Page 11

Every instinct is screaming at me that this witch is important—that she knows something. She’ll give me what she saw, and everything she knows on top of that. Because if her mother is powerful enough for the demons’ cause, perhaps she’s strong enough to break the curse, too.

My blood stirs at the prospect of a new hunt.

The little witch will never see me coming.

Chapter 3

Astra

My limited knowledge of covens comes from my childhood memories and the stories my mother used to tell me. How they operate, how they welcome visiting witches. She didn’t tell me those stories to teach me. They were tales she whispered by the flickering fire pit under the summer moon, or curled up on the couch while a blizzard raged beyond our cottage. Drowsily, dreamily, her half-full glass of wine dangling from her fingers.

She told me so she wouldn’t forget her past. And maybe she told me to preserve it.

I was too young to fully understand covens when my mother and I were in one… and by the time I came of age, it was too late. We were on our own.

If there’s a coven in this tiny North Dakota town, they’ll find me. They’ll sense my magic, however weak it is, and send someone for me. Covens are in tune with the land, especially territory they consider theirs.

My mother warned me that covens could be prickly to newcomers. Obstinate, set in their ways, and highly secretive. The pictures she weaved of the covens she encountered… I’ll walk a thin line between their hostility and generosity just by entering the town.

But it’s not like I set out to invade their space, and I have no interest in learning their secrets. I could use their help, though. And I can feel their presence in this town. It’s a different sort of energy, humming underneath the sounds of the lives of non-magical humans. A frequency that resonates if I close my eyes and sit very, very still.

It’s been two days since my mother sent me here, and I haven’t heard from her… or about her. The service on my cell is spotty at best, hovering between a bar and nothing at all. I’ve connected to the internet, but that doesn’t help me much. Mom was never a fan of technology.

My appetite has been nonexistent, as well. The front desk girl watches me curiously as I pile food up and take it back to the safety of my room to ration for the day. This system allows me to keep to myself.

Until tonight.

The lock on my window makes a scraping noise, pried from the outside. I sit at the foot of my bed, my bag packed and leaning on my leg. In my palm is a vine. The leaves open and close, over and over again.

Just enough magic to catch their attention.

And yet, I’m tired from it. It’s pathetic, to have used up my reserves on what amounts to a silly parlor trick.

My window inches upward, and I curl my hand around the vine. I suck the life from it, leaving it brown and crisp. It disintegrates, the pieces drifting between my fingers.

“Clever girl,” a female voice says from the shadows outside my window. “Calling to us when you’ve recovered from your travels. Although you had to know that we were aware of your presence as soon as you crossed into our territory.”

Well, damn. I was hoping I had avoided their detection.

A flame appears in her palm. The sudden illumination flickers over her face—she’s far younger than I was expecting. She’s still in her teens, if I had to guess. Just her upper torso and face are in the window, one arm propped on the sill. Her dark hair is swept into a high bun, and her brown eyes seem to almost glow in the firelight.

A witch with fire magic. And maybe air, since she was able to get the lock open.

“My means of travel were… strenuous,” I say, mainly because she seems to require an answer. My chest tightens, and nerves flutter through my limbs. They sent a teenager to come collect me. A teenager with much more power—and control—than I have.

It gives me the impression of a show of force, without them raising a hand.

“Come with me,” she says. It’s definitely not a question.

I nod anyway. “Out the window?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Kristin would ask too many questions if you went out the front.”

The one who checked me in. Not a morning shift employee—the night shift, if she’s here now. That makes sense, I suppose.

The witch steps back. I climb through the window with my bag over my shoulder and drop noiselessly to the ground. I’m taller than her, but she still feels intimidating. She’s all sharp angles, more like my mother’s build than mine. I follow her down the main street, my senses on high alert. All the shops are closed, leaving the road deserted.

Her flame is gone. The only light that guides our steps are the dim streetlamps and the moon.