After what had happened during the Town Hall meeting and the death of Jury Smith, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I was called here to the Order’s Chambers.
This wasn’t the first time I had been invited.
Yes, the Order had invited me by a formal invitation postmarked and hand-delivered to my mother’s house, complete with the Order’s seal stamped over the flap enclosure.
Thankfully, Ocean, the homeless man who’d slept behind Mina’s Diner, had been passed out and didn’t witness my attempt on the flatlander at the basketball courts when I’d blacked out.
The girl I’d almost killed had been drunk, her story hardly credible. Officer Stoker had shown up at the auto shop for questioning. I’d told him she came on to all of us at Voodoos, and we turned her down. That I went straight home after I left the bar. A heap of half-truths, which only turned a monster into a coward.
But, as I stood before the Order beside a smug Kane Pruitt, I realized it had nothing to do with what happened at Earl’s trailer or the basketball court. We were all gathered here for a different reason, and I suddenly wished it had to do with me killing Jury Smith or my assault on the girl because I knew it had everything to do with Fallon.
The Chambers were located in the tunnels under the gazebo. Augustine Pruitt, Viola Cantini, Clarence Goody, and my mother, Agatha Blackwell, sat atop the stairs behind their long table, making up the four within the Order.
Two cherished symbols hung on the stone wall above the Order, protecting the Chamber. The five-pointed star pentagram represented the Norse Woods Coven, the five original families from the elements of earth, air, fire, water, and spirit—the Hollow Heathens.
On the other side, the Celtic knot, representing Sacred Sea Coven—the Weeping Witches.
Candles lit from within various pockets in the walls of the room, along the floor, and up the stairs leading to the Order. No matter the time of year, the room remained damp and cold and at the same stagnant temperature.
The atmosphere was unlike a monthly Town Hall meeting; you could not speak out without first being spoken to, the flatlanders weren’t welcomed—aside from Mina Mae—and the punishment against a member of a coven was far worse than those the flatlanders would receive. We were hardly favored in our own town, but I understood the reasoning.
We had magic. We held an advantage.
They did not.
Hence the reason Mina Mae sat in the corner of the room, always the mediator. Mina’s ancestors had been among the first flatlanders to arrive in the late 1800s after we’d already claimed the land. As we learned from history, our covens had been appalled as to how they’d found the town and were able to pass through the protective shield—we still couldn’t make sense of it to this day.
After their first arrival, a new family, couple, or solo flatlander would mysteriously arrive and take residence every passing decade. Some had learned of our ways, our beliefs, and chose a side. Some had kept to themselves yet strived in the small town of Weeping Hollow with their talents and occupations, making the town what it was today. We’d grown dependent on the flatlanders, the only ones who could move in and out of the town through the protective shield.
And Mina’s family was well respected within the community, becoming the voice of the flatlanders and making sure every decision the Order made was in all fairness and for their safety as well. The town’s very own fairy godmother.
I stood tall with my hands behind my back. Viola Cantini’s son, Cyrus, sat behind us. We looked alike as if we had been bred from the same family line, both tall with jet black hair and light eyes, but we were from two different worlds within the same town.
I never had bad blood with Cyrus. He kept to himself, never giving Norse Woods or the Heathens problems. But I had no idea why he was here, what he had to do with Fallon, or why this group was gathered.
In this small chamber, I was outnumbered by sea witches.
I kept my statue posture, feigning all weakness I had toward Fallon.
In the center of the table sat Augustine Pruitt with a stack of books before him. I immediately recognized the Book of Blackwell, the silver foil. We’d learned passages from each of the books in our schooling at the academy, only approved copied passages. However, resting before the Order were the original books, inaccessible to the rest of us, undoubtedly containing the history of our home, our families, spells and curses placed on the town, and the shadow-blooded Blackwells.
Mr. Pruitt pushed his glasses over his nose and sucked on his teeth, flipping through the battered pages. “First, we will discuss the careless magic at Voodoos. Kane, what is your claim?”
“It wasn’t magic harnessed from the elements,” Kane stated in his fucking boat shoes and polo, sure of himself. “It was the kind of magic we haven’t seen in town since …” he paused, turning his eyes away from his father and looking to the ground, “Javino Blackwell.”
If Agatha was offended, she didn’t show it. It would be no surprise if her heart were forged by the toughest of iron with a blend of gold by the blacksmith of her soul. She was kind and empathetic to those who deserved her compassion, but she concealed her own emotions and vulnerabilities like a cloak ever since she lost her husband and son.
“We get it, the Blackwells are shadow-blooded,” Mr. Goody spoke out in the Chamber, always defensive of my family. “Let this be a history lesson, shall we? Their element is spirit, containing all four other elements, and this includes the dark void. This isn’t brand new information, everyone knows this.” He turned to Augustine. “Julian has been a remarkable citizen, showing no signs of his shadow-blood.”
