Chapter Six
On Morgan’s orders, I spent the rest of the day in my room with Winnie. For the first hour of my prescribed relaxation time, I stared out of the window at the gray town, watching the witches gather the necessary items for the massive defensive spell Morgan had asked them to build. It was the biggest ward the coven had ever attempted, and if my calculations were correct, it would take approximately three days to complete it. Afterward, no one would be able to enter or exit Yew Hollow. The thought didn’t sit well with me. Yes, Yew Hollow was home, but in the event of an emergency, the ward would not allow us a ready escape route. Unfortunately, it was our best option to defend against whatever enchantment had been cast over the town.
I flopped down on my bed. The coven was so wrapped up in their preparations that no one was free to help me perform a healing spell. I needed it badly. It felt as though someone had tightened a rubber band around my head. The pressure built up behind my eyes until I couldn’t keep them open anymore, while my calf grew more and more agitated. I’d made the mistake of inspecting the witch’s mark again and discovered that it had grown. The lightning-like patterns inched toward the back of my knee. Instinct told me it would continue to spread if we didn’t find some way to contain it, but I was too exhausted to bother with dark magic research.
A drop in temperature near my feet indicated that Winnie had sat at the foot of the bed. She stared blankly at the floor. Without me around, there was nothing for her to do, and I was down for the count. Temporarily, anyway.
“Hey,” I mumbled.
Winnie glanced up. “Yeah?”
I propped myself against the pillows, doing my best to give Winnie my full attention. “This has all been incredibly inconvenient. I swear I’m not as callous as I seem. I want to get to know you. I really do. I want to help you move on.”
Winnie sighed and stretched out across the duvet. “I don’t think you’re callous.”
“I’ve pretty much been ignoring you since the moment you got here,” I admitted. “That’s my fault. I don’t expect you to understand, but it takes a lot for me to open up to someone new, even my own twin.”
“I thought it was just me.”
“It’s definitely not you.” I tucked my feet under the bedspread, snuggling against the pillows. I may have fought against Morgan’s orders to stay in bed for the day, but sleep was overtaking me quickly. “I’m so tired though. I’m desperate for a nap.”
Winnie smiled, and I didn’t think I was ever going to get used to watching someone else’s expressions on my own face.
“You should rest,” she said. “But before you do, could you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Do you mind turning on the TV?”
I chuckled and reached for the remote. Winnie lay next to me, leaving enough space between us to offset her chilly presence. I flicked through the channel list. “Any requests?”
“A cooking show.”
I found a rerun of a bizarre food truck competition show and left Winnie to it. I curled up beneath the sheets, trying to ignore the all-over ache in my muscles and my pounding head. Unintentionally, I rested my forehead near Winnie’s arm. She acted like an ice pack, soothing my nagging headache. In such close quarters, I swore I could sense her aura. It was impossible, but the thought of it helped me forget about the raw mark on my calf. Whether it was in my imagination or not, Winnie’s anesthetic effect relaxed my tender muscles and lulled me to sleep.
Later that night, after several hours of on-and-off napping and binge watching cooking shows with Winnie, I hobbled downstairs in search of relief for my leg. I limped along to keep the weight off my foot, but with every step, the witch’s mark burned and throbbed.
The house was quiet. Everyone had gone to bed after a long day of preparing the ward. I staggered into the kitchen, balancing on one leg as I hopped around and gathered the ingredients for a healing salve. While I was at it, I scoured the fridge for leftovers. I hadn’t eaten all day, so while a bowl of soup warmed in the microwave, I mixed turmeric, olive oil, and star anise. However, when I tried to infuse the ingredients with the spell that would turn ordinary spices into a healing salve, my aura fizzled and faded. I was burned out. Frustrated, I threw the mixture across the room, where the ceramic bowl clanged loudly against the aluminum sink and shattered. Yellow paste spattered the kitchen floor.
Morgan ambled in from the dining room, dressed in flannel pajamas and a satin robe. She blearily rubbed her eyes. “Gwenlyn? What are you doing up? It’s late.”
The soup bubbled over in the microwave. I wrenched the appliance open as it beeped feebly. “I was hungry. Go back to sleep, Morgan. It’s been a long day. I’m fine.”
Morgan’s gaze wandered to the shattered ceramic and the wasted turmeric paste. Then she noticed my one-footed flamingo stance. She summoned a chair from the dining room. “You’re not fine. Sit down, Gwen.”
