Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

VALERIA

I allowed myself three days to brood after Gwen's initiation. Three days of avoiding her before I forced myself to face the inevitable: Gwen was my responsibility. As high priestess, I knew I was supposed to do the Obi-Wan Kenobi thing and take her under my wing to teach her to use her new power. But every time I saw her in the halls at school, she was hand in hand with Luke. And all I felt was the empty space in my heart where he used to be, the air between my fingers where I used to cling to him. Now, alone in my bedroom, I examined myself in the mirror as if searching for something to grab ahold of.

Gwen's knock shook me from my reflection. My young Skywalker had arrived.

I went downstairs and opened the door to Gwen standing with her arms crossed, her shoulders hunched as if shielding herself from some inevitable blow. For an uncomfortable moment, neither of us spoke. The clouds were gray and the air was calm, like it had been at the initiation—not a reassuring kind of calm but the kind of calm that seems to warn of something catastrophic to come.

"Well, let's get to it," I said at last.

I turned and headed through the house toward my back door and the forest beyond, letting Gwen follow without a glance in her direction. My mom was typing away in the study upstairs. Good. The last thing I needed was for her to spot Gwen and offer her a charcuterie plate or something. I still wasn't past the irony—of all the decisions I'd ever made, inviting Gwen to join the coven was the only one my mom seemed to approve of. I wondered if she felt guilty over the way she'd treated Gwen. When she'd burned the old wooden bridge to keep Gwen out of our forest, she'd been casting a witch from her rightful place. It was strange to imagine my mother regretful of anything, but everything about this was strange.

I'd asked my mom what she knew about the Fosters and their long-lost magic, but she'd told me what I suspected as she gazed blankly out the window: None of the parents had any knowledge of Elizabeth Foster or the reason her magic was revoked. Whatever had happened to Elizabeth back when the coven was founded was lost to time, forgotten beneath years of money jars and prosperity rituals. The Golden Spells had been our go-to spell book for generations. My mom rarely glanced at our original Book of Shadows, but she was sure it bore no mention of the Fosters.

I tried not to let the echo of Gwen's footsteps annoy me as we descended the back steps and passed through the garden. We were alone in the forest. We stepped effortlessly over roots and under branches. Both of us knew the landscape like the face of some familiar friend. It was strange, walking with her the way we used to as kids, like reliving a memory, only upside down. The laughing ease that used to float between us was gone, replaced by tense silence.

Gwen wasn't dressed in her usual hand-me-downs either. Today, she wore a flowy black slip dress over black tights and pointed ankle boots.

"I see you've kept up your makeover," I said into the stillness of the trees.

She nodded. "Celeste and Jayden took me shopping. They said they wanted to help me find my self-expression."

"Your self-expression is pretty funereal."

"Thanks," she replied, as if it was a compliment.

I was certain that Luke had funded their shopping spree. It wasn't like Gwen had spare cash lying around for a new, expressive wardrobe. Beneath the gray sky, her pale skin clashed jarringly with the dark of her eyes. Her hair was untamed, her nails bare and chewed. As I studied her, I found myself irrationally bothered by her little flaws, each one a reminder that Luke preferred this imperfect girl over me.

We stopped when we reached the clearing where we'd held her initiation. The tall trees surrounded us like protectors, even in death. We were free to practice magic here unseen.

"So, what are we gonna do first?" she asked.

I flung a small burst of sunfire at her, striking her in the right shoulder.

"Ow!" She rubbed the spot where the spell had made contact.

"Defensive spells?" I suggested, one brow raised.

"Is this going to be a training session? Or just an excuse for you to hit me?" she said skeptically.

"Can't it be both?"

She extended both hands and I braced myself, remembering how she'd knocked me down on homecoming night. But she aimed away from me toward the line of bare trees. She stared at her hands as if waiting for her magic to appear. Nothing did. I wasn't surprised. Moonfire wasn't like turning a light switch on and off.

"I don't understand," she said. "Last time, it just happened."

"I'm guessing the last time you used it, you were angry at me. Magic flows like an extension of yourself—it can manifest in ways you don't expect. But your mind has to be focused if you want to control it."

Gwen's eyes narrowed in thought. "Where does it come from?"

