Chapter 25 #2
“Last week I didn’t remember who I am or everything Mom taught us as kids.”
He smirks, those silver-blue eyes catching the afternoon light. “She was a damn impressive lady.”
Yeah, she was. But to safeguard the fragility of the truce between Wylder and me, I refrain from saying so.
Wylder rolls his shoulders and steps away, swinging his arms to loosen the muscles in his back and chest.
I bend forward, propping my hands on my knees while I catch my breath. “Are we done? Can we be done?”
November wind rushes through the trees, leaves giving up the fight to cling to branches. My shirt is wet with sweat, and as the breeze cuts through the fabric, goosebumps erupt over every inch of my heated skin.
I shiver. “Yikes, that’s cold.”
Wylder nods. “Yeah, we don’t want you catching a chill. Orion’s right. You’re doing really well. You held the water shield longer this time, but you’re still hesitating before switching elements.”
“Okay, I’ll work on it.”
The tension in his frame tells me he’s worried that I need to work faster. “The festival is a week away. We have time.”
Right. No pressure.
I push off the tree and head inside, my muscles protesting every step. The house hums around me, its energy warm and familiar as I pass through the kitchen and down the back hall toward Mom’s workroom.
The carved green door waits at the end of the hall, the Tree of Life shimmering in the low light as I arrive.
I brush a caressing hand over it and then push it open to step inside.
Rowan looks up from the antique worktable, her black and red-streaked hair pulled back in a messy bun. Sebastian stands across from her, sleeves rolled up, his hands hovering over two brass compasses laid out between them.
Runes glow faintly along the edges of the table, casting an amber light across their faces.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
Rowan grins. “We’re getting there. Sebastian’s theory about anchoring the spell to demon energy signatures is brilliant, actually.”
Sebastian doesn’t look up. His focus remains locked on the two compasses. “It’s not a theory if it works. Then it’s brilliant.”
Rowan laughs. “Handsome and modest too.”
S’Nark perches on the edge of the table, in the form of a little demon cherub, his forked tail flicking lazily. “They’re using my essence like I’m a demonic blueprint, but sure, give them the credit. I wouldn’t want to dampen the Wiccan lovefest.”
I bite back a smile. “You doing okay, S’Nark?”
“Peachy. Nothing says Friday night like having two witches bastardize my demonic aura for spell work.”
Sebastian’s ebony brow arches. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m a demon. Drama is literally burned into me on a cellular level, with firebrands and bad decisions dating back to the first apocalypse.”
Rowan laughs and adjusts one of the compasses, murmuring an incantation under her breath. The indicator needle spins, then stops, pointing toward the window.
She frowns and repositions it. The needle spins again, slower this time, before settling in the same direction.
“It’s responding,” she says. “But we need to refine the focus. Right now, it keeps pointing at the standing stones. I think it’s picking up on the energy flux from the ley lines, not just the minions.”
Sebastian leans closer, studying the runes. “If we layer another filter to isolate corrupted soul energy instead of just raw demon essence, it should sharpen the signal.”
Rowan nods. “It’s worth a shot.”
I watch them work, their movements synchronized, almost instinctive. There’s a rhythm to it, a partnership that feels easy.
“You two make a good team,” I say.
Rowan glances up, her gray eyes glinting. “Thanks, Poppy. I’m having more fun than I should be, honestly, but I won’t apologize for it. It’s so rare that my skill set is useful.”
Sebastian doesn’t respond, but I catch the faintest flicker of something in his expression. Acknowledgment, maybe. Or possibly agreement.
“How much longer do you think?” I ask.
“A few days at most,” Rowan says. “We’re close.”
“Good.” I turn toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
I step into the hallway and pull the door shut behind me, the hum of the house settling around me like a blanket. My legs ache, my arms feel like jelly, and all I want is a hot shower.
“Hey, P, are you done training?” Asher’s coming down the hallway, looking distracted, Nobuddy and Somebuddy at his feet, tails wagging.
“For today.” The chihuahuas swarm my ankles, yipping excitedly as I crouch to scratch behind their ears. “Do you need me for something?”
Asher shifts his weight, glancing back the way he came. “I’m not sure. The dogs are acting strange. I think there’s something witchy-weird happening in the parlor.”
I straighten, not sure what that means. “Witchy-weird how?”
“That’s a ‘you’ question. Come see.”
I follow him down to the parlor, the chihuahuas racing ahead. When we step inside, I look around, wondering what’s going on.
The pups run right up to the piano, tip their heads back and let off a long, low whine in the back of their throats.
I arch a brow. “Do chihuahuas bay at the moon?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but they’ve been doing it all afternoon. I tried playing with them, feeding them, even bribing them with treats. I can distract them for a bit, but then they just come back and get fixated again.”
I move closer to the piano, the hum I’ve felt since the first night back vibrating stronger now. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s persistent. Insistent.
I run a gentle caress along the edge of the piano, thinking back to all the time my sisters and I spent with Mom, sitting right here. Twinkle Twinkle. Hot Cross Buns…
The legs of the bench scrape against the hardwood floor a bit as I pull it out far enough to slide into position to sit.
