Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

As I stared at the swirl of earth where Marten and the demon Arcadis had disappeared into a portal to the Unseelie Court, only one thought crossed my mind.

Thistle thorns.

What a pear-shaped morning. Scratch that. Pear-shaped wasn't wonky enough. This morning was a curly straw of disaster.

Not only had my family finally discovered my secret little life in Redbud and I had learned my own grandmother had been the one to lay the magic-sucking curse on our grimoire, a demon had shown up.

Stabbing the half-heart with the hellhound claw had broken the bargain made between Arcadis and Grandmother, and apparently killing the hellhound guardian had added insult to injury. I was responsible for both heinous (a matter of opinion) acts, but it was Marten who was held accountable for them. So he had been kidnapped and extradited to the Unseelie Court and I was left to kneel on the frozen ground after a failed rescue attempt with nothing but despair numbing my heart.

Oh my Green Mother , I pleaded, but I couldn't finish the entreaty. What could I say that would make this better? Rectify it? What could I do? What if there was nothing I could do?

A sharp pricking sensation on the tender skin of my palms brought me back away from that spiral of despair. Bright amber eyes, twin pools of pain mixed with heartache, gazed up at me.

Sawyer was cradled in my hands, his weight digging something unfamiliar into my palm, but I was too distracted by the sight of my blood smeared across his fur and mingling with his own to care. While my own magic had healed the wounds I'd sustained without a second thought, now that I was no longer being dampened by whatever that oppressive force was inside the portal, Sawyer's magic didn't work the same way.

Green light sparked with gold flecks bloomed at my hands and soaked into his little body, and I felt the tension of pain and injury ease away from him. Surging upwards, he gave my chin an aggressive nuzzle.

"I'm glad you're alright, little cat," I whispered. But then I choked on my breath, stifling a sob when that insidious, guilty part of me hissed, But Marten is not. And it's all your fault.

Then the warm hand on my shoulder, which I had quite forgotten about, squeezed gently, pulling me back from the edge of my mental misery abyss.

Arthur .

A flash of memory stirred—him rooted to the ground, every muscle fit to bursting like Hercules as he strangled the Nemean lion, his hands clamped around Otter's as he anchored the chain of my family members to the mortal world.

Oh my Green Mother. He saved us all.

On cold legs and feet, I staggered upright.

The lumberjack shifter immediately caught me and turned me into his embrace. Sawyer didn't protest being squished between us, and Arthur was gentle, mindful of the cat. His arms layered over me, one hand splaying wide across my ribs, the other cradling my head under his chin. I turned my cheek to the side to lay my head flat against his bare chest and sucked in one shaky, shuddering breath after another. He was trembling too, but the more we held each other, convinced ourselves through the contact of our skin and the mingling of our breath that we were both here, and alive, the more the tremors faded away.

By the Green Mother, he smelled like home: old-growth forest, honey, sunlight. The sturdy beat of his heart soothed mine, his skin so warm despite the rain, and when I was steady again, I opened my eyes.

Shari was enfolded in Daphne's arms, as well as Flora's, Lewellyn and Ame standing nearby, watchful. The quiet crafter's shoulders shook as Daphne stroked her hair. The elegant older woman's bright blue eyes met mine, and she nodded solemnly. I mouthed a heartfelt, "Thank you , " and convinced myself it was time to peel away from Arthur and rejoin what remained of my family. It was the only way to get Marten back, after all. Sawyer dropped to the ground, wary of the witches and wanting room to either attack or escape.

Mom's eyes were still puffy, though the cause seemed to be from her grief this time instead of whatever I'd done to her when I'd burned through her spell on my cuffs; Dad had his arm wrapped around Mom, his jaw set and eyes glassy; Otter looked like he'd been punched in the gut, the rain dripping off his long hair to splatter on his cheeks; the aunts and Uncle Badger had cornered Grandmother, as much as one could be cornered in a clearing, demanding to know just how— exactly —she planned to get Marten back. She had been the one to broker to deal with Arcadis, after all. Surely she had a way of contacting him and negotiating his release.

