Things had changed. Fern’s friends whispered about it at church, talking in low voices about the “strangeness” in the air, about how their phones glitched for no reason and the neighbor’s cat kept yowling at the moon. Aurora’s classmates had gone from excited about Thanksgiving break to quietly uneasy, as if the shadows were thicker than they should be. No one mentioned the fire only a week ago that had gutted an old house on the edge of town. It was like an unspoken rule to not bring it up. But Aurora still dreamed about it, flames dancing in the darkness, the smell of smoke clinging to her even after she woke.

  She ran her fingers through her dark hair, always a little wild, and caught sight of herself in the rain-blurred reflection. Petite form, a small, slightly upturned nose, with blue eyes that were too big for her face. She’d lived with Fern since she was a baby, but sometimes she felt like a ghost in her own life, haunting a house that was almost, but not quite, home.

  Her room was a cozy clutter of books about Salem and witches stacked on every surface, a faded quilt on the bed, pressed leaves and postcards papering the walls. She loved reading about magic, about girls who found their place in the world by discovering they were more than anyone thought. Maybe that was why she felt so drawn to Salem, and to specifically the Blackhorn coven. She’d found the place online when doing some research, and to her delight, they offered tours of the ancient home.

  She’d asked Fern for just one thing for her twelfth birthday, her voice small and certain. “Can we go to Salem? I want to see the Blackhorn coven.” Fern had hesitated, worry lines bracketing her mouth. “With all this strange weather, love, and the news being what it is, are you sure you don’t want a movie or something safer?”

  But Aurora had shaken her head, and Fern, who never could say no when it really mattered, had agreed. They’d go the weekend before her birthday, since Fern had to work the next. “Just be ready for anything,” Fern said, packing extra snacks and double-checking their rain jackets. “The world’s been a bit unpredictable lately.”

  On the morning of their trip, the sky was so heavy it seemed to press down on the house. Fern’s old sedan rattled over puddles and cracked pavement as they drove toward Salem. Every few minutes, Fern cast a worried glance at the swirling clouds above and the radio’s constant warnings about “unstable atmospheric conditions.” Aurora’s heart beat faster with every mile, a mix of excitement and unease curling in her stomach.

  Salem was quieter than many of the other times she’d been there. Even the tourists, who were easy to spot with their town maps and souvenir bags, seemed subdued, huddled under umbrellas as a cold wind chased leaves in circles. As they pulled up to the Blackhorn Mansion, Aurora’s eyes widened as it loomed through the fog with its black stone, black trim, and garden tangled and wild. They parked on the curb and she nearly closed the door on her coat in her haste to get out of the vehicle. When she reached the iron gate it creaked as Fern pushed it open, her hand white-knuckled on the latch. The air smelled of wet earth, sage, and something sharp–somethingAurora couldn’t name. The intense quiet–no birds singing, no rustling leaves–felt like the world was holding its breath.

  By the time they were at the large, wooden door, Aurora was vibrating with energy, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet. She glanced at Fern, “May I?” She made a knocking motion.

  Fern nodded, a small smile on her lips, despite the worry in her eyes.

  Aurora knocked and then quickly tucked her hands behind her back, as if she’d done something wrong.

  The door began to open, the hinges squealing with age, and a young woman greeted them. Her russet curls were wild, her smile bright but edged with something watchful. “You must be Aurora. And Fern. I’m Cordelia. Welcome, though I wish the weather had been kinder and the day not so gloomy.” Her voice was warm, but there was a flicker of concern on her creased brow. Aurora noticed the way Cordelia scanned the sky before ushering them in, as if she, too, expected something strange to come down out of the clouds.

  Inside, the mansion was lit with old chandeliers, burning candles, and oil lamps hanging on the walls. It was like walking into a paranormal book. The place felt alive with the scent of beeswax and herbs. Every surface seemed crowded with artifacts, crystals, dried flowers, piles of battered books. The parlor was a riot of dark, jewel tones and flickering firelight, shadows dancing on velvet curtains as the wind rattled the old glass.

