't a surprise. It's nothing new, but the big beads of sweat that break out over Orson's upper lip are.

"Do you think something bad has happened to him?" I ask, careful not to accuse Orson.

"I'm not sure what you mean." Orson's breathing comes out a little shaky.

My eyes widen when he pulls out a teal silk handkerchief and dabs his forehead. He's totally fucking guilty. Damn. Why the hell did I not give him truth serum, too? "I don't know, something bad. Maybe he got hurt, or someone is holding him against his will?"

Something flashes in Orson's eyes. His body gives a violent jerk. Orson catches himself by grasping the railing of the gazebo.

That isn't good. At. All. He knows something.

My heart begins to pound. I don't want Orson to be suspicious of me. If he's holding my brother captive or knows where he is, I need to be on Orson's good side.

I trace my fingers over Orson's cheek before trailing them down to his hand. "You said you talked my mom into this blind date?"

His mouth falls open as he studies my fingers lacing with his. After a moment, he shakes himself out of it. Sweat beads across his face and stains are forming on his dress shirt. I get the feeling my potion isn't just working with the wards, but that it's trying to push him out of Heart's Hollow.

"Yes, but I think I'm going to have to take a rain check," he pants. "I'm suddenly not feeling so good."

Panic takes over my mind. This is the closest I've ever felt to getting any answers. I'm certain that Orson knows where my brother is. Not wanting this opportunity to slip past, I pull Orson into a hug. I try not to react when his disgusting wet shirt hits my cheek.

At first, he doesn't respond, but then he wraps his arms around me and returns the hug. Before he can sense what I'm doing, I silently chant the beginning stages of a tracking spell. I slide my hand up to his hair and grasp his sweaty scalp. I pluck out a couple of hairs. It'll take all night for the spell to take place, but at least I'll be able to track him.

As long as he doesn't go too far past the town limits, it should be easy to find him. The spell itself will only last about two or three days, but that should be plenty of time to help my brother.

Orson says his goodbyes and stumbles away, unaware that he's acting strange.

The moment I step out from under the gazebo onto the grass, fat raindrops greet my face. I raise my eyes to the sky and watch the dark clouds as they roll closer. Looks like the storm is arriving sooner than expected.

My fingers caress the beautiful purple wisteria growing on the gazebo. Sending a spark of magic into its flowers, the magical plant sways with happiness before climbing a little higher. I've been growing and nourishing these flowers for the past year. It's a silent message to my brother, telling him not to give up hope. Reminding him I'm still searching for him, and won't give up.

I thought that the tracking potion with Orson's hair might take a full day to brew, but when I wake up the next morning, I notice it's ready.

Eagerly, I open the Sinclair grimoire and flip the pages until I see the correct spell. There. ‘ To Find the One You are Seeking. ' I pull out my map of Heart's Hollow and the surrounding cities, then reach for my clear quartz. This crystal clears any clutter or distractions from my mind and will help me find Orson.

With my eyes closed, I position the crystal on the map and begin chanting. As it searches for its target, the crystal scrapes against the paper loudly.

Found him. I gasp. Orson's shape is vaguely discernible in my mind's eye. He's moving through a dimly lit room. It's impossible for me to see his surroundings or any furniture around him.

Finally, Orson flips on a light, and I see him.

My brother.

My complete focus is on the two of them, carefully listening to their muffled words.

Tears fill my eyes. This whole time, my brother has been held captive and tortured by Orson this whole fucking time.

Orson mocks my brother and leans in to whisper something inaudible. I catch a glimpse of a blade, but the distortion makes it difficult to make out. My brother reaches for the blade and uses it to stab Orson.

My heart is beating rapidly.

There's no way he's going to escape. Orson heals himself quickly.

As I'm about to abandon all hope, a whirlwind of shadows appears and screams pierce the silence. The image blacks out and I gasp.

Oh gods. Orson's dead.

My vision is consumed by darkness before I pass out.

I come to a while later.

What the hell were those shadows? Did they hurt my brother too?

Leaping to my feet, I hurriedly make my way to my desk, battling against a sudden bout of dizziness. Yanking the drawer open, I rummage around until I find the item I'm looking for. My brother's wallet. The one father gave him before he passed. It's how I know something happened to him. There's no chance in hell he'd willingly go anywhere without it.

Praying to all the gods, I close my eyes and chant. After a year of failing, the spell finally works. Whatever was blocking me from finding my brother before is finally gone.

Orson is really gone. He's dead. And my brother? The magic of my spell allows me to feel his presence. He's alive.

Happiness and other positive emotions threaten to make me light-headed again. My brother is okay. I sense his guilt and torment clearly through the magic, and I am convinced that my brother is too ashamed to return home.

He needs time.

As long as he's alive and healing, I can give him that. It was wrong of my mom to force him into an arranged marriage, but our family will soon run out of time. The core Sinclair magic living inside of Nana will need to be transferred.

I can do that for my big brother. I'll find someone to marry so he doesn't have to.