Page 34 of Hallowed Bones

Restless energy rolls off Cameron in crackling waves. His foot taps anxiously on the floor, and his fingers play an invisible and soundless tune against his thigh. His normally soft expression is a thundercloud of tension and darkness. I move toward the center of the room and pass him.

“Cameron?” He jerks and stops moving, going still the second he hears my voice. “Are you all right?”

He jerks his chin down. “Fine.” He doesn’t even try to hide the lie.

“What’s wrong?” I insist. Beneath the skin of my arms, the shadows move, squirming and curious. Worried. They like Cameron, especially now, and that is cause for concern.

“Nothing.” Cameron finally lifts his head and meets my eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Are you upset that we didn’t call you when we discovered Jonah’s body?” Lyall asks, rising from his position on the steps.

Cameron shakes his head. “No, that’s not— I’m fine. Really. Let’s just—” He waves toward the center of the circle.

It’s not within my ability to force him to talk, and even if it were, I’ll be damned before I ever become like my father. So I step away and into the circle. “Fine,” I tell him. “Then let’s begin.”

All four of us find our places. Reyes cracks his neck. Sparks flicker in his palm. Lyall stretches his arms above his head and then settles into place. Cameron stays silent, quiet—the restless energy tamped down for the moment. As one, we lower our heads and each send a silent prayer to the Gods. When we raise our heads again, the air in the room has shifted.

The stirring of air against the floor and a whistling wind circle our bodies. The magic of this place has awakened at our call.

“Have you finished the search?” I ask, directing the question to Cameron.

He nods once. “All her records indicate that she is one of us,” he says. “Her parents’ deaths are recorded as happening on the same day to the year as ours.”

I close my eyes. Almost all the Salem elders gone in one night. Were it not for my uncle’s weakened magic, no doubt he would have died as well. When I reopen my eyes, Lyall and Reyes are staring at me once more.

“Reyes,” I say. “Bring the grimoire.”

He nods, but his feet remain in place as he lifts a hand and whispers a quiet word. From the open door of the adjoining room, the rattling of bookshelves answers him. A moment later, a tome drifts into the room and lands silently in his hand. The moment it touches his skin, flames erupt in the torch bowls set into the stone above our heads.

The circle glows in the firelight.

Ugly memories, ghostly images of standing here in my youth with my father rise inside my mind only to be shoved back down. My back stings at the phantom lashings it once took in this very space. Years have passed, but my body still remembers. Pain is good at staying with you even long after the healing.

“We gather here in our circle to call the Gods who have forsaken us, to ask of them answers, to give to them our respect.”

The words taste like ash in my mouth. They are spoken by rote memorization. The hours and hours of training and lessons here burned into my mind the way the scars of my penalties are carved into my flesh. They are the ones that want to know—my coven brothers. They are the ones that demand answers. Not me. As coven leader, though, it is my responsibility to be the supplicant.

A low wind begins to circle through the chamber, lifting dust from the stone floor, tugging at our clothes. The magic is awake now. Restless. Watching.

My upper lip curls back as the shadows beneath my skin squirm faster, dancing with the urge to be released. I stifle their emotions, tamping down the loud raging in my head coming from them.

In Reyes’s hands, the grimoire flies open, pages spilling over—flipping, flipping, and then landing to a centered piece of parchment. Reyes leans over and begins to read the incantation. As Reyes’s voice fills the room with the low murmur of the spell, I cast a meaningful look to Lyall. No words are needed as he nods his understanding of my request and moves toward the farthest part of the circle. He retrieves what we need from the stone altar there and returns.

A quartz crystal, a stone bowl, a match, a knife, and a satchel of herbs. Stone to mark the touch of earth. Quartz to clear the path, amplify energy, and heighten intuition. Lyall lays them each out in the center of the circle at my feet. The firelight above glints off the knife as he sets it down and returns to his place. I look over and find Cameron’s hands clasped together, pointing down.

My gaze finds the knife once more. It’s not fear that grips me tightly as I meet the reflection of my own eyes on its surface. Not exactly. It’s something worse—something deeper. Like my soul is bracing for an answer it doesn’t want to hear.

Is Haven Wardwell our answer? Did they send her? Have we been forgiven?

For so long, our coven has only ever craved that one thing: forgiveness.

Our coven, but not me.

You have but one purpose, son … Kane Bishop’s cruel words echo in this chamber. Louder than Reyes’s recitation. Louder than the wind. Louder even than my own pounding heart. I ignore it, shoving the memory as far into the recesses of my mind as I can.

“Draw the circle.” It takes a moment to realize that those are my words, that it’s my voice speaking. Both Cameron and Lyall begin to move, shifting around the length of the calling circle. I let my eyes slide shut once more.

Magic is dangerous. Magic is cruel.