Chapter 7
Julia
The Fort Langley I remember was rough timber and mud, with palisade walls weathered silver by rain.
Wagon wheels carved deep ruts into the dirt streets, and the air was thick with the smell of sawdust, horses, and ash.
Wisps of chimney smoke once rose from the trees at dusk, the only sign that witches lived in the forest. Now, we enter a town of painted storefronts, gleaming signage, and unnaturally smooth streets.
Rather than men in wool coats and mud-caked boots bartering outside the general store, a smattering of people mill about in their strange modern attire, looking down at small glowing rectangles as if divining the future.
The town and wilderness I knew are buried under a century of progress, along with any trace of the life I once had.
My throat tightens at the possibility that the place I knew has vanished forever. That I’m a relic in a world that no longer knows or respects me.
As we finally step off the bus, I exhale in relief. What an unpleasant conveyance. Between the lurching corners and the stench, my stomach was ready to revolt.
Hannah turns to face me, hugging herself in the blast of cold night air. “Where do we start looking?”
I glare at the town I once called home. “If my coven is still alive, there will be traces. Hidden signs, magical residue, even intentional clues to tell other witches they’re here.”
As I lead the way to the heart of Fort Langley, Hannah stays close to my side. Whether it’s the binding spell pulling her toward me or fear of whatever dangers we might find, I’m not sure.
I run my hand along a rough brick wall, searching. It’s unremarkable under my fingers—no familiar surge of energy, nothing but the mundane, shallow hum of ordinary life. I pull back when I reach a large window, which displays trinkets that are supposedly useful in the kitchen.
“Anything?” Hannah asks, hovering beside me with her arms wrapped around herself. The night air has turned bitter, and her breath mists.
I ignore her and walk onward.
What if Rebecca and my entire coven are dead? What if I can’t break this spell before the moon sets and end up trapped with this girl forever?
No. Rebecca will not win, even if she is dead.
We continue down the street, and I brush my fingers along every wall and window, feeling for the slightest hint of magic.
“Vestigia magica revela,” I say, the tracking incantation rolling off my tongue.
The spell sends a pulse of energy outward. But before it gains traction, it sputters and dies like a blown-out candle.
Dammit. Frustration twists my gut. I used what remnants of magic I had to compel that man away from Hannah. Was that foolish?
I try again, pouring more intention into it. Sharp pain shoots through my veins as my power fights to stay alive. Once again, the spell dies before gaining traction.
“What’s—” Hannah begins.
“Quiet!”
Humiliation burns hotter than the hunger.
I was once powerful enough to flatten houses and make men weep with fear.
I could command the earth like an extension of my body.
Now I can barely cast a simple tracking spell.
I’m reduced to this pathetic half strength, dependent on an ordinary girl for survival.
What if I’m broken? What if a century of sleep has permanently damaged my connection to magic? If I can no longer manage a basic spell… The thought makes me want to scream, but I swallow it down. The girl cannot see me so weak.
Movement catches my eye—a man across the street walking in the other direction. He’s alone.
My hunger has become unbearable, making my hands shake and my vision blur at the edges. This weak spark of power I got from feeding on Hannah isn’t enough to sustain me.
To hell with her stubbornness. If she will not hold up her end of our agreement and let me feed again, then she forces me to do this.
“Wait here,” I tell her, already moving.
“Where are you—Julia!”
I walk faster, my body tingling in anticipation of the hunt.
After hundreds of kills over decades, the routine is carved into my bones—following at a distance, letting them get comfortable, slowly creating isolation until it’s too late to run.
This is perhaps the only thing since I awoke that still feels easy.
The man is looking down at his glowing device, his shoulders relaxed, his gait unhurried. Oblivious. His life force calls to me, rich and healthy. My muscles coil as I gain ground.
With a subtle gesture, I encourage a barrel sitting in front of a pub to roll across the man’s path. The wooden thump splits the quiet air. He looks up, startled, lowering his device.
I flick my fingers, and with a pop, the streetlamps extinguish. We’re plunged into shadow, the only light coming from the full moon overhead.
The man’s silhouette goes rigid. His head swivels.
“Julia,” Hannah hisses behind me, her footsteps racing to catch up.
When the man’s gaze lands on me, I’m already closing the distance.
“Can I help you?” His voice aims for confidence, but there’s a tremor underneath—that first inkling that something’s not right. His free hand forms a fist.
Too late. My power gathers like a storm beneath my skin, ready to feed. I reach out to command the barrel to bring him closer and—
“No!” Hannah’s body crashes into mine from behind, her arms locking around my waist with surprising strength. Her warmth presses against my back as she digs her heels into the ground, using her full weight to drag me backward. “You said you wouldn’t!”
“I made no such promise.” I snarl and twist, trying to shake her off, but her grip is fierce. The man’s survival instincts finally kick in, and he stumbles back, tripping over the barrel before catching himself.
His eyes go wide, reflecting the moonlight. “What’s—”
“Sorry,” Hannah grits out, struggling. “This woman—thinks it’s 1891. She’s escaped from the care home.”
“Oh, um…” The man stammers, looking torn over whether to be afraid.
