Chapter 30

30

CAROLINA

T he small brass bell above the door of Thorn & Thistle jingles softly as Declan and I step inside. The warm scent of dried herbs and candle wax envelops us immediately. The shop feels like stepping into another world, a haven of magic and quiet power. It settles me.

Behind the counter, rows of shelves are lined with jars and bottles, each labeled in Esme’s neat handwriting. Each one is filled with ingredients that most people wouldn’t look twice at, but to witches, each one is a tool—each one has a purpose.

Esme’s leaning over the counter as she carefully arranges a set of black tourmaline crystals into a small wooden box. The soft glow of candlelight flickers across the room, casting long shadows that dance against the dark green walls. It’s peaceful here, almost too peaceful considering everything that’s happening in Grove Meadow. But that’s Esme’s magic, I suppose. She creates calm where there should be chaos.

“Esme,” I call out softly as we approach, not wanting to startle her.

She straightens, her face breaking into a warm smile when she sees us. “Carolina, Detective O'Reilly. You're right on time. The crystals are ready. ”

She slides the box across the counter as we approach, her movements steady and sure, like someone who’s been practicing magic for centuries instead of just a few decades. I can sense the charge from the crystals even before I touch them—a soft hum of energy that pulses just beneath the surface, strong and ready. They’ve been specially enchanted, their power drawn from the earth and charged with protection spells that should be enough to ward off whatever dark magic is swirling through Grove Meadow. At least for the time being.

Declan, ever the skeptic, stands beside me, his gaze shifting from Esme to the crystals with that familiar mix of curiosity and wariness.

“These will help?” he asks, his voice low but firm. There’s an edge to his tone, a need for assurance that what we’re doing isn’t just grasping at straws. That they’ll actually help keep us safe.

Esme nods, her expression soft but serious. “Yes. The crystals are charged with protection charms, powerful ones. They’ll help create a barrier around wherever you place them, keep out any unwanted energy.” Her eyes flick to me for a moment, something unsaid lingering in the air between us.

She knows we’re up against something bigger than just a few missing people. Something darker. But we don’t say it out loud.

Declan’s eyes narrow slightly, his sharp instincts clearly picking up on something as he leans closer. “What’s that smell?”

I hadn’t noticed it at first, but now that he’s pointed it out, I catch the faint scent of sulfur hanging in the air, acrid and sharp, mixing with the usual earthy smell of the shop. It’s subtle, but it’s there, like something clinging to the edges of the room.

Esme, ever composed, doesn’t flinch. “Sulfur is part of the process,” she says easily, her hands wrapping the crystals in a small velvet pouch. “It’s used in the charm for grounding. Helps bind the magic to the crystals, ensuring they hold their charge.”

Declan doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he nods, letting it go. I’m not sure if he trusts Esme or magic generally, but I trust her, and that’s enough.

I step forward and take the pouch from Esme’s hands, feeling the weight of it in my palm. The crystals hum softly against my skin, their power vibrating through me, and for a brief moment, I feel that same stillness I had earlier, that sense of quiet satisfaction that comes when something is finally right. But it’s fleeting. There’s too much to worry about, too much at stake for me to hold onto that peace for long.

“Thank you,” I say, meeting Esme’s gaze. She knows I’m not just thanking her for the crystals. I’m thanking her for the work she’s done for us and for being one of the few people we can rely on.

“Stay safe, Carolina,” she says softly, her eyes lingering on me for a moment. “Both of you.”

Declan gives her a small nod before turning toward the door, and I follow him out into the cool autumn air.

I call Camila to tell her we’re on our way back, and we agree to spend the rest of the day working out the new prophecy. She says that Silas hasn’t heard from Sam yet, so we’ve got no other information to go on.

Declan unlocks the car, and I slide into the passenger seat, cradling the pouch of crystals in my lap as if they could anchor me to something solid. I glance at him as he settles into the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other one on my thigh.

The quiet stretches on as we pull out of the parking lot, the soft purr of the engine the only sound filling the car. I can feel the questions swirling inside him, the things he wants to ask but isn’t sure how to. And I know I should say something—anything—but I can’t find the right words.

