28 Jasper
JASPER
Once Hortie returns, the mood in the house shifts from congenial to tense.
Ada Clarke slipped in with her son Jonah somewhere between the first and third cups of coffee, making this a meeting of the full coven, minus Phoebe.
I rarely ever call a full meeting, so I’m not surprised they all dropped everything to be here.
And I’m not calling Phoebe. Not when I know she’ll cancel all her plans and fly back here in that same hour.
Call me selfish, but she’s the last Prescott, even without magic.
Once I’m gone there will be no one left to carry on our name.
She stays in Germany, away from this mess. She lives. Our line depends on it.
Ada Clarke shuffles past me with a plate of food.
At eighty-seven, she’s the oldest of our members.
Her son Jonah is pushing sixty and an odd bird.
A family curse left him with the gift of Sight.
He usually avoids larger gatherings like this because physical touch activates it.
The last time it happened, he Saw Gracie’s death.
It brought down the mood of her birthday party considerably when he went full vision-mode and blurted the details out loud.
He stands now in the corner, sipping tea from one of Hortie’s Golden Girls mugs.
He’s tall and skinny, almost gaunt, with wisps of stringy blonde hair combed over the top of his head.
And he’s almost always dressed in a sweater vest, even in summer.
I give him a nod, which he doesn’t return.
His pale blue eyes are vacant as he stares at a spot on the wall behind me.
Like I said, odd fucking bird.
But he’s coven, so he’s welcome.
I look around at the rest of the group. Most have settled in chairs at the table.
Hortie sits to my immediate right, talking softly with Ada.
Hazel Greenwood sits to my left, holding up a phone featuring Cora on video chat.
Cora gives me a smile and a silent wave, tucking a strand of her electric blue hair behind her ear.
Frankie stands farthest back, over by the stove, arms crossed, eyes locked on me.
“Right then . . . thank you all for coming on such short notice,” I call out, waiting as the crosstalk simmers into silence. “And thanks for throwing me this lovely funeral,” I add, gesturing around at all the food.
No one laughs.
Right. This isn’t the time for jokes. Clearing my throat, I give them all the truth they’re anxiously waiting for. “Last night, I was attacked and nearly killed.”
Gasps of surprise ripple around the room as everyone sits up a little straighter.
“On the island?” Ruby cries.
Next to her, Mercy takes her hand. “It’s not possible. The wards protect us.”
“Why, we haven’t had a violent crime on this island since 1637,” Ada huffs with an indignant tap of her spoon on the edge of her teacup.
“Oh, I just knew something was wrong,” Ruby goes on. “My tomato plants didn’t grow at all yesterday!”
Over by the stove, Frankie rolls her eyes. “I hardly think the two are related, auntie.”
Hazel leans in closer. “Who was it, Jasper? Was it those rotten Teller boys?”
“It wasn’t a human,” I reply.
This sends even more ripples of outrage around the table.
“But—no magical beings can access the island without our consent,” says Alora. “It can’t happen. I tell you, it just can’t—”
“We’re protected,” Mercy says over her. “Have the wards fallen?”
More anxious chatter.
“The wards still hold,” I assure them all. “The spells of the Sacred Five protect us. But to think that no magical being could ever slip through was always folly. We knew that someday some unscrupulous witch or mage would find a way in. Now they have.”
Reaching out, Hortie squeezes my arm. “Who was it, Jasper?”
I glance around the crowded kitchen. “Does anyone know a witch named Ludmilla Latchko?”
There are more whispers at this, but no one calls out a confirmation.
Over by the stove, Frankie whips out her phone, thumbs flying.
I’m sure she’s searching Ludmilla’s name on the internet.
Once upon a time, a coven needed only strong spell wielders, a memory keeper, and a potioneer or two to get by.
But this is the twenty-first century. A coven needs a tech expert too.
We witches have to stick with the times.
Hazel sits forward. “Isn’t she some kind of architect or interior designer? I feel like I saw her name in a magazine.”
“Ludmilla Latchko,” Frankie calls to the group.
“Socialite of the famed Latchko family. Old money type. Jeez—” She keeps scrolling.
“Looks like she’s rich as freaking Croesus.
Keeps a pretty little estate over on Fleet Cove.
” She flashes her phone screen to the group.
“Here’s a picture of her with the president. ”
“Which one?” says Hortie.
From her mom’s phone screen, Cora laughs. “Does that really matter?”
“Of course, it does,” Hortie replies. At the looks from the others at the table, she shrugs. “What? I’m curious about her politics.”
Frankie keeps scrolling. “I’m seeing senators here, prime ministers, tech billionaires . . . it looks like she’s in the pockets of the rich and powerful the world over.”
“Or they’re all in hers,” Ada muses, sipping her tea.
I sit forward, reclaiming the floor. “All of that is merely the face she shows to the human world. We must contend with her as she really is . . . a powerful witch. Now, according to my new source, in magical circles she goes by the nickname the Raven—”
“Ooo, that just gave me an awful chill,” Hortie murmurs, rubbing her arms.
“She runs black market operations out of Winthrop,” I go on.
“Apparently, she trades in magical artifacts, like grimoires and cursed items. Make no mistake, this witch has no scruples. She kills first and asks questions later. She sent someone to kill me last night thinking I wouldn’t fight back, thinking we wouldn’t fight back. ”
More gasps at this.
“She’s wrong,” I say over them. “I mean to fight her, and I mean to win. Because no one fucks with a Burr Island witch and lives to tell the tale.”
Old Ada raps the table with her knuckles. “Hear, hear! It’s been far too long since I had a good reason to curse someone’s nose off.”
From Hazel’s phone screen, Cora giggles. “You didn’t really curse someone’s nose off, did you, auntie?”
