Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

VALERIA

T he day before the trees died, I wasn't thinking about magic. I was thinking about a boy.

In my defense, the boy was Luke Nichols. Luke smelled like pine and beat-up leather. He had one of those Roman noses with a perfect little bump on the bridge. When I began my senior year at Dorado High, Luke felt like a single star in the otherwise dark sky that was my life. And he'd just texted: we need to talk.

I stood in the girls' bathroom, phone in hand, my eyes fixed on the ominous words. The fact that he'd sent a text at all felt wrong. Though we'd been together a year, he rarely contacted me by phone. He was more of a float-pebbles-at-your-bedroom-window kind of guy. Even now, a thrill tickled its way up my spine as I thought of the gentle tap of stone on glass, the sight of him standing below on the dewy lawn, the night dark around him. It was as easy to recall these things as it was to feel his hands around my waist, the rough bark on my back as we kissed against an ancient evergreen. The memories were welcome. Still, thinking of him now, I couldn't help but see the distant look that had clouded his eyes lately.

Before responding, I rummaged through my purse and retrieved my favorite shade of lipstick, Reckless Red. I ran it over my lips, then blotted the excess color with a brown paper towel from the dispenser.

Sure, see you at the palms. 10 minutes. I hit send , hoping my reply conveyed none of the panic that buzzed in my chest.

Before turning to leave, I scrutinized my image in the mirror. I wasn't na?ve; I knew I was blessed with the kind of natural beauty that made people stare, that made people go quiet when I spoke. Still, I scrunched up my nose at my reflection, changing the part in my hair from left to right and back again. From my right bra cup, I withdrew a tiny vial of rose oil.

"Rose, lend me your beauty," I whispered, holding the vial to my lips. "Let none be fairer."

I dabbed a few drops on each cheek. Instantly, it was like a light had ignited somewhere within me, bathing my features in a gentle glow. I smiled.

That's when I heard the screams.

A boy on the quad was howling like he'd just lost a limb. When I hurried outside, I saw Benjamin Lewis standing on the grass, a cascade of smoldering liquid running from his mouth and dripping onto his black Adidas. His chin was bright red and starting to blister. He still gripped a paper coffee cup in one hand, little plumes of steam rising from the caustic liquid within.

So Celeste had decided to try that extra-complicated love spell she'd been eyeing in our Book of Shadows. If properly executed, the potion would prompt Benjamin to reveal any hidden crushes he might be harboring. It was intended to bring hidden feelings bubbling to the surface. The only thing bubbling now was Benjamin's first layer of skin. This would require damage control.

Celeste stood a few feet away from him in a short white sundress, her blond hair braided around her head like a halo. The youngest member of our coven, she looked as innocent as an angel plucked off the top of somebody's Christmas tree. But as she watched him struggle, there was no fear in her eyes. From across the crowd of onlookers, she shot me a sheepish look that seemed to say, Oops. A knot formed in my stomach.

Since we were kids, our parents had drilled two sacred rules into our heads. The first was to hide our magic from non-witches, aptly referred to as Mundanes. The second was to take full advantage of the forces of the universe.

Our parents were the kind of witches who used their power almost exclusively for personal gain. At coven gatherings, we recited the phrase success and abundance so often, they felt like our unofficial slogan. It had never struck me as unusual for us to practice magic this way. The pursuit of wealth was woven into our coven's history like a golden thread.

In the early days of the Gold Rush, our coven's founder, Delfina Garcia, had heard there were riches waiting to be discovered in California. Who better to find them than those with a certain magical advantage? Her fledgling coven had packed up their lucky jasper stones and green money candles and traveled here, to the place where the redwoods meet the winding river. It wasn't long before they struck it rich, settled here, and named this town Dorado, an enduring tribute to the pursuit of fortune.

So our ancestors cared as much about wealth as they did moon cycles. It sounded a little icky, even to me, yet I couldn't deny how special things were here. Witches were rare and getting rarer; those who remained were scattered, lonely dots on the map of the world, far from others of their kind. Most of the American covens dissolved long ago, driven apart by hardship or suspicious Mundanes. Yet ours has held fast for almost two hundred years, generation after generation continuing the pursuit of money and prominence. Perhaps that was the glue that held us together, kept us strong.

None of us coven kids were a stranger to luxury. When the coven founded Dorado, they forged a road winding deep into the redwoods. Each member built a home along it, far from the eyes of Mundane villagers. We still live in those houses today—towering Victorian structures with grand, echoing rooms and high, proud archways. Our own private opulence among the trees.

