Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

VALERIA

I stood in my kitchen, listening to the sounds of my house: the low chime of the grandfather clock, the liquid hum of the dishwasher, the TV in my dad's den announcing the biggest Toyota sales event of the year. They combined to create a symphony of vague unease. Running beneath it all—like the world's most unsettling metronome—was the incessant sound of my mom's fingers tapping over her keyboard in the study.

It had been three days since our parents had lost their powers. My mom and dad had retreated to opposite ends on a strange spectrum of grief. My dad spent most of his time in the den, his eyes fixed indifferently on the TV as ESPN played across the enormous flat screen. This wasn't too far off from his usual behavior in his downtime, only now there was a lot more downtime and a lot more beer.

My mom took a more pragmatic approach to coping with devastating loss. My family had acquired our fortune with the help of green money candles and jade rituals for the health of our investment portfolio. Now, my mom had thrown herself full force into the task of maintaining our wealth sans magic. When she wasn't scrolling through Nasdaq reports, she was hurling demands at our investors with the same zeal she used to reserve for coven gatherings. I knew she had real concerns about our financial future. But I also suspected that, without a purpose, my mother would wither away like the trees. For now, her purpose would be this.

I couldn't blame my parents for their flawed coping strategies. Magic was our identity—what made us special, what connected us to the universe. I picked up a teaspoon from the kitchen counter, feeling its cool, smooth surface. I let it hover a few inches above my fingers. It didn't take much concentration. I felt the metal, I felt the air around it, and I just…let the air take it. It was as natural as swimming once you got the hang of it—no, it was more like when you used your feet to push off the side of the pool. You floated, propelled by your own momentum, your face to the sky, cool water rippling in your wake. Magic was that buoyant force surrounding all of us, holding us up. I couldn't imagine what it'd be like to lose that.

I floated the teaspoon down onto the silver tray I'd prepared. It landed neatly beside a china cup filled with steaming chamomile. Then I sliced an apple into wedges like I was preparing a snack for a child home sick from school, though I stopped short of topping them with peanut butter and raisins. I took a breath and climbed the stairs to the study.

I knocked, but there was no response. After a moment of hesitation, I turned the knob.

My mom was hunched over the glow of her laptop, numbers in red and black scrolling across the screen. Her fingernails were round and painted with light pink gel. She'd found the time for a midcrisis manicure.

"Thought you might want a little sustenance," I said in an artificially bright tone, setting the tray down on her desk. The tea sloshed a little, sprinkling the apple slices with amber-colored liquid.

She turned away from her computer and examined the sad spread I'd prepared for her. I took in the tiny red veins in the whites of her eyes, the worry lines around her mouth, no beauty spells to cover them now.

"A little sustenance isn't going to fix this, Valeria," she said. Still, she took a tiny, performative bite from an apple slice. At least I'd seen her eat something today.

I realized I had no idea what to say next, but she spoke again.

"You'll have your hands full tonight. You better start getting ready now. Remember your tendency to be late."

"I'm going to figure this out," I told her, my tone as certain as I could make it. "The trees, your powers, all of it."

"I'm sure you will," she replied, but she'd already turned her attention back to her screen, its ever-moving contents casting blue shadows across her face.

Upstairs in my bedroom, I dressed in the flowing red robe as little seeds of anxiety planted themselves in my gut. I strapped the ceremonial dagger to my thigh, and when I could delay no longer, I placed the crown on my head, the cold metal settling evenly on my temples. The robe smelled of my mother, of lavender and campfire smoke. I tugged at the hem of one dramatic bell sleeve, remembering how I'd danced around her bedroom in these clothes as a child. I felt like that child now. A silly girl in someone else's crown.

I didn't have a single clue how to restore our parents' powers. And, if there was someone out there waging attacks on our coven, I didn't know how to protect us. I grabbed the satchel of goodies my mom always used for gatherings, then marched downstairs and out the back door. The harsh magical aura of the forest had mostly dissipated, but seeing the expanse of dead trees still filled me with a sadness of the unmagical variety.

I made out silhouettes moving between the trees, just visible beneath the quickly darkening sky. The others were already there.

Late to lead my first gathering. My mom had been right.

When they heard me approach, they stopped talking, the way kids do when the teacher walks into the room. I absorbed the shock of seeing our coven reduced to its youngest members. Gatherings were only open to those who possessed magic, but even if that wasn't the case, I suspected our parents were too lost in grief to be of much use.

