Black Moon (The Moonlight Trilogy) (33 page)

Where will we go?

Simon blinked in shock. He had decided to leave; but, beyond that, he hadn
’
t considered.

What will we do? Leave town, enroll in another school? Train on his own, alone in the mountains? Go back to not using the magic?

“Simon,” Willa called. He turned his head; she
stood
in front of him, the frigid sea breeze tossing her long hair. She held out a hand. “Come on.”

He swallowed and took her hand.

The Covenant gathered around a large pile of driftwood at the edge of the surf. Wynter held an old grimoire tight against her chest, and she smiled weakly at Simon and Willa. Rowan nodded solemnly. No one else acknowledged them, deliberately keeping their eyes on the sand or out at the ocean. Simon wouldn
’
t admit it out loud, but he
was
shocked at how cold they all were to him, despite what he had done. His sense of self-preservation hoped for better. An opposing thought answered his disappointment.
You don
’
t need them. You have always been better off alone.

Rowan cleared his throat. “Let
’
s go over how the spell works.” He turned to Wynter.

Wynter opened the book. “This spell draws heavily on ocean and mirror magic. We will light the fire, and then one of us will need to levitate this mirror,” she gestured to a large flat mirror resting in the sand.

“I can do that,” Elliot offered.

“Thank you, Elliot. It needs to hang above the flames, facing down so that we can see the reflection.” Elliot nodded. Wynter went on, “We then call to the Water and Powers with the spell written here. Using the pen Rowan found as a guide, the magic will locate Archard. If it
’
s successful, we will see him and his location reflected in the mirror.” Wynter lowered the book and looked around the circle.

Rowan said, “It
’
s powerful magic, and it will take all our focused efforts to make it work. Yes, we have the added power of the black moon, which will greatly aid us, but our focus object is so impersonal. Normally, we
’
d use a hair or piece of clothing, but all we have is this.” He pulled the pen from his pocket and frowned at it. “We need to set aside our problems and be one. Can we do that?”

Simon lowered his head. No one spoke. Willa tightened her grip on his hand.

Rowan repeated, louder. “Can we do that?”

There were grumbles of consent around the circle. Simon
’
s stomach twisted.

“I
’
m very disappointed in all of you,” Wynter said quietly, bringing all eyes immediately to her. “This betrays our sacred bond. To turn our backs on one of our own is to turn our backs on the Powers.”

Awkward, thoughtful silence filled the cove; even the ocean seemed to quiet and listen. Yet no one said a word.

Rowan shared a look with Wynter and then said, sadly, “Let
’
s begin. Pray this works. But know that we will revisit this problem later tonight at Chloe
’
s house. No one will sleep until we hash through this. Understood?”

Quiet nods.

Willa
’
s head suddenly jerked up. “What name did you say, Rowan?”

Rowan blinked in confusion. “
Chloe. Wynter
’
s mother. Her name is Chloe. Why?”

Willa frowned. “Umm, nothing I guess. I thought you said something else.”

“Are you okay?” Rowan asked.

Willa nodded. Simon caught her eye, and she shrugged.

“Then light the fire, Darby,” Rowan said.

Willa watched the flames crackle
to life, rising higher and higher into the air. The heat of it washed over her, pushing aside the cold ocean breeze. She clung to Simon’s clammy hand. Simon’s hands were
never
clammy. Stealing a glance, she could see the tension in his jaw, the fatigue around his eyes. Simon
never
looked tired.

What
’
s happening to you?

She pulled her mind back to Wynter
’
s mother. Why did her name sound so familiar? Why did it stir something in her heart? She didn
’
t know anyone named Chloe. Should she? Her instincts itched, and she couldn
’
t scratch deep enough to soothe them. Willa hoped the spell wouldn
’
t take long—she needed to meet this woman.