I collapsed gratefully, cradling the steaming bowl of soup in my lap. Morgan knelt down and took my leg between her hands, examining the dark mark on my calf with a worried look.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was getting worse?” she asked.
The soup was too hot to eat. The broth rippled as I blew across the surface to cool it. “You have enough things on your plate already.”
“One of those things is you,” she reminded me. She picked up a shard of ceramic. “What happened with the healing salve?”
“I couldn’t complete it.”
“Oh, honey.”
Morgan’s aura glowed as she swept a hand lazily across the kitchen. The broken shards collected themselves from the floor and landed in the trash can. Then Morgan took up the ingredients I had abandoned, mixing a new salve and effortlessly infusing it with her craft. She sat on the floor next to my chair, propped my leg up, and smeared a thick coat of paste from my ankle to the back of my knee. Immediately, the healing spelled dulled the burning ache of the witch’s mark, and I sighed into my soup.
“Better?” Morgan asked.
“Much.”
“It’s spreading,” she noted matter-of-factly. “We’ll have to figure out a way to contain it.”
“And if we don’t?”
Morgan finished painting my calf and wiped the excess salve off of her fingers. She patted my knee. “Don’t worry. We will. In the meantime, I have a favor to ask of you if you’re up for it.”
I straightened in my chair, setting the bowl of broth on the counter. “Always.”
“Camryn is vying for coven leader.”
A sneer tilted my lips. “Officially?”
“Yup.” Morgan stood to rinse the leftover paste from the bowl. “She officially announced it this afternoon, claiming that I’m ‘no longer fit’ to lead.”
“On what grounds?”
“You heard her earlier,” Morgan said. The dish clanged in the sink. “I abandoned the coven when I was young, I was never meant to be the head, her intuition makes her a better choice. Blah, blah, blah.”
I scoffed as I inspected Morgan’s handiwork. The yellow healing salve obscured the worst of the witch’s mark. “Her intuition?”
“Yeah, she’s claiming that her intuitive ability would be more of an asset to the coven than my, as she so delicately put it, ‘necrophilic tendencies.’”
“I’m going to kill her.”
Morgan’s craft pinched my arm. “No, you won’t,” she ordered. “I can handle Camryn. She’s been pulling crap like this since we were in grade school.”
“Why does she hate you so much anyway?” I asked.
Morgan shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I don’t really know. We were always in competition when we were kids. She made it that way. I didn’t care who the coven favored. Back then, all I wanted was to be a normal mortal. Camryn was the complete opposite. She loved being a witch, but because I was the daughter of the coven leader, I always got more attention than her. Not that I wanted it. According to Karma, Camryn was over the moon when I left town after graduation
. I guess she figured she’d finally proved to the coven that she was right about me.”
“I’m sure she was pleased when you showed up again,” I guessed.
“Actually, there was so much going on that I never spoke to Camryn,” Morgan explained. She leaned against the kitchen counter, where the moonlight stained her skin silver. “What with all the murders and demons and dark magic, I didn’t have time to waste on a petty childhood battle that I never wanted anything to do with in the first place. Camryn’s been pretty quiet until now.”
The healing spell from the salve spread up my thigh, relieving the ache in my lower back and the leftover buzz from the electrocution. I rested my chin in my hands. “What changed then? Why is Camryn making trouble now? Doesn’t she understand it’s the worst time for something like this?”
“I think that’s exactly why she’s doing it,” Morgan answered. “She sensed an opportunity. The coven is already scared. They don’t want a repeat of the last time. It’s no secret that the yew tree, even with my mother’s influence, isn’t as strong as it used to be. It needs time to grow, which we don’t have. Camryn knows that, and she’s using it to her advantage. The witches need something to believe in, and Camryn's trying to make damn sure it’s her instead of me.”
“If Camryn wanted to be coven leader in your stead, why didn’t she try for the position while you were gone?” I asked. “That would’ve been easier for her, right? One Summers sister down, three to go.”
Morgan laughed without humor. “Camryn never would have dared to challenge my mother. Cassandra was the strongest leader this coven ever had, and she also held the position for an unusually long time.”
“Some would argue that you’re stronger than Cassandra was,” I reminded her, gesturing to the faded ancient marks that snaked up her forearms. “She didn’t survive a trip to the otherworld.”
Morgan involuntarily rubbed her shoulders. “Gwen, when you find yourself in charge of more than forty witches, you have to find the balance between humble and confident. Do I think that I could hold my own against Camryn if it came down to it? Without a doubt. But do I consider myself the most powerful witch to ever lead the Summers coven? Not even close. Power is a fickle thing, Gwen. You don’t play with it. You simply manage it.”