The lunch bell rang. Luke's talk would have to wait.

I pulled out my phone and texted meet at the palms, now to the coven. I headed toward our regular spot, bidding Celeste to follow with an impatient flick of my wrist. As teachers flocked to the screaming boy, we made our way through the quad, the crowd parting for us as we went.

The old art building sat at the top of a grassy slope. Towering palms stood on either side of the building's entrance, providing shade and a certain degree of ambiance. The building itself now housed a bunch of old gym mats and some obsolete science equipment, so there was never any foot traffic. Besides, the rest of the kids seemed to have an unspoken understanding: the Palms belonged to the strange rich kids from Cascabel Road.

When we reached our destination, Celeste and I paused, gazing at the tiny figures on the quad below.

"Was this about homecoming? ‘Cause you know plenty of boys would happily go with you, no magic required," I said to her.

"Unless they thought they had a chance to go with you , Valeria. And besides, I wanted that boy." She added woefully, "Your mom's gonna kill me."

My mom was our coven's high priestess, and though she'd stop short of killing Celeste, she was capable of maiming a young ego with little more than a well-timed glare and a raise of one perfectly groomed brow. The knot in my stomach tightened.

The position of high priestess had always been held by a woman from the Garcia family, and I was next in line. My mom expected me to look after our new generation, to keep them out of trouble. These duties were all part of her ongoing quest to transform me into the kind of leader she thought I should be—the way an oyster creates something shiny and hard and perfect through constant pressure. A solitary pearl inside her jaws.

Anger welled within me. My mom would see this as my fault. I wanted to shake Celeste, scream at her that she'd been a careless idiot. I watched as she settled herself on the grass, smoothing her skirt neatly over her knees. She looked younger than her fifteen years.

I took a long breath, then released it. "Let's wait until everyone gets here. Then we'll figure out how we spin this."

I checked the group text.

On my way! Max had replied within seconds. Max was Celeste's older brother and a general coven enthusiast, so his quick response was expected. An eye roll emoji from Petra. Jayden had sent a meme with a reference I didn't get. And Luke…hadn't replied.

I scrolled idly through Instagram, letting Celeste sit in uncomfortable silence. My fingers danced past photos of Mundanes and their small triumphs—sports victories, shopping hauls, a group of girls laughing with their arms around each other, eager to boast their friendship to the world.

At last, I stopped on the image I'd been searching for: the last photo I'd posted of Luke and me. In it, we stood in front of Luke's cherished old convertible, a black 1963 Ford Falcon. I smiled at him as he gazed into the distance, looking handsome but a little uneasy. The Falcon's hood gleamed in the sun. A slew of positive comments from our Mundane classmates followed the post.

Adorbs! :)

3 3 3

Damn, hottest couple ever!

Fire!

The compliments felt good, though I could practically feel the jealousy behind them. In truth, perhaps the jealousy felt even better.

I'd made Jayden take about twenty pictures of us before I'd been able to get a usable one. Luke was a horrible model, despite his looks. He found the whole process uncomfortably vain. I liked that about him. Luke never seemed to get hung up on the trivial things most people his age did. Maybe he really didn't care what others thought of him—or maybe he just had heavier stuff to worry about.

Luke and I had grown up together, but I hadn't thought much about him until an ill-fated class field trip when we were thirteen. Our class had visited Bodie, California, an abandoned Gold Rush town a sweaty three-hour bus ride from Dorado. I guessed our teachers wanted us to gain a better sense of Dorado's own gold-digging history, but I was less than intrigued. Our coven knew more about that than they ever would.

We'd spent the day strolling through the empty streets, gazing through windows at the relics former residents had left behind—an ancient player piano missing half its keys, a rusting wire bed frame, a roulette table covered in an inch of dust. Our class had been listening to a park ranger drone on about mining equipment when the adults noticed Luke was missing. Panicked teachers sent us out in groups to wander the dirt roads, calling his name.

No one bothered to search the houses, which were all padlocked. But I knew better. For Luke and me, springing a lock was simple elemental magic. Just a question of willing the metal to do what you wanted.

I split off from my designated group and began peering into windows, searching the shadows of homes left untouched for a hundred years. Before long, I found him sitting in the dark corner of what used to be somebody's living room. The room was empty, except for a broken bookshelf against the wall and a few old toys strewn across the floor as if some Victorian ghost child had abandoned them there.

He looked up at me when I nudged the door open. I'd known Luke forever. Our parents were both in the coven and his house was next to mine on Cascabel, making him literally the boy next door. Things had never been complicated between us. But as his eyes met mine in that empty room, I suddenly found myself unsure of what to say.

