Epilogue
Rowyn
Reading through the ancient hearth spell, I silently repeat the incantation and skim the directions. Again.
Except I’ve read this a thousand times now, and it should be one of the most simple spells I’ve ever done.
Stand in front of the home’s hearth—preferably adorned with the cauldron that will sit upon it going forward. Check.
Say the incantation seven times. Check.
The hearth’s eternal flame will light… Nothing.
I bite back a frustrated scream and shake off the agitation, clearing my mind before I try again.
From the first week I moved into the inn, I felt my magic’s strength in a way I never have before.
As I’ve explained to the rest of the coven, my abilities have always been limited by how weak my magic is compared to my family.
I’ve never struggled with harnessing it how I desire or connecting to it.
My well of magic is not as deep as everyone else’s seems to be.
As time passes, I’m not sure what to think about it anymore.
I’m not necessarily getting stronger, at least not by much, but I’m certainly not weaker either.
Even after months of keeping the fireplaces around the inn lit and performing more cleaning charms than I ever have before, I haven’t ever felt depleted. I don’t feel rejuvenated either.
During the resurrection, we all dipped into a well of power none of us ever expected to touch. I thought I’d be able to light this damn thing for sure.
It’s been a month since we saved Renata and Archer. I’m more determined than ever.
Life is flowing back into my hometown—something I never thought I would see. I want the Dreaming Willow Inn to live up to its potential. To what it once was: a home for kindred spirits, and a rest stop for those on a different journey.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and hold my hands out, palms toward the hearth.
I try to imagine my magic like a forest fire rather than a well.
It’s always been described that way. Maybe it’s different for everyone.
Visualizing myself standing in the middle of a forest, I snap my fingers and a small patch of grass catches.
It stings against my arm, but it fades just as quickly and leaves my nerves alight.
In my mental forest, I snap my finger again and again. I don’t stop until my skin is burning.
“Lux et vita in hac domo.”
I pause for a breath and repeat it six more times.
As the last words roll off my tongue, I wait in anticipation for a few seconds. Nothing happens, and my body quickly returns to its normal temperature, making me shiver.
My shoulders drop and I let out a frustrated huff when a small spark catches my attention. Slowly, I turn on my heel to stare in silence. It takes a few moments, but the spark is back, stronger this time. It catches on the everlasting wood and turns into a bright, healthy flame before my eyes.
The room warms. Not temperature-wise, but like a body coming back from the verge of death. Unfortunately, I can say that with certainty now. As if it was taking a breath, the air in the room lifts to the ceiling and is slowly released, blowing the back door open.
“Oh my Gods,” I whisper with tears in my eyes. After a few seconds, my surprise turns into excitement. “Oh my Gods!” I scream and run out of the kitchen, chanting the words over and over.
It’s after dinner, so I expect everyone to be upstairs somewhere.
When I get to the top of the stairs, Renata and Archer are already running out of their bedroom. Before I have a chance to tell them, the rest of the bedroom doors are opening and the entire coven is stepping into the hallway with different levels of confusion plastered on their expressions.
Clementine is the first to ask, “What was that?”
Renata opens her mouth, but I cut her off and excitedly say, “I did it!”
“Did wh—” Renata asks before her mouth falls open in shock. “You did it?”
Feeling giddy, I nod and am practically vibrating with energy.
“Rowyn!” Esme squeals and pulls me into a hug with a kiss on the cheek. “We knew you would!”
My excitement thrums through the air and spreads across the coven. With hugs and praises, they rush past me to go see for themselves.
Sybil is the last to offer any appreciation. She gives me a hug and encouraging words. When she pulls away, I expect her to run downstairs like everyone else but she doesn’t. Her head tilts to the side and she twists her lips.
“I think this was for you,” she says and hands me two tarot cards. She offers me a rueful look before slowly walking down the stairs.
My adrenaline mixes with nervousness, making me nauseous. I turn the cards around.
The Star and the Knight of Swords.
Divination has never been my strong suit. I sift through the knowledge I have of tarot. There are a few interpretations.
New truths come to light.
A healer and a warrior bonding over something.
Coming into your destiny quickly and unexpectedly.
An overdue confrontation.
It does give a little bit of hope after a hardship, I think.
“Wait, Syb—” I call out until a deafening howl breaks through the night.
I cover my ears and grit my teeth. It drags on for long seconds, ringing through my bones and warming my blood but it’s so loud. Squinting open my eyes, I look for everyone else, wondering what the hell that was. They are all gone.
Holding the sides of my head, I shake off the awareness lingering in my blood.
I need to find them.
Taking the first step down, I remember the tarot cards in my hands when I try to grab the bannister. Coming to an abrupt stop, I turn the cards around and stare at them.
All the happiness and warmth my accomplishment drains from my body the longer I take in the cards. No one has wanted to talk about Barrett’s warnings, but we’re all keenly aware of enemies that are coming. My future could be a mix of any of those options.
I swallow when I remember another important interpretation of the Star.
A soul connection.
The loud, alluring howl starts again and rattles my brain. It’s clearly a warning, yet it feels like a personal beckoning—one I am not positive I’m prepared to answer.
I fear the fates have turned their sights on me next.