"I can't," she shouted. My unflappable grandmother tore her hands through her hair, her fingers snagging in her bun. Locks of steel-gray hair were ripped loose, framing her face like limp cobwebs. "N-not with the amount of time we have left. Not with the resources at hand—"

"So we're just going to let him take my son without a fight?" Dad seethed.

"Even if we made contact, he'd never agree to release Marten," she said. "He has his pound of flesh; he doesn't need to negotiate."

"We are not abandoning him," Uncle Badger boomed. His bright blue eyes brooked no argument.

"I didn't say that."

"What are you saying, Mother?" Mom demanded. "Because it sounds like you've already given up!"

"Perhaps we should take this inside, by the hearth, as we had originally planned?" Aunt Peony spoke up, a slight quiver in her cheerful voice. "We're still out in a forest with the protection spell broken and Meadow is beyond the wards of the manor. And it's raining. Besides, planning anything is best done over a cup of tea and—"

"Forget your tea, Peony!" Mom shrilled. "That is my son—"

"And that is your daughter, your son's sister, whom he was protecting when he was taken," her sister shot back at her. "Let's not dishonor his sacrifice by arguing out in the open! By nullifying all this family has fought for for the last four decades!"

At that, every witchy eye turned towards me as if suddenly remembering I was there. When I started to tremble, fearful I would see nothing but resentment in their expressions, Arthur stepped close, melding his palm against the small of my back. A shiver of gratitude raced through me.

That gentle giant of a Coalition enforcer, a title I had yet to understand fully yet knew carried a weight that even my anti-shifter family respected, somehow knew exactly what I needed—solidarity and encouragement—and relayed it through the simplest touch. The lumberjack shifter with his superhuman strength recognized I was strong in my own right and wasn't trying to overshadow me, to cajole me into relying on him instead of myself, to shield me. He was a ballast, a support. An ally that would never fail to come through for me.

But there was no resentment in my family's faces. Just trepidation and anxiety. They were torn. Should they focus on protecting me or retrieving the member of the coven who would make them whole again? The Circle of Nine had been broken. They were weakened, vulnerable, and even though they had another witch of their family line right in front of them—me—they weren't exactly scrambling to initiate me right then and there.

I realized then I would never be a robed elder of the Circle of Nine, not until whoever they were protecting me from had been eliminated as a threat. And since they'd chosen to hide me all these years, instead of proactively hunting down the one seeking me, then he or she must be very powerful indeed. The Hawthornes weren't known to leave an enemy alive that they might then have to face again.

"Oh, honey," Mom whispered, holding her arms out to me.

My weight shifted forward, but my feet remained exactly where they were. I wanted to rush forward, to hug my mother, to be swarmed by my family's embrace. And yet…

They had known all this time about the prophecy Great-Uncle Hare had uncovered, about the person who hunted me, and they had said nothing.

Did they think me so na?ve and powerless that I couldn't be trusted with the truth? Had I known what I would be facing since the day I was born, maybe I could've prepared better for it. And thistle thorns, what was it already?

I leaned back into Arthur's hand. "I… I'm not ready for that yet," I told her.

Tears brimmed in Mom's eyes, but she clamped her lips and gave me an understanding nod. For a moment, I almost didn't believe it. Forsythia "Let's Have It Out Right Now So It Doesn't Fester" Hawthorne was actually giving me… space?

My chest tightened as I was swarmed with second thoughts, but Arthur's hand on my back seemed to send an additional surge of warmth, supporting my decision to stand up for myself, however that looked.

Aunt Peony's words had struck a chord with Grandmother, though, and she collected herself. Gone was the frazzled woman who'd just had her last forty years' worth of work unraveled, not to mention a member of her coven stolen. The matriarch of the Hawthorn coven remained, and she was seizing control of this situation.

"Hyacinth, Badger, and Otter, create a protective circle," she ordered.