Luke had always been outgoing, vibrant, but a few months prior, his mom had packed up and left town after some big argument with Luke's dad. Irreconcilable differences could happen between witches just as easily as with the Mundanes. Ever since, Luke had been distant. He spoke rarely and smiled even less.

"Just leave me, Valeria," he'd said in a low voice. "Turn around and say you never saw me."

"I can't just leave you," I'd reasoned.

"Sure you can," he'd replied bitterly. "It's easy."

I'd pretended not to hear the sharpness in his tone. "Why are you hiding in here, anyway?"

"I think I belong here," he said.

I looked at Luke. He'd crossed his legs on the hard floor as if trying to make himself at home. I imagined him sitting there after all the tourists left, the only living creature in a world of dust. His dark hair was shaggy, and his limbs had that preteen gangly thing going on, but even then, something made me want to move closer to him.

For a long time, a cruel loneliness had been settling in my heart. Of course, it didn't look that way on the outside. The Mundane girls always smiled at me in the halls at school, and I seemed to be getting more attention from the boys every day. Still, it was there: an emptiness where something warm should be. I was beginning to realize Luke Nichols felt that emptiness too.

I'd gone and sat beside him on the floor. There were a dozen rangers and chaperones searching for us, but for a moment, it felt like he and I were the only two people in the world. It was hard to make out his expression in the shadows. I'd let a gentle flame gather at my fingertips, bathing his face in light. There were tears in his eyes.

"I think I'm going to die alone," he'd said without looking at me.

"Stop it," I'd scolded. "You'll always have the coven."

He shook his head. "That's not what I mean."

At thirteen, this was the heaviest conversation I'd ever had, but I was pretty sure I understood. Anyone who knew Luke's parents knew Luke's father had been wildly in love with his mom. And now she was just… gone . How could Luke not see love as fickle? As something that crumbled the moment you rested your weight on it?

"So, what—you're just gonna stay in this creepy old house by yourself for the rest of your life?"

He nodded. "Might as well. No one else can leave me if I never…" he trailed off. Eyeing an ancient wooden toy discarded on the floor, he added, "At least I'll get really good at landing a ball in a cup."

I laughed, and that was when the realization had hit me: I loved this strange, sad boy.

I was suddenly embarrassed. The flame at my fingertips began to flutter, and I hoped he didn't notice. We sat together like that for a long time, listening to the adults outside call our names. Then I'd taken his hand and led him out of that dark hiding place and into the warmth of the setting sun.

After the Bodie incident, Luke and I had gone back to our usual routines. At home, my mom was putting me through the gauntlet that was her version of magical training. At school, I found myself vying for approval from the Mundanes while never letting any get too close. And as I obsessed over popularity or coven responsibilities, Luke had kept to himself, apparently not very interested in either. Still, at night, I'd gaze out my window at the house next door. Sometimes I'd see a single light on in Luke's bedroom and I'd imagine calling out to him through the darkness.

Then, one night about a year ago, I'd heard a tap on my bedroom window, followed by another. I looked outside to see Luke floating pebbles gingerly at the glass.

"What the hell?" I'd hissed at him, trying not to wake my parents.

He'd gestured silently for me to come down.

When I met him in my driveway, my heart racing, he'd smiled and said, "Wanna go for a drive?"

I'd dated plenty of guys by that point, all Mundanes. Boys had always been drawn to me—or rather, drawn to the parts of me that interested them. My body, my money, the way the other guys looked on with jealousy when they saw us together. My relationships with them were like cotton candy, sickly sweet but never nourishing. They dissolved into nothing between my fingers.

This night with Luke was different. He took the westbound highway with the top down, the wind making my hair fly. We drove for two hours before he wordlessly put his hand on top of mine. We got to the ocean just as the hint of a sunrise was appearing on the horizon.

We walked together in the sand, the sound of the wind mixing with the waves, the blood rushing in my ears until it was one beautiful white noise. I'd bent and picked up a piece of red sea glass, brushing the sand from its smooth surface. When I stood up, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. I knew he was still that lost boy I'd seen in the ghost town. Only now, instead of hiding away, I wondered if he was ready to seek solace in another person. Perhaps I was too.

When we drew apart, my hair was a mess and my makeup was watering from the salt air. Normally, I'd be mortified if anyone saw me like that; I tended to cling to perfection with a white-knuckle grip. But as the sun hovered low in the morning sky, I just laughed.

