Black Moon (The Moonlight Trilogy) (4 page)

Chapter 4

Waxing Half Moon

February—Present Day

A
rchard’s own gift had finally betrayed him. In one moment of weakness, he’d been overcome; and now he was paying the price—the stinging, throbbing, agonizing price. The mutilated folds of his flesh rippled over him like cooled lava. Every breath was an ordeal; each time his chest moved to draw air, his skin screamed. His muscles were seized and tough, like over-cooked meat. Even a simple task like scratching the remains of his nose was painful and exhausting.

His recovery was glacially slow, even with the aid of magic. If he ever desired to look in the mirror again—
doubtful
—he would see a gruesome stranger. He would never again look like the man inside his head. The fire—
his own fire
—should have killed him, and yet he lived: a twisted, horrific shadow of his former greatness, but alive nonetheless. And if he had survived, there was a reason.

Though doubtful he’d ever get out of his bed again, burning nearly to death had not deadened his desire for power and Dark triumph. The flames hadn’t burned away his ambition. No physical deformity or pain could quell
that.
Archard refused to accept defeat, and each day his desire for revenge grew, steady and unrelenting, like a fungus. He wanted nothing more than to rise up again, gather new covens, and
kill
every single one of Rowan’s Light witches, breaking their Covenant so he could form his own.

And so he filled the long hours in his bed with schemes and machinations, daydreams of torturing and murdering Rowan’s Light witches and drinking in their horror.

I’m still alive, and I’m coming for you!

He’d have to start from nothing. He didn’t know how he could do it, but he was determined to find a way. The only thing truly standing in his way was his damned, deformed,
useless
body.

Cursing the pain, Archard stirred in his hospital bed, in the cabin not far from the cave. He’d lasted only a few weeks in a hospital before
demanding
to go home. He had no patience for the arrogant doctors and simpering nurses. He’d take control of his recovery with money and magic.

“Rachel!” he hissed, his fire-ravaged vocal chords rasping horribly. “Raaacheeel!” He winced in pain.

The blonde beauty, resplendent in a red scoop neck sweater, skinny jeans, and tall stiletto boots, rounded the corner of the room and crossed to his bed, unhurried. She still wouldn’t look him directly in the face. It didn’t matter, as long as she stayed and followed his commands. “Yes, Archard?”

“The book,” he wheezed.

Rachel moved to the opposite side of the room and lifted Bartholomew’s grimoire from its resting place on a black lacquered table. She ran her hand lovingly over the ancient black leather and its metal adornments as she crossed back to his bedside. Archard watched her curiously.
She stays for the power. She’s as obsessed as I am.
If he still had lips, he would have smiled.

Rachel sat in a comfortable leather armchair next to his bed and rested the heavy book in her lap. She released the clasps that held it closed and then lifted the cover. A breath of icy air flowed into the room, and Archard’s pulse quickened.

Rachel turned to the marked page and waved her hand over the Latin text. Most of the words morphed into English, while some remained hidden from sight. They planned to decode and read every single word in the grimoire, searching out the secrets of Bartholomew the Dark, the most powerful witch who ever lived.

Archard believed all his answers rested somewhere in those pages, perhaps even the solution to restoring his body. Bartholomew’s magic had helped before, but there was so much Archard hadn’t had time to study yet. He’d only scratched the surface when he found and attacked the Light covens. Ultimately, his lack of knowledge led to his downfall. But not this time. He’d be patient; he’d study; he’d decode every page, every spell,
everything.

He’d wait until the right moment.

After a deep breath, Rachel began to read.

“Stall the chatter!” yelled Darby,
the female Fire in the Covenant. Her vibrant voice cut through the din around the dinner table. Finished with the meal of Thai takeout, everyone remained at the table in the half-renovated kitchen of Ruby Plate’s old house, surrounded by exposed pipes, wires, and dust.

After Archard had destroyed Rowan’s cottage in the woods, Rowan and Wynter decided to make Twelve Acres their home. The small town had little in the way of available real estate, but when the police had vacated Plate’s Place, taken down the yellow tape, and written off Holmes’s bizarre murder as unsolved, a FOR SALE sign had been hammered into the dead grass. After eighty years of neglect by the mysterious owner, the old house finally had a chance for a new life.