As a unit of three, and what's more, a unit of a wife, husband, and their son, their magic would be stronger than if any other threesome of witches had been called to the same task. Except Grandmother and her daughters Mom and Aunt Peony, but Grandmother had some explaining to do, and she knew it.

The three witches spread equidistant from each other across the moonflower grove and chanted an incantation in low-toned voices. As green threads of magic began to form along the ground, those outside the circle—the Crafting Circle ladies, Lewellyn, and Ame, quickly hopped over the boundary before it took full effect and sealed them outside. Flora sent Grandmother a scathing look for not initially including them but otherwise kept her mouth shut.

"Tod, remove those leaves," Grandmother said, pointing to the spot where the portal had been.

Marten had been right about Dad possessing air magic, and with a sweep of his hand, the earth was free of not just the leaves, but every ounce of forest debris. Twigs, moss, leaf mold, it was all gone, and a bare patch of earth remained, solidified unnaturally in a swirl-like pattern.

From her pocket, Grandmother produced what looked like a silver cigarette case. She withdrew a yellow-headed Illuminate match, struck it, and ordered, "Flash of light, reveal to our sight."

There was a collective gasp as not a ward was illuminated by the magic, but a glittering red thread exactly like the one I'd seen emanate from Shari's chest. It rose from the center of the frozen swirl, straight as a redwood tree, and shot straight into the sky where it disappeared from sight in the storm. It pulsed like it had its own heartbeat, little beads of brighter light chasing after each other in a rate that was definitely, if minutely, slowing before our very eyes.

"The portal might be gone, but an echo of it remains," Grandmother explained. "Even that will vanish in three nights' time. Since demons are unable to cross realms unless summoned—"

"Or birthed," Shari spat from where she clung tightly to Daphne.

No one said anything for a long moment as we each processed what Shari's words implied, some more surprised than others at the revelation.

Grandmother swallowed, smoothing her features, and continued, "We must be the ones to summon Arcadis. Or at least get his attention, and all before that echo dies out. Otherwise it will be the equivalent of sending someone a letter but not knowing their address. To do that, we'll need supplies and ingredients—"

"You're not summoning a demon to Redbud." Flora brandished her glowing beechwood wand from Daphne's shoulder. "We might be a small town in the middle of nowhere, but it's our town and we're not going to let it turn into a hellmouth!"

"Summoning a demon"—Aunt Hyacinth wet her lips—"but that's black magic, Aunt."

Grandmother straightened. "Only if you bring it into this world. Which we are very much not doing. This is the equivalent of a magical video conference call and nothing else."

"If it's ‘nothing else,' how do we get my son back?" Dad asked.

"First things first, Tod," came her crisp reply. "If you're thinking of somehow piggybacking on whatever link we establish, you can forget it. That portal is shut. And it won't open again without Arcadis's ring or an expenditure of magic that's guaranteed to kill the witch attempting to pry it open."

"His ring?" I asked, hope fluttering to life in my chest like the wings of a butterfly newly emerged from its chrysalis.

I opened my hand to reveal the demon's glittering gold ring tacked to my palm with my blood and Sawyer's hair. Upon closer inspection, it wasn't the gold itself that was emitting that star-like glow, but the five diamonds embedded in the band.

"It slipped off his finger when we were fighting in the portal," I explained before my family could demand an explanation.

Mom released a hopeful cry. "So that means—"

"We have a bargaining chip," Grandmother interrupted. "That ring is useless to us, but it is very important to Arcadis. It's what allows him such charming little visits to the mortal realm to kidnap witches. He'll most certainly want it back. Well done, Meadow."

Her praise lacked the effect the same words would've had on me four months ago. Back then, I would've beamed a smile, maybe even spun a twirl—in private, of course, I was twenty-five years old, not ten—but now I only nodded. In acknowledgement. Not acceptance.

"So what now?" Aunt Hyacinth prompted.