Ada purses her red painted lips and winks. “And why wouldn’t I? The weaselly old witch stole my best apple turnover recipe.”
“Oh, Ada,” Hazel cries, clearly scandalized.
“And I’d do it again!” She turns to me, offering a curt nod. “I stand with my high priest. Tell us what you need, and we’ll see it done.”
I take a deep breath. “Right . . . well, at this point, all I know is that all of this connects back to Homewood.”
“All of what?” says Frankie.
Glancing around, it’s clear she’s not the only one confused.
Time to come clean. Guilt churns in my gut as I rise from the table and cross my arms. “I’ve known something was wrong for weeks . . . ever since Homewood was rediscovered by that damn hiker.”
Hortie blinks behind her buggy glasses. “What do you mean, dear?”
“Ludmilla has been watching us,” I reply.
“The ravens? They’re her Eyes. They’ve been reporting on movement around the island.
She’s been watching me, waiting to see what I would do now that Homewood has been found.
She knows I’ve been trying to stop Ezra Howe from digging any deeper, but she doesn’t want him stopped. ”
“Abomination,” Ada hisses. “What right does that witch have to the secrets of our Sacred Five?”
“It’s possible she knows something we don’t,” I go on.
“It’s Ludmilla who gave Howe the funding he needs to do his little dig.
She passed it through the front of her Raven Hill Group, cutting all the red tape and shoving through permits, paving the way for Howe to bulldoze every tree and uproot every stone. ”
Flipping open the file on the table in front of me, I pull out the article I cut from The Burr Island Bugle a few weeks ago, announcing Howe winning the RHG’s prestigious arts and culture grant. I pass the clipping to Hortie. She scans it before sharing it around the table.
“I knew Howe was getting help off island,” I go on. “I just didn’t know that help was magical. Now we know it’s Ludmilla. And I can’t help but wonder . . .” I shake my head, not sure I’m ready to even admit this out loud.
Hortie sits forward in her chair, taking my hand. “What is it, dear?”
I sigh. “Look . . . I know this is gonna sound crazy. I know that, all right? So just . . . big grain of salt here.”
“Just spit it out,” says Frankie.
I look around at the faces of my loving coven. Their faith in me gives me strength. It centers me. They need my leadership. And I need their feedback on this theory before it eats me alive. “What if Ludmilla is the reason for the original ward?”
Silence meets my words.
Finally, Hortie sighs. “Oh, Jasper, we can’t know what our sisters intended four hundred years ago.”
“Can’t we?” I look around the table. “So, we’re all just content to believe Ludmilla appeared out of the ether at the exact moment there was a weakness in the ward magic? And she just happens to want to support a dig at Homewood? And she just happens to want me dead for wanting it stopped?”
More silence at this.
“Picture it with me . . . four hundred years ago, the Sacred Five used one of their last moments on this earth to cast a fiercely powerful warding spell. We know this. But what if it didn’t just ward for the future?
What if it banished in the present? What if their spell cast a rival witch off the island?
Perhaps a witch that was hunting them. A witch vicious enough to turn on them, stoking the flames of prejudice until a human mob chased them into that church where they met their end. ”
From her little glowing phone screen, Cora gasps. “You think it was a fellow witch who hunted the First Five? Not the humans?”
“I don’t know. Like Hortie says, we can’t be sure. But I think it’s possible. With the Sacred Five out of the way, a rival witch with malevolent intent would be free to take whatever they wanted from this island. Nothing could stop them . . . until the wards were set.”
It’s clear my coven is considering this all carefully.
A few of them cast each other furtive glances down the table.
One or two shrug. But it’s old Ada who finally speaks.
“I’m sorry, lad. But even if what you say were true, and all this witch wanted was something the Sacred Five hid on the island, she’d be long dead by now.
Witches are mortal, after all. It can’t possibly be the same witch from all those years ago. ”
Here we come to it, the truth that will change everything. “Actually, it can be the same witch.”
Hortie snorts. “Are you saying she discovered the fountain of youth?”
“Not a fountain of youth,” I hedge. “But I believe Ludmilla has found a way to unnaturally prolong her life. And I believe she’s here again, ready to try and take that which our Sacred Five didn’t want her to have. If I’m right, then she has to be stopped. For good.”
From the stove, Frankie crosses her arms. “Where’s your proof?”
“Proof?”
“Yeah. Proof this witch was here four hundred years ago. Proof it’s the same witch here now. If you want us to start a war with this witch, I wanna see the proof.”
Around the room, other coven members nod, all eyes looking back to me.
“I can’t prove it was her back then,” I admit. “Not yet. But I can prove she’s found a way to unnaturally prolong her life. And it’s more than easy to prove she’s the one after us now. At the end of the day, I trust my witch’s intuition. I’m asking all of you to trust it too.”
“No, you’re asking us to help you kill someone,” Hazel says gently.
“Just show us your proof,” says Hortie as the others keep nodding. “A good priest leads his coven, dear. He doesn’t bully them into action. Lead us in the direction you want us to go. As you love us and we love you, we’ll follow.”
From the corner of the room, Jonah takes a slurping sip of his tea. “Let them with eyes learn to See,” he intones in his frail, nasally voice.
“What was that, dear?” says his mother.
“I’d like to hear from the wraith now.” Jonah’s vacant eyes are locked on me, his head tipped slightly to the side. “He’s your proof, is he not?”
Oh shit.
All the witches around the table stir.
“What did he say?” Mercy hisses at Ruby, giving Jonah a wary, sideways glance.
Frankie is closest to him. She steps in, careful not to touch him. “Say it again, Jo.”
His head lolls to the other side. Slowly, he raises a hand and points at me. “There’s a wraith behind you. He’s been there the whole time.”
Fuck.