  “Please have a seat,” Cordelia motioned towards a table with chairs around it. At the center was a tray with cups, a kettle, and little square cakes. As they sat, Cordelia offered them tea and cake.

  “Thank you,” Aurora said as she took a sip of the tea. It had a bit of spice to it and a sweetness that she found she liked. And when she bit into the cake, a burst of lemon filled her mouth. It was a nice contrast to the tea.

  They sipped spicy tea and nibbled lemon cakes as Cordelia chatted about the coven, its history, and all the witch lore that people seemed to make up about it. She wrote off a lot of it as rumors and people being afraid of what they didn’t understand.

  “Did you know that we believe names have power? And that we should pick the names of our children carefully, or any name we give to any object for that matter?” Cordelia looked at Aurora and smiled. “For instance, your name, Aurora, was the name of the Roman goddess of the dawn. It means you are a light and bringer of new beginnings. As with the dawn, we each start a new day and can get to try again despite our failures the previous day. That’s a wonderful name to bear.” Cordelia turned to Fern. “Your name, Fern, interestingly enough, is a symbol of new beginnings as well. It’s a little different because it is not attached to a royal lineage, and therefore not as powerful as Aurora’s. It makes me curious, what is it you manifest because of your name?”

  “She’s my foster mom,” Aurora blurted out. “She gave me a new beginning.”

  Fern smiled and ran a hand down Aurora’s hair. “Everyone deserves the best chance to succeed in this life. Unfortunately, some people are just dealt a harder lot than others.”

  “You’re both very special people,” Cordealia said as she watched them closely.

  Aurora felt as though the woman could see inside of her. The scrutiny had her suddenly blurting out her thoughts.

  “I feel like something’s missing. Like there’s a part of me I can’t find.” Aurora fingered her mug, the warmth seeping into her hands. “And it’s not Fern’s fault,” she looked at her foster mom. “You’re amazing. Please don’t think otherwise.”

  “I would never think that,” she assured her.

  Cordelia’s gaze sharpened. “Would you like a reading? Sometimes, the universe is just waiting for us to ask.”

  Fern looked hesitant, glancing at the window as thunder rumbled in the distance, but Aurora nodded. “Yes, please.” She was both nervous as a grasshopper when the lawn mowers started up, but also exhilarated at the idea of maybe figuring out why she had these feelings of emptiness and loss.

  Cordelia took her hands. The world narrowed. Firelight flickered, and the air thickened. A tingle ran up Aurora’s arms like electricity. Cordelia’s brow furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving in silent words. Aurora’s breath caught. For a moment, the world was nothing but the press of Cordelia’s palms, the wild beat of her own heart, and the faintest scent of something burning. It seemed to go on forever, but at the same time it felt like only seconds.

  Cordelia’s eyes snapped open. She looked startled, then quickly gentle. “There’s a bond missing in you, Aurora. Something close, waiting. When you find it, you’ll feel whole in a way you can’t imagine yet. I wish I could tell you more, but unfortunately that’s not the way it works. I can only say what I’ve felt.”

  Aurora nodded, her heart thudding as Fern squeezed her shoulder.

  “Why don’t we take that tour of the mansion, and if you want to purchase any souvenirs, you can do so at the end,” Cordelia suggested.

  “Sounds good.” Aurora got up to follow her.

  The old house was a maze of stairs, rooms, secret alcoves, and the smell of ancient books. There was a draft that ran through it, causing her to shiver occasionally, but not enough to take away from her interest in all the things she was seeing. By the time they reached the end of the tour, Aurora felt tired. She must have looked it, too.

  “Let me give you some tea that can help with lethargy,” Cordelia offered.

  “I’d actually prefer one for sleep if you have it. My dreams have been wild lately, and I just don’t feel rested.” Aurora felt Fern’s eyes on her and knew she was going to get asked by her foster mom why she hadn’t said anything.

  “No problem,” Cordelia nodded. “I can hook you up.”

  “How much?” Fern asked.

  “On the house,” the woman smiled. “My treat to you both, because you’ve been a blessing to me. Some people are just like that. Being in their presence brings light, and it’s been so gloomy. Thank you Aurora. I know you don’t realize it, but you’re a very special young lady.”