I held back a sigh of exasperation. "We draw our power from the universe. You know—the air, the earth, the stars. All our magic, even the silliest love spell, pulls from the elements in one way or another. My sunfire is fueled by the sun, and that fireworks show you put on at the dance came from?—"

"—the moon," Gwen finished.

At least she knew something about her newfound power.

"And one more thing before we start," I said. "Don't go practicing in front of the Mundanes, okay?"

"The who?"

"Unmagical people. You used to be one until a few weeks ago. We have to hide our power from them. Believe me, history hasn't exactly been kind to witches."

Gwen's heavy brows wrinkled in concern.

"Welcome to witching." I shrugged. "Don't worry, the better you get at magic, the better you get at hiding it."

"That's how you tripped me in the quad," she said suddenly.

I'm sorry. The words sounded in my head, but I didn't say them aloud. I kicked at a pile of pine needles.

"Yes. That's how. Now close your eyes."

She did as she was told.

"There's a piece of the moon inside you," I told her. "If you try, you can feel it burning, the flames clinging to your heart."

She went still, searching for the flames I spoke of. After a moment, she nodded.

"I feel it," she said. "The moonfire. It's like…the hum you hear when the night is alive with living things."

"Grab hold of it," I instructed.

A spark crackled at Gwen's fingertips, then another. Her hands trembled.

"See that tree over there?" I pointed. "Hit it."

Gwen aimed, and a torrent of silver flames flew from her hands, bouncing in every direction before fading into the still air. The tree stood untouched.

"Sorry, I'm a little nervous," she said.

"You think you're nervous? I had to learn this stuff from my mother. Believe me, you're getting off easy. Now breathe. Focus," I told her. "When your hands stop shaking, try again."

She obeyed, and this time, the fire flew from her hands, striking the dead tree. A branch tumbled to the ground with the impact.

"Wow!" she cried, running over to investigate the damage.

"See?" I said. "You need to be in control of the fire, not the other way around. If you're not in control, it can overtake you—even hurt you. You end up like a fish in a fiery net. The more you struggle, the harder it holds you. It happened to me once, training with my mom."

"How do you get out of it?" Gwen asked.

"You better hope there's someone or something around to break your concentration. I believe a well-timed bucket of water to the face did it for me."

Gwen was quiet, her eyes wide. I bent to touch the place where her spell had charred the dead wood. It was still hot. I felt a tickle at my wrist and discovered a huge, fat-bodied spider crawling on my bare skin.

"Ah!" I let out an involuntary shriek and raised my other hand to swat it away violently.

"Wait!"

I stared at Gwen in momentary surprise. Of course. Gwen Foster, protector of nature's ugliest creatures. She placed a finger beneath its wriggling front legs and it climbed on as if it understood she was its savior. As she held it in her palm, it no longer seemed huge but tiny, fragile.

"What do you think it is? A false widow?" she asked me as if I was capable of identifying spiders on sight. Back when we were kids, perhaps I had been.

"Uh, sure." I shrugged.

Gwen stepped further into the forest, searching for a suitable place to set it down. The enormous fallen tree came into view. Our eyes landed on it at the same time.

Our hollow was partially covered with strings of dead moss, but I could still see the dark enclosure within. She smiled.

"Come on," she said. "For old time's sake."

I felt a smile tug at my lips too. She drew the moss back like a curtain and, as she did, I felt my eyes drawn to the words she'd carved there so many years ago.

the birds don't care if ?—

I looked away before she caught me staring. She set the spider down on the hollow's floor and watched it crawl away with something like affection. I remembered suddenly what it was like to have Gwen as a friend. She was the kind of person who loved all of you, even the ugly parts.

"Thanks," I said, "for not letting me kill it."

"It's the first living thing I've seen in the forest since the trees died," she replied. "Maybe it's a good omen."

She took another step and froze. At the base of the fallen tree was the lone red hyacinth I'd spotted with Petra.

"How?" she said.

"We don't know." I gazed at its green leaves and brilliant petals. "But there's definitely magic involved. Petra said it was supposed to be here, like it's restoring balance or something."

"It's beautiful." She turned to me as if she'd just remembered something important. "Hey, do you guys—I mean, you witches —ever have weird dreams?"

"Once I dreamed I was naked at my history final. Does that count?"

