Aurora wanted to scream. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Fine. You can’t go far. Stan won’t allow you off the grounds until this deal is done.” Virginia pointedly slidAurora’s phone into her pocket. “The moonlight will be good for you. Try to be in a better mood when you return. It’ll make things easier.”
For her, maybe, but Aurora wasn’t playing along. Her mother and Uncle Stan would have to invoke all the power of the blood binding to get her anywhere near this scummy Nightingale witch.
Aurora slammed the front door on her way out and stalked into the woods. As she passed the main altar, she pocketed four candles. There was no time to search for a safer spell. She’dneverwalk into that house again. Never be a servant to a man who came from a coven like hers. Someone as entitled and cruel as her uncle.
She wouldn’t. No matter what it took.
Aurora went as deep into the woods as she could without leaving Thornfield land. The binding tugged on her skin, itching like a rash and reminding her she wasn’t allowed to leave.
Not all covens were like this. Aurora had friends in the city who belonged to a coven that valued respect, autonomy, common decency, and had no use for amassing power.
Virginia might have prevented her from sending an SOS by taking her phone, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Her friends couldn’t help with the first part of her plan anyway.
Being an hour outside Shearwater Landing wasn’t the insurmountable issue. It wasn’t as if Aurora could simply call for a ride and be free. She had to break the blood binding. Once she accomplished that, she’d walk out of the woods, through the suburbs, and into the city, no matter how long it took. She’d quite literally walk over hot coals or to the ends of the Earth if she had to.
She could do anything once she was free.
Aurora set the candles in the dirt, marking north, south, east, and west. With a flick of her wrist, the wicksignited.
A spell like this was impossible to practice. There were no trial runs, but any hesitation weighing Aurora down had fled.
It was time to put her theory to the test.
Aurora shrugged off her jacket and lay at the center of the candles, the traitorous earth cool through her clothes even on a warm summer night. She dug her fingernails into the topsoil and ran her plan through one last time.
To break the ties binding her, Aurora needed to separate herself from everything holding her back. Her essence—her soul, her most essential self—couldn’t be constrained in its purest form. That was a fact.
Along with the gift of magic, witches had an understanding of the universe that humans simply didn’t. The Human Realm wasn’t the sole plane of existence. Witches had been created by Lucifer, a fallen Eternal being who had fled the afterlife to live on Earth. The history of the Devil, demons, and witches revealed that, after death, all mortal souls entered one afterlife or another. Humans reincarnated and thus went to the Eternal Realm, and witches went to the Realm of the Damned.
In the end, they all became souls, andnothingon Earth could influence or contain such a pure form of existence.
Aurora had researched the magic of soul theory extensively. She wasn’t the first witch to experiment with life, mortality, and what lay beyond. Based on the work of those who came before her, she’d constructed a spell to free herself. Her work was solid, the magic grounded in undisputed facts.
But it was risky.
Her friends in the Lockwood Coven had begged her to find another way. They promised to break her free themselves. But they couldn’t. It wasn’t that easy, even if Aurora hadn’t run out of time to stage a rescue. The Thornfields weren’t weak, and the Lockwoods weren’t powermongers orfighters. It was part of what made them good. All Aurora needed from the Lockwoods was a safe place to land once she saved herself.
Her theory was airtight, she reminded herself one last time, pretending her heart wasn’t pounding and her dirt-covered palms weren’t sweating. Her soul existed regardless of her mortal vessel. When she died, she’d pass on to the same afterlife all witches were destined to.
But dying wasn’t what Aurora wanted, even knowing death wasn’t the end. She couldn’t go on like this, but life was precious. Her years on Earth couldn’t all be spent in a cage. She had to escape. Shewould. Then everything would be better. The potential for change meant there was always hope.
She could do this.
Aurora would free herself by leaving her body. Freeing her soul of all earthly ties. But she couldn’t die, or she’d leave this realm never to return. She had to fake it. Hover in between. Separate her soul from her flesh while she still lived, leaving her body suspended in life.
Then, once she broke free from her mortal chains, she could reenter her body and be free. Her magic—rooted in her soul—would be her own.
Yes, magic ran through the blood in her veins, but it went where her soul went. A dead witch held no power, their blood no different than a human’s once life fled, and while Aurora wasn’t dying, the fact remained: magic followed the soul. So, Aurora would separate her magic and her blood, break her power free, and then return to an unbound body.
She dug her fingers deeper into the dirt. Her heart beat rapidly, her head light and vision blurring, but she wouldn’t let nerves sway her.This will work. It was worth it. She wasn’t afraid to face death and cheat it.
Aurora cleared her aching throat, ignored her wet, stinging eyes, and recited the spell she’d so carefully constructed.
Her magic sparked, and tingles shot through her body as if the very blood in her veins was vibrating. She gripped the earth, forcing her eyes to remain open as she continued the spell. The candle flames flared. Heat rose, and sweat gathered at her brow.
Aurora’s words didn’t falter, and as the last syllable passed her lips, something deep within her jolted, pain radiating from her chest. She gasped a rattling breath and lurched forward, head spinning, her vision darkening until she saw nothing but black.
