Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Iwalk Vale to the door, my mind reeling with the possibilities of why the Order of the Arcane might want to see me. I'd probably have a better idea if I knew what sort of issues they oversee, but from what I know, that's all very hush-hush.
The evening air sends a chill down my spine the moment we walk out onto the covered porch. Vale takes a few steps and pauses on the top step to turn back.
Moonlight makes the white and black sides of his two-toned hair look even more stark. "I will pick you up promptly at half-seven tomorrow evening, Poppy. And do wear something interesting."
"Interesting? Interesting how?"
His smile grows wider and, with a sweeping circle, gestures to his avant-garde flair before sauntering off. "Tomorrow night, then."
"Thanks, Vale."
He waves over his head as he descends the porch steps. I hug myself against the November chill, watching his sleek black car reverse down the driveway, and then the red taillights disappear around the bend.
The Order of the Arcane.
Wear something interesting.
I've never heard of anyone getting summoned—like ever.
What could they possibly want? My chest tightens, anxiety crawling through my veins like ice.
Another shiver runs through me, but not from the cold this time. The air pressure shifts, and the tingle of spirit energy raises goosebumps along my arms.
I turn, searching for the source.
A ghost materializes on the other end of the covered porch. I almost don’t see her, lost in the shadows of the deep overhang, but she’s definitely there.
She flickers in and out of existence like a damaged television with spotty reception until she finally solidifies on the visual plane.
The girl looks to be a couple of years younger than me, eighteen maybe, with dark hair that hangs in lank strands around a face twisted in distress. Her mouth moves frantically, soundlessly. She reaches toward me, desperation written in every translucent line of her body.
My heart kicks against my ribs. "It's okay. I see you. Whatever it is, I’m here.”
She gestures wildly, still trying to speak, but nothing comes out.
"Come inside." I hold the door open wider. "And don't worry. I'm going to help."
The ghost follows, panicked as I guide her inside. "Mom? I need you!"
Wylder appears in the hallway first, his expression shifting from curious to concerned when he sees me standing in the hall. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Right, he can’t see her.
“Mom and I have a visitor.”
Mom arrives seconds later, fully opaque now, her witch instincts clearly overriding whatever is draining her.
"What is it, petal? You sounded—" She stops mid-sentence, her gaze locked on the girl in our front foyer. "Oh no. Sweet girl, how is this possible?"
“How is what possible?” Wylder asks.
"You know her?" I ask at the same time.
Mom strides closer, studying the spirit with an intensity that makes my stomach drop. "It's the crescent-shaped scar on her chin and the shape of her face." Her voice comes out strained. "Davina? Davina Draven?"
The ghost's eyes widen and she nods frantically.
"Wait." Wylder looks between the space where we’re staring at the ghost and my mother. "Davina Draven went missing over a decade ago."
"Draven… as in Amber Draven? Bitch bully and bane of my existence?” I clarify.
"Her younger cousin." Mom's hand hovers near the ghost's face without quite touching her. I’m not sure if it’s the nearness to another ghost or emotion that makes Mom's form flicker. "Davina was nine when she died."
I study the girl's face. Her features should be those of a child if she'd died ten years ago. "Obviously not."
Mom's expression shifts through shock, then confusion. "No. We searched for her. All of us. Every witch in Emberwood combed this town for months."
"What happened?"
"Nothing." Mom's voice hardens. "Every search turned up empty. No traces, no leads, nothing. The final determination was that something dark and intentional had been done to her if locator spells and divining wouldn't work."
She studies the pitiful form of Davina's ghost. "There were rumors the Draven family was somehow responsible, but I never believed it. It destroyed them."
The pieces click together with sickening clarity. "But if she disappeared when she was nine and looks nineteen now as a ghost…"
"Then she only died recently."
Wylder's scowl darkens. "So, someone kept her prisoner for ten years? How? Where?"
Crimson fury edges my vision as the demon influence surges, feeding my rage like gasoline on fire. Someone took a child. Hid her. Did who-knows-what to her for a decade. And now she's dead.
She never even had a chance at life…
"Poppy." Mom's voice cuts through the thundering buzz of blood rushing in my head. "Breathe, petal."
I try, but seeing the frail rake of a girl in front of me makes it hard. She has the same shape of face as her cousin. And even though I can't stand Amber, it still hurts my heart.