When I rest my fingers against the keys, the hum intensifies, thrumming through my fingertips.
I close my eyes, letting my senses expand, reaching for whatever energy is radiating from the instrument.
And then I feel it. A presence. Not hostile, but waiting.
“Poppy?” Asher’s voice is tight. “Are you good?”
I open my eyes. “She’s here.”
“She who?”
“My mom.”
“She’s here here, or is it more metaphorical? Is it a spirit thing?”
“I think so.”
He curses softly. “Should I get someone? Sebastian?”
I rest my fingers on the keys and let the energy envelop me. Whatever this is, there’s no part of it that’s negative. If I had to give an emotion to the energy, it would be hope.
“No, don’t get anyone. Let me see if I can figure out what she wants to tell me first.”
He meets my gaze and nods. “Okay, but if your head spins around and you projectile vomit pea soup at me, I’m going to pee my pants.”
I chuckle and press a few keys, testing the tuning after all these years. “Noted.”
Asher shifts behind me. “You never mentioned you could play.”
“I didn’t remember.” I pat the bench, so he’ll stop freaking out and come sit beside me. “Not until she gave me back everything they took.”
My fingers hover over the keys as I consider what to play. Everything about the energy in the space makes me feel like what I play is as important as me being here to play it.
“Mom taught my sisters and me to play the piano from the time we could sit on the bench and reach the keys.” The words come out soft, pulled from memories that feel both foreign and achingly familiar.
“She always said there was magic in music. Both in the arrangement of sounds and intention of the creator.”
The Hallowind resonance thrums through the instrument. It’s the same energy that lives in the standing stones, in the crypt, in the bones of this house. I didn’t understand it before. I didn’t recognize the melody beneath the magic.
Now it sings to me like coming home.
I close my eyes and let the hum fill my cells, fuel my blood. The magic knows what I need before I do. My fingers settle onto the keys, and the first note rings out clear and pure. Then the next. And the next.
The melody builds, my hands moving without conscious thought, muscle memory buried deep in the parts of me that even the coven’s binding couldn’t fully erase. The music swells, each verse and chorus rising with intention, with purpose.
I feel Mom’s presence in every chord, her love, her hope, her desperation to protect what mattered most.
This isn’t just a song. It’s a spell.
The house responds, its own magic rising to meet the music. The air shimmers. Somewhere upstairs, a door creaks open. The windows rattle gently in their frames, not from wind but from resonance.
My breath catches, but I don’t stop.
The piece climbs toward its crescendo, notes tumbling over each other like water over stone. My chest aches with it, with the weight of everything Mom poured into this spell, this safeguard she left behind for the daughter who almost didn’t return.
The final chord rings out. It hangs in the air and then fades. Silence settles over us, heavy and complete. The hum that’s vibrated from the piano since the first night I stepped through these doors is gone.
I open my eyes, pulse hammering.
“Holy shit, baby girl.” Asher’s mouth is hanging open, and he’s staring at me like I just sprouted wings. “You can play. Like, actually play.”
Movement at the doorway brings my attention to Wylder leaning with his shoulder against the doorframe. “Wow, Poppy, that was—”
“Beautifully done, Poppy girl.”
I spin back toward the piano as the familiar female voice steals my breath. “Mom?”
The magic of the spell still pulses in the air and tingles in my fingers as I stare at my mother standing five feet from where I sit.
“Holy shit.” Asher is beside me, staring straight at the spot where my mother is standing.
My throat closes, and I scramble to my feet. “You can see her? I’m not imagining this, right? You can see her.”
Asher stands, his mouth hanging open. “Uh, yeah. Hello, Mrs. Hallowind.”
My mind is spinning.
How many times did we sit in this parlor, doing a puzzle or playing a board game, while she played for us?
“There’s magic in music,” I say, my words barely a breath.
“There is,” Mom agrees.
I nod, swallowing to speak past the lump in my throat. “You spelled the piano so I could bring you back.”
Even before everything fell apart, before the coven interfered in the ritual and tore our family to pieces and scattered us like ashes… she cast this spell.
“I knew there was a possibility I wouldn’t survive. I had no idea things would go so wrong, but yes, being a spirit witch allowed me to put a safety net in place.”
“Poppy? What just happened?” Sebastian is running up the hallway. “I felt an influx of…” He rushes past Wylder in the doorway, and his gaze settles on Mom. “Zoe? Wow, it’s good to see you.”
Mom offers him a look of genuine affection. “You found her. You brought her home.”
He steps further into the room. “I only wish I could do more. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She shakes her head. “No, don’t. Everything happens for a reason. Thank you for never giving up on Emberwood.”
I let out a shaky breath and look around the parlor, at the piano, at Asher and Wylder looking shaken, at the way the afternoon light slants through the windows and dances through my mother in iridescent sparkles.
“Are you really here?” I reach into the air between us, my hand trembling. “I mean, can you stay? Are you here to stay?”
The love that pours out of her smile buckles my knees, and only Asher’s hold on me keeps me on my feet.
“Let’s sit down before you fall down.” Her attention turns to Wylder looking positively murderous in the doorway. “I’m glad you’re here, Wylder. There’s so much we need to discuss.”