When I'd seen him at school on Monday, I'd been gripped with a sudden panic, unsure if he would even acknowledge our strange midnight voyage. He hadn't. Instead, he went right up to me and casually took my hand. We'd walked down the hall together and stayed that way ever since.

It wasn't a relaxed, easy sort of love, but it was real, and that was something worth holding onto.

"Hey, femme fatale!"

A familiar voice shook me from my memories. Celeste and I turned to see Jayden walking toward us. He wore a black, eighties-inspired blazer, which felt like an intentional nod to the whole Grace Jones hi-top fade thing he had going on with his hair. His cheekbones were dusted with something luminescent that highlighted the deep brown color of his skin, though I suspected he'd touched up with some rose oil of his own. He was shaking his head at Celeste in disapproval, but a bemused smile tugged at his lips.

"What the hell did you put in that poor kid's coffee?"

"Exactly what the spell called for," she replied, avoiding his gaze. "Cinnamon, cloves, a little chili oil, then I said the incantation?—"

"What about lavender?" Jayden asked with genuine patience. "Lavender is the stabilizing agent in any love spell."

"Okay, it might have called for lavender," she admitted. "But the lavender is all the way in the back of my greenhouse and there were, like, a lot of spiders back there. Besides, I felt the spell might be better if it was more… improvised , you know?"

"Well, you almost improvised his face off," Jayden replied. "Next time, just ask me."

Most witches had a propensity for a certain skill. Jayden was definitely the herbalist among us, while Celeste was more of a crystal gal. And while crystals were great for drawing energy from the universe, their love spell capabilities were severely limited.

"Heard you put napalm in Benjamin Lewis's coffee." Petra kicked a pebble in Celeste's direction before plopping down beside me.

She flicked a stray lock of hair off her eyes only for it to settle right back where it had been. Her hair was blue right now—at least, the ghostly remains of blue still clung to her ends, while several inches of dark roots grew from her scalp. She wore a heavy ring of black eyeliner, and her posture was a permanent slouch. The overall effect made it impossible to truly look her in the eye, which I was pretty sure was her intention.

"What are they saying?" Celeste asked, cringing.

"That you gave Benjamin a coffee and it was, like, caustic or something. He's gonna be fine, by the way, if anyone cares. I saw the school nurse check him out. First-degree burns. He'll heal up eventually."

"Not in time for homecoming," Celeste muttered.

"Okay, big picture," Jayden said. "The boy's gonna live, and there are plenty more eligible young men you haven't maimed yet."

"Speaking of eligible young men," Petra said to Jayden, her eyes traveling meaningfully toward Max, who was making his way up the steps.

Jayden shot her an irritated look, but before he could say anything, Max sat down beside him. Max was handsome enough, with a square jaw and sensitive green eyes. Still, it made sense that Jayden was wary of Max's not-so-secret crush on him. They had about zero in common, Jayden with his cooler-than-you it-boy vibes and Max with his broad shoulders, an actual high school quarterback, sincere to a fault and painfully mainstream.

Max smiled at Jayden before turning to Celeste.

"Okay, sis, how are we gonna get you out of this one?"

That was the question. Below us, I could hear the shouts and giggles of the other students on their lunch break. I glanced hopefully at the steps, but there was no sign of Luke.

"The coffee was scalding," I said. "That's our story."

"Right," Jayden said. "Shame on the school for endangering a student like that."

Celeste seemed to brighten a little at what sounded like a pretty good cover-up.

"Okay, I want each of you to go back down there and tell at least three people about Benjamin's boiling latte," I instructed. "Let's get the rumor mill going."

Petra raised a hand. "What if we hate talking to people?"

I groaned. Petra always seemed to delight in shirking her coven responsibilities.

"Maybe you can write it on a button and pin it to your backpack," Jayden said, giving Petra's heavily adorned bag a playful shove. "That's your primary means of self-expression, isn't it?"

If anyone else had said it, she would have countered with something snarky, but he got a pass. Petra and Jayden were like bonded feral cats—cute, sharp-clawed, and a little distrusting of anyone but each other.

One last pitiful moan sounded from the quad below. I glanced down to see the nurse gingerly guiding Benjamin in the direction of her office.

"Jayden, can you think of anything that might help Benjamin?" Max said. "You know, healing herbs for the pain?"

Jayden looked as if the question had caught him off guard. He dropped his gaze in embarrassment. "The only healing magic I know involves acne removal," he replied. "I guess—I guess I hadn't thought about that."

Silence settled over the rest of us as we realized with vague shame that we hadn't considered Benjamin's pain either.

