Chapter 24 - Emily
Swan’s Island rises out of the Atlantic like a secret the sea has kept too long, the abandoned land standing before us like a mystery, an eerie mist cast over its trees.
“Remember, there are three wicked witches remaining…” Delilah reminds us, her voice a terse whisper.
“The Harrower,” I say.
“The Veilcaster,” Arianna names the second witch who remains—the one who casts shields and can protect the evil witches from our attacks.
“And the Bloodletter…” Gwen murmurs grimly, as if recalling her horrific encounter with the evil witches nearly a year ago. The Bloodletter was the one who poisoned her, the evil magic taking over her body. She’d been in a coma for months after the poison had been removed, and it changed her.
“Everyone just needs to be careful,” Dominic says flatly.
“We work as a team,” Tyler adds.
The ferry cuts through the fog in near silence, its horn muted, swallowed by the thick, rolling mist that clings to the water like breath on cold glass.
The ocean smells sharp and ancient here, thick with salt and iron like a barrier that’s meant to keep everything out.
As the dock looms into view, my magic stirs, not in warning, but in recognition.
It’s like it knows this place, knows that our greatest adversary walked this soil.
Sean’s hand encloses mine as the ferry slows, his thumb brushing once over my knuckles like a steady, grounding reminder that I’m not in this alone.
The bond between us hums softly, a quiet current instead of the storm it once was.
Behind us, boots hit the deck, the familiar presence of our special army settling into place.
Nicholas stands rigid, eyes scanning the shoreline.
Gwen murmurs under her breath, already tasting the dark magic in the air.
Tyler and Arianna exchange a look that says “this is it,” and I feel for them, and for Dominic.
They each have children waiting back home for them, while Dom has a son and a pregnant mate waiting for him in Nightmist. Hunter and Delilah move as one, her hand resting lightly over Donna’s arm.
Donna shouldn’t be here.
She’s heavily pregnant, her movements slow, deliberate, but her presence burns bright and unyielding. Her magic flares protectively around her womb, ancient and maternal, and when her child shifts, I feel it ripple through the air like a promise that needs to be kept amongst the witches.
We step onto the dock, and the moment my boots touch the weathered wood, the island answers me.
It’s not a violent response, but rather, it’s hushed.
It’s a low, resonant hum beneath my feet, as if the land itself exhales.
Gold flickers beneath my skin, restrained, controlled.
My magic stretches outward in gentle tendrils, brushing against pine roots and stone, saltwater and soil.
Swan’s Island does not reject me. It opens like arms to welcome us.
“This place is layered,” Gwen murmurs, her eyes unfocused as she turns slowly, palms flexing at her sides. “Wards over wards. Some protective. Some…sleeping.”
Delilah nods. “Older than any of us.”
“Which means,” Tyler mutters, adjusting the grip on his weapon, “whatever is waiting for us here has been in the works since the Blood Moon War.”
Sean’s jaw tightens, and I squeeze his hand once. “They’ve been preparing for a long time, and now they know we’re here,” I say calmly.
No one questions it because we all know it’s true.
I exchange a glance with Sean, a part of me wishing that we could have still had time, but now there’s no room for mistakes.
We didn’t get to practice, but we’d spoken about it on our way here, and we know what needs to be done when the time comes.
Sean squeezes my hand again with the silent reassurance that he knows what I’m thinking, and that he has faith in me, faith in us.
The road inland is narrow, cracked with age, winding through dense forest where the trees crowd close, their branches interlocking overhead like clasped fingers.
The fog thins the further we go, retreating until the world sharpens with unsettling emptiness.
There aren’t any birds singing, no insects buzzing, and even the air seems to hold its breath.
The clearing appears suddenly, the trees breaking apart as if the forest itself refuses to cross its threshold.
Standing stones ring the open earth, ancient and half-sunken, their surfaces carved with symbols worn smooth by what seems like centuries of weather and blood and prayer.
At the far edge of the clearing, an old cemetery slopes gently toward the sea, headstones tilted and choked by moss, forgotten by the living, remembered only by the dead in its abandonment.
My pulse stutters, and I slow my steps, glancing at my sisters when I feel it in my chest. A tightness that tugs my heart, threatening to crack it, warning that it’s where Merlin Grimes lies.
He’s not awake yet, but his bones are close enough to feel our presence.
My sisters appear as spooked as I am, but we maintain our composure, knowing what must be done tonight.
Sean’s wolf stirs beneath his skin—not panicked, not feral, but alert, ready.
The bond tightens subtly, our awareness sharpening together.
We spread out instinctively, witches forming an arc, the wolves taking formation behind us. Donna lowers herself carefully onto a fallen stone, breath steady but focused, one hand pressed to her belly.
Delilah crouches in front of her immediately. “You stay behind the barrier,” she murmurs. “No heroics.”
Donna gives a tight smile as she chuckles. “I’ve survived worse.” Her magic pulses once, fierce and maternal, her eyes flashing gold like the magic she possesses.
