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  My brain caught up with my common sense. Dominic was distracted, staring at his hands as though he couldn’t believe the ritual had worked. If there was one last chance at detaining Dominic before he could raise the dead, this was it.

  “Gwenlyn,” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth. Her head tipped toward me ever so slightly to indicate that she was listening. I nodded toward Dominic, whose back was to us, hoping she understood the subtle gesture.

  She nodded back then nudged Laurel, who was standing next to her. My silent idea spread through the coven. One by one, their eyes turned to me. I waited until I had everyone’s attention then nodded once.

  All together, the witches directed attack spells at Dominic’s back. He froze as the rainbow of auras rained down on him, and a tiny bit of hope sprang from my heart. Dominic fell to his knees, seemingly overwhelmed by the coven’s collective offense. But then Dominic’s shoulders shook as if we were laughing, and he stood again to face the coven.

  “No more of that,” he said nonchalantly.

  And to my great surprise, the coven immediately withdrew their attack spells. They stood casually with their hands by their sides.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded of the witches. “We had a shot!”

  It was then I realized that Laurel and Gwenlyn, who were standing closest to me, made no attempt to indicate that they had heard me. I waved a hand in front of Laurel’s face. Her eyes had glazed over, and her gaze remained focused on Dominic. Gwenlyn stood in a similar fashion, and as I looked around, openmouthed, at the other witches, I realized that each and every one of them was waiting for Dominic’s next command.

  “It’s quite marvelous, isn’t it?” Dominic asked as he finally moved away from the yew tree to approach me.

  “What have you done to them?”

  “Nothing at all,” he replied, still walking slowly toward me. “They’re simply following the requests of the holder of the original coven’s power.”

  “You.”

  “Correct,” Dominic said. “I’m going to send the coven home. They don’t need to be involved with this next bit. All I need is you.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t help you raise the dead,” I said firmly, holding my ground as Dominic reached me.

  “Morgan, I’m trying to be reasonable here,” he said. “Look, if I was really some kind of malicious magician, I would have put your family in mortal peril and hung it over your head.”

  “You robbed them of their free will,” I said, indicating the zombie-like state of the witches around me. “How is that reasonable?”

  Dominic snapped his fingers. At once, several ghosts separated themselves from the yew tree to join him.

  “Take this motley assemblage back to their house,” Dominic ordered them. “Remain there unless I send any further instruction.”

  The