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Chapter 7
October 3rd—
It was nearly three a.m. when I woke, groggy and restless. The house was quiet except for the low, consistent ticking of the grandfather clock in the main hall. I knew Uncle Tom and Aunt Gwen were fast asleep. Gypsy should be, but I’d double-check before I left.
As I tiptoed down the hall, the tranquil balance in my home soothed me. Gypsy may be frustrated with what I’d almost done to Sebastian, but we loved each other. We were close, especially the three of us women. Aunt Gwen and Uncle Tom became my guardians after my parents died. Without their influence, I would have been lost. The point? We loved and protected one another fiercely.
I hadn’t forgotten or lost my place. Our purpose as witches of Mystic Hallows remained one of the primary reasons I’d never leave here. Salem taught our ancestors much, even the pain and anguish inflicted during the witch trials. Our line was as crucial to the thirteen and the protection of the veil as the others. I’d prove to Gypsy that nothing had changed.
A quick peek in her room proved she rested deeply, a light snore whistling through her pert little nose.
Gabriel lounged in a chair next to her bed, slumped backward, his strong jaw covered in stubble. His eyes closed, he didn’t stir. The Lycan kept his promise to watch over my cousin.
Covering him lightly with a blanket, I smiled when he made a slight noise like a bark, and I resisted a giggle. The door shut quietly behind me as I entered the hall, walking briskly downstairs and outdoors into the barren night.
Sneaking out of my house felt odd at near twenty-one. I was an adult. Aunt Gwen gave me complete freedom, but it reminded me of nights in my earlier teen years when I snuck out to meet my friends for a night of partying. I held back a snicker as I exited the front gates and gazed at the moon. She grew in shape and thickness, becoming fuller the closer All Hallows Eve approached. A hint of amber glossed across the pitted surface and lent a defiant vibe to her glow.
In the witching hours of the night and early morn, the streets held a light mist and an eerie quiet that bespoke haunting secrets. Not a soul ventured outdoors but slumbered blissfully unaware in their bed. The monsters that lingered in darkness didn’t always make contact. Some left before dawn, never to return.
Cool air and crisp wind tickled my nose. Autumn had fallen on Mystic Hallows. Leaves crunched beneath my boots as I inhaled the fresh air. Sometimes I walked in the tender hours between midnight and dawn and enjoyed the silent darkness that enveloped my heart and soul. But I wasn’t out for a pleasure walk tonight.
There was only one reason I ventured into the ebony unknown.
Sebastian Wildes.
Seb and his sister Simone lived about two blocks away in an old plantation house. Their mother, Sylvia, was a kind older woman but also a spitfire and a talented witch.
The Wildes family specialized in oneiromancy—magic in conjunction with sleep and dreams.
Sylvia was gifted in dream walking. I had my suspicions that Seb and Simone also had these abilities, but I couldn’t be sure. Seb never spoke of it while we briefly dated.
The plantation was gorgeously gothic, bathed in slivers of pale moonlight. Large oaks draped by Spanish moss lined the driveway that led up to the front porch. The “Big House” included massive pillars, a balcony that ran along the whole outside edge of the house, evenly spaced windows with long planes of smooth glass, and oversized center entrances at the front and rear of the house that added to the box-like style of the mansion.
Inside, the decadent design boasted an enormous foyer, a sweeping open stairway with a double balustrade, a giant ballroom, a grand dining room, and intricate design work on the wood and furniture. I’ve loved this house since I was a child. My mother had been as close as a sister to Sylvia.
As I approached, the dimly lit house stood ominous. Candles stood in each of the windows, their flames still. The festival of Samhain dictated the lack of electricity, but the Wildes Plantation always kept candles in the windows. The staff had served the family for generations and were extremely loyal—old money, secrets, and debts ensured it. Mystic Hallows held them all, as evidenced by the shadows and ghosts of the past. None would harm me, but they didn’t hide, whispering of the past.
I was all set to sneak inside when voices and low moaning caught my attention. Naturally, I investigated. That proved a mistake. Some things couldn’t be unseen.
Sebastian, pants down around his ankles, lodged inside none other than Jadis Pudeator, pumped his hips as he rutted into her. The same Jadis that left Mystic Hallows three years prior and the same girl who swore her hatred of the Wildes family because of Seb’s rejection.
This wasn’t a coincidence.
My audible gasp clued them into my arrival. Seb paused in his frantic thrusts and seemed surprised. Jadis tilted her head back and laughed a deep, loud, self-satisfied, and sadistic chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Shit! Cassie, I—”
“Shut up, you fool!” Jadis scolded, her eyes locked on me. “Perfect timing, Cassie dear.”