“Julian?” Mr. Pruitt abruptly said, his perfectly cut brows pinched together over his glasses. “Could you tell us what happened?”
“There were over sixty people in the bar that night, including both covens and flatlanders. It could have been anyone.” How much longer could I hide behind these half-truths? It had been my fault, though it couldn’t be proven. “In spite of what happened, no one was hurt, and there is no solid proof on either side.”
At the corner of my eye, Mina nodded, pleased.
Mr. Pruitt cut his eyes to Cyrus. “Cyrus, you were there. Could you please tell me the events of what happened?”
Kane turned to face Cyrus. I did not. I was somewhat familiar with the dynamic of Sacred Sea. There was a reason Fallon’s father appointed Cyrus’s mother, Viola, to take over his position before he left twenty-four years ago. The Cantini’s were known for their brutal honesty and trustworthiness and lived by the Law of Return: whatever energy a person puts out into the world, positive or negative, will be returned to that person three times.
Norse Woods lived by that law as well, or at least, we used to. I had no doubt Cyrus would be honest about the events.
Kane’s teeth clenched at my side as Cyrus spoke loud and clear of what had happened the night at the bar, about Kane’s outburst and ill actions. Word after word, Cyrus betrayed his friend, as I knew he would. What he hadn’t mentioned were his thoughts on where the mysterious storm had come from.
“I see, this all stems from Fallon Morgan,” Mr. Pruitt uttered under his breath, bothered by the facts and sorely disappointed, if not embarrassed, of his son. “Let me be clear, for the shield to stay intact, the laws we set forth tonight must be followed,” he reminded all within the Chamber, which caused my chest to tighten. “The Order and all under the dome must remain balanced.”
Then Viola Cantini’s voice filled the room. “Tobias had entrusted Sacred Sea with Fallon’s safety if she ever returned for reasons I cannot disclose. From this point forward, she is under Sacred Sea protection.”
Zeph had told me this after hearing the whispers amongst the covens since the night she had arrived. Kane had spat the same words at Voodoos after I’d caught her when she fell from the bar. That she wasn’t a flatlander—not free—but with Sacred Sea. Even my conscience had warned me, but it seemed nothing else inside me wanted to hear it. As I stood solid, appearing to be unbroken by the news, I was fucking falling apart on the inside.
My head pounded. My jaw flexed. My eyes closed.
Fallon was able to calm me in ways I had never expected, straightening a broken chord in my heart, and plucked it, bringing it to life in a soothing song, like a nightingale of the Norse woods.
A part of me knew this would happen when I first met her on the rocks. I tried to ignore it, but it was too late. We’d connected, a kind of connection that seemed as unworldly as this very town and the residence it beheld. And it was just as surreal to try and explain this to the Order, the reasons for my erratic behavior lately.
How do I rid myself of her, and fast?
“There was a reason Tobias took her away,” my mother spoke up, surprising everyone. She’d never spoken up against Mr. Pruitt, and my eyes snapped to her, eager to hear what she had to say, if she had a say. “Neither he nor Freya wanted her to be a part of this. I spoke with Fallon myself. Her only purpose is to see that Benny gets well. I doubt she will take an interest in being a part of a coven, let alone stay.”
“She cannot leave. The town won’t let her,” Mr. Goody argued.
He was correct. Without knowledge, Fallon had driven into town under the weight of the Blueberry Moon. It had taken a great measure of unity and magic to allow her and Tobias to leave twenty-four years ago, which remained a mystery to most as to who had been involved in their escape. I’d watched her from the woods the night she’d tried to leave again, waiting for the town to stop her, hoping she wouldn’t get hurt in the process.
Though neither the mystical town nor the Order would allow her escape again, the thought of Fallon leaving tensed every muscle. Having her leave could make it easier for me, but I didn’t know which was worse. At least if she were here, being able to see her would sing to my masochistic soul.
“Fallon Morgan belongs to Sacred Sea,” Mr. Pruitt ordered in finality as the book slammed closed. Dust clouds exploded from the pages the same time my heart did. “Kane, do you have any interest in the girl?”
I could not stop my muscles from flexing—a weak attempt at holding this anger in, this bubbling loudness in my spine.
Kane’s eyes snapped to mine. “No, I honestly have no interest in the Morgan girl,” he looked back to his father, “but you will remember that I’ll do this anyway for the sake of the coven, and I’ll make sure she feels the same for me in return.”
And the wild thing in my chest splintered and peeled apart, unable to make sense as to what was happening around me.
“Very well,” Augustine Pruitt announced. “The Morgan girl is under Kane’s protection. And, son, do what you need to do to make sure she initiates into Sacred Sea by Mabon.”
Make sure she initiates into Sacred Sea? They’re forcing her?