"Okay, guys," I said, my throat dry. "Shall we begin?"

I felt their eyes on me. It was remarkable how quiet the forest was in death. We took our places in a circle within the clearing. I passed candles to each of them and lit them in unison. I spoke the words I'd heard my mother use a hundred times to commence the gathering.

"May success and abundance forever grace this coven."

"Success and abundance," Petra echoed. "Have you guys ever reflected on what a crock of shit that incantation is?" She lit a cigarette off her candle's flame, exhaling smoke into the night air.

"How's everybody's parents holding up?" Max said, ignoring her disregard for tradition.

"Are they as catatonic as ours?" Celeste added.

"My dad barely leaves his office," Jayden said. "And my mom has spent the last three days wandering the house in her bathrobe, crying and drinking sherry from a monogrammed decanter set."

"You gotta respect her flair for the dramatic," Luke said dryly. He shot Jayden a grin, but the expression was more pained than amused.

"How's your dad, Luke?"

It was the first time I'd spoken to him directly since the breakup. That day beneath the Palms felt like ages ago, but the hurt was still fresh. His jaw tensed.

"Not good," he replied. Worry flashed in his eyes.

"Luke." I took a tentative step toward him but stopped, unsure of what to say.

"On the bright side, his obsessive baking has reached record levels," Luke added, that forced smile back on his face. "If anybody wants scones, you know where I live."

Alexis Nichols was known for his baking. His creations were always in high demand at our holiday celebrations—blackberry muffins for Midsummer, spiced ginger cookies at Yule. Mr. Nichols had a wholesome quality that didn't seem compatible with Luke's broodiness, but they loved each other fiercely. They'd had to rely on one another ever since Luke's mom left. Of course Luke was worried about his dad. I fought the desire to lean over and hug him.

"I figure our parents fall into two categories now," Jayden said. "Those who've totally given up, like my mom, and those who've become obsessed with maintaining their previous levels of success."

"I think you nailed it," I replied, eyeing him. Sometimes Jayden reminded me of my mother, his perfectly moisturized face a mask of indifference, but I was beginning to suspect he was more intuitive about people than he let on.

"Guys, serious question. What does this mean for me? I mean—us?" Celeste corrected herself quickly. "Our parents have no magic, so do we all have to stay here after high school and keep the coven going?"

There was silence as we all considered this. Our ancestors had founded Dorado as a place for our coven to thrive, and it had. We were free to do our magic under the cover of the trees, undetected and undisturbed by the Mundanes. There was nowhere else like it in the Northern Hemisphere. Our parents had always made sure we understood how important it was to keep the coven alive, to keep the coven here in Dorado. We had an understanding: We kids could travel the world, attend prestigious colleges, and pursue our internet startups or influencer empires while our parents held down the fort. But we all agreed we'd someday return to Dorado to carry the magical torch for the next generation. Now we were all that was left of the coven.

"I'd stay," Max said.

"Of course you would," said Petra, examining her split ends with interest. "You're, like, the Wiccan Captain America. But I'd prefer a life after high school."

"We won't have to make that choice," I told them. "We're going to get our parents' magic back."

"Now that's the bold leadership I like to see," Jayden replied. "Who's got ideas?"

"What about you?" I said to him. "Do you know of any healing potions that might restore them?"

He kicked a patch of dead leaves with one toe. "Talk to me when they need a pimple popped. This is way beyond anything I can do. Besides, it's not like they're sick."

I felt the others deflate in disappointment.

"I think we have to find out what spell took our parents' powers, so we can…undo it," I said hesitantly.

"Do we know of any magic that can take another witch's power?" Luke asked.

No one did. As we stood there in awkward silence, I realized, for the first time, that there was very little I knew about magic. The universe held energy that we witches could affect, an energy that the Mundanes could not access. We had some control over the elements; we could bend the air to make objects move, summon weather, manipulate the dirt beneath our feet. And of course, fire was a major theme. Outside of that, most of the magic we knew was self-serving.

Our coven had a Book of Shadows, an ancient, leather-bound tome in hard-to-read cursive. I was pretty sure it was in my attic somewhere, covered in an inch or two of dust. Generations ago, our coven had compiled all the spells they considered essential—spells for prosperity, beauty, attraction—and bound them into a new book they'd aptly titled The Golden Spells . That was what we used today. My mom even had a PDF of it on her phone.

Those spells had served us well, kept us comfortable. But they were all we knew. Killing trees? Revoking the power from another witch? This went way beyond our comfort zone.

