“In bed. Sleeping, mostly. When she’s awake, she’s got a really bad headache. She says it feels like someone’s pressing on her skull from the inside.” A shaky breath. “I’ve got June coming by later to bring some things from the apothecary. But I hate this, Damon. I hate watching her hurt and not knowing why.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Meredith.”
“Is it the Rift? Everyone’s saying the Rift is causing problems, but this seems… different.”
“I’m looking into it. That’s actually why I’m calling. I want you to keep Dahlia home for the next few days. Don’t let her go out, don’t let anyone near her who isn’t family or someone you trust absolutely. Can you do that?”
“Of course. But Damon, what’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”
I wish I had an answer. I wish I could give her something concrete—a reason, a culprit, a solution. All I have is a feeling in my gut and a theory I can’t prove yet.
“We’re working on it,” I say. “I’ll keep you updated. And Meredith—call Aunt Etta if you need anything. She specifically asked me to tell you that.”
“Your aunt?”
“Yeah. She means it.”
I hang up and sit there for a long moment, staring at my boots by the closet. The same boots I wore to Caroline’s shop last week. Before the storm. Before any of this.
Dahlia Cross is a grown woman, and she’s hurting. Meredith is scared, and I don’t have answers for her. June is running herself ragged trying to keep up with the flood of Omegas coming through the apothecary door. And somewhere behind me, in my aunt’s library, a Council envoy is digging through texts that might hold the key to all of it.
I can’t explain what’s wrong. Not yet. But I know what I feel—a pressure in my chest that’s been building since the night of the storm, a certainty that something is very, very broken in this town, and I’m the one who’s supposed to keep it together.
I need to fix this. As soon as possible. Before anyone else gets caught in whatever’s coming.
I push off the bed, tuck my phone in my pocket, and head down the hall toward the library.
Circle of Shelter:
Ashes and salt traced on the floor keep harm away.
The library is exactly as I remember it. Floor-to-ceiling shelves on three walls, a rolling ladder that hasn’t been used in decades, the faint musty sweetness of old paper and leather bindings. Etta keeps the wards updated—temperature control, humidity, fire suppression—but she refuses to modernize anything else. No computers. No digital catalogs. Just rows and rows of books, organized by a system only she fully understands.
I pull the first text from the shelf nearest the door.Foundations of Ley Line Theory, published in 1923. The spine cracks when I open it, and the smell of aged paper fills my nose. Damon takes a seat at the reading table with a stack of his own, already flipping through one he’s clearly read before.
“Willowbrook history,” I say. “From the beginning. I want the full picture.”
“You already know most of it.”
“Humor me.”
Damon leans back in his chair. “Town sits on a pool of magic. One of a handful of places in the world where the energy runs richer and stronger than anywhere else. The main coven in Chicago watches over all of them, but Willowbrook’s always been different. No one knows exactly why.”
“Go on.”
“The Rift is what they call the instability that comes from that pool of magic. It manifests as a quarry outside town—a physical scar where the energy bleeds through. Every time it widens or flares, it throws every witch’s powers off balance. Spells fizzle, charms misfire, potions go wrong. Bonded Omegas act as natural stabilizers. They’re emotional anchors and magical amplifiers—their bond energy feeds into the ley lines and keeps things level.”
“And unbonded Omegas?”
“Every unbonded Omega increases the risk of another flare. That’s been the accepted wisdom for generations.” Damon pauses. “But here’s where it gets complicated. For the last ten years, no Omega witches in this town have successfully bonded into a pack.”
I stop reading. “None?”
“Not a single one. The Council’s matching service has tried. Local Alphas have tried. The bonds just don’t take. And this generation has an unheard-of number of Omegas—way more than the statistical average. So you’ve got more unbonded Omegas than ever, an active Rift that’s getting worse, and a bonding failure rate of one hundred percent.”
“That’s not a coincidence.”
“No. It’s not.”