“No, this isn’t right!” I yelled out inside the Chamber. “What’s so different about her? Why does she need protection? Why doesn’t she get a choice like the others?!”
My vision obscured, and I looked to Agatha, who stared back with horror in her eyes. Perhaps she thought the same as the rest of the town, that I was going mad. That my shadow-blood would take over and history would repeat itself. But this decision was clearly against what we stood for, and Fallon’s freedom was being taken—her greatest fear. Agatha had to feel the same and understand these outbursts I could no longer control.
But Agatha slowly shook her head, begging me not to cause a scene. I narrowed my eyes, and my teeth gnashed behind my mask, silently begging her to speak up—to do something.
“Why do you think, Blackwell? Protection from the cursed Heathens! From you!” Pruitt roared. “We’ve made the decision. This was what her father wanted. It’s final. You will not go within twenty feet of Fallon Morgan. You will not talk to her, coerce her, touch her, or as much as release a breath in her direction unless we order it. She is Sacred Sea, and you and the Heathens will keep your distance.”
My eyes narrowed at the man. “You’re taking away her free will! How far are you willing to take this?” This was sick. Fallon had been gone for twenty-four years, and now they were assigning her to a man, passing her along as property. “She should have a choice whether or not to join a coven.”
Mr. Goody and Agatha exchanged glances. Viola cocked her gaze to Pruitt. And Pruitt rose to his feet, his cheeks reddened. “Are you questioning the Order within the Chambers, Blackwell? Considering your bloodline, what your father has done, and what we all know what you are capable of, it would be wise to back down now, or I will take action.”
I stepped forward, but Agatha jumped to her feet before I could speak my mind. “It’s the right thing to do, Julian. It’s what her father wanted. I know it doesn’t seem just, but it’s only one girl.” She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and perhaps I had. I’d never questioned the Order before, never brought heat upon myself, but it still didn’t make this right. “Please, Jai,” Agatha pleaded through her barred teeth. “Step down.”
Later that night, I found Beck in my room, sitting over the edge of my mattress with a steaming mug in his hand next to Jolie, who was sound asleep in my bed. The heated scent of white jasmine and honey in the tea filled the small bedroom, carrying flower petals on its steam. It was Jolie’s favorite. “What’s my sister doing here?”
More times than not, if Beck wasn’t working, he was here. Beck didn’t have siblings, much less a father. His mother, a flatlander, died soon after Beck was born. She was a one night stand and hadn’t believed Earl when he’d told her about the curse or why he had to cover his head, and when she had looked into her newborn’s face, her fears took her.
Beck cared for Jolie as if she were his own sister.
He ran a palm over his buzzed head and lifted his gaze. “She and your mother got into it earlier. She came here to find you. I was already here, so we were going to talk. I’ve never seen her so upset, man. I was only gone for five minutes to make her tea. Guess she cried herself to sleep.”
Sweat dewed Jolie’s forehead and cheeks as she slept in the corner of my bed, curled under the heavy blanket. Her damp black hair clung to her face as she snored lightly.
“What was it about?” I asked, and Jolie stirred inside the covers with our voices. I nudged my head toward the door, and Beck glanced back once more at Jolie before he stood and followed me out.
“Not sure, she passed out before I could get it out of her,” he said at my back as I walked toward the fridge. Probably had to do with the other kids at the academy.
The Heathens’ siblings had it the hardest at school, and this wasn’t the first time Jolie had shown up at my house upset because of them. She had a mouth on her, got her into trouble more times than not, but behind closed doors, she was only the fifteen-year-old girl with a heart too big for her mouth.
Agatha didn’t put up with her dramatics.
Beck and I fell for it every time.
I opened the fridge and leaned over to grab two beers from the back as he continued, “There’s gotta be a way. Maybe the Order—”
“No.” The fridge door swung shut, and I wedged one beer cap over the counter and pounded my fist over the top. The cap popped off before I handed the bottle over to him. I already knew where he was going with this. “I just came back from the Chambers,” I went on, repeating the same steps for my bottle. “It’s not like it used to be. This is what they’ve always wanted. Sacred Sea wants Norse Woods to lose power, I can see it. Pruitt never gave a damn about our curse, balance, or our coven. They’re starting to push people further away from Norse Woods, using scare tactics. Pruitt only looks out for his own.”
“Yeah, but your mother is a member of the Order,” Beck pointed out. “Goody, too. There’s gotta be something no one’s tried before in those books. We have to steal them. We have to end this cycle.”
I shook my head with the lip of the bottle in my mouth and pointed to the back door, signaling to take this conversation outside. If Jolie happened to wake, she didn’t need to hear anything that would cause her more grief or worry. And Jolie would worry because that was who my little sister was. She had always cared more about the coven and Heathens than herself, defended us, stood up for us, fought for us, even when we begged her to stop. It had only made it worse for her.