Another unpleasant thought struck me. All our lives, our parents had seemed wise and powerful—the omnipotent adults, able to handle any challenge. But what challenges had they faced, besides a few tax increases? When it came to magic like this, they were just as lost as we were. Without magic, they didn't even have a place to start. It was no wonder they'd retreated to their dens and sherry decanters.

The cold realization sank in at last. We were the coven's only hope.

"Somebody knows what happened," I said, remembering what Petra had said in the forest about the trees being collateral damage. "This wasn't just a magical fluke. Someone set out to take our parents' powers, and the forest was some kind of sacrifice. So we have to consider the possibility?—"

"Right," Celeste said. "Which one of you witches did it?"

"No way!" Max shook his head vehemently. "This is some seriously dangerous magic. None of us even know how to do something like this. And if we did, we wouldn't. Ever."

"Then who was it?" Luke said. "An outside witch? Because those are pretty scarce."

He was right. Many witch bloodlines had died off. If there was no suitable partner within the coven, our predecessors had had to travel long distances using locator spells to find a magical spouse.

"A locator spell!" I said aloud.

I rummaged through my bag and withdrew a smooth, pale hunk of selenite. I placed it on the ground beneath us as my mother had shown me once during a training session.

"Think of this crystal as our position on a map," I told the others. "Now join hands and concentrate."

They did as I said and we stood in a ring, surrounding the stone.

"Spirit world, hear our plea. We seek any witch who be a stranger to this coven," I said, straining to recall my mother's words. "Let them be seen."

Far from the selenite, a few tiny embers began to burn on the dirt. They glittered like lonely stars, these other witches, far from the outskirts of our galaxy. I sighed in relief.

But as I watched, a flame ignited so close to the stone it threatened to char its cool surface. I heard the others gasp.

"Okay, what the hell?!" Jayden exclaimed.

"There's another witch in Dorado," Max said, his green eyes wide.

"So whoever did this is out here somewhere, watching us?" Celeste gasped. She stepped closer to her brother instinctively, as if ready to hide herself behind his broad shoulders.

"It's all right, Celeste. I'll protect us," I said, hearing how hollow my words sounded.

"Okay, but this witch has already done a superpowerful spell none of us have even heard of, and you can, like, light a bigger-than-average bonfire, so forgive me if I'm not comforted," Celeste said, bitterness mixing with the fear in her voice.

"That's enough!" I replied between clenched teeth.

I held my hands together to keep them from shaking. My first gathering as high priestess was unraveling beyond my control.

"Guys? I think I can help."

It was Petra who spoke. We all turned to look at her, our mouths falling open in unison.

"You know I pick up things from the spirit realm—vibes, whispers. They're annoyingly vague most of the time, but maybe if I listened harder, I could get some answers," she said.

The girl who usually scoffed at her coven responsibilities was stepping up. Perhaps she'd decided to play psychic Sherlock Holmes after all.

"You sure?" I said, hesitating. "Most of the time, your idea of getting spiritual is just you getting drunk in the woods?—"

"I can do this." Petra met my gaze with surprising confidence.

"I know you can," Luke cut in, "and it's not like any of us have a better idea." Putting a hand on her shoulder, he added, "Thank you."

And just like that, we had a plan. It hinged on a clairvoyant black sheep with an attitude problem, but it was a plan.

"Welp, better head home and hit the talking board," said Petra, backing away stealthily. "Those spirits aren't gonna contact themselves."

"You mean you're not going to the dance?" said Celeste, appalled.

"Yeah, it's a shame I'll have to miss such a a time-honored high school tradition," she replied, "but duty calls."

"A legitimate excuse to ditch homecoming," said Jayden, eyeing Petra's disappearing form with affection. "It's my girl's lucky night."

"Thank you!" I called after her. Then I turned to the others. "Don't worry, guys. We'll get through this together."

My inspirational message sounded weak, even to me. What did I know about getting through something difficult? I was the witch who summoned a thunderstorm so I didn't have to run the mile in PE.

"Okay," I said, checking the time on my phone. "We better start getting ready. Jayden, Celeste—you guys coming back to my place for the beautification process?"

Jayden surveyed the contents of his vintage shoulder bag. "You best believe I am. I have an arsenal of herbs in here."

"And I brought the citrine," Celeste added, proudly producing a handful of orange crystals like a kid showing us her Halloween candy.