  Aurora felt her face flush and muttered a “thank you.” She didn’t really know what else to say. Taking compliments wasn’t her forte, and she definitely didn’t feel like she was anything special. She was just a normal girl with a sad beginning in life. But Aurora was determined to not let that tragedy define her future.

  As they left, the storm erupted, rain sluicing down in silver sheets, thunder rolling so close it made the windows vibrate. As Aurora glanced back, lightning split the sky over Salem, illuminating the Blackhorn Mansion in stark relief. Cordelia watched from the doorway, her face thoughtful and grave.

  Aurora shivered, but not from the cold. Something was searching for her, she could feel it. It was an odd thing to think, but that was the only way to describe the pit in her stomach. She didn’t know whether to be eager or afraid. Cordelia seemed to think it was something good, something that would make Aurora feel whole. She hoped that was true because living with a hole inside of her was exhausting and lonely.

  Cordelia watched the battered sedan disappear into the rain, its taillights smudged red against Salem’s gloom. Even after the sound of tires faded, she lingered in the open doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest, breath fogging in the damp air. Thunder grumbled above, the kind that jolted in her bones and made every shadow in the Blackhorn Mansion twitch.

  She closed the door and leaned against it, pressing her forehead to the old wood. The house felt different now, and not just because of the post-battle silences that still haunted its halls. Since the Dragon Heart forest disaster, everything had changed, half their coven gone, magic thin as soup, and the remaining Blackhorn witches forced to open their doors to curious tourists and believers, selling history and a bit of glamour to keep the lights on. This was a difference that caused the house to wake up and take notice.

  Aurora . . . Aurora was something unique. Cordelia could still feel the ghost of her energy tingling in her palms, the echo of a bond that was there and not-there, humming between worlds. Not a Mark, at least not yet. She knew what that felt like, and this was different. Stranger. Older. But not directly applied either. It was an energy that leaked into her. It made her skin prickle with curiosity and the tiniest bit of fear.

  She made her way to the library, weaving between stacks of unsorted books and vases of half-dried herbs. The fire in the grate had died down to embers, but she didn’t bother coaxing it back to life. Instead, she grabbed her phone from the velvet armchair and scrolled through her contacts until she found Penny.

  The line rang once, twice, three times, and then the voicemail picked up. “Hey, Penny, it’s Cordi. Give me a call when you can. It’s not urgent, so don’t stress. Be safe.” She ended the call and sat there, rubbing the phone up and down her leg, disliking the uneasy feeling she was getting. But until she talked to Penny, she didn’t really know what to do about it. “Think, think, think,” she quoted her favorite animated character from when she was a child. But there was no time to think as a knock came at the door. Her next tour was here. The mystery of Aurora would have to wait.

  CHAPTER 16

  “I want to believe that a lie that is beyond my control is forgivable. But a lie, no matter the reason or way it comes about, is still a lie. It still strips the thread of trust between people and carves a hole into the heart. It still leaves a scar.” ~ Ra

  El Tor Mountain was a place that shouldn’t have been touched by darkness. It sat at the edge of the world, where the land bled into the sky, and the wind carried the memories of a thousand years. Ra’s earliest recollections began here: the scent of wild thyme crushed beneath his sneakers, the laughter of his grandparents echoing off the stones, the way the sun painted the rocks gold and the sky impossibly blue. This was where he’d run when the world had been too much, when the weight of magic and history pressed too hard on his shoulders. Here, above the town of El Tor, he’d found clarity. Peace.

  Tonight, the mountain was a wound.

  He’d felt Viscious’s magic long before he’d seen him. It was a cold tingle at the base of his skull, a taste like burnt metal on his tongue. The wind, usually playful, now whipped at Ra’s clothes with a nervous urgency, shoving him toward the summit. He kept his back straight, his chin high, refusing to look anywhere but forward. He would not let that monster see weakness.