She laughed, the corners of her dark eyes crinkling. Then she grew serious again. "I mean, have you ever dreamed of stars or planets, or maybe a meteor?" When I gave her a blank look, she chewed her bottom lip. "Guess I'm just crazy."

I squinted at the flat sky, which hung overhead like paper. The sight of it put a sick, wary feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"So, what else can you—I mean, we —do?" Gwen said, filling the silence.

I thought a moment. "Watch this," I instructed. "Then you try."

I gazed at the clearing and let my mind go still. Beside me, I felt Gwen hold her breath. An isolated rain shower blanketed the clearing, forming little puddles in the dirt. After a moment, I raised a hand casually. The drops ceased.

"Wow, that's not intimidating or anything."

"We're witches. Nothing intimidates us," I lied. "Tell the universe what you want. See the rainfall, imagine you can feel the drops on your skin, like?—"

"Like tears," she said.

I rolled my eyes at the girl clad in black beside me. "Sure, if you wanna be all broody about it."

She laughed again. I did, too, the sound tumbling lightly through the trees. For a second, we were the way we used to be, back when things were simple and the forest was green. Gwen closed her eyes, her lids flickering in concentration.

Wind picked up suddenly, tossing dead leaves around on the ground. The clouds above us darkened, but no rain came.

Gwen opened her eyes. "Well, I guess it's a start?"

It was more than a start. I hadn't gotten nearly as far on my first try. My arms pricked with gooseflesh in the sudden cold.

"Come on, let's get inside," I said.

Gwen had been to my house for her initiation, but she still acted like she was visiting a museum—like if she let herself get too comfortable, she might break something and have to pay for it. In my bedroom, she sat cautiously at the edge of my bed, taking in the elaborate canopy, the antique armoire, the tall, gilded mirror.

"What's next?" I said, rummaging through an old box of coven supplies. "Beauty spell?"

She glanced out the window. The sun was setting somewhere behind the clouds in that uneasy sky.

"It's getting late. I need to get downtown. I'm—" She lowered her eyes to the plush carpet beneath her feet. "I'm supposed to meet Luke tonight."

I was quiet a moment, my fingers idling over the contents of the box.

"Don't be ridiculous. Tell him to pick you up here," I said finally. "I mean, he's right next door."

She eyed me skeptically but withdrew her phone and began texting him.

"Seriously," I insisted. "It's fine. Look, I know I was hard on you at the dance. And the initiation. But maybe I was a little immature. You and I are going to be spending a lot more time together. We can't go on hating each other."

"I don't hate you," she said.

"Oh."

"I'm a little afraid of you, though," she added as if for my sake.

"Well, knock it off," I said, smiling. I took a silver necklace from the bottom of the box. On its chain hung a single white pearl carved in the shape of a flower. "Here—we use this charm for poise and confidence. You should wear it on your date tonight."

Hesitantly, she took the necklace and pulled it over her head. "Thanks."

A cruel resentment was burning inside me. I gasped as if I'd just thought of a terrific idea. "You should borrow an outfit for tonight too!"

"No!" she exclaimed. "I mean, no thanks. I'm good."

"You're not planning on going in that, are you? It has no shape." I watched as Gwen examined her outfit, wondering at its inadequacy. "I guess you were. Don't worry, there's still time to change."

Before she could answer, I began rummaging through my closet, pulling out a few of my staples, all bright colors and sexy cutouts. She stared at the garments piling up on my bed with increasing discomfort.

"This was Luke's favorite." I held up a plunging red cocktail dress. "It won't fit you, of course—it would be far too loose in the bust. But between you and me, the night I wore this, he couldn't keep his hands off me. He used to say I was just his type."

She bit her lip as she absorbed my words.

As if reading her mind, I added, "I guess one guy can have two completely different types. Like, completely different."

Gwen was fidgeting now, her hands smoothing over her unruly hair and tugging at the hem of her slip. They were the worried gestures of a girl who was doubting herself.

"Anyway," I said, putting the red dress aside. "There has to be something in here that'll work on you."

"No, I think I'll wait downstairs," she blurted, getting up.

She was shrinking, the way she did when she longed to hide behind something. I had meant to hurt her, of course. As she hurried down the stairs, I waited for the empty sugar rush I usually felt when I picked on her, but it didn't come. Outside, the storm clouds had turned a sickly green.