Wynter had shocked everyone by suggesting they buy it. Rowan fought her, refusing the idea that they live in the house that had been her prison for five months, almost the place of her death. But Wynter insisted, explaining that she needed to right the wrong. Simon had known that Willa had quietly taken Wynter’s side, saying that she couldn’t think of anyone better suited to take care of Ruby Plate’s house.

Finally, Rowan gave in, on one condition: the basement must be erased from existence.

So the basement was filled in, the small window cemented over, and the door removed. Erased.

Besides the basement, renovations had begun on the kitchen and a small laundry room off the back of the house, while one of the smaller upstairs bedrooms was being converted to a third bathroom. With so much space, Rowan and Wynter invited anyone who wanted to move in to pick a room. Rain, the female Water, had already moved in. She’d gotten a job at the local auto repair shop, leaving her home in Boulder. Charlotte and Elliot had also taken a room, moving all the way from New York to be with the Covenant. Toby, Hazel, and Corbin had decided to stay at their own homes in Denver, making the drive to Twelve Acres often. And Cal and Darby had purchased a small house a few blocks over.

Willa wanted to move in to Ruby’s house, too, but decided to wait until she smoothed things over with her parents.

Simon told her that as soon as she was ready, they’d move in together. She’d leave her parents’ house, and he his apartment. He didn’t love the idea of living with so many members of the Covenant, but the chance to be with Willa outweighed his discomfort.

The two True Covens of the Covenant now sat around the long wooden table. Bound together by the magic of the blood moon, there were twelve witches, six male, six female, a pair of each of the Six Gifts. Simon and Willa, gifts of Mind and Dreams, sat next to their counterparts, Charlotte and Elliot. Char and Elliot were also the same age and now attending the University of Colorado, same as Willa and Simon. Next to them were Wynter and Rowan, the two Earth witches and leaders of the Covenant—Rowan as the head, or Luminary. On the other side of the table sat Cal, Darby’s husband and the other Fire; Hazel and Toby, the Air witches; and finally, Rain and Corbin, the Waters.

Everyone turned and quieted at Darby’s command, and she tossed back her blonde hair and grinned a toothy grin. “That’s better. It’s time to train.”

Simon exhaled quietly. He both looked forward to and dreaded this time of day. Every night, he and Willa were put through a series of exercises to hone their magical skills in preparation for the Elemental Challenge. He certainly wanted to earn the title of True Witch, but he worried what might happen along the way.

Most witches trained their whole childhood and adolescence before attempting the Challenge; Simon and Willa were trying to do it in less than a year.

Wynter got up from the table. Her strawberry hair glowed in the dim light of a single lamp. She wore a white dress, trimmed in green, with a full skirt and long sleeves. Most of her wardrobe had long sleeves now, to cover the line of scars on her right arm where Holmes had cut her. She retrieved a basket from a box near the side door and passed it over to Darby. From the basket, the Fire witch pulled six different stones, lining them up on the table in front of Willa.

“Okay, girly,” Darby said, sitting back, tugging her bright red, pearly snap shirt into place. “Stones and herbs are essential to working spells. Use the wrong ones and the spell will fail—or worse. Six stones, six gifts. Each one has certain magical properties tied to its appropriate gift. Name them.”

Willa inhaled, narrowed her eyes at the row of stones. This would be easy for her; she was good with the retention of facts. She pointed to the stone farthest to the left. “Emerald—Gift of Earth. Mica—Gift of Air. This garnet is for Fire. Amethyst is Water. The lapis is Mind; and lastly, the moonstone is mine, Dreams.”

Darby grinned again. “Quick draw. Didn’t even hesitate. Very nice.” Wynter brought over another basket. From this one she took six different plants, placed them in front of Simon. “Okay, Simon, match the plant to the gift.”

Simon dropped his eyes to the plants on the wooden table surface. “Moss goes with Earth; the dill with Air. Coffee beans are used with Fire. Seaweed for Water. Cinnamon can be used for Mind. And the lavender is Dreams.”

“Nice work,” Darby said with a nod. “I thought we might throw you off with that cinnamon, since peppermint is the preferred.” She looked over at Char and Elliot. “Will y’all go grab those candles?”

