Chapter 5
Magda knelt on the marble floor, chalk in one hand, a dish of salt in the other. Her pentacle sprawled around the table like a star-shaped no-fly zone, nearly complete. Sweat dampened her temple. “One more line,” she muttered. “Just one more, and we’ll have whatever it is ready for containment.”
“Do it fast,” Joell said, eyes locked on the compass. The thing pulsed on the table, water slamming against its glass like waves battering a hull. “Because it’s watching us.”
Before anyone could blink, the compass launched itself off the table, straight at Crystal.
She barely had time to squeak before it smacked into her chest and clung there like a barnacle with abandonment issues.
“What? No!” she yelped, staggering backward. “I’m not your chosen one; I don’t even like sea junk!”
Her bird shrieked, talons flashing as it dove, catching the brass edge and wrenching it free. With furious wingbeats, it dragged the object toward the half-finished containment circle.
“Drop it in, sweetheart!” Crystal called, bracing herself against the table. “Make Mommy proud!”
But the compass wasn’t playing along. Its inky water thrashed, and just as the bird crossed the chalk boundary, a voice ripped through the room. The words clawed inside their skulls:
“THE DEAD SHALL RISE!”
The rest was obliterated in the explosion.
Light seared. Sound shattered. The compass blew apart in a burst that flung the witches across the library, scattering chalk dust and salt like confetti at the world’s worst party.
Sahara’s books toppled, mugs cracked, and the air stunk of ozone, like an electrical fire.
Crystal hit the floor hard, ears ringing. Bird fluttered down beside her, smoking faintly, feathers frizzed and barbequed.
“Okay,” she croaked, coughing. “That was not a normal compass.”
“Not a prophecy either,” Magda wheezed, dragging herself upright. “That was a threat.”
Joell pushed hair out of her face, already steady, already commanding. “We should move the mansion.”
Brianna blinked. “To where?”
“Tennessee,” Sahara said flatly. “Our usual place in the mountains. We’ll be out of reach. The wards will reset. We’ll have room to think.” She shook chalk dust off her safari shirt.
Rayna rose with a grimace. “I vote yes. If this is what the ocean’s coughing up, I’m not sticking around for the sequel.”
“All in favor?” Sahara asked.
Hands rose, immediately. A unanimous vote. The house itself groaned in approval, shutters rattling, as if it had just been waiting to be asked.
Crystal leaned back against the scorched floorboards, still dazed. “Sure. Fine. Mountains sound safe right now.”
But outside, the wind had already picked up. A restless roll of thunder seemed to echo the threat.
The floor lurched. Walls shuddered. Windows slammed shut.
Then, riiiiiip! Moments later, the sea breeze vanished, replaced by the fresh, piney breeze of mountain air.
When the mansion steadied again, the Long Island coastline was gone.
Tennessee rose around them, all green slopes and thunderclouds overhead.
Relief was still settling over the room when a voice came from the corner:
“Uh. Hi.”
Everyone spun.
Mason stepped out from behind a bookcase, dusting plaster off his shirt, his expression somewhere between furious and bewildered.
“I heard everything,” he said, jabbing a finger toward the scorched spot where the compass had been. “The dead rising? Exploding artifacts? What kind of craziness did I just sign up for? Because I did not come here for a front-row seat to Armageddon.”
Mason’s glare swept across the circle of witches, who suddenly looked like they were facing a jury, and holding matching bloody knives.
“‘The dead shall rise’?” he repeated, incredulously. “Explosions? You all voted to teleport a house across state lines like it’s an Airbnb on wheels, and you’re just calm about it?”
Joell opened her mouth. “That was… a metaphor.”
“For what?” Mason shot back.
Magda coughed into her elbow. “For… climate change.”
“Yeah,” Sahara added quickly. “We’re very environmentally conscious here. Sometimes we… uh, dramatize.”
Rayna dusted herself off. “It’s performance art. We do that now and then. Keeps morale up.”
Mason’s eyebrows climbed so high they threatened to exit his skull.
“Uh-huh,” he said flatly. “So, the table exploded as an avant-garde installation? And your bird looks like it just wrestled an exploding compass for fun?”
Crystal’s bird gave a pitiful chirp, still singed.
“Exactly,” Brianna said brightly. “Symbolism!”
Mason folded his arms. “Worst. Liars. Ever.”
Before anyone could escalate the argument, Crystal stomped over, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him bodily toward the door.
“You were supposed to leave. Outside. Now.”
The door slammed behind them. Cool, welcome mountain air rushed into her lungs. Mason shook her grip off, scowling. “What the hell was that?”
She crossed her arms. “Damage control. You weren’t buying the performance art thing, so congratulations, you’re my problem now.”
