Chapter 44

Comprehensive Insurance Policy

Savannah was asleep when I returned to our bedroom. Olivia left with only a murmured good-bye, perhaps realizing I was too stunned to hear her, much less respond.

How could the Elders have betrayed us? Banishing me from the Coven I could understand—barely—but this, this was beyond fathoming. They’d sold Savannah for their own peace of mind. How could their own security be worth so great a price?

No matter how much I railed against the Elders, I believed them to be good women. They’d spent their lives fighting the temptation of evil and rooting it out of their Coven. Yes, they went too far, placed too many restrictions on us, robbed us of our potential. Yet I never doubted that their intentions were good.

Here, though, I was faced with something I could not deny—that they had acted in a way that made them no better than the Cabals, perhaps even worse. In chasing so relentlessly after morality, the Elders had become the very thing they’d fought so hard against: evil. I blanched at the word, instinctively feeling the need to justify, to moderate. Yet there it was. What else could you call their betrayal but an act of unforgivable evil?

Perhaps now more than ever I wanted to save the Coven. If I did, though, I’d never forget this lesson.

We had a late breakfast with Nast, who was heading back into Boston for business that day, but promised to return before dinner. After breakfast, we spent an hour in our room—Nast having not yet given us free run of the house. At eleven, Greta and her mother came to give Savannah her surprise.

“What is it?” Savannah asked as we trooped downstairs.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” Greta said.

“We’ll tell you this much,” Olivia said. “It’s for your ceremony. Only five more days.”

“But I thought—” Savannah glanced at me. “Kristof said Paige could do the ceremony.”

“Oh, yes, Paige will be conducting it. We’ll have to use our own material, though. All Paige’s things were lost in the fire. A shame, really. I warned—mentioned to Mr. Nast that he might want to rescue the magical items first, but he didn’t see the need.”

“You’ll get all new tools anyway, Savannah,” Greta said. “Better, too. Also better materials for your ceremony. Do you know whose grave we got the dirt from? Abby Borden, Lizzie Borden’s stepmother. She was killed near here, you know.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now there’s someone who was definitely murdered.”

“When did you gather it?” I asked. “It has to be on the first night of her menses.”

“Oh, that’s an old wives’—or old witches’—tale,” Olivia said. “That’s one thing you’ll learn, Savannah. A lot of what you’ve heard is nonsense. Gathering items on certain days, performing rituals at specific times—”

“You mean I don’t need to wait until the eighth day?”

“No, that one’s true. Or so we believe, though no witch I know has ever been willing to test the theory and risk hampering her daughter’s powers.”

When we arrived at the back door Roberta Shaw and Anton were waiting to escort us outside. I hadn’t seen the necromancer since Monday, at the funeral home. Shaw hadn’t been among the staff who’d presented Savannah with gifts, so I’d assumed she’d been sent packing for her role in that horror show. Seeing her still here made me wonder whether Nast’s condemnation of the funeral home debacle had been more show than substance.

“What’s she doing here?” Savannah said, shooting a glare at Shaw.

“I asked Mr. Nast if Roberta could accompany us instead of Leah,” Greta explained. She lowered her voice. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t trust that Volo.”

“Well, I don’t trust that necro, either,” Savannah said.

Olivia hushed her. “She was only doing her job, Savannah. Now come along.”

We passed the barn and entered the forest.

“So are we practicing the ceremony?” Savannah asked.

“No, we’re performing a rite. A special protection rite.”

“Cool.”

“Very cool,” Greta said. “Not many young witches get this. It requires very unique ingredients. When we mentioned it to Mr. Nast, though, he gave us carte blanche. Anything to help his little girl on her special day.”

I resisted the urge to make retching noises. “What kind of protection does it give?”

“The best. Think of it as a comprehensive insurance policy. It’ll prevent everything from demonic interference to having Savannah wake up with the flu next Wednesday.”

“Huh,” I said. “Sounds good.”

“It’s sorcerer magic.”

“Of course.”

They led us into the woods. We passed the spot where we’d practiced the afternoon before and kept going. As we walked, Savannah glanced back at Shaw and Anton.

“Who’s carrying the material?” she asked.

“What material is that, dear?” Olivia said.

“For the ritual.”

“Everything we need is at the site.”

“I should have brought my new athame.”

Both Greta and Olivia frowned, then Olivia laughed.

“Oh, that’s right. Coven witches still use their tools. You’ll find we’ve moved beyond that. We all still have an athame as a keepsake—a reminder of our past. As I’m sure you know, the tools aren’t actually required for casting.”