Now that the flames were as tall as a man, Rowan asked everyone to remove their shoes and circle around it. With Simon close, Willa moved forward, bare feet sinking in the cold, grainy sand, and the heat of the fire stinging her eyes. The fire smelled different than fires at home, salty, airy, and somehow . . .
blue
, despite the orange-yellow flames.

Wynter and Rowan moved around the circle to stand on either side of Willa and Simon, clearly demonstrating their place. It helped to close the sudden separation she and Simon faced. But only a little. The rest of the witches fell into place around the fire. Wynter signaled to Elliot. He lifted his hand out toward the square mirror, as big as a sheet of plywood. It lifted easily into the air. He guided it up and over the fire. It hovered there, mirror-side facing down, throwing the flames back at them.

Willa looked up to see her own orange face reflected in the mirror, with Simon next to her, eyes staring blankly out at the ocean. His reflection only amplified the change in him, the strangeness. If killing three strangers had damaged him, the fall-out of nearly killing everyone he loved might actually destroy him. She looked away.

Wynter opened the grimoire again, its dark blue cover deepened in the firelight. Rowan threw the pen into the mouth of the flames. Wynter began the spell.
“Glorious ocean, the life of the world, guide us, direct us, Darkness unfurled. Show us the witch that threatens the Earth. And we will fight to prove our worth.”

Heat separate from the fire stirred in the air. Together the twelve witches lifted their hands toward the ocean to call to the power of Water, summoning the strength of the ocean to give energy to their words.

The surf rose instantly, rushing forward to gather around their ankles. Willa hissed at its icy touch and marveled that the fire did not go out. In fact, with the water around it, the flames grew higher, stronger and soon took on a blue tint.

The Covenant repeated the spell together.
“Glorious ocean, the life of the world, guide us, direct us, Darkness unfurled. Show us the witch that threatens the Earth. And we will fight to prove our worth.”

A strong wind rolled in off the ocean, blew past them and into the forest beyond. In answer, the cove filled with the rustling, creaking sound of trees. Willa thought she heard whispers mixed in with the sounds. She shivered at the memory of what the trees had said when she and Rowan had gone to the cave.

What are they saying now?

The wind circled back to swirl around them, the whispers growing, but so muddled that it was impossible to tell what they said. The water around their feet grew higher, and soon Willa
’
s jeans were soaked up to the thighs. F
reezing,
she wished she
’
d brought more than a sweatshirt.

The wind died, and all eyes turned up to the mirror. Willa held her breath. The flames disappeared from the glassy surface; instead she saw black smoked curling in on itself. She stared hard, her heart racing and breath catching in her lungs. Slowly, an image appeared. Trees—aspens. And then a clearing with mangled dirt
. Willa gasped.
The cave!

The mirror zoomed in on a man lying on the dirt, the earth all around him dug up and disturbed. His body writhed in pain, and his mouth hung open in a
silent
scream
. Willa didn
’
t even hear the flames eating the wood or hear the ocean
’
s waves anymore.

The man in the mirror sat up, another scream on his lips. His body was covered in the rippled, folded scars of burns, dripping with blood; but in a blink they were gone, and Archard stared down on them. Moans of fear split the silence. Willa closed her eyes, ripples of cold moving down her body. She groped to her side until her hand met Simon
’
s.

She
’
d been right, her dream true. She
hated
that she was right.

Archard—alive.

Willa opened her eyes. Clear now of the dismal images, the mirror reflected only the flames and their terrified faces. She caught sight of Simon
’
s reflection. He
look
ed at her in the mirror, reflection to reflection, but it wasn
’
t his face. A sharp icicle of pain hit her head. She collapsed to the wet sand, the water quickly retreating back to its proper place, rolling over her, splattering into her face. She heard Simon drop next to her.

The pain raged, pulsing cold against the back of her eyes. Despite it, she forced her lids open into slits to look at him. But it still wasn
’
t her Simon. She screamed and crawled away, kicking up sand into his face.

“Willa!” Simon yelled.

