Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The drive across Emberwood takes six minutes. I know because I watch the clock on the dashboard of Wylder's Jeep the entire time. My knee bounces against the center console while the streetlights stripe the windshield in orange and gold.
"Left here," Caldwell Marsh barks from the back seat. He’s calm, measured, and giving us directions to the disaster site like it’s something he does on the regular.
Who knows? Maybe he does.
Wylder takes the turn, and I check my side mirror to ensure Asher's truck headlights follow close behind. They do. Two bright eyes in the darkness of life’s trials.
Lily and Violet are back there with him. I know I shouldn't have let them come, but I also know I couldn’t really have stopped them if I’d tried.
So, I didn’t.
We are, without question, the willful daughters of Zoe Hallowind.
"Do you smell that?" Mica’s voice is low, and I meet her worried gaze in the rearview mirror.
I do. It’s smoke with the underpinnings of something sharper underneath. Ozone and char, the particular signature of magic discharged catastrophically.
We come around the corner onto a residential street, and Wylder slows the Jeep to a crawl.
What's left of the house sits in the middle of the block. One wall still stands to full height. The rest has collapsed inward, the roof gone, all windows blown out across the lawn in a glittering scatter.
Every car on the street has suffered a similar fate. The local windshield and glass repair shops are about to have one helluva rush. Debris is scattered a hundred feet in every direction, some of it still smoldering. The neighbor's front garden is entirely scorched.
Wylder pulls over, and Asher's truck rolls up to the curb behind us and stops.
I stare at the destruction, and my mind wars with what Caldwell told us. “That was a person? You’re sure?”
“One of the rescued siphoned witches. Yes, I’m positive.” Caldwell flings open the door of the Jeep and gets out.
We follow him, the air outside acrid and heavy with an ozone bite. Underneath it lies something that might be juniper… the individual scent of it, burning away to nothing.
Wylder comes to stand beside me. His hand finds the back of my arm, and he pulls me closer to his side. “What happened here?”
Caldwell glances back to us and frowns. “Magic reintegration failure. This is what we were afraid of.”
With that, he strides off to speak to the team of Order officials already on the scene.
Footsteps crunch on broken glass behind me. Violet appears at my shoulder, and Lily at her other side. Asher and Mica take up position beside us. We stand there in a loose row, looking at what a witch’s life looks like when something goes horribly wrong.
Lily's dark brown eyes shine with tears. “This could happen to us?”
I swallow. “Not in Arcana. You’ll both be safe there.”
Violet slides her hand into mine and holds on tight. I squeeze back and don't let go.
Mica sighs, staring at the wreckage. "And I thought three months of forging was tough. What the hell has been going on here while I was gone?”
“Too much,” Wylder says. “Or, at least, too much to explain here and now.”
I turn to my sisters, meeting the fear in their eyes, my father’s rich brown eyes, and pull up my big girl pants. “You're going to be fine. Both of you. We’ll grab your bags and take you to Arcana tonight. What happened here will not happen to you. I won’t let it.”
Violet nods, and I turn my attention to Lily. “With you two there, and Mica there working on our plan to take down Tharuzel, Asher, Wylder, and I will visit all the time. It won’t be like with Laurel, you’ll see. I’ll make sure of it.”
The Tuesday morning rush at Biscuits & Banter has the particular chaos of a small town that runs entirely on coffee and gossip. I move between the tables with a pot in each hand—regular in my right, decaf in my left—refilling cups before anyone has to ask.
"Poppy, did you hear about the Hendersons putting up that fence?"
Miss Edna sits at her usual corner table, her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun, both hands wrapped around a mug that says, If you didn’t want me to know, you should’ve whispered.
"I think property disputes are above my pay grade, Miss Edna."
"It's six inches onto Carol's side. Six inches."
"Devastating." I top up her cup. "Are you having breakfast this morning or indulging in pie?"
“What kind of pie?”
“Wildberry or apple cinnamon.”
“Oh, definitely apple. Don't tell my cardiologist."
The idea of Miss Edna asking for privacy is both ironic and hilarious. Still, I know when to pick my battles. "Doctor-patient confidentiality goes both ways."
I wink and move on.
Two tables over, the Mackey brothers—both retired, both incapable of talking at a normal volume—are working through plates of biscuits and gravy while arguing about something to do with a lawnmower. I drop the check between them without interrupting.
