Page 27 of Board Games and Broomsticks

As a child, the nightmares she’d had of getting trapped inside the game had terrified Nyssa in a way she couldn’t explain. Now, it gave her an idea.

But … could she really pull it off? The kind of magic it would take was stronger than any she’d used since leaving the coven, and if it went wrong …

With a smash, all of the light bulbs in Nyssa’s café shattered. Glass sprayed, and Nyssa had just enough time to cover her face before it reached her, shredding into the skin of her hands and arms like tiny blades. A hiss of pain escaped her lips, and Nyssa’s magic roiled in response, fed by the emotion. Use me, it willed. Protect yourself. Protect Nighthaven!

The café door flew open with a gust of wind and magic, the smell of iron and fire-smoke overpowering the honey-sweetness of her grandmother’s enchantments. Glass crunched as Morven entered the café, his footsteps slow and languid, and Nyssa’s eyes caught on the crushed windchime in his fist as she finally turned to face him.

He’d always been handsome, and that hadn’t changed in the years since she’d seen him. Dark blond curls framed a square jaw and deep brown eyes; he had a full mouth, a nose that was just a little too pointed, and a tall, slender but well-toned frame that, if it had belonged to anyone else, would have made Nyssa stop to appreciate it. But like everything at Morven’s disposal, his looks were a tool he used as a weapon. One Nyssa would not allow herself to be injured by. He opened his fist, letting the pieces of the windchime clatter to the floor.

‘How are you here? Your imprisonment—’

‘Was never going to contain me for long.’ Morven stepped further into the café, and it took everything in Nyssa to hold her ground. ‘I’ll admit it, it was a clever spell, but one easily broken with enough time to study it. Time,’ he paused, and when he lifted a hand into the air, the space between his fingers crackled with raw magic, ‘and power.’ Nyx let out a hiss at the same time as the full potency of Morven’s magic hit her. Before they’d stripped him of his powers, Morven’s magic had felt like a strong breeze, fierce but somehow invigorating. Now it felt like being in the centre of a storm, lost and unmoored, and it made every hair on Nyssa’s body tingle. Her own magic – calmer, quieter, but just as fierce – sparked in response.

‘How?’ Nyssa fought to keep her voice steady as her mind raced through possibilities. The power he’d wielded before they’d banished him had all been stolen: magic absorbed from various forbidden tomes and sacred grimoires across England. That magic had been stripped from him and returned to its rightful homes after he was imprisoned. And the isle they’d banished him to had been devoid of anything he could attempt to steal magic from. She and the coven had made sure of it. So how was he wielding such power now?

‘Let’s just say I had help from someone who wasn’t as quick to dismiss the kind of magic in those tomes as you were, Nys.’ Hearing the familiar nickname on his lips caused a sharp pang in Nyssa’s chest, and she steeled herself. Her magic flared at her fingertips momentarily before being subdued by the weight of Morven’s once more. ‘Perhaps if you hadn’t been so afraid of it, you would have become something great, instead of a small-town enchanter.’ He snorted, those dark eyes roving over the expanse of the café, his gaze full of disdain. ‘Pathetic. You had so much potential.’

The insult struck exactly as Morven had intended it to. Before he’d gone too far down a path Nyssa refused to follow, he’d been her biggest supporter. Had encouraged her and pushed her always to want to learn more, to be better. Even when she’d imprisoned him, she’d sensed respect beneath his hurt, but now … now he was looking at her with the same disappointed look Edith had given when she’d been cast out from her covenstead.

Nyssa refused to let him see how badly that stung. She lifted her chin. Kept her gaze hard. ‘Whoever helped you is as idiotic as you are; that kind of power isn’t meant to be wielded, Morven. It will destroy you.’

He let out a cruel, bitter laugh. ‘It will remake me. There is so much magic out there, Hawthorne, and this time, I am going to find all of it.’ Morven’s smile was fox-like in the darkness, and for a second, Nyssa was looking at a younger Morven, ambitious and eager to push the boundaries of magic. Boundaries Nyssa had wanted to push, too. Once, that smile had made her feel braver. Like she could achieve anything she put her mind to.

