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Mom nods. “I’ve done my research. It was a tragedy. So young. Even her family couldn’t stand to stay, and we shouldn’t either.”

But we can’t afford to buy a new home here. I can read between the lines.

But it rains harder.

Harder.

This goes on for another hour before it all dries up, and we can go to bed.

Mom is leaving. There are only two options for me: stay with Sterling or go with my family. But I want both. I want to be with everyone I care about. My family is getting closer again, and I can’t lose that.

So, I’ll go back to Moonglade Harbor. I’ll probably get a new job and a new studio apartment, and Mom will settle back into the home she’s clearly been trying to avoid—the one she shared with my father, the one we grew up in. Her mental health has been so much better since we came here, but what will happen when we go back?

What would happen if I stayed?

No. I can’t let her go alone.

Is this how it’s supposed to feel to get what you wanted? My family and I are closer. We’re going home. But I can’t find even an ounce of excitement, because this means I need to tell Sterling I’m leaving.

Losing Sterling feels impossible, too. What are the chances he would come with me? That he’d leave the coven and his family behind?

Instead of asking, I send him my usual goodnight text.

If I can figure out what’s going on with this cottage, maybe…

Maybe my family will stay.

There must be another way.

I’ve never needed to inspect my mother’s old grimoire—a family book of magic, passed down from witch to witch. My father taught me all of his magic, but he was a strict astrological witch who didn’t dabble in anything else. No grimoire. No need.

My mother is different. She studied mundane spells more deeply, even though her expertise is in empathetic art, and that includes the family spells written by her mom and grandmother—and so many other powerful witches.

Now, without any magic of my own, it’s the only place left for me to look.

I drag my mother’s giant book from one of the shelves in our sitting room, up to my room, and set it down on my bed, flipping through dusty, hand-written words.

Rituals with ghosts and hauntings are common. Even if my mother doesn’t specialize in them, there must be something…

There’s a potion for hair loss, a good luck spell, a money spell—could be useful—and finally, a summoning spell.

“For any demon, deity, or soul you wish to commune with,” I whisper, looking around my room. The house is silent. No crying. No wails. No shaking. But the goose bumps across my arms tell me she’s near. “I suppose this will do.”

It’s a mundane spell, written in English rather than Latin or the secretive language of spellcasters. Good. Maybe it’s mundane enough for me to do it, even though I’ve only called on my magic once in the last three years.

If I could do it then by accident, I can do it now. With purpose.

I flit around the house, gathering the materials: mugwort from the pantry, a black candle for protection, a white one for summoning, salt for a ring, and a piece of parchment to write the words… And her name.

Wendy.

I etch it in purple ink and settle onto the middle of my floor. “Salt circle. Light candles. Speak intention.”

This is so unlike my usual spells. No calling upon the stars. No need to check the transits. It’s freeing, almost, not to have to wait for an exact moon or star alignment. For the first time in years, not only does magic spark at my fingertips, but I feel like I can control it.

“Wendy,” I say, forcing power into my voice. My heart races ahead of me, the next words slipping past my lips. “If you have passed to the other side, be at peace. If you are here, let me see. Wendy, come to me.”

The candles flicker but never fade, and the twinkling lights around my room do too, every light dancing in unison. The energy from them flows into the space in the middle of the circle, taking the form of a girl.