"We take Meadow back to Hawthorne Manor—"

"No!" I immediately protested, startling myself. To return home was what I'd always wanted, from the moment I'd fled beyond the gates four months ago, but now… Now it felt like I was giving up.

"—and return here with the supplies needed for the summoning," Grandmother finished firmly. "If we can travel and acquire them all in time."

"I'm sorry," Mom said, "I just thought you said the word ‘if.' What do you mean, if we can travel and gather the necessary supplies in time? There is no ‘if' here! Only a time frame we will adhere to!"

Grandmother was growing impatient. "Each second you all defy me, question me, is a second we're not working towards retrieving Marten. The spells are intricate and take time. There are ingredients to gather and potions to make and—"

"Such as?" I asked, eager to get a start on retrieving my brother. "Give me a list and we can see what's already available here."

My grandmother snorted and made a show of looking around. "I doubt Redbud has any loblolly pine."

I bristled at the implied disrespect to this little town, and so did Flora, for Daphne had to release one hand from Shari to keep the garden gnome from charging. Redbud hadn't just become a haven to me, but a home away a from home. And it had enabled me to break the curse on the grimoire, which was no small feat.

"It doesn't," I answered crisply.

"Well," Grandmother began, as if her perceived notions about Redbud had just been verified.

" But it does have plenty of jelly fungus and blackberry lily rhizomes, which when boiled in a mixture of honey and witch hazel tincture for an hour results in a perfectly suitable substitute for loblolly resin, which is what you're really after, right?"

"It really does," Aunt Peony agreed, nodding before Grandmother sent her a scathing look.

"Next?" I asked, with more than a little challenge in my voice.

Her ivy-green eyes became slits. "Mouse stair ferns."

"Oh, the Cedar Haven forest has got plenty of those. What else?"

"A mirror."

"Got a nice big one in my attic."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Is it framed in equal parts cherrywood, rowan, ash, and oak?"

"No, but I know a guy who sells wood and is a fantastic carpenter."

She pursed her lips. "Turkey tail mushrooms, marsh marigolds, and redstem dogwood berries."

"Already in stock on my shelves." While I tried to keep the smug triumph from my voice, I didn't think I succeeded very well. "I didn't spend the last four months just twiddling my thumbs and consorting with shifters, you know."

" Fine ." Grandmother flung her hands back down to her sides. "I suppose that cuts out the travel time, so we might just make it by the skin of our teeth. You, however, are still going home."

Arthur's fingers tensed in the small of my back, and Sawyer hissed, both of them clearly hating the idea.

"I'm not going anywhere." I thrust a finger in the direction of the farmhouse. "That's my hearth in that house, not yours. It will not provide the same spell efficacy and protection to you, to us, if I am not the one sustaining it. And the coven is weak."

Grandmother's eyes blazed that I'd revealed that weakness aloud, especially within the hearing distances of two shifters, two familiars, and three women with no ties to the Hawthorne family.

"Marten was taken because of me," I said, tightening my hand over Arcadis's ring and drawing it to my chest. Away from her. "I'm going to help get him back, not sit behind the wards of the manor like a princess in a tower. I am the knight in this story, make no mistake about that."

Grandmother took a sharp step forward, and Arthur immediately rolled his weight to the balls of his feet in expectation of another fight. By my ankles, Sawyer bristled with a low yowl. Thistle thorns, I was so tired of the fighting. I just wanted my brother and my life back. Whatever remained of it after all this dust settled, anyway.

"I love my grandson," she said in a low voice so the other witches couldn't hear, "but he is not Violet's heir and will never be as important as you. You will stay here, under the protection of your hearth, and we will get him back. And when we do, we all will be returning to Hawthorne Manor to discuss the next steps."

"So long as I'm an active part of that discussion, I'm all for it." I slipped Arcadis's ring onto the chain with Arthur's pendant, making sure Grandmother saw me do it and knew what it meant. That I wasn't going to bend and acquiesce to her every request. I had become my own witch out here in little ol' Redbud.

I swept my hand towards the farmhouse. "After you."