"Gwen, wait—" I called, but it was too late.

There was a knock at the door. Luke had arrived. She opened the door as I descended the stairs. I heard their hushed embrace.

"Hey, there's my girl!" Luke stood in the open doorway, one arm around Gwen's waist. "You look great." He paused when he saw the necklace around her neck. "Uh…why are you wearing that?"

Her hands flew to the necklace. Her face flushed and she began to realize she'd made some kind of mistake. "For poise and confidence?"

Luke's eyes narrowed as he understood what I'd done. "Not quite. It's—you know what? It doesn't matter. You ready to go?"

"Tell me." Her voice was high and tight.

"You sure?"

She nodded.

He glared at me from the doorway. "I gave it to Valeria last year. It…was supposed to symbolize my love and commitment."

No one moved. The grandfather clock ticked.

"Oh," she said softly.

She removed the chain from her neck and let it drop to the floor, her cheeks crimson. I'm sorry. My lips formed around the words, but I held them back. Her body went still like the gathered clouds. She shut her eyes against tears.

Then the rain came. It was as if the eerie calm in the air all day had been building to this downpour.

Sheets of water pummeled the house, the shutters rattling. Wind rushed through the open door. Lightning flashed across the dark scene, and the swaying trees were lit up in silver for one feverish second.

The bare redwoods shivered and swayed. Above us, the last bit of light vanished from the dimming sky and the unmistakable sound of thunder rumbled in the distance, low and menacing.

There was no question Gwen had done this. We all understood it. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the rain fell. Suddenly, I realized we were standing frozen in awe, the front door still wide open. Water splashed the hardwood floor of the foyer, forming a slick puddle at our feet. I rushed to the door and swung it shut. The howling of the wind diminished somewhat.

Gwen's eyes were wide. The look on her face was one of awe but not of disbelief. Luke turned to her in adoration.

"No point in getting worked up over a stupid necklace when you can do this. You're incredible, Gwen Foster," he told her.

I could barely make out his words over the sound of the storm. They weren't meant for me.

A sickening crack sounded from outside as a heavy branch tumbled to the ground beneath the merciless wind.

"Make it stop!" I shouted to Gwen.

"It'll rain itself out in time," my mom said, stepping into the living room.

I watched her take in Gwen's tear-streaked face and the torrent outside. Her eyes settled on me with disapproval, like I was a kid again and she'd just caught me scribbling on the wallpaper.

My phone vibrated in my back pocket, making me jump. I answered it. "Hey, Petra. What's up?"

"I had a breakthrough! The spirits didn't just give me crumbs this time. I think they gave me the whole damn cookie. The trees, our parents' powers, Gwen?—"

My heart thumped. "Tell me everything."

"History is repeating itself. It's happening again, like it did when Dorado was founded. There's this prophecy—" she paused. "Are you alone?"

"No. Should I be?"

"Meet me in the clearing," she said. "Now. This weather's crazy, but I'll brave it."

She hung up.

"Sorry, gotta go!" I announced as I hurried toward the back door.

My mom shot me a confused glance, but Luke and Gwen were only looking at each other. I could have disappeared into thin air and they wouldn't have noticed. I didn't bother with a raincoat or boots or anything that might protect me from the elements. I was desperate to know what Petra had to say. Comfort could wait.

Outside, the wind pummeled my face. The rain fell so hard it hit my skin in tiny pinpricks, the torment of Gwen's magic.

I grabbed a flashlight from my porch and clicked it on as I hurried through my soggy backyard and into the darkness of the forest. Dead leaves flew at me in the wind, sticking to my soaked clothing. Soon I was at the clearing. The darkness was thick here, surrounding me in a cold curtain of black. The moon was hidden by storm clouds, and my flashlight shone a tunnel of light no wider than a dinner plate. Where was she?

I took out my phone, trying vainly to shield it from the sheets of rain, and called her. I waited, hearing the ring in my ear. The wind whirred past me, unrelenting white noise, but through it, I made out the familiar ring of Petra's phone in the distance.

"Hello?" I called, stepping forward into the dark. "Are you?—"

I stopped midsentence. A rectangle of light popped into view as if materializing from the night itself. Petra's phone lay faceup in the mud a little distance away, unanswered. Fear pricked at the back of my neck.

"Petra?"