Normally, none of us were into school dances; they were cliché and reeked of Mundane desperation. But the homecoming dance had always coincided with our autumnal equinox festivities, so it had integrated itself into our seasonal traditions. We usually celebrated with a harvest feast, then we'd show up to homecoming fashionably late and enjoy being regular high school kids for a night. It was fun in a winky, ironic kind of way.

Only this year, there would be no harvest feast. No scent of apples roasting in the kitchen. No ceremonial wine spiced with ginger and cloves. But there would still be homecoming. I wasn't going to let the others miss out on that. After all that had happened, they needed something normal.

And if homecoming was a convenient opportunity for Luke to see me in the arms of a cute guy from the soccer team, that was just an added bonus.

The others began to disperse, too, leaving Jayden and Celeste by my side.

"Hey, Luke," I called as he walked away. "See you there?"

He turned back and gave me a half smile. "Sure."

I felt my heart rate quicken. For the first time since the trees died, I allowed myself to feel the full devastation of losing him. The last three days had been the most difficult of my life. I would have given anything for him to hold me just once. To let the grief and the dread melt away for five minutes and allow myself to exist in the comfort of his arms.

"Who's he taking to the dance?" Jayden whispered once he was out of earshot.

"Some boring Mundane, probably," I replied. "Or he's just gonna show up solo with Max."

"Nope, Max is taking Bryce Strawn," Celeste said.

"Bryce Strawn?" Jayden snorted in disgust. "Last year in history class, he thought Paris was in England."

"Well, he asked Max last week. But," she added hopefully, "I'm sure he'd have a lot more fun if he were going with you."

It was a valiant attempt on Celeste's part, but Jayden didn't reply. He'd suddenly become very interested in the satchel of lavender he was holding, It seemed Jayden's attention was always elsewhere when the topic of Max came up. Jayden preferred to date Mundane guys from school—artsy guys, guys in bands, cross-country runners, like the one he was taking to the dance tonight. The only thing they all had in common was the fact that Jayden didn't seem to like them very much.

"I don't get it," I said to him. "Max is kind, handsome, and he's a witch. Why won't you give him a chance?"

Jayden was quiet for a long time. "I refuse to date anyone who wears a letterman jacket unironically."

Something told me the letterman jacket had nothing to do with it, but it was clear this was the end of the discussion.

Two hours and one serious beauty spell later, Jayden and Celeste left to pick up their dates and I studied my reflection in the full-length mirror. My dress was perfect, a rose-gold nod to the flapper era with strings of glass beads dangling from the fabric like tiny chandeliers. Its hem trailed the floor, but a high slit revealed a significant amount of my bronzed thigh.

The windows were dark, and the house was still. Moments like these reminded me how much I disliked being alone with myself. Alone, there was nothing to distract from the things that scared me. Alone, my insecurities pricked like splinters lodged beneath my skin.

But in the mirror, my eyes sparkled under a fringe of dark lashes. My lips were painted with Reckless Red, my signature scarlet shade, and my hair fell in soft waves. I knew looking like this, I could walk into any room and heads would turn. I could speak and conversations would come to a halt because people would want to listen to me . Beauty is immediate, visceral. It commands a room in a way substance does not.

I still felt the splinters, but the glitter seemed to hide them for now.

Michael Boyd was waiting outside his house when I pulled up behind the wheel of a red 1929 Cadillac convertible. Limos were too conventional; besides, my dress was Art Deco. I might not have bothered for Michael, but I'd booked the car a month ago, back when I thought I'd be riding to the dance with Luke.

Michael got in and shut the passenger door. A huge, boyish smile spread across his face as I backed out of his driveway.

"Wow," he remarked, like the lead in a romance movie. "You look great."

"You too," I replied with a flirty grin. He blushed behind his freckles.

He was benignly handsome in a gray suit and rose-colored bow tie to match my gown. We'd look perfect together at the dance. In my fantasy, Michael and I dance together amidst a crowd of onlookers. Luke can't help but notice us, and something stirs inside his heart—something he thought he'd lost. He asks me if I'd spare a dance for him, for old times' sake, and I smile and tell him, Just one. I wouldn't want to be rude to my date. But as we begin to sway together, that reawakened feeling takes over. Luke pulls me close, and we kiss beneath the twirling lights of the disco ball.

The sound of pop beats shook me back to reality as I pulled into the school parking lot. The dance was always held in our gym. The idea of partying atop painted-on free-throw lines made the whole night feel extra cheesy, but again—tradition.

