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Aspen clasps his hands together. “First, I will introduce myself. My name is Aspen Redfern, a witch of the Second Circle. I have led—”
“Oh, shoot, I forgot a pencil!” I pop up out of my seat and hurry to the table.
“Ms. Rothaven,” Aspen hisses. “Do not undermine—”
“They don’t know what a Second Circle is,” I hiss back as I pick through the pencils. “And lording your credentials over them won’t make them feel at ease. Pull the freaking wand out of your ass.”
Mel lifts a hand to her mouth and coughs, “Told you so.”
Aspen’s cheeks pinken, but he dips his chin in acknowledgment.
Selecting a purple sparkly pen, I return to my seat.
Aspen clears his throat. “Before I introduce myself, I’d like to first get to know all of you.” He gestures toward the table I sit at. “Let’s start at the front.”
Harper rises and smooths down the front of her skirt. “My name is Harper Young, age thirty-two. I was kidnapped and put into the Sunlight Project when I was twenty-six.”
She sits back down.
Aspen stares at her in stunned silence. While it’s clear he was asking for their magical resumes, these women have had to tell their story so many times by now that they assume he wants to know their trauma, too.
Delilah rises unsteadily to her feet. “My name is Delilah Shultz, age forty-three. My father sent me to be a part of the Sunlight project when I was twenty-three.”
Delilah sits back down.
Aspen shakes his head, his lips parting.
I stand before he can speak. “My name is Rowe Branning, age twenty-four. My father was killed eight months ago, and I was nearly kidnapped into the Sunlight Project, which was a facility that drained witches of their blood to produce the sunlight serum. Another attempt was made two months ago, which I barely escaped from.”
With a hard stare at Aspen, I resume my seat.
A chair behind me scrapes back, and Ambyrlynn’s voice trembles when she speaks. “My name is Ambyrlynn Adams, age twenty-three. I was kidnapped into the Sunlight Project five years ago.”
The recounting continues until at last Tris stands. “My name is Tris, age twenty-six. I was magically sucked dry by an evil witch until she cursed me into the form of a wolfdog. I have been a human again for three months.”
Mel’s blue eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and she gives everyone a gentle smile. “Thank you all for sharing. We understand that what you have been through was terrifying and inhumane. Many of you are still recovering physically and have an even longer journey to attain mental well-being.”
She places her hands on the grimoires that remain on the table, her voice strengthening. “Your heritage as witches was used against you, and your time to train and embrace your powers was stolen. But we are here to give that back to you, starting today with the creation of your first wand, which will be a symbol of your strength as powerful women and men.”
Murmurs of excitement rise from those behind me.
Aspen clears his throat. “Right. First, let us explain the basics of wand creation, and then Mel will let you watch as she makes one. Your homework for the night will be to gather your own materials, and tomorrow, we will start the work on yours.”
He clasps his hands behind his back. “Please, open to the first page of your grimoires.”
The anxiety returns, and I flip open my grimoire. Time for this little toaster to get a magical upgrade.
BUCKETS…? SHHH!
After the tedious explanation on wand making—during which I zone out for large portions—Mel and Aspen release us to go out into the wilds of Hartford Cove and gather our materials.
Dismayed, I stare down at my grimoire, which has a picture of a stick with question marks around it and the words Things that call out to me scribbled off to the side.
“Anyone else heading down to the beach?” Ginny calls out to the group, her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation.
A couple others stand to join her, including Tris, and they head down the hill at the back of the house to the sand dunes that lead onto the beach. Beneath the sun’s rays, the white sand glitter magically, and the gentle waves sparkle.
I shudder at the idea of digging around that close to the evil ocean. I don’t care what Haut says. Flesh-eating fish live in that tranquil blue death pond.
