CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
‘W-what?’
For as long as Nyssa had known him, Morven Delamorte had preferred to work alone.
She had been the only exception to that rule, and she had not only turned down his offer to join him, but had used it to betray and imprison him.
She’d known she’d be able to face him the first time because while she had the force of the covens behind her, Morven had only himself and the power he’d managed to steal.
And with there being only so much stolen power a single mage could contain before they went mad or died, Morven’s power had had its limits – limits that did not apply to the combined power of the covens.
But if Morven really was working with someone else, then there was a chance those limits no longer applied to him, either.
‘Not so cocky now, I see.’ Morven smiled.
‘Unlike you, I learn from my mistakes: I knew that if I faced the covens alone again I would likely fail, and so I began to form a coven of my own. You and I aren’t the only ones the covens have turned their backs on.
There are others, others who share my wish for power and vengeance.
And now that we are bound, now that their power is my power, we will destroy this town and everything you hold dear. ’
Tears burned the back of Nyssa’s eyes as Morven’s fog began to thicken, creeping around her and freezing her limbs in place.
‘You are the one who is alone.’
The words were meant to wound, as hers had been.
And they would have done, if not for the bonds she’d made over the last few months.
She was less alone than she’d ever been, and she held on to that thought, on to the memories of Elowen’s embrace and Liora’s laughter and Alaric’s calming presence as the fog pressed down on her until her ribs gave a sickening crack.
Pain exploded through every inch of her body, but just as she had done in her first trial, Nyssa focused on those memories.
On the way each and every precious moment with her friends had made her feel.
And as she did, her senses flooded with the familiar aroma of honey-sweet magic, and the chain around her neck – the one that had once belonged to her grandmother – tingled with warmth.
The hairs on Nyssa’s neck and arms prickled as her witch instincts kicked in. There was something important about that warmth. Something related to what Morven had said …
Now that their power is my power.
Morven had said he wasn’t alone any more because he shared power with his coven through some sort of bond.
A bond. The idea lodged in Nyssa’s foggy brain, pulling a memory from the recesses of her mind.
Something that Elowen had spoken of swam to the fore, and with sudden, heart-racing clarity, Nyssa remembered the tale she’d shared.
His mother’s spirit appeared, and told him that her power was his power; all he had to do was draw on the familial bond between them in the same way he might draw on the power of a ley line.
Nyssa wasn’t alone. She never had been. Her grandma had always been with her, even when she was at the covenstead, miles away in both body and heart.
Even now, when her life was no more. Nyssa didn’t know if the folk tale Elowen had spoken of was true, but she knew that whatever magic had helped her fend off the bear and wolf in these very woods hadn’t belonged solely to her.
It had been Lisabeth Hawthorne using the eternal connection between them to weave her magic with her own.
And now, with the necklace acting as a physical anchor between them, that connection was stronger than it had ever been. Nyssa raised a hand to touch the chain, wincing at the wave of pain the movement caused, her vision blurring.
Grandma, if you’re there, Nyssa thought as her grip on consciousness started to slip, I need you. Please.
Nyssa conjured the last good memory she had of Lisabeth Hawthorne before she’d left Nighthaven behind.
They hadn’t been doing anything special.
Simply walking through these very woods, gathering ingredients for a new spell her grandmother wanted to try.
It was just before Nyssa was due to take her entrance exams with the coven, and Lisabeth had insisted she join her to clear her head.
Nighthaven will always be here for those who need it most, her grandmother had said as Nyssa had closed her eyes and taken a deep breath of the magic in the air, her nerves easing for the first time in weeks.
I do not just protect it: it protects me.
And it will protect you too, if you let it.
Nyssa had dismissed her grandma’s claims at the time, passing them off as another one of her attempts to convince her to stay.
But now she let the words settle inside her.
Let her need to protect her friends and all of Nighthaven become her sole focus.
And as she did, Nyssa began to feel the same spark of power she had the last time she’d connected with her grandmother’s spirit.