She didn't die ten years ago—she's been alive somewhere this whole time, growing up while everyone thought she was dead. While everyone forgot about her and went on with their lives.
Davina's mouth twists in desperate attempts to speak, her eyes wild and imploring.
"Why can't she tell us what happened?"
"She's been bound." Mom circles the ghost again, professional assessment replacing maternal concern. "There's a spell muzzling her. A strong one."
"Can we break it?"
Mom tilts her head to one side. "We can try. But if the spell has been cast over her for a decade, the intention might be burrowed cell-deep.”
I stare at Davina and, like pieces clicking together in my head, the whispered conversation at Ashcroft Manor comes back to me—
"What happened to Davina can't happen again."
"It won't."
"You can't know that!"
"Ohmygoodness." The word bursts out of me and I turn to Wylder. "When I crashed Laurel's secret meeting, I heard them mention the name Davina. They were arguing… saying what happened to Davina can't happen again."
Davina nods so vigorously her form blurs. She points at me, then gestures frantically to herself, then outward, tears streaming down her translucent cheeks.
"It's okay." I hold up my hands, trying to calm her as her form slips more with each panicked moment. "We'll figure out what you're trying to say, but you're hurting yourself by getting so wound up. We've got you. I promise we'll figure it all out."
"Can you tell us where you were?" Mom asks.
She shakes her head.
"Do you know who took you?"
She shakes her head again. She tries. Goddess knows she does try. Her mouth moves as her hands flail, gesturing out from herself over and over, desperation making her flicker like a candle flame.
But no matter what she tries, we don’t understand.
“Could she write it down?” I ask.
Mom shakes her head. “She doesn’t have the strength to affect the physical plane to hold a pencil.”
“Then we need to break the silencing spell."
Mom frowns. "Poppy, I don't know if—"
"We have to try!" My hands ball into fists. "If Laurel has some kind of cabal kidnapping young witches, what Davina knows might help us find Lily and Violet."
"I understand that, Poppy, but a muzzling spell like this isn't simply about breaking it. Unweaving the threads of a spell like this will hurt her, and by the looks of things, she's suffered a great deal already."
Davina waves Mom's concerns away.
"I think she wants to try anyway," I say.
Davina nods frantically.
Mom doesn't look convinced, but positions herself in front of Davina, gesturing for me to stand beside her. "Place your hands near her throat chakra. Try not to touch her. Leave space for your spirit energy and the Goddess Mother’s intention to move."
I do as instructed, holding my palms a few inches from Davina's translucent neck as I call forth my power.
Please, Goddess Mother, help me help her.
Power crackles to life under my skin, and it takes a moment to settle the rush so I can concentrate. Having my magic dammed up for years means it comes to me in tidal waves, but I'm learning how to harness the influxes.
"Focus on unraveling the binding," Mom instructs. "Envision the spell as a network of threads woven together to trap her voice. You need to loosen them one by one."
I close my eyes, reaching out with senses beyond sight. Dark tendrils wrap around Davina's free will, pulsing with malevolent intent.
To find a starting point is my first hurdle. The magic is strong, and the spell is both vicious and seamless.
"There really isn't anything to unweave. I can't find any loose ends or anything to tug. It's like it's embedded right into her essence."
"After ten years, it likely is." Wylder sets a hand on my shoulder, and a warm rush of healing energy floods through me and into my hands. "Does this help?"
I'm not sure if it helps with my workings, but it helps me. Wylder's plant affinity brings a healing vibrance to his magical signature.
It is growth and potential. And it's grounding.
Together, we work until I finally find a little edge of the binding spell to pick at. It's slow work, but eventually, the little edge becomes the tail of a loose thread.
"Okay, I'm going to start unweaving it now." Mom said this will be painful, so I'm extra gentle and give just the tiniest of tugs.
Davina writhes—I can't hear her scream, but I feel it ripple through the spirit realm. Her form convulses beneath my touch, agony written across her features.
"I'm so sorry," I breathe, backing off.
"I warned you this would hurt," Mom grits out. "Keep at it or be done with it.”
I check-in with Davina. Even with tears in her eyes and pain rippling from her in waves, she nods. Wincing, I pull again. I try not to stop when she recoils and work past it.
The threads of the binding spell seem to have a will of their own. They resist my efforts, digging deeper into Davina's essence.
She's flickering now, fading in and out like a dying light bulb.
Wylder's hand tightens on my shoulder.