Now, it made her want to run.

‘Well, you won’t find any here,’ she said, gesturing at the board games on the shelves, hoping he couldn’t tell how badly her hands were trembling as she tried to reach her own magic beneath the weight of his. ‘As you said, I’m just a small-town enchanter now.’

Morven smirked. ‘Perhaps you do not have the magic I seek, but your beloved grandma’s treasured grimoire does.’

Rage swept over Nyssa, as any hope she had of Morven’s redemption vanished. How dare he threaten to exploit the magic contained in her grandmother’s grimoire. Her gaze flickered once more to Familiars. She’d never cast this sort of spell before – wasn’t even sure it could be done – but if her grandma could enchant the small clay figurines of Familiars to turn into real, miniature animals, then surely Nyssa could do something similar to Morven. She just needed to buy herself time as she worked it out.

It has to be a combination of a transfiguration enchantment and something else, she thought, keeping her expression neutral as Morven took a step closer to her.

‘That book only answers to Hawthorne magic,’ she said, buoyed by how firm her voice was, almost sounding as confident as in her early days as head mage. ‘Its magic will be useless to you.’

‘Not if I have a Hawthorne witch at my side.’

Heart hammering, Nyssa didn’t allow herself to step back like she wanted to. Instead, she took a step forward, her pulse spiking in satisfaction at the brief look of surprise on the warlock’s face. ‘I was at your side. Back when you were the Morven I met at the covenstead, before you let dark magic destroy you, I would have done anything to help you. Now? Now I’d rather die than see you taint my ancestors’ magic.’

If transfiguration can turn Morven into a figurine, then I need a binding agent to keep him trapped in that form, and one to nullify his powers … Perhaps if I use the same enchantment grandma used on the Nighthaven game, and combined it with the binding agent that keeps the familiars in their box …

Morven took another step closer. His magic pressed down on her, as oppressive as smoke. ‘I’m not going to kill you, Hawthorne. Not when it will be so much more effective to destroy all you hold dear. Like this little café.’ Another step. A few more, and he’d be close enough for Nyssa to enchant him.

‘This place means nothing to me,’ she lied, even as the memories she’d made with Liora, Alaric, Gwen and Elowen flashed through her mind. She did her best to keep her voice steady as she added, ‘You can destroy whatever you wish.’

While she spoke, Nyssa clasped her hands behind her back, weaving together the different strands of magic she would need to make this work. After so many weeks of only casting basic enchantments and the one curse-breaking spell, the effort required to cast such a high-level spell caused sweat to trickle down her back. She needed to slow down, to take her time and weave the spell together properly, but she didn’t have that luxury. Morven would be able to smell her magic any second now.

‘Really?’ he asked. ‘What about your little familiar? Or the people in this town? The druid, perhaps – or that warlock boy you’ve just hired. Oh, I know; what about the little bard you seem so fond of.’ A flash of teeth as Morven moved closer. One more step, and she’d have him. ‘Or how about your lovely elf?’

How did he know about her friends? Every muscle in Nyssa tensed, and she fought to act as though his words hadn’t fazed her even as Nyx let out another loud hiss at her side. She willed herself to focus on the threads of magic she was weaving, feeling the power of the enchantment course through her fingers and arms, pooling in her chest, as she worked. ‘Do whatever you want to them. I don’t care.’

His bark of laughter caused her grip on the spell to slip. With one last, panicked attempt, she regained her hold on it just as Morven took his final step towards her. ‘Oh, Hawthorne, you always were a terrible liar.’

‘And you always were predictable.’

The smile that pulled at Nyssa’s lips was all smugness as she swept her hands out from behind her back and pressed them against Morven’s firm chest. Power rushed out of her and into Morven, strands of binding and transfiguration magic twisting together to create her spell. Body trembling from the effort, Nyssa began to chant.

‘Ties that bind and ties that transform,