I parked the convertible along the loading zone and stepped out, the slit in my glittering dress riding up my outstretched leg. Several dozen kids were milling around outside the entrance, and a little hush fell over them as I exited the car. Michael came around the hood to take my hand. He even opened the door for me as we entered the booming gym.

The interior was as perfectly tacky, as I'd imagined. Shiny helium balloons, streamers, and yes, a disco ball spinning overhead. Still, I loved the way the bass pounded in my chest like a heartbeat, filling me with a sense that something incredible was about to happen.

Jayden and Celeste were already on the dance floor with their dates. The beauty spell clung to them like a cloud of expensive perfume. Jayden wore a perfectly tailored burgundy suit and matching cape that made every other guy's Men's Wearhouse attire seem painfully boring. His always-striking cheekbones looked like they'd been carved by a renaissance master. Celeste was more angelic than ever, her waves of long blond hair floating around her face as she danced. I noted her date's smooth, decidedly un-scalded skin, and I was grateful she hadn't made a second attempt at that love spell.

I allowed Michael to guide me through the crowd of dancing couples to a spot in the center of the gym. He put his arms around my waist as a slow song came on. It was a cinematic moment, the part where we kiss as the music swells—but all I could do was scan the crowd for Luke. I danced Michael slowly in a circle until I could see the other side of the gym. My heart leapt with that sweet half panic only Luke could produce.

He was standing alone, beyond a group of laughing juniors. He'd ditched the leather jacket for a well-fitted suit, no tie. The top button of his shirt was undone, which would have looked silly on most guys, but on him it was surprisingly sexy.

Michael and I were right in Luke's line of sight. I leaned closer to Michael, lifting one hand to brush the stubble on his cheek. He grinned, adorable dimples appearing on his face. His arms tightened around my waist. My gaze traveled subtly back to Luke. He was looking at me, and for the first time since the trees died, I saw him really smile.

No, I realized. He was looking past me, his eyes locked on someone in the distance. I swiveled to see who it was, not caring if Michael noticed.

A girl in a black lace dress was making her way through the crowd toward Luke. She held her head proudly, her long black hair tumbling behind her as she walked. She was tall and thin, her skin so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light of the dance floor. I had always assumed her body was weak and unsubstantial beneath all those layers of baggy clothing, but now I could see the strength in her arms, the lean muscles in her calves as she negotiated the floor in a pair of black heels. Her dress was fitted to her narrow waist, the neckline plunging to reveal a deep V of white skin.

I'd stopped dancing by now. My feet frozen in place, I stared.

I was pretty sure she wasn't wearing an ounce of makeup. Her features were severe, all sharp angles with dark eyes and full brows. There was something otherworldly about her face that I wasn't sure I could interpret as beautiful, but it was certainly interesting. Her eyes flashed like obsidian under the lights. Her hair was longer than I'd expected. For years, she'd worn it tied in a messy bun or hidden beneath an old hoodie. Now, it fell almost to her waist, the way it had in the forest.

She'd spent so much time hiding, her eyes on the ground as she walked the halls at school or hidden behind a book's cover. She'd been willing the world not to notice her, but now here she was, striding confidently through a crowded room in delicate lace. This wasn't the cliché where the shy girl takes off her glasses and she's suddenly hot—it was like the shy girl had spent seven days alone in the desert and come back changed. Same body, different spirit. She wasn't hiding anymore.

Gwen Foster blew past me without so much as a glance in my direction. Luke kept his eyes on her as she drew closer. When she reached him, he embraced her before taking a step back to admire her dress. He leaned in and they spoke for a while, his lips moving next to her ear. He must have been saying the right things because her pale face lit up like the full moon on a dark night.

The slow song ended, replaced by a synth-pop beat. Luke offered his hand to Gwen, and they walked onto the dance floor.

Suddenly, I became aware that Michael was staring too. It seemed half the gym had stopped what they were doing to watch Luke Nichols and Gwen Foster. If the pair noticed, they didn't let on. Their eyes were on each other, locked with Pulp Fiction -like intensity.

Gwen didn't seem to know any typical dance moves, but she moved to the music with a peculiar grace, as if she might start floating a few inches above the floor at any moment. Luke twisted his body toward hers, one of her hands ran through his thick, dark hair.

"Ha!" I let out an audible cackle. It was an involuntary reaction, as if the absurdity of my life had just reached some new, unsustainable level.

But no one else was laughing. I watched as Luke pulled Gwen close and kissed her beneath the spinning lights of the disco ball.