That face. She knew it. She feared it. But why was it here?
How?
Had anyone else seen it? And why was it masking Simon
’
s?

Wynter pulled Willa into her arms, and the pain ebbed away. Simon moved cautiously forward. “Willa?”

She didn
’
t dare look at him again, so she buried her face in Wynter
’
s shoulder.

“What
’
s wrong, Willa?”
Wynter asked.

Willa shook her head, her hot tears wetting Wynter
’
s white dress.

“Willa—” Rowan started, but his words were cut short by the sudden uproar of the trees. All eyes turned to the forest, shaking and swaying of its own accord.

“What
’
s going on?” Simon asked, tense.

Rowan
’
s face drained of color. “They say . . . ‘He
’
s coming.
’”

Archard stood in the shelter
of the trees, his heart thrumming a wild song of anticipation. His graphite eyes peered down to the beach below, where the twelve Light witches gathered around their fire. He watched eagerly as their mirror burst to life with his own image, and savored the candy-sweet taste of their reaction.

He’d expected the spell to reveal his current location, but thankfully the Dreams girl had broken the circle before it could.

Turning to Rachel, standing behind him in the trees, holding Bartholomew
’
s grimoire and the black bag with the boxed souls carefully in her hands, he said, “It
’
s time. Let
’
s open it.”

Something inside him had changed after the ghost spell on the blessing moon. He felt a new strength, a depth to his magic that pulsed inside him with indomitable energy. A new intuition had awakened, and he could sense the Dark magic all around him, he could control it without the aid of as many spells. He
’
d truly broken the will of the Powers, and now they cowered to his every desire.

This is what Bartholomew felt.

Rachel pulled the box from the sack with a velvet whisper. Archard took it from her, placed one hand on the lid, and muttered the names of the souls he wanted: the ten imprisoned ghost-witches. Then he handed the box back to Rachel. He pulled his marked moonstone from his pocket, held it aloft, directly in front of the box.

“Open it,” he commanded. The lid creaked back. His moonstone burst to life, a thread of milky silver snaking out from the stone into the box. The ribbon of light gathered the souls Archard requested and brought them out, leaving all the others trapped. Ten misty spirits dropped like liquid to the ground and then rose to their full heights, a line of ghosts, eerie-white in the black night. A moonlight tether circled each neck, connecting them to Archard
’
s stone. Leashed, silent, and controlled.

Archard grinned, met the poisonous stare of each ghost-witch, and then turned his face back to the beach.

The Light witches were all gathered around the pretty Dreamer, anxious eyes flicking between her and the True Healer. The mirror had been lowered to the sand, forgotten. Archard tasted savory revenge on his tongue. How he hated these witches and their self-righteous piety! They may have bested him once, but not this time. Bartholomew
’
s magic was his alone to command, and not even their Covenant power could stand up to its force. Before, he
ha
d only had a taste of that strength; but now that he
ha
d consumed Bartholomew
’
s whole book, digested it, and been reborn in a kind of Darkness, they could not even fathom—nor escape.

He
woul
d enjoy every second of their agony this night.

“Let
’
s go,” he threw back to Rachel. He tugged on the stone, testing the strength of his ten, tenuous leashes. They held nicely, each of the ghosts jerking forward to follow him to the beach. He took a few steps forward, and suddenly the trees erupted in upset chatter, their branches swaying and leaves rustling fiercely. He glanced around, smiled again, and then stepped down into the sand.

Time slowed. Everything, including the
ocean, held its breath. Willa, still wrapped in Wynter’s embrace, lifted her head and looked over her shoulder.
Am I dreaming?
What she saw felt so unreal, so unnatural that it could only be the twisted illusion of a dream.

In the dark night of the black moon, the Light Covenant watched as Archard, as alive as they
’
d ever seen him, strolled down the sand. In his hand a stone that radiated ten strands of white light, each one attached to the neck of a ghost. The
apparitions
were still too far away to recognize, but cold dread pricked Willa
’
s heart.