“Yeah, I gathered.”
She leaned against the railing, staring into the dark line of the forest below.
“Listen. They want to hide up here, reset wards, and pretend the world isn’t on fire.
That’s fine. But I’m not sitting around knitting scarves while something that calls up ‘the dead’ crawls from the deep.
I’m going back to Long Island. Tonight.”
Mason blinked. “You’re joking.”
Crystal smirked humorlessly. “Do I look like I’m joking? I’m going. With or without backup. You can either come with me and share the driving, or I’ll leave you pouting in the library.”
“Share the driving,” he said, like she’d offered to split a milkshake instead of face Armageddon.
“Yeah. And after that, if you want to vanish back to wherever you came from? Be my guest.” She shrugged. “I don’t need anyone. Never have.”
The words rang hollow, and they both knew it.
Mason studied her, the hard edges in her voice not matching the flicker of fear in her eyes.
He exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and said quietly: “Or I could stay on Long Island and help you. Someone’s gotta keep you from trying to fight the ocean with sarcasm and a bird that smells like burnt popcorn. ”
Crystal snorted despite herself. “Don’t knock my methods. They’ve worked so far.”
“Barely,” he muttered. But his expression softened. “All right. I’m in.”
The bird gave another pitiful chirp, like it barely, sort of, approved.
Crystal squared her shoulders, masking the tiny curl of relief in her chest. “Good. We leave at midnight.”
The Jeep rattled over a stretch of Tennessee backroad like it was offended at being woken up. Crystal rode shotgun, boots kicked up on the dash, a thin crust of dried saltwater marring the already-dusty surface. She smirked at Mason’s profile.
“You drive like a guy on a mission,” she said. “Is that a SEAL thing? All intensity, no joyrides?”
Mason didn’t look away from the road. “It’s a ‘we just stole someone else’s Jeep, and I’d rather not roll it into a ditch’ thing.”
“Relax. The League probably has insurance. Or a spell for this kind of thing. ‘Auto-Bodyus Reparatus.’”
“Pretty sure their insurance doesn’t cover Grand Theft Jeep,” Mason muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Did you bring any snacks? Road trips require snacks.”
“What would you like?”
“I don’t know… Fritos? Doritos? Something else?”
Crystal waved her hand in front of the glove compartment. Then she opened it and pulled out individual packets of Fritos, Doritos, and a blank white package labeled “Something else’ in black letters.
Mason did a double-take when she showed him the third package. “Um, what’s in that one?”
She shrugged. “Let’s open it and see.”
“Great,” he deadpanned. “Mystery rations never end well.”
She tore it open, and it was a Chex Mix. “Oh, good. I made this a couple of weeks ago. Didn’t know if we had any left or not. Brianna tends to stress-eat anything that isn’t nailed down.”
For a while, the only soundtrack was the tires humming on the highway and their snacks crunching in their mouths. Then Crystal leaned back, arms crossed, and eyed him sideways.
“So, what’s it like? Being a Navy SEAL. Do you guys actually wrestle sharks, or is that just recruiting posters?”
“Sharks don’t wrestle,” he said flatly. “They bite. We bite harder.”
She let out a bark of laughter. “That’s the most SEAL thing you could’ve said. No frills, just bite science.”
His knuckles tapped the wheel once. A good punch in the nose usually discourages them. “It’s survival. Everything else is noise.”
Crystal tilted her head, studying him like a new seashell she wasn’t sure was pretty or dangerous. “Sounds lovely.”
He shrugged. “The sea is simple. People are complicated.”
She sat with that for a beat, fiddling with the belt of her jacket. “I’ll think about that one. But for the record? I’m a delight. Complicated, yes, but the fun kind.”
“You call that speech you gave the ocean ‘fun’?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You were eavesdropping? Again?”
“SEALs don’t eavesdrop.” He glanced at her finally, a sharp flick of green eyes in the dark. “We gather intel.”
The Jeep hit a bump, jolting her boot off the dash. Crystal laughed again, louder this time, and didn’t bother putting her foot back up. At least he was entertaining. Maybe she didn’t mind having a SEAL in the driver’s seat after all.
They rolled in silence for a mile, headlights skimming across dark trees. Crystal leaned her head against the window, watching her own faint reflection. “You know, I used to think the ocean was the only thing big enough to understand me. Turns out it’s just bossy.”
Mason didn’t laugh this time. “That’s how the sea works. Gives and takes. No apology, no reason. You either adapt, or you drown.”
She turned toward him, eyebrow arched. “And people are complicated?”
“People lie to themselves. Pretend they’re fine when they’re breaking. Or play up their brokenness so no one expects too much of them. The ocean doesn’t bother with disguises.”