My magic, for once, feels satisfied, almost content, like it’s found something it’s been searching for. But the feeling is edged in fear for what could happen and what almost happened to Declan.

I can’t bring myself to regret telling him the truth when he asked about the stakeout. He deserved to know, but the presence of the truth is heavy between us.

Maybe he would have chosen differently if he’d known that he’d already almost died in this lifetime.

Declan glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to break the silence. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shifts his focus back to the road, his jaw clenched in that way I’ve realized happens when he’s deep in thought.

The road back to Grove Meadow is dark and winding, the trees lining the edges casting long shadows that seem to stretch out toward us as we pass. The day is gloomy, and a fog starts to roll in as we get close to town. I shiver, but it’s not from the cold. There’s something in the air, something I can’t quite place, but it’s there, lurking just beyond the edge of my senses.

We’re almost to Cup & Cauldron when Declan finally speaks. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as if he’s unsure whether to say the words or let them hang in the silence between us. “Carolina…about this morning.”

I stiffen slightly, my grip tightening on the pouch in my lap. I knew this was coming, but now that it’s here, I’m not sure how to respond. My magic stirs beneath my skin, a soft, restless hum, like it’s waiting for me to say something. But I can’t. Not yet. Not when everything is still so raw, so uncertain .

“I should have—” I start, but the words catch in my throat. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to explain what happened, how to make sense of the way my magic reacted to him, the way it felt so…complete.

Declan shakes his head, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead. “I know why you didn’t,” he says softly, almost as if he understands what I’m struggling to say. “Thank you…for saving me.”

I give him a tight-lipped smile when he looks at me. Eventually, we’d need to discuss things. Perhaps after we dealt with whatever this joined power was, we’d be able to…try. Try being mirror souls. Try being together.

Yes, if we survived this. We could try.

Declan pulls into a space in front of the shop, and the unease that’s been building inside me all evening sharpens into something more tangible. The lights in the shop are off, the windows dark, and there’s no sign of Camila. I frown, stepping out of the car as a chill runs down my spine. Something’s wrong.

“Camila?” I call out as I push open the door, the familiar jingle of the bell above it doing little to calm the knot tightening in my chest. The shop feels…off. The air is thick with something I can’t quite name, something dark and heavy.

Declan steps in behind me, his hand instinctively going to the small of my back as we move further inside. “Where is she?” he asks, his voice low, steady.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my eyes scanning the empty space.

I move behind the counter, and that’s when I see it—a note hastily scrawled in Camila’s handwriting. My heart sinks as I read the words .

Bas called me down to the station to answer some questions. Be back soon. Don’t worry.

Don’t worry. As if it’s that simple. As if I’m capable of not worrying when everything about this feels wrong. My fingers tighten around the note, crumpling it slightly in my hand.

“Bas called her down to the station,” I say, showing it to Declan. His frown deepens as he reads it, his worry echoing mine.

“That’s strange,” he murmurs, his brow furrowing. “Bas didn’t mention anything about needing to interview her. I gave him enough paperwork to last weeks. Maybe he found something and thought Camila had information. I’ll call him.”

I look around the shop, and something still feels off, but I can’t place it.

“No answer,” Declan says, sliding his phone in his pocket. “He’s probably in the middle of interrogating her.”

Shaking my head and wrapping my arms around myself, I ask, “But why wouldn’t she just text me?”

Declan lifts a shoulder. “Maybe she tried, and we were in a dead spot on the drive, so it didn’t go through?”

I feel the familiar tingle of anxiety creep up my spine. “Let’s go to the magic room. We need to figure out this prophecy from Annabelle. I’m sure we’ll hear from Camila soon.”

Declan nods, following me toward the back of the shop. The magic room feels safer and more contained, but even the familiar scent of herbs and old spellbooks can’t settle the unease gnawing at me. I pull out my notebook, flipping through the pages where I’ve been scribbling down everything I can about the prophecy, but my thoughts are scattered. I can’t focus .