"Valeria."

I turned instinctively at the sound of Luke's voice. He stood at the top of the stairs, the sun silhouetting his lean frame. Luke was probably the only person I knew who could wear a leather jacket without looking ridiculous. On the contrary, the well-worn leather looked like it belonged on him, as natural as a second skin. He wore his dark waves combed back a little messily. The effect was vaguely James Dean with a dash of something darker, less all-American. Maybe it was the way pain seemed to linger behind the cobalt of his eyes, a shadow of that little boy who'd hidden himself away all those years ago. It did nothing to detract from his looks, though—in fact, I wondered if it enhanced them. I was no aura reader, but even I knew there was an intensity to Luke that drew your gaze and held it. My heart quickened a little.

"Hey! Where were you?" I said before quickly adding, "Never mind, we got it all sorted out."

Luke eyed me seriously, "Listen, Valeria, can we go somewhere to talk?"

I kept my voice steady. If he was going to do this, I wasn't about to make it easy for him.

"We're all family here. Anything you have to say, you can say in front of them."

"You're sure?" he replied. They were all staring at him now, but he didn't take his eyes off me.

I felt my back stiffen. "Let's hear it."

"You know I care about you, Val," he began. "But I've been thinking lately about how different we are. Maybe we're just not right for each other."

Of course we were right for each other. We had to be. Rebuttals raced through my head, desperate words to make him understand. But his expression told me his mind was made up. Perhaps it had been for a while.

"Some things aren't meant to be," he went on. "It's nothing personal, okay?"

I let out a bitter little laugh. The loneliest boy in the ghost town had chosen to be alone rather than with me. Of course it was personal. I'd always kept my self-doubts so well-hidden that anyone who looked at me would swear I had none, but now I felt them rise like a lump in my throat. I swallowed and blinked back tears. I would not let him break my heart gently and walk away.

"Wow," I said, my voice flat. "I can't tell you how relieved I am. I've been meaning to do this for a while. Guess you beat me to it."

Luke nodded silently. He wasn't buying my little show, but he let me do it anyway. Damn him for taking the high road.

"And you're right," I added. "We are different. I'm not a loser."

He shrugged, and I saw my words slide off him harmlessly.

"Later, Val," he said. He turned and walked away.

It was done. The breakup was remarkable in its brevity. I exhaled. It took me a moment to realize the others were still sitting there, frozen, like a bunch of deer caught in the headlights of my pain. I took a deep breath in and turned to them.

"Shut your mouth. You look ridiculous," I snapped at Petra, who was staring—literally agape—at what had just happened.

She must have had some idea of how destroyed I was because she didn't sass me back.

"Meeting's over!" I said, louder than intended. "I don't know why you're all still sitting around. Get down there and spread that rumor."

With that, I descended the stairs and headed back into the throng of Mundanes. I fished a glittering compact from my purse and examined myself. My eyes were glassy with tears, but perhaps by sheer will, none had fallen. I let the faces on the quad blur before me as the hurt inside welled up. It had been so easy for Luke. A few words and it was over. But it wasn't. I still loved him. I was pretty sure I always would.

Idiot . I hurled the insult at myself as I dabbed at the wetness on my lower lashes.

"Hey," Celeste said, walking up beside me. "If you're worried about homecoming, we could perfect that love spell and?—"

I cut her off with an icy glare.

Jayden hung behind her as if searching for some elusive word that might heal my heart. He settled on silence. Jayden was kind in a stealthy sort of way, but he was about as comfortable with human emotions as Celeste was with spiders.

I spotted Gwen Foster on the grass below. As usual, Gwen's thin frame was hidden under baggy clothes that fell short of "vintage" and landed on "moth-eaten." She was making her way across the crowded quad, balancing a truly ridiculous number of books. With her gaze squarely on the ground and her shoulders perpetually hunched, Gwen carried herself like someone who hoped to avoid being noticed at all costs—and it seemed to work. I watched as she dodged a group of roughhousing juniors who seemed totally unaware they'd almost toppled her. Gwen was the most mundane of the Mundanes, the weakest and easiest prey. The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at my lips. She'd make for a brief diversion, at least.

"What do you guys think?" I said, my eyes narrowing on Gwen. "Wanna have a little fun?"

"Yes!" Celeste hissed with conspiratorial glee.

Jayden sighed uneasily. "Come on. Didn't you used to be, like, friends with her?"

I paused a long moment before replying. "No…ew."

I set my sights on Gwen Foster and let the magic within me rise.