Char and Elliot jumped up from the table, left the room. “Clear the table,” Rowan said, his Scottish brogue drawing out the vowels of the words. The stones, herbs, and remaining dinner plates were whisked away. Simon and Willa moved back, standing near the table. Willa looked up at him with a wonder-what-we-get-to-do-next look. He shrugged. The tests were always a surprise, which made Simon even more uneasy about what might happen with his powers.

Char and Elliot returned with a large box. Elliot proceeded to place glass candlesticks, about six inches in height, along the table in one long row. Char followed behind, placing a red taper in each one. When thirty candles lined the eight-foot farmhouse table from end to end, they stepped back with the other witches hovering behind Willa and Simon.

Simon frowned. Candles probably meant Fire; Fire was the most unpredictable element, the hardest to control.

Rowan cleared his throat, gave his dusty brown beard a stroke, and then said, “You both know how to light a single candle, but this exercise tests your ability to control fire more precisely. Darby will call out instructions and then you must light only the candles she names. Make sense?”

Simon nodded. Willa said, “Yes.”

“Okay, Willa, you first.” Rowan motioned for her to step forward. Simon sensed her nervousness; Fire was her weakest skill. Darby nodded to her, and Willa lifted her right hand. Energy sparked on the air as she summoned magic.

“Two!” Darby called out.

Willa snapped her fingers and two candles burst to life.

“Good. That was an easy one.” Darby waved her hand and the candles went out. “Now, five.”

Willa snapped again; five candles lit in the middle of the row. She smiled and rubbed her hand on her jeans.

“Eight on the left.”

Willa did it easily.

“Two on each end.”

Another snap, and two lit on one end but only one on the other. Willa’s shoulders tensed, and Simon could hear her berating herself in her mind.

Darby waved them out. “No problem. That’s a tricky one. Let’s try one more. One on each end and one in the middle.”

Willa narrowed her eyes and then snapped. Several random candles flared. She dropped her arm with a sigh. Simon wanted to step forward and comfort her.

“Sorry,” Willa said quietly.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Willa,” Rowan said. “This skill takes a lot of practice. We didn’t expect you to be able to do them all.”

“Heck, no,” Darby added. “Even I messed up a few times on this test. Good job, girl.”

Willa nodded somberly, “Thanks.”

“Take a break, and let’s switch. Simon, you’re up,” Rowan said.

Simon’s heart gave a nervous twitch. He put a hand on Willa’s shoulder as they passed.
Control it. Just take a deep breath, and control it,
he told himself

“Ready?” Darby asked. Simon nodded. “Ten together.”

Snap!
Heat flowed out of his fingertips, and ten candles on the right end burst to life, just as he’d wanted. He exhaled.

“Three on each end.”

Three and three orange flames flickering. Energy stirred in his gut, the magic eager to move out of him.
Calm and control.

“One in the middle.”

Easy.
Darby narrowed her eyes slightly, evaluating him, deciding what to ask next.

“Okay, let’s go faster. Ready?” she asked. Simon gave an eager nod.

“Five.” He lit, and she waved them out quickly. “Two on each end.”
Done.
“Half of them.”
Easy.
The magic bubbled excitedly inside him, his hand hot.

“One . . . Eight . . . Two . . . Twelve . . .” Each number was easily executed. The room grew quiet except for Darby’s voice and Simon’s snapping. Darby folded her arms smugly. “All of them.”

Simon snapped immediately, his fingers giving off a tiny spark. All the candles on the table flared, flames rising high. Someone behind him gasped. He wanted to smile, but something in the tone of the gasp and the uneasy silence that followed turned his mouth down instead.

Darby’s eyes were wide, but she wasn’t looking at the table. He followed her gaze. The extra candles in the box Elliot had brought in were floating midair above it, all brightly lit. A few random candles sitting on the kitchen counter also burned. The group moved robotically into the front living room, where several other candles on the mantle and bookshelves were lit.

Simon’s heart thudded uncomfortably. Someone whispered, “All the candles in the house!” His hands turned cold, his throat dry. The candles hovering in the air fell to the floor and the rest puffed out. He said, “I didn’t mean to.”

Collectively, the other witches turned to him, shock and a sliver of fear marking their faces. He’d seen that look before; he
hated
that look. Willa stepped next to him, slipped her hand in his and held on tightly.