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Thirty-One
If Isabelle had gained access to the gate from the real world, then so could I.
Roarke had chosen me as his true queen, so if I could erase Isabelle’s tainted magic from the source, perhaps I could get rid of her and sever her connection as the impostor she was.
Doing this would alter my plans to break the curse, but Isabelle was becoming a curse all her own. And despite if she was telling the truth and Roarke was truly okay, I couldn’t keep living like this. At least this way I could bring us both some peace, if only from afar.
I double-checked the wards around my house, making sure Isabelle was truly gone. Gathering my little black book, I flipped to the pages where the history of the Weaver’s magic was discussed. Genevieve hadn’t mentioned the gate by name or laid out who the gods were from which the magic originated. But judging by how she discussed the topic, she definitely must have known. I imagined Isabelle’s copy of the book having annotations written in the margins, leaving me with even less information than I thought.
As much as I wanted to help Roarke—and myself—in reality, I had no idea how to break into a god-made magical gate, let alone undo whatever corruption Isabelle had achieved.
I sank down onto the living room floor, welcoming Jenks into my lap. “I don’t know what to do, buddy. I just keep hitting nothing but dead ends.” I buried my face in his fur and let the tears come full force.
It had been three months since I walked away, and everything I’d tried so far had ended in failure. The way things were going, it could easily be years before I figured out a way to see Roarke again. And with my strength continuing to wane, soon I probably wouldn’t be able to do any magic at all—giving Isabelle exactly what she wanted.
A gust blew down the chimney, sending sparks flying into the room just as a knock sounded at the door.
With my heart lodged in my throat, I crept to the front windows, peering out into the dark.
A group of huddled shadows stood just beyond my gate, seemingly waiting for a signal from the one standing on my stoop.
“Who’s there?” I cried, panicked and scared. Never before had I felt this vulnerable or alone.
“Milly, it’s Keelyn. Open up, sweetie.”
I eased the door open, sucking in a shocked breath.
Keelyn stood in front of me with a cloak around her shoulders and twelve women wearing the same thing waiting at her back. “I figured it was time I brought my ‘book club’ to you.” She winked, her ice-blue eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Now move aside and let us old witches help nurse you back to health.”
Keelyn’s group streamed through my door and into the living room, spreading out their tools and herbs across my floor.
“I don’t understand,” I sobbed, grateful to see her familiar face even in this unfamiliar way.
My longtime friend pulled me into the kitchen, away from the rest of the women. “Milly, Josephine might have been a solitary witch, but she was also my friend. And she asked me a long time ago if I would keep an eye on you.”
I sank into the rickety chair, hobbled by the mention of my mother’s name.
“She asked that I keep my practices to myself, knowing you’d need to find your own way. But she did leave me this.” Keelyn pulled out a moonstone the size of a small boulder, and all thoughts raced from my head. “She said that if it were to ever start glowing like this, it meant you were in trouble and your magic was at risk. Only then did she want me to intervene.” She placed the stone in my hand, reaching into her cloak to retrieve something else.
“And if that time did ever come, she also wanted you to have this.” Keelyn handed me a small, hand-bound book, its edges crunched and crinkled from the wear of time. “She wanted you to know the truth, Milly, but would never force her decisions upon you.”
I stared at the precious objects in my hand, no longer processing Keelyn’s words. All thoughts flew from my head as I stared at my friend, tracing back through all the years we’d known each other. She’d been my mom’s friend first—a witch tasked with protecting me—and I didn’t have a clue. I shook my head, still struggling for words as I looked down at the magical gifts she’d brought me. Magical gifts my mother had given her. But why?
I gently flipped open the first page of the book, crying in earnest as I stared at my mother’s handwriting.
My Dearest Milly,
Forgive my methods, but you needed to walk this path on your own. If you’re reading this now, it means you’ve learned of the Weaver’s existence and your role as his queen. It is an honored tradition bestowed upon the Atwood women from the beginning of time. Not only was the Weaver’s bloodline chosen by the gods but so were their queens.
The choice, however, remains your own to accept and to walk with the power, knowing what it will do. Or you can walk away from the magic forever. If you’re reading this now, I already know the choice you made.
As hard as it was, I, too, walked away, choosing to live a normal life with your father instead, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
For a witch to lose her magic is never easy, but Keelyn will guide you back to health just as she did me. You, my darling Milly, were the greatest joy of my life, and I hope you will find peace in this happiness too. If, however, you want to return, I have one more gift for you.
I turned the page, revealing a small stick resting in the seam.
This is the last remaining shard from the wand of Agitha Atwood.