“Go!” Hannah barks at him.
He pauses for half a second, then spins and walks away at a fast clip, his footsteps fading down the empty street.
Fury boils in my veins as he disappears into the night.
I push Hannah back, and she lets go this time.
“Clever little pest,” I growl.
“Murderous antique,” she shoots back.
“I require more power. That tracking spell—”
She gestures wildly to herself. “So feed on me! That was the deal!”
The hunger claws at my insides, making me want to pin her against the brick wall and drain her dry, binding spell be damned. My fingers twitch with the urge. “You refused. You left me no choice.”
Hannah scoffs. “Your medieval approach to problem-solving is showing.”
“My approach kept me alive when other witches were being hunted and killed.”
She studies me up and down, her jaw working. In the darkness, the angles of her face are soft, making her look so innocent. So naive.
I step closer, dropping my voice. “You said earlier that you have no idea how any of this works. And you’re right. So I suggest you quiet down and let me do what needs to be done.”
A snarl curls Hannah’s lips, and her eyes flash furiously. “No. And if you try to hurt anyone else again, you’re going to regret it.”
I laugh. “What are you going to do, exactly?”
She opens her arms. “You need me more than you’d like to admit. You don’t know how to drive, use a phone, or even buy food. You have no idea how anything works in 2009.”
This stings more than it should. I draw myself up taller. “I have survived plagues, fires, and witch hunts. I can manage a few modern inconveniences.”
“Can you?” She tilts her head. “Because from where I’m standing, you can barely cast a spell.”
I snarl. How dare she—
“More importantly…” She steps closer, clenching her fists. “If you try to kill anyone again, I will jump off a bridge and let the binding spell take you down with me.”
Is she mad or bluffing? This girl is as infuriating as she is intriguing.
I peer down at her. “You wouldn’t.”
“I released you, so the deaths would be on my conscience. So either you agree to feed on me and leave everyone else alone, or we both die.”
Hm. I’ve managed to fire her up. Does she really have leverage over me? Would she kill us both to save a stranger? The fierce light in her eyes tells me she means it.
“Why are you so determined to protect people you don’t know?” I ask.
“It’s called empathy. You should try it sometime.”
“I prefer efficiency.” I step even closer, and to my delight, she falters and steps back.
So I keep going, backing her against the wall to show her who is in control.
When she bumps into it with a hitched breath, I flatten my palms on the rough brick on either side of her head, caging her in.
“You’d best not let your stubborn nobility get in the way of what needs to be done tonight, Hannah. ”
“If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working,” she whispers.
I bend closer, staring into her wide eyes that betray how afraid she is. “Liar. I could end you with a thought, and you know it.”
“But you won’t.”
The binding spell relaxes in my chest as we stand so close, and I breathe easier. A warm sensation starts in my core and spreads outward until my lips tingle.
The way Hannah bites her lip is distracting, making me forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
Then something hits my senses, and I spin.
There. A flutter, as faint as a moth’s wing, brushes my skin from the south. The tracking spell, pitiful as it was, actually caught something.
My fury dissipates like smoke.
“This way.” I stride back the way we came, following the invisible trail.
“What? Do you sense someone?” Hannah asks, running to keep up.
I don’t respond, staying focused. My heart pounds. After 118 years, my coven is still leaving traces. Could that mean they are alive and well, right where I left them? It would be unusual for a coven to stay put for so many decades, but not unheard of.
Hannah hurries to keep up, her footsteps crunching on fallen leaves. “Where are you going?”
I don’t know, so I don’t answer.
After a long moment, we arrive at an iron fence.
On the other side, visible among the swirling white fog, are headstones.
My breath hitches.
Wet earth and rotting leaves fill my nostrils, the same smell that clung to Elizabeth’s skirts after we buried Eloise in this very cemetery in 1885. We stood in a circle that night, holding hands while we sang the old death songs.
And if the spell is leading me here…
My insides plummet, leaving a cold void. Are they all dead?
God, if Rebecca died and took the secret of her binding spell to the grave… If I’m the last person alive who knows any of us ever mattered…
No. I can’t give up hope. The tracking spell could be leading me to anyone.
I push the iron gate open, and it groans on its hinges, the sound echoing through the night. The trees, much taller and thicker after a century of growth, cast twisted shadows across the grass.
I step through the gate and walk on, following the faint brush of magic against my skin.
My boots crunch on rock that wasn’t here before.
The paths were mud and grass when I knew this place, but now, everything is too orderly.
The wild tangle of blackberry bushes where Celeste and I picked berries during funerals is gone, replaced by trees that are unnaturally even.
I can still taste those berries. Still hear Celeste’s laugh.
But if she is dead—if they are all dead—am I the only one who remembers the sound of her laugh, and that she always found the best berry bushes and made the best jams? Am I the only person who knows she existed as anything more than a name on a stone?
“Ducite me ad eas,” I murmur, urging the tracking spell to stay alive. It keeps caressing me like a gentle touch, taking me further into the graveyard.
My heart beats faster, and I lead us onward, deeper into the fog that drifts between the graves like the ghosts of everyone I once knew.