Black Moon (The Moonlight Trilogy) (3 page)

“He did what he had to do.”

“Yeah, but this is Simon. It’s not as simple as that.”

“Yes, I know,” Solace said quietly. For a moment there was only the sound of Willa moving papers, and then the ghost said, “I’m sure he’ll talk to you when he’s ready.”

Willa frowned. “That’s what I keep telling myself. But I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel right.”

Solace frowned, nodding thoughtfully. “Because it
isn’t
right. Not for him, for you, or for your relationship. It’ll drive a wedge between you.”

Willa looked up. Sometimes Solace was more insightful than she expected. A seed of fear grew in Willa’s mind, one she’d yet to acknowledge, the fear that this would, in fact, be a problem between her and Simon. She shook her head, turned back to the files. “I don’t think anything could ever really drive us apart, but . . .”

“But it will change things.” Solace lifted her eyebrows and leaned forward, giving Willa a knowing look. “Because he won’t let it out, and you won’t let it go.”

Turning back to the files, avoiding Solace’s gaze, Willa mumbled, more to herself than to her friend, “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Perhaps mostly that it would change Simon,
permanently
. Her hands froze over the files.
Has it already?

Solace inhaled loudly and then clicked her tongue, “What about your parents? Any improvement on the home front?”

Willa rolled her eyes, and, as if on cue, her phone buzzed. She picked it up off the desk and read the text from her mom.
Did you go to the museum? When are you coming home?
Willa scoffed and shoved the open file drawer closed. Then she dropped into the old swivel chair and stared at the phone. “It’s getting ridiculous, Solace.” She typed a quick reply. “They’ve always been really protective, and we’ve always been close. I get it—I’m their only kid. But they refuse to let go of how things used to be.”

Solace rolled a ballpoint pen back and forth on the desktop. Solace was the only ghost in the museum who could touch things, move things. She read books, hid Willa’s phone on occasion, and often moved an artifact to a different display case when she was bored—much to Mr. Bentley’s dismay. Willa figured it had something to do with the fact that Solace was also a witch, as Willa had discovered in the fall.

“So what are you going to do?” Solace asked.

Willa dropped her head back and sighed heavily. “I have no idea. Things are rough between me and my mom. She keeps trying to make up for not telling me who I was all my life by being overly nice. And my dad . . . well, he’s in total denial. Some days he barely looks at me.” She put her phone on the desk, spun it around, fighting a sudden rise of emotion in her throat. “Part of me just wants to storm out, tell them I’m moving in with Simon, and living on my own like a normal adult. But . . .”

“But?” Solace flicked the pen and watched it roll off the edge of the desk.

Willa bent down, picked up the pen, and threw it back among the papers. Quietly, she said, “I don’t want to hurt them anymore than I already have. Even if the Covenant feels right to me, I don’t want to ruin things with my parents over it.” Looking at her hands, she added, “I don’t want to end up like Simon.”

Solace folded her hands in her lap. “I wonder how my parents and I got along? I can see both their faces in my mind”—she closed her eyes—“and sometimes I almost think I can hear their voices, but then . . .” She opened her eyes, now marked with sadness. “But then it’s gone.”

Willa’s heart ached for her friend. Not only was Solace trapped in the museum for an unknown reason, but she couldn’t remember any details of her life, not even her death. “I’m sorry, Solace. I wish I could help you remember.”

She shrugged. “At least I have a few of my mother’s grimoires, right?”

Willa smiled. Camille Krance’s grimoires, given to Wynter and Rowan while visiting her in Italy before her death, had become Solace’s new favorite reading material. She’d been through them at least six times. Willa said, “I just wish we could figure out what the Lilly references mean. Maybe we aren’t such good mystery solvers after all.” Willa had discovered the vague references to a person named Lilly when Wynter gave her Camille’s grimoires in the fall. But no one seemed to know anything about this person Camille was supposedly protecting or hiding . . . or both.