It’s like we collectively hold our breaths, staring at the clearing, when the air bends. It doesn’t break, but it’s bending. Shadows stretch unnaturally across the clearing, pooling and knitting together near the stones. The temperature drops, my breath frosting in the air.
Laughter slips through my mind like a blade.
“Well, well, well…” the Harrower croons, her voice echoing inside my skull rather than the air. “Look at you, Emily…all grown up, I see.”
She steps forward, her form flickering through the shadows, projecting images of faces overlapping one another like reflections on water; Sean, bleeding, Donna screaming as she clutches her ripe belly, my sisters burning.
Once, this projection would have destroyed me. But now I am stronger, and no amount of manipulation can faze me. I know what’s real, and he’s standing behind me in wolf form—they’re all standing behind me and beside me, ready to take down our enemy, and I take a single step forward.
“You’re late,” I say evenly. “You were not here when we arrived. We thought you’d welcome us.”
The Harrower’s smile falters, her face twitching and revealing her true form with all its wrinkles and wear that reveal her true age. She’s one of the witches who worked for Grimes during the Blood Moon War. She’s older than time itself.
The illusion she’s trying to feed me lashes outward, slamming into me, and I see Sean on the ground, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes glassy and empty.
My breath hitches, but then I remember that it’s just an illusion, and Sean hasn’t been touched. I ground myself in that knowledge, sensing his presence, sensing his warmth through the mate bond and through my magic, and it allows me to tap further into my heart space.
That’s when gold surges forward, and it isn’t wild or erratic, but it’s precise, deliberate, and I am in control. That’s when the vision fractures, shattering into smoke and ash and clearing my path to see the Harrower more clearly.
“You don’t get to use my fear against me anymore, Harrower,” I tell her, my voice carrying effortlessly through the clearing. “You don’t get to use my love as a weapon.” Light ignites around me, not blinding, but absolute.
“You think that is my name?” the Harrower roars with laughter, but it’s cut short when I open my mouth, speaking her name when Delilah says it through the mind link.
She’s using our coven magic—an ancient trick—to tap into the Harrower’s illusory powers and use it against her by reading her mind.
“No. I know what your name is, and names hold power. Like spells. Isn’t that right, Raven?”
The moment I say her name, the Harrower screams as her illusions peel away, her form unraveling under the weight of truth.
She tries to retreat, but Sean is already moving.
His jet-black wolf tears through shadow and screams alike while my magic flares and imprisons her on the spot.
He rips Raven apart until there’s nothing left but ash drifting across ancient stone, and silence falls.
We’re still holding our breath, knowing Raven was only one step closer to Grimes. That’s why the silence doesn’t last.
A wet, choking laugh bubbles up behind me as the earth itself ruptures.
The Bloodletter erupts from the ground, magic reeking of rot and iron, her energy lashing toward us like a poisoned blade. Sean roars, but I throw myself in front of Gwen, catching the spell midair before it hits her.
The dark magic burns, corruption biting deep, but I hold it, flooding it with gold, purifying it from the inside out. The tainted magic screams as it dissolves, and the Bloodletter stares at me in horror.
“That’s not possible—”
“It is,” I reply calmly, feeling confidence puff my chest as I remember all my training. One by one, each of the Golden Tree Sisters catches the dark magic flung toward them, stopping it from taking control of their bodies.
I’m the first one to release the magic back to the Bloodletter like a counterattack of gold.
Sean and Nicholas hit her together from either side, wolf and witch moving in brutal harmony when Donna sends the magic at the Bloodletter like a bolt of lightning.
Arianna is the one who speaks her name and yells out, “Nyra!” before the wolves pounce on her as a group, ripping her limbs and head off.
When they step back, the earth smokes where she once stood.
The shadows recoil, and the Veilcaster reveals herself at last, rising from darkness like a living absence, shadow binding around her in layers of defense. Now that her allies are gone, she’s been compromised, and there’s nothing left to shield, so she turns to flee.
Delilah, Gwen, and Arianna move as one, voices lifting, hands weaving ancient sigils. A shimmering barrier snaps into place, light and symbol interwoven. The Veilcaster slams into it, shrieking. I step forward, and every heartbeat echoes.
“This ends now.” I don’t scream. I don’t rage. I just release as gold erupts from my core in a controlled detonation, washing over the last evil witch like sunlight through fog. The shadows dissolve, and the Veilcaster vanishes.
For one breath—just one—there is stillness.
Then, the ground shudders. The cemetery trembles. Earth splits. Cold, ancient magic claws upward from below, vast and furious. I stagger as something old stretches beneath the island, and Sean catches me instantly in human form.
I lift my gaze to the cracked grave at the edge of the clearing.
Merlin Grimes.
“He’s coming,” I whisper, letting Sean steady me as I exchange knowing looks with my sisters.
None of us is afraid or uncertain. Not even the alpha wolves by our sides. We’d just effortlessly taken down all three of the evil witches, and there’s nothing that can stop us now.
Not even Grimes rising from the dead.