With a snap of my finger, the fire pit rekindled, and the two of us sat in the large chairs Phoenix and I had built from the wood of fallen birch trees. Beck stretched out his legs and dropped his head back, his bandana covering his nose and mouth, his blue eyes looking up at the cloud-filled sky.
The curse affected us as well, never being allowed to see each other or our own faces.
“Why were you called into the Chamber? Did it have to do with Jury?” Beck finally asked, keeping his gaze above.
“No. They wouldn’t have proof it was me either way.” But if I told him it was about Fallon, he’d see right through me and know of these … feelings that were violating me. Feelings that were strange and intruding and unlawful and could pull my attention from our priorities. But he’d never use it against me.
Beck was loyal, compassionate, understanding, but also a maelstrom of emotions. The sensitive one, and when prodded or backed into a wall, he’d either unleash an emotional storm from hell or withdraw into himself.
From day one, Beck had taken on everyone’s pain and suffering as if it were his own. But next to his ability to feel so deeply, he was also psychic, which was both a blessing and a curse of his own, like the rest of us.
Being born with magic in our bones had come with a price. A downside. And each one of us had one. Mine was my shadow-blood. Beck’s was his psychic abilities. Our downside was a curse that could never be broken.
And Beck had spoken of Fallon’s existence long before she arrived.
It had been a late-night drunken conversation years ago when he’d lost himself in a trance and talked about a girl with white hair and the moons in her eyes, how she’d one day fall from the night sky and bring me down with her.
I knew she was coming. We both had been expecting the moon girl, but Beck had never mentioned this feeling I’d been feeling since first seeing Fallon standing over the cliffs above the sea, as if she summoned the waves.
If Beck knew what Fallon’s return meant for us, he didn’t voice it. He only told me what I needed to hear.
“The Order wanted to hear my side of the story of what happened at Voodoos,” I replied, tapping the talisman on my finger against the glass bottle. “I got them off my back, but she now belongs to Kane. Augustine Pruitt didn’t have to say the word compel, but everyone in the Chamber knew what he meant by it,” I gritted out, annoyed with myself for wanting to talk about her. “Basically, do whatever it takes, and my mother sat there and did nothing. I don’t understand why she needs protection.” I would never intentionally hurt her.
“Stop bullshitting me, man,” Beck dropped his chin to his fingers, studying me. “This is bothering you, just admit the real reason why.”
“You already know why.” He wanted to hear me say it, to admit she meant something to me. It would be the only rational explanation as to why I, Julian Blackwell, had jumped across the bar to catch her in front of everyone.
I looked into the woods instead, drank from my beer. I trusted Beck, but the feelings were hard enough to confront within the safety of my skull. I couldn’t imagine saying them aloud and giving them to the world, to the ever-listening woods.
“E pur si muove,” Beck uttered, then drank from his bottle beneath the flap of his bandana.
I looked over at him. “Excuse me?”
“It still moves,” he said after swallowing, grazing his palm over his buzzed head. “Galileo was forced by torture to take back his theory that the earth orbited the sun. Do you know what he stated afterward? After all the ridicule and abuse, everyone telling him he was wrong?”
I arched a brow, and he continued, “E pur si muove. It still moves.” Beck leaned forward and dropped his elbows onto his knees, locking his blue eyes with mine. “No amount of beating, bashing, or threats could take away the truth that the earth still is the one to orbit the sun and not the other way around. Despite what you were taught to believe your entire life, this tame person you’ve tried so hard to become, your virtues, your morals, the Order, or our pact, you can’t ignore or run away from your truth, Jules. The ravens will still haunt you, death will still come, and you will still have feelings for this girl, and these feelings aren’t going to just go away because you demand it.” He sat back and dragged in a long and depressing breath. “Regardless, it still fucking moves, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
After Beck left, I stood before the mirror.
I slid the mask off my face. I took a deep breath. I lifted my head and stared into my face.
In an instant, I was standing atop the Ferris Wheel of the grounds, looking down. Winds yanked my coat, punched my skin, wanting to take me down. Bile rose in my throat. My palms slammed over the edge of the sink.
“Fight through it!” I shouted, sweat dripping down my spine. But I became dizzy. Nauseous. “I’m not afraid,” I chanted, over and over.
The wheel car rocked back and forth. I was too high. Too far off the ground. Too out of control with nowhere to run. I forced my eyes to stay open, to fight through the heights.
Until fighting became unbearable.
Vomit burned in my throat, and I lurched forward and heaved into the sink. Tears stung the corners of my eyes and ran down the face I could never look into—a smoking mirror. My knuckles on the sink’s edge turned white, and I screamed, throwing my fist into the reflection that held my fears.
Blood spilled from my knuckles as I tried to catch an honest breath. One that could hold me. One that was gentle and quiet. One that tasted like revival and felt like Fallon.
I had to see her again—just one more time.