Solace pursed her lips, picked up the pen and twiddled it in her hands. “Well, that’s because you never read
Sherlock Holmes
like I told you to.”

Willa laughed, shook her head. Her eyes caught on the small clock hanging crookedly on the wall. “Holy moon!” She jumped up and grabbed her coat and bag. “Sorry, Solace, I gotta go. Training.”

“Oh, of course. Wish I were going.” She rolled her eyes and then smiled. “Have fun!”

Willa, half way out the door, pushed her head back into the room. “You’ve read
Sherlock
like twenty times. How come
you
can’t figure out who Lilly is?” She grinned, lifted an eyebrow in a mocking expression.

Solace huffed, threw the pen at the door, and disappeared.

Chapter 3

Blood Moon

October 1931

R
ipples of Dark magic pulsed through the gloomy pre-dawn air, so repugnant that the stars turned out their lights. Camille Krance ran, pressing a precious and blanket-wrapped bundle to her chest. Tears dripped from her eyes, turning to ice on her cheeks in the cold October air. Terror and grief churned in her stomach and weakened her limbs.

Solace! My sweet, Solace!

The ground was hard beneath her slippered feet, and her long flannel nightgown was a poor hedge against the biting cold. Her face throbbed where a Dark witch had beaten her, with one of her stone-blue eyes already swollen shut and her gut sharply sore where she’d been kicked. Half of her graying blonde hair had pulled out of its braid and was matted to her forehead, cheeks, and neck. But she thought little about her own condition. At least Amelia’s baby was warm and content to sleep as Camille bobbed through the trees.

Horrible thoughts raced through her mind as she ran, visions of the night’s Dark events choking her.

Why?! Why my Solace?

Camille couldn’t help wishing her daughter’s terrible fate had fallen on someone else, anyone else. She’d waited so long for Solace, sacrificed so much to be her mother, and now . . .
She couldn’t bring herself to think the devastating words. If only she had fled Twelve Acres weeks ago, as soon as the trouble began, she might have protected her daughter. The desire to flee had been so strong, especially after Amelia’s husband and the others had been killed.
I should have listened to myself.
But she and her husband, Ronald, had a duty to the Covenant, to Ruby’s legacy. But this sacrifice . . .

Our daughter, our perfect little girl.

After the Dark witches had left her beaten and sobbing, Camille had taken Amelia’s baby to the safety of Town Hall. There, in the dark of the Covenant’s chamber, she’d hurried to perform a spell. The kind she hated, dreaded. But she was so desperate to do something—anything—for Solace. If she couldn’t save her daughter’s life, perhaps she could help her soul find peace.

With trembling hands, Camille lit a single black candle, placed it on top of Solace’s favorite book,
Sense and Sensibility
by Jane Austen, and chanted the words she hoped would guide Solace’s soul away from wherever the Dark covens had taken her. Murdered souls were forever trapped in the place of their death. The idea that her daughter would spend eternity locked inside the last horrible moments of her life made Camille sick. She turned and vomited. After wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she continued her chant.

The room filled with waves of hot and cold magic, churning all around her. Lilly started to cry, but Camille pushed on.
Come, Solace. Come to me, and I will help you rest.

Ronald burst into the room, interrupting the spell. “What are you doing?!” He looked at the candle, moved his eyes around the room. “Oh, Camille.”

“I can’t leave her there, Ronald. I can’t let her be trapped where they murdered her,” she yelled, voice shrill, shaking.

“This kind of magic is dangerous. You know that!” He hurried over, picked up Lilly and pushed the baby into Camille’s arms. He kicked over the candle and the flame hissed out.

A rush of wind moved through the room, final and sad. “No! I have to finish the spell!” Camille yelled.

“No!” Ronald grabbed Camille by the shoulders. “Camille, they are coming back. We have to go. Now!”

“But . . . Solace. Our baby . . .”