I turned my flashlight in the direction of the phone's glow and froze. The light revealed a pale, delicate hand, palm-up in the mud.

Why was that hand so still?

I took a step closer, and an overwhelming melancholy hit me, the way it had the day I'd discovered the dead trees. The unmistakable trace of malevolent magic.

The hand—Petra's hand—didn't move. With a shuddering breath, I stepped closer.

She lay gazing skyward, her wet hair sticking to her brow, her gray eyes open and unblinking in the rain. I ran to her.

It couldn't be true. I would wake her, and she would be all right.

"No!" I cried as I reached her side. I shook her, tilting her lifeless face to mine. "Come on!"

My words disappeared into the wind. I rose to my feet beneath the freezing rain. I should have been afraid; Petra was still warm. Whoever killed her had not gotten far. I should have thought of escape, home, safety. But that was not what I wanted. I wanted to find the witch who did this, to make them pay.

My fingers tightened around the flashlight. An animal blend of panic and rage hummed inside me. The flashlight's beam grew as wide and intense as a spotlight, cutting through the darkness of the forest.

There. Beyond the clearing, I spotted the unmistakable shape of someone retreating. The trees scattered my beam into a hundred crooked shadows, obscuring the figure in shards of light and dark. Man or woman, young or old, I couldn't tell.

My heart raced and tears stung my eyes. I fixed my gaze on the fleeing witch and let the sunfire fly, a coil of fire searching for something to seize. I felt it close around the witch's ankle. But my hands were shaking, the magic pulsing with every panicked beat of my heart. The spell was turning on me; I felt the fire creep up my arm toward my throat.

No! I couldn't stop now, couldn't let Petra's killer get away. I held on as the heat wrapped itself around my neck. There was no one to save me this time—no one to snap me out of it like my mom had all those years ago.

Suddenly, the earth gave way beneath my feet. I tumbled to the ground, the impact freeing my mind from the spell's grip. The sunfire dissolved into darkness. The witch's ankle slipped away, my fingers closing around nothing. I tried to get up to fire again, but the mud held my legs, pulling me down with relentless force. The witch was manipulating the earth beneath me, making it swallow me whole.

I writhed vainly like an animal in a trap. Dirt covered me up to my chest now, roots scraping my sides as I sank. I was going to die, I realized—buried, just as Petra would be when they found her. My eyes fluttered shut. Petra and I would be together forever beneath the earth. The thought was not horrifying but strangely peaceful. Neither of us would be alone.

It took a moment for me to understand I was no longer sinking. The ground was wet and cold but solid beneath me. I gasped and air filled my lungs. I clawed at the dirt around me, dragging myself free. At last, I rose to my feet, shaking.

I knew the witch was gone by now. I'd been spared, and Petra was dead.

My flashlight lay near her unmoving body. I took it numbly, then turned toward the lights of my house, no longer feeling the cold or the pain of what I'd been through. I was propelled by anger, my body moving out of sheer determination.

I marched up the hill, up my back stairs, and stepped, dripping, into the kitchen. Luke and Gwen sat at the kitchen table, steaming teacups in front of them. My mom stood at the counter, a wineglass in her hand. The kitchen was bright, and they looked warm and safe, like people in a gold-framed painting, not part of my reality.

They stared, wide-eyed, at my mud-covered face, the blood soaking through my clothes where the tree roots had cut.

"What the hell—" my mom began.

Luke rose to his feet as if to rush to me, but I spoke before he could. "Petra's dead."

Muddy water pooled on the tile floor.

" What? " My mom set her glass down so hard, I thought it might break.

I turned to her. "Petra's dead," I repeated. "Someone killed her. Nearly killed me too. A witch. Call her parents. Call the Mundane police to take her away."

My mother stood immobile with disbelief. Water dripped from my hair and down my cheeks, but tears did not fall. I left those warm, dry people in that bright room and went up the stairs, then up the next flight. I didn't stop until I'd pulled down the creaky ladder to the attic. I climbed it and fumbled for the light. A bare bulb illuminated the dusty furniture and carefully covered heirlooms.

In the corner, just as I recalled, was a short bookshelf as antique as the house itself. A leather-bound book decorated in intricate script sat on the bottom shelf: our coven's Book of Shadows. I sat in the dust and began to read.