  The sky overhead was bruised, clouds roiling and alive with flashes of distant lightning. The scents of home, the sweet, earthy tang of desert sage, the sharp bite of sun-baked stone were tainted by something acrid and unnatural. Even the stars seemed to hide, retreating behind the gloom.

  Ra climbed the last few meters of the goat path with steady, deliberate steps. He could see the silhouette waiting for him at the summit, black cloak swirling in the mountain wind, a figure that seemed carved from shadow and arrogance. Viscious.

  Ra paused a moment, letting the memory of his grandfather’s voice steady him: Stand tall, my boy. Never bow unless you choose to. He drew one deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped fully into the clearing.

  Viscious turned, and the night seemed to flinch away from him. His eyes gleamed with a hungry, unnatural light, a predator savoring the anticipation of the kill. A cruel smile twisted his lips.

  “Pharaoh,” Viscious drawled, the word a mockery and a greeting all at once. “You took your time. I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve.”

  Ra’s jaw clenched. He kept his voice level, cool as the wind that whipped around them. “You picked this place for a reason. How you know about it is a mystery I’m sure you won’t divulge. You always were one for theatrics.”

  Viscious’s grin widened; there was a gleam of satisfaction in it, a flash of teeth meant to remind Ra that he was prey, not a peer. He paced slowly along the edge of the cliff, boots scuffing ancient stone, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

  “Oh, I do love a bit of drama,” Viscious chided. “But I chose El Tor for more than the view. I wanted to see how it felt to taint something you hold dear.” He stopped, facing Ra squarely, eyes alight with glee. “You see, I want you to remember tonight, every time you think of home. Every time you try to find comfort in your past, I want you to taste my victory on your tongue.”

  Ra felt the words lance through him, cold and sharp. “You think you can poison my memories? You’re not that powerful.”

  Viscious laughed, a low, delighted sound, rich with malice. “Oh, Ra. I don’t need to poison anything. I just need to prove that I can. That I can reach into the best parts of you and leave my mark.” He stepped closer, his presence a physical thing, oppressive and electric. “You’re angry. I can feel it. Good. Let that fire burn. But don’t pretend you’re not scared.”

  Ra didn’t flinch. He met Viscious’s gaze, steel for steel, and let his own magic simmer beneath his skin, banked but ready. “You want a bargain, sealed my promise. Say it and be done.”

  Viscious’s mouth curled into a snarl of pleasure. “So eager. So loyal. It’s almost touching, what you’ll do for those you love.” He circled Ra, slow and predatory, eyes never leaving him. “You see, I have a need, a very particular need. There’s a girl. She’s, as you will realize, special. And I want her brought to me. You must be the one to find her.”

  Ra kept his expression blank, his heart thundering in his chest. His gut churned as he hoped, futilely, that it wasn’t who he thought it was. “You want me to find a child? Why? You have acolytes to find you Marks.”

  Viscious’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something ancient and hungry flickered in their depths. “It is a precarious situation, and I don’t want to trust an acolyte with it. And don’t pretend you don’t know who it is. I know of her because your people have discovered her. Aurora. She’s more than a child, as you well know. She’s a missing piece. Possibly the key to breaking the soul bonded, to tearing the dragons apart from the inside. Her soul is unmarked, unclaimed—a perfect vessel for my darkness.”

  Ra’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He forced his voice to remain steady, to give nothing away. “And if I refuse?”

  Viscious leaned in, his breath a cold caress against Ra’s ear. “You can’t. I told you the first time you came to me if you didn’t accept the deal, I’d kill you. You’re not the only one who is a man of his word, pharaoh. You will do this. You will make the promise to bring her to me. Your ancestors sold their souls and therefore your soul long before you were born. You can die now, by my fire, or you can make the deal. And if you break it, you know what awaits you.” He tilted his head slightly. “And as you think on it, let me ask you this; what happens to Shelly if you die?”

  Ra’s vision flashed with images: chains, fire, the screams of the damned. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let Viscious see anything in his eyes but contempt. There was no option, not when it came to Shelly. He had no idea how the hell he would get out of this, but better to save his life now, thereby saving his soul-bonded’s, and figuring out the rest later.