Ronald’s round face and hazel eyes clouded with grief. “I know . . . It’s time to save someone else.” He looked down at Lilly’s tear streaked face. The baby was calm now.

Camille sobbed. Something crashed outside the Town Hall. Ronald pushed her to the door. “Go!”

Now, as she hurried through the forest, cold hatred hardened inside her—hatred for the Covenant, for magic, and for every little decision that led to this night.

Ronald was now busy helping their coven-mates and fellow witches escape—
those that are left
—and removing the Covenant’s records from Town Hall. Her heart reached out to him, praying they would all be safe.
I’m so sorry, Ruby, my dear
friend!
But there had been enough death, and they couldn’t risk the lives of all their neighbors who were not witches and also called Twelve Acres home. Their exodus was a necessary evil

Be safe, Ronald. The Earth knows I can’t lose you too.

Exhausted, Camille collapsed against a tree, gasping for air. Gently, she pulled back the blankets to look at the sweet babe in her arms. The little round face was relaxed; the tiny lips parted as she breathed. Camille stroked the golden-red hair, her entire body aching with grief. Memories of her sweet Solace as a baby beat her down in an unbearable barrage: Solace asleep, nestled against her chest; Solace’s bright eyes shining with life and looking up at her only moments after she arrived in the world; her first steps and first experiments with magic; her lust for life; her sense of humor.

Then tonight, the memories Camille knew would
never
leave her: Solace’s screams as the Dark witches dragged her from Ruby’s house; echoing pleas for her mother’s help shattering Camille’s heart; Camille unable to help, bound by Dark magic and savage beatings.

Sobs rose in her chest, bouncing the little baby. If it were not for this orphaned baby that she’d promised to protect, she would have collapsed to the ground and prayed for death. Instead, compelled by duty, friendship, and a burning desire to save someone from this horrible life, Camille pushed away from the tree and trudged forward.

Soon she came to the forest’s edge and a road.

Time for a spell.

Camille reached up and grabbed a handful of aspen leaves, little round coins of yellow-gold. She held them tightly in her grip and closed her eyes. Then, in a strained, raspy voice, she sang the necessary words,
“Swift and effectual power of air, guide my feet and hear my prayer. Lead me to a home of Light, to place this baby out of sight.”

A burst of warm air answered Camille’s plea, pulling the cold from her bones. She lifted her hand, opened the palm, and the air took the leaves, pulling them upward, spiraling. Then, in one long stream, the leaves floated through the air, beckoning Camille. She followed, her heart a bit lighter. At least she could save
this
child—Amelia’s baby girl—from sharing her mother’s fate . . . and Solace’s.

Oh, those poor girls! They must have been so scared.

Camille’s heart clenched, and her legs nearly gave way, but she kept going. It wasn’t long before the trail of wafting leaves descended before one of the doors of a small motel just off the road. One car stood in the parking lot—a yellow Ford model A with Oregon plates. Camille scanned the dark windows of the car, and then the motel. She crossed to the doorstep and tried to look in, but the curtains were drawn. She sniffed at the smell of goodness, of Light, but not magic. These were kind and honest people, people with love to spare—normal people who would never be pursued by Darkness.

Camille clutched the baby tightly, suddenly loath to leave her.
Is this a mistake?
She pulled the blankets back, kissed the smooth forehead. The baby stirred and looked up into Camille’s bloody, tear-streaked face. Her bright eyes gazed steadily up at Camille. Camille sobbed and laughed at the same time, felt her resolve steady. She didn’t want this child growing up with the threat of Darkness looming over her.

With her left hand supporting the baby, she reached out her right hand, summoning one of the aspen leaves back to her. It floated through the dying night air and landed in her palm, golden yellow, touched by the hand of autumn.

She pressed the leaf to her lips and kissed it, marking it with a bit of magic. When it grew warm she pressed it to the baby’s forehead. “I’ll be watching, Lilly.”