“Yeah, but just once I’d like to see you kick some butt,” I told her. “Like the old days.”
Morgan laughed, but her lighthearted chuckled morphed into a dry cough, and she leaned over the sink, heaving for breath. I stood up, hopped over to her, and patted her on the back.
“Are you all right?” I asked as the fit subsided.
Morgan cleared her throat. “Mm-hmm. Must be a cold coming on.”
I filled a glass of water from the tap and handed it to her. “You said you had to ask me a favor.”
She sipped gratefully. “Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me. As I was saying, I can handle Camryn, but I’m going to need your help to figure out who’s casting this spell over Yew Hollow. I know you have a lot going on right now with your sister in town, but you’re my best bet, Gwenlyn.”
“You really don’t want my help with the ward?”
“I think it’s better if you sit this one out,” Morgan replied. “Research will be less strenuous on you while you’re healing.”
“I can tell when you’re lying, Morgan. You make an unreasonable amount of eye contact when you do.”
Her eyes flickered away from mine. “I just want you to get better.”
“Or you think this witch’s mark is worse than you’re letting on.” I confiscated the water glass as she tried to swallow her response. “Come on, Morgan. It’s me. Tell me the truth.”
“Fine,” she conceded, swiping the glass from me. “I’m worried about the mark. It’s no coincidence that the only witch in the coven completely outside of the Summers bloodline is the one that gets marked. It makes me uneasy.”
“Why?”
“The spell targeted Yew Hollow,” Morgan reminded me. She pressed a hand to her chest and drew in a deep breath. The air rattled through her lungs. “That means whoever’s behind it cast it with the intention of challenging the coven. I keep waiting for the rest of this curse to drop. One thunderstorm, an empty town, and a bunch of dead grass can’t be the end of it. When it comes—and it will come—it will affect the entire coven. Except you. That’s what makes me uneasy, Gwenlyn. That mark may not be coincidence at all. They’ve been watching us. They know that you were adopted, and they ensured that you would be weakened too. They’ve been planning this for a long time.”
As the weight of this settled between us, I drew Morgan into a hug and rested my chin on top of her head. “Everything’s going to be okay. I have faith in you.”
Morgan bottled up another round of coughs. “I sure hope you’re right.”
In the morning, Winnie stood by the window, looking down at the front yard. I kicked the sheets off my legs. The turmeric paste had stained the linens bright yellow. They would need a healthy cleaning spell to recover their original cream color. I picked dried bits of salve from my calf. The witch’s mark hadn’t faded, but it also hadn’t grown any more. I felt much stronger than yesterday, and the strange buzzing feeling had finally ceased. A knot of hope grew in my mind. Maybe Morgan didn’t need to worry so much about the mark after all.
I joined Winnie at the window. “Morgan wants us to figure out who cast the spell over Yew Hollow. You up for a little magical reconnaissance?”
“Sure, sure,” she muttered.
I followed her gaze out to the front yard. The clouds obscured the angle of the sun, but I could tell it was nearing mid-morning. The witches should have been working on the ward by now, but the yard was empty and quiet.
“Something’s wrong,” Winnie said, surveying the gray landscape. “I can feel it.”
I took her word for it and didn’t waste any time, tugging on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt before rushing downstairs. This time around, my leg supported all of my weight. I hurdled the last four steps and landed in the foyer.
Morgan sat at the kitchen table, her head bowed. A collection of what looked like blueprints littered the table, calculating the size and angle of the ward. As I approached, Morgan remained hauntingly still, immersed in her papers.
“Morgan?”
Very slowly, she looked up. I halted, taken aback by the sight of her face. The skin around her eyes was dark, and her cheeks were sunken in. I tried to hide my horror, but Morgan knew me too well.
“I know,” she rasped. “It’s bad.”
“What happened?” I gasped, sitting down next to her. I couldn’t look away from her mummified appearance.
“I told you I was waiting for something else,” Morgan said, her voice so hoarse that I worried for her vocal chords. “This is it. It’s not just me.”
“What do you mean?”
Malia, Karma, and Laurel appeared from the kitchen, each holding a large mixing bowl full of healing salve. Like Morgan, they all bore the signs of some kind of intense illness.
“Camryn was right,” Morgan whispered. “Everyone’s sick. Alana was just the first.”