“My mom used them,” Savannah said.

“That’s because she was raised Coven. It takes a while to shake the old ways. I clung to my tools for years, like a security blanket. You’ll find we only use tools that are imperative for casting.”

“The same goes for materials,” Greta said. “We’ve done away with all the nonessentials. Gemstones with symbolic meanings. Incense for mood. Candles for atmospheric lighting. All they do is complicate and prolong a ceremony.”

“Maybe,” Savannah said. “But don’t you think they make it kinda … fun?”

Greta laughed. “Cabals don’t have a budget for fun.”

“Modern witches have made witchcraft modern,” Olivia said. “You’ll come to appreciate that, Savannah. It makes things much easier if we discard the baggage, both literal and figurative.”

“And here we are,” Greta said.

She stepped off the path, then pulled back a bush and waved us through. Savannah stepped into the clearing first. Through the bushes, I saw her walk forward, eyes on the towering trees. Then she stopped short and yelped. I dove through the bushes to find her standing over a prone figure. It was a boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen. I hurried forward, then saw the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“He’s sleeping,” Savannah said. “Weird. He must live around here, huh? Guess we should find someplace else—”

“He’s supposed to be here,” Greta said.

Savannah stared at the young man. He wore a faded denim jacket and jeans. He had light brown hair tied at the nape of his neck and the kind of soft, pretty face that markets so well to teenage girls.

“Who is he?” Savannah asked.

“Prince Charming,” Greta said. “You’ve heard of Sleeping Beauty? Well, this is the girl-power version.”

Savannah gave a half-laugh, turning away as her cheeks went scarlet. “No, really, who is he? A sorcerer?”

“He’s nobody. Just a human boy.” Greta grabbed a small bag from the side of the clearing. “Now, as I’ve said, we skip all the ritual preliminaries, so you can just go right ahead and kneel beside him.”

“What? Why?”

My gut went cold. “What’s going on here?”

“The protection ritual, as we said. Savannah, kneel beside the young man and put your hand on his chest.”

Savannah hesitated, then started to kneel.

“No,” I said. “Get up, Savannah.” I turned to Greta and Olivia. “We aren’t doing anything until you tell us exactly what this ritual entails.”

Greta turned her back on me.

“Hey—!” I said.

I was cut off after the first word, frozen in a binding spell. Savannah started scrambling to her feet, but Anton put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her down.

“Hey! Don’t—! Paige!” Savannah swung her gaze up to Olivia, who stood behind me and was undoubtedly casting the binding spell. “Let her go! Now!”

“Paige is a Coven witch,” Greta said. “She doesn’t understand.”

She pulled a thin-bladed knife from her bag and knelt on the other side of the boy.

“Wh—what are you doing?” Savannah asked.

“A top-level protection spell requires an exchange. A life protected for a life lost. You should know this, Savannah. Your mother did.”

“No! My mother never—she wouldn’t—” Savannah looked at the boy, then wrenched her gaze away and struggled against Anton’s grip. “You can’t do this! I forbid it.”

“You forbid it?” Greta’s lips twisted. “Did you hear that, Mother? She’s giving orders already. Well, ‘princess,’ it’s your father who gives orders around here, and he told us to do whatever was necessary to keep his little girl safe. Anton, put her highness’s hand on the boy’s chest. Over the heart, please.”

Anton forced Savannah’s hand to the boy’s left breast. Greta moved the blade to the boy’s throat.

“No!” Savannah said. “You can’t do this! You can’t! He didn’t—he didn’t do anything.”

“He’s a nobody, Savannah,” Olivia said from behind me. “A runaway. The only meaning his life has is in protecting yours.”

“Don’t bother, Mother,” Greta said. “It’s obvious Eve coddled the girl. What do you think dark magic is, Savannah?”

“It’s not this. I know it isn’t. My mother never did this.”

“Of course she did. She just never let you see it.”

Greta pressed the blade against the boy’s throat.

“No!” Savannah struggled harder, forcing Anton to put all of his weight into holding her down.

“He’s a pretty boy, isn’t he?” Greta said. She put her left hand behind the boy’s head and lifted it. “Would you like to give him a kiss, Savannah? A last kiss? No? All right then.”

She slashed the knife over the boy’s neck so fast that it seemed not to have left a mark. Then his throat split open. Anton shoved Savannah’s head forward. Blood jetted into her face and she started to scream.