The same warmth blooming in her chest, the same scent of honey-sweet apples and cinnamon lingering around her.
She inhaled deeply, refocusing her vision on the scene before her.
Morven was standing over her, and with a languid flick of his wrist she felt his magic forcing her to her feet before shoving her against the trunk of an old, gnarled tree.
He had the grimoire now, and with a snarl, he thrust it into Nyssa’s chest, pressing it there hard enough for it to choke the breath from her. ‘Unlock it. Now.’
Even with her grandma’s aid, Nyssa had no chance of overpowering Morven like this. No, she needed to go through with her original plan. It was her only chance.
My broom. I need … my broom.
It lay discarded in the centre of the grove. All Nyssa had to do was distract Morven long enough to reach it.
She made a show of looking defeated. ‘I’ll need my athame,’ she lied. ‘It’s in my bag. Can I—’
‘No. I’ll get it.’ Morven’s power pressed down on her once more, locking her limbs in place.
Or at least it would have, if Lisabeth’s magic wasn’t already fending it off, combining with Nyssa’s own to act as a sort of invisible shield around her body.
Nyssa stiffened anyway. Made it look as though Morven’s magic was working.
And when Morven was far enough away, when he bent down to retrieve her discarded satchel, Nyssa chanted under her breath:
‘Moon above, I seek your aid,
Bestow your divine light, let darkness fade.’
The words came out more rushed than was ideal, but the spell took shape anyway.
Morven had just turned towards her when the ball of light, silver as the moon above, appeared in her palm.
Without hesitating, she flung it at Morven’s face, forcing him to cast a protection spell of his own and dropping the grimoire as he did.
But Nyssa hadn’t meant for her spell to be an attack, and Morven was unprepared as the ball stopped inches before his face and began to glow like a beacon shone directly in his eyes.
Nyssa summoned every ounce of physical strength she had left and darted for her broom.
As her ball of light started to combust, sending hundreds of tiny, burning sparks towards the warlock, she dodged around his flailing arms to snatch her grimoire from the ground.
She stumbled more than once over protruding roots and uneven ground, and by the time she finally reached her broom, her knees and hands were covered in blood and dirt.
Nyssa barely registered the pain when she grabbed her broom in her free hand, her grip so tight it turned her bloodied knuckles white.
With one final glance at Morven – who had just dispelled her orb of light and was already striding towards her – Nyssa mounted her broom, tucked the grimoire under her arm, and gave him the haughtiest look she could manage.
‘You want my grimoire? Come and get it.’
And then she was off, flying up, up, up into the night sky and out of Morven’s fog. She didn’t need to look back to know the warlock would follow. In all the years Nyssa had known him, Morven Delamorte had never ignored a challenge.
And he wasn’t about to ignore this one.
She felt him before she saw him. The heavy weight of his magic.
The press of the fog that seemed attached to him now.
A quick glance over her shoulder was all she needed to know he was already gaining on her.
Nyssa didn’t know where he’d gotten his own broom, nor did she know how he’d become so adept at flying it (because of course he had).
All she knew was that if she didn’t do something soon, he’d be on her, and whatever slim chance she had of luring him to the lake would be as dead as her future with the coven.
Nyssa dropped lower in a sudden arc, diving back down towards the thick cover of the forest. Morven might have been faster than her, but he didn’t know Nighthaven’s terrain like she did.
She wove between the trees effortlessly, each path she took conjuring more memories of time spent with her grandma within these very woods.
With every memory, Nyssa’s connection to her grandmother only seemed to grow, until the necklace at her throat hummed with power and the magic in her veins began to shift from trickling warmth to the start of a raging fire.
A fire that burned hotter the closer she got to her cottage.
Of course.
Lisabeth had always said her home was her heart, and of all the places Nyssa had felt her presence, it had always felt strongest at the cottage.
The scent of her grandmother’s magic became almost overwhelming as Nyssa turned sharply in the direction of Hawthorne Cottage, just as a scalding heat seared the flesh of her cheek.