Chapter 1 #2
Muriel knelt and pushed aside the large planters beneath, exposing dark earth. That was when she saw it—the shimmer of glamour, just above the ground.
Muriel's breath caught as her hand reached out and touched the shimmer. The illusion dissolved, revealing an iron ring and a trapdoor that she’d never noticed before.
“What secrets were you hiding, Mom?”
A breeze whipped through the enclosed greenhouse, impatient and insistent.
“Okay, okay.” Muriel pulled on the ring and opened the door. Scents of stone, earth, and ozone flowed up to greet her.
Drawing the moonlight to her, Muriel shaped it into a ball and held it near the opening, where a narrow set of stairs disappeared into the darkness. The air wrapped around her, coaxing her downward into a small chamber. At the bottom, a heavy wooden door with fastenings of handwrought iron awaited.
The ghostly echo of her mother's voice rang deep in her head. Some secrets must be kept until you're ready for them.
Her mother had said those words to her more times than she could count. Muriel had been a curious child, impatient to learn and test and explore things she wasn’t yet ready for.
Was she ready now?
Taking a deep breath, Muriel turned the handle and entered a place she hadn’t known existed.
Candles blazed to life as she stepped inside.
She was immediately surrounded by lingering remnants of her mother's magic, imbued in the wood and stone.
Shelves lined the walls, holding items that hummed with power: crystals that glowed with inner light, vials of liquid that moved on their own, and bundles of herbs, neatly tied and hung.
In the center, on a small pedestal draped in dark velvet, was a grimoire.
Ancient. Beautiful. And alive.
It was unlike any book Muriel had ever seen. The leather binding was so old it appeared black, covered in symbols that seemed to shift and writhe in the candlelight. Power radiated from it in subtle waves, making the air itself feel thick and heavy.
The pull was overwhelming, and in those moments, she knew to the depths of her soul that this was her mother’s legacy. Terrified and yet unable to do anything else, Muriel stepped forward and placed her hands on the cover.
The chamber exploded with light and power and sensation.
Her magic erupted in a wave that rattled everything in the room.
Images flashed before her eyes, memories that weren't her own.
In one, a younger version of her mother, pale hair shining like moonlight, accepted the book from an older woman in some sort of ritual.
The same exchange was repeated multiple times, showing women with the same delicate features, the same hazel eyes flecked with brilliant green.
Women with willowy builds and fae-like beauty, their alabaster skin glowing with inner power.
But then the visions turned darker. Witches ran in fear, chased through moonlit forests by men with greedy eyes and grasping hands.
When Muriel came back to herself, she was on her knees on the floor, breathing heavily, as if she had been the one chased through the woods.
She clutched the grimoire tightly to her chest, candles sputtering around her.
Her magic was no longer a calm, peaceful presence in her chest, but a wild thing, surging and receding like a tide she couldn't control.
She rose unsteadily to her feet and replaced the grimoire on the stand, then stumbled back and sank to the earthen floor, exhausted and shocked by what she’d seen. Was this what had happened to her ancestors? Why hadn’t her mother told her any of this? Was this what was in store for her?
For hours, she sat there, the rich, packed earth replenishing her strength as she tried to make sense of it. She opened the book several times, but it showed nothing further beyond the pages covered in strange symbols she couldn’t decipher.
“Now what, Mom?” she whispered into the silence.
The candles were no longer flickering. The air was now still, the heavy press of magic lifted.
Her mother’s spirit was gone.
Utterly spent, she dragged herself to her bed and slept, though not peacefully.
The grimoire—which she’d left locked away underground—called to her, filling her dreams with more visions, many of which were in times and places she didn’t recognize, in languages she didn’t understand.
One thing she was able to glean, however—that book was the key to everything, and somehow, she had become its keeper.
But what was she supposed to do with it?
It wasn’t as though she could ask anyone.
Her mother was gone. Centuries of persecution had nearly wiped out her kind, sending most of them into hiding.
Witches had become solitary creatures, living sheltered lives on the outskirts of society.
As far as she knew, she was the only witch for more than a hundred miles.
In fact, Mythic was the only place she knew of where magic users didn’t hide what they were.
An image of Brandon came to her mind, and the climbing roses she was pruning burst into fragrant bloom. He had a magical bookstore loaded with knowledge. Maybe she could find answers there?
It had been weeks since she’d seen Jessie, she rationalized. She could head up to Mythic for a visit and then visit The Glas Tann to see what, if anything, she could discover. Brandon might even be willing to help.
But could she trust him?
Just as she thought that, her wards pinged and a warning rippled through her. Someone was hovering on the outer perimeter of her land. Instantly on alert, Muriel dusted off her hands, stood, and extended her psychic senses.
The source of the disturbance was about a hundred yards south.
There, a tall, lean man with silver-streaked hair approached, drawing ever closer.
He was looking around the place with more than casual interest, as if evaluating her wards.
His aura shimmered with an essence she didn’t recognize, foreign and yet vaguely familiar.
A shiver ran the length of her spine. She stepped away from the roses, which had started to wither as the sense of dread crept over her.
The movement caught the man’s attention. “Good morning. Muriel Brennan?”
Another shiver came at the sound of her name crossing his lips. Oh, yes. This man had power.
A mage.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I believe we can help each other. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Corvus. Silas Corvus.”
He paused as if expecting acknowledgement, his smile fading somewhat when she said nothing.
“I knew your mother,” he added, “though it was quite a few years ago. I understand she passed recently. My condolences.”
Muriel’s reply was a slight nod. She wished he would get to the point.
He tilted his head, studying her with an unblinking intensity that made her skin crawl. “She was a very gifted earth witch.” He waved his hand over the yard. “It appears you are as well.”
“Never underestimate the power of good fertilizer,” Muriel said evenly. “I can give you the name of the farmer down the road, if you’d like.”
“You are wise to be cautious, but beware,” he warned with a somber nod.
“Elemental magic is, by nature, raw and wild and will only increase over time. Those who wield it must learn to control it, lest it become unmanageable. When your power becomes too much to handle—and it will—remember that there are those who can help.”
“Like you?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
“Like me,” he confirmed, “and others.”
He reached into his pocket, extracted a business card, and held it out to her.
When Muriel made no move to accept it, he tucked it into the mailbox, bowed slightly, and walked back the same way he’d come.
It was several minutes before the birds started singing again, but his cryptic words and the sense of bone-deep menace lingered.
He'd said when her magic became too much, not if.
Muriel pulled out her phone and stared at the screen for a long moment. The decision of whether to stay or go had been made for her. She needed answers, and sooner rather than later. One thing was certain—her home was no longer a safe place.
She pulled up Jessie's number.
“Hey Jess,” she said when her best friend answered on the first ring. “Is your invitation still open? Because I think I’d like to come for a visit.”