A blood spell.
Jael didn't need to tell me I was the only one who could see those threads.
I set the book on the table and unsheathed the dagger, taking a few deep, shaky breaths.
A witch’s book of shadows was more than a diary. It was a reckoning of her life as a witch, an accounting of her days, her magical hopes and dreams, her trials and tribulations, triumphs and failures, and yes—her spellcraft. Other than the clothes on my back, my own book of shadows was the only thing I’d taken from my old life in New York, and even though I’d stopped practicing magic the moment I crossed state lines, the book was still my most cherished possession, locked up in a fireproof safe and buried in our backyard. It was a part of me, just as Sophie’s was a part of her.
The fact that she’d secured it inside the club and bound it with a blood spell tuned only to me meant she was keeping even more secrets than I thought.
Part of me—a big part—didn't want to know what lurked behind that black cover. But Sophie wanted me to know. No matter what she’d revealed to Haley and the coven witches, no matter what intimacies she’d shared with Jael, I was the only one she’d trusted with this.
“No more secrets, girl.” Holding my breath, I sliced my palm with the blade, then made a tight fist, dripping blood onto the pentacle. My blood filled in the lines forming the pentagram symbol, tiny channels that now glowed a deep red behind the silver vines.
The room filled with the scent of apples and vanilla, and I closed my eyes, letting the warm and gentle touch of what could only be Sophie’s magic envelope me. Unlike Haley and the others, I’d never smelled it before; Sophie and I had never practiced together.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself in my clearing again, my hands pressed to the white stone surface of the pedestal. Instead of the glowing indigo pentacle I’d last seen here, Sophie's book of shadows lay open before me, a soft breeze rippling through the pages and revealing her collection of herbal and crystal correspondences, custom Tarot spreads and readings, and sketches of plant life and moon phases.
I traced my fingers over a Tarot reading dated last week, but before I could read it, something In the meadow beyond the pedestal caught my attention—a woman, dancing barefoot in the dewy grass, her hair shimmering like a rainbow.
Sophie!
Abandoning the book, I ran to her, heart pounding in my chest.
“You found me,” she said, beaming. “I knew you'd come.”
She gave me her brightest smile, the one I’d seen nearly every day for seven years. It was almost exactly like the real thing, but not quite.
I pulled her into my arms and held on tight, anyway. Deep down I knew it wasn't really her—just the combined effect of our joint magic on the book, my mind conjuring up the image and feel of Sophie to go along with her written words. But at that moment, I didn’t care. This connection, this magical bond… It was the closest I would ever get to her again.
“I miss you so much.” I pulled back to look at her. Projection or not, I wanted to memorize every detail of her face, catalogue all the things I hadn’t truly taken the time to look at while she was live, even if my subconscious had.
Back then, I didn’t think I’d need to.
Sophie nodded, but her smile was fading fast. “We don't have much time.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
Sophie and I used to say that it felt like we’d known each other our entire lives, but it turns out that wasn’t the case at all.
I’d learned more about my best friend in the days since her death than in the entire span of our friendship. Part of that was because she’d kept things from me, but most of it was my fault. I’d been too stubborn, too proud, too damn wrapped up in my own shit to think for one minute that Sophie might have secrets. That she might want to share those things with me.
There was so much I wanted to say to her, so much Ineededto say, but just like I knew this projection wasn't really Sophie, I also knew she hadn’t entrusted her book of shadows to me just so I could absolve my guilt.
“We need to talk, don’t we,” I said. Not a question.
She spread her palms before me. Her favorite Tarot deck—the one we’d last used that last morning in the kitchen—materialized in her hands.
I smiled sadly. “I didn't bring any tea.”
“That’s okay. maybe next time.”
I followed her to an even spot in the grass, and we sat down across from each other, a black silk cloth spread on the ground between us. The eerie black trees around us crept closer, their bare branches stretching endlessly into the sky.
Sophie turned over the first card.
I gasped. It was my least favorite card in the deck—inanydeck. More than the Death card, the Tower struck a chord of fear deep in my heart.
Sophie's grin was almost manic, though. She wiggled her eyebrows, and in a singsong voice, said, “Don't fear the storm, Gray. Be ready for it.”