Neither notices.
The checkerboard floor catches the morning light coming through the wall of glass windows, throwing a sharp grid across the wooden tables. The diner smells like butter and strong coffee and the ghost of last night's soup special.
I haven’t stopped since we opened at seven, and my feet are letting me know what they think about that.
But there’s something about the chaotic rhythm of a busy shift, the chime of the brass bell above the door, and the constant murmur of conversation layered over the scrape of cutlery, that keeps the thoughts I don't want to think quiet enough to ignore.
I carry the empty pot back behind the counter and give it a quick rinse.
Marty is at the coffee station, a fresh pot already waiting. He pours himself a cup without a word. His mug today reading, I survive on caffeine and spite, which feels accurate for both of us.
I set down the empty pot and grab the full one. "Table four wants to know if they can get Tanner’s Eggs Benedict, but without the hollandaise?”
Marty's expression suggests he finds this personally offensive.
“Yeah, sacrilege. That’s what I thought, too.” I’m about to turn back to the dining room when my phone starts buzzing in my apron pocket. I pull it out, and glance at the screen.
Arcana Academy.
My thumb hovers over it for half a second.
"Marty." I turn the screen so he can see the name. "Is it all right if I step away and take this?”
He’s already waving me off before I finish the sentence, one large hand flapping like he’s shooing a pigeon.
"Go, go. It could be about your sisters." He picks up the coffee pot. "I've got you covered."
I’m already moving, weaving past the end of the counter and through the door into the private party room. The noise of the diner falls away behind me as I shut the door, and I hit the answer button just before it goes to voicemail.
"Hello?"
"Miss Hallowind-Forrester." The voice on the other end is unmistakable, a tempered blade wrapped in silk, even through a phone speaker. "This is Headmistress Briar."
I drop onto one of the plastic chairs stacked along the wall, and my feet thank me immediately. I press my back against the seat and let my eyes close for exactly one second. "Is everything okay with Lily and Violet?"
"Your sisters are fine,” she assures me with no hesitation. "I'm not calling about them specifically. There's been a development with the recovered witches as a group, and I felt you should be informed."
The tightness across my chest loosens a fraction, but not entirely. “Oh? What’s going on?”
"The first affinity has surfaced among the recovered witches. To respect their privacy, I won't say who, but it was one of the adult witches long overdue to receive their affinity.”
As relieved as I am that the victims of Laurel’s power play and craziness are doing better, I still have no idea what this has to do with me.
“And while we anticipated the awakening of the affinity, the nature of how it has presented has us a little flummoxed.”
I straighten in my seat. "What do you mean?"
"We’ve been closely observing both the affinity and the witch in question since the moment it emerged, and well… I need a favor.”
I’m now as lost as I’ve ever been. “How on earth can I help you with an awakening of an affinity? Most days I don’t have a handle on my own.”
“Yes, well, it’s not a favor of you, it’s more a favor from you.”
I blink, my head starting to hurt. “That’s a fine distinction. All right, what is the favor you need from me?”
“The witch we’re trying to help, and her affinity seem to be in a state of discordance, the two not aligning as they should. It’s as if the affinity arrived and the witch’s connection to it didn’t take hold properly.”
"Do you think they'll sync up?"
"We're testing everything available to us. As of right now, we don't know."
“And the favor?” I ask, but I think I have an idea.
“If I remember correctly, the Hallowinds possess a Concordance Mirror, do you not?”
“We do.” I think about the enchanted mirror in the upstairs hall and how it is forever mocking my own magical alignment.
“Excellent. Then I must ask if you would consider loaning it to the healers here at Arcana. Only until this complication has been rectified.”
“That could take years.”
“Unlikely… but I suppose it’s possible.”
I press the heel of my fingers against the throbbing taking root behind my eyes.
“I’m not sure. I want to help, but if Lily or Violet need it,” or even me, “I’d rather it be right where the Hallowind ancestors intended it to be.
Also, no offense, but I know what an enchanted item like the Concordance Mirror is worth. ”
Do I think it might help the rescued witch, and possibly the other witches who follow, if they present with the same complication? Yes.
Do I also think this could be a convenient and convincing way to take possession of a priceless magical heirloom for their own benefit? Hells yes.
“I see. While you think about it, perhaps speak to Mr. Howe. He might be able to broaden your understanding of the good work we do here at Arcana.”