Declan hovers beside me as I try and organize my thoughts, his presence equal parts grounding and distracting.

“Show it to me again,” he says. I turn the notebook toward him, the page with the updated prophecy open. His brows furrow, and his jaw clenches.

“‘Spirits are drawn into the void.’ This has to refer to the disappearances. You said that the demon had taken over Elijah’s body, right? Maybe their souls are going to the void.”

I nod slowly, processing. My thoughts are becoming clearer. “‘When men fall, a darkness will return.’ They’re using the souls to summon a wielder of dark magic.”

Declan looks at me. “But who ? Who’s summoning it?”

This was the question. Nightcrawler said it wasn’t demons.

“And what’s this ‘joined power?’” Declan asks, tapping the notebook paper. “We’ve been thinking that it must be two individuals working together to summon whatever it is, but is it possible that it’s what stops it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if it’s fate that this thing is summoned? ‘The threads of fate intertwine, heralding either ruin or redemption’ and ‘a darkness will return, and a joined power will rule the worlds of might and magic.’ Maybe this is a prophecy not about the ruin of the Mortal World, but its salvation.”

“Even if that’s true, we still don’t know who either of those things are about,” I tell him, turning the notebook back toward me to study it again.

“Maybe Luna and Silas know something about other prophecies and this ‘joined power.’ Looking at it from a different perspective could yield something new.”

He could be right. If the ‘joined power’ was meant to save us from whatever dark power was being summoned, then?—

Declan’s phone rings in his pocket .

“It’s the captain,” he says, his brow furrowing as he answers. “O’Reilly.”

I watch him carefully, the tension in his body telling me something’s wrong. My heart thuds in my chest, and I have to remind myself to breathe as I wait for him to speak.

“What do you mean, ‘where am I?’” Declan’s voice is tight, sharper than usual. “I thought Bas was interviewing Camila at the station.”

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat.

“He hasn’t been there since yesterday?” Declan’s expression hardens, and my stomach drops. “No. No, I didn’t know. We’ve been… Look, I’ll figure it out.”

When he hangs up, the look on his face is enough to send a wave of panic through me.

“Bas isn’t at the station,” Declan says, his voice grim. “He hasn’t been there since yesterday, and the captain is pissed. He thought we were both off the radar together.”

If Bas isn’t at the station with Camila, then where is he? And where the hell is Camila?

The panic I’ve been trying to keep at bay surges forward, threatening to overwhelm me. I push past Declan and head back out into the shop, my heart racing.

“Luna—Luna?” I call out aloud and through our bond, reaching for the familiar thread that’s always there, always connecting us. But there’s nothing. No response.

A cold chill grips my chest. “I can’t feel Luna,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Something’s wrong. Something’s really, really wrong.”

Declan’s hand is on my shoulder, trying to pull me to the surface, but it’s not enough. I feel like I’m spiraling. “What do you mean you can’t feel her?”

I don’t answer him because that’s when I see it—the painting on the wall. Charmingly Familiar . The one that always changes with the seasons, the one that always feels alive. But something’s different.

I move toward the painting on the far wall. My heart skips a beat as I draw closer, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

Silas and Luna, normally so present, so full of life, are still. Too still. Trapped within the painting, their forms frozen as if they’ve been bound by something—or someone.

“They’re trapped,” I murmur, my voice barely audible as the realization crashes over me.

“What?” Declan’s voice is sharp, and I can feel his eyes on me, searching for an explanation.

“The familiars,” I say, pointing at the painting. “It feels different. They should be able to come and go from that painting. It’s been spelled. Something’s trapped them in there.”

Declan steps up beside me, his hand brushing against mine, sending a jolt of warmth through my skin. “Who could have done this?”

I shake my head, my heart pounding in my chest. “I don’t know,” I say, the words barely escaping my lips. Panic tightens my chest, and I feel like I’m drowning. “If they’re trapped, then Camila…”

I can’t finish the sentence. The weight of it, the fear, it’s too much. I swallow hard, trying to push down the rising dread, but it’s no use.

“We need to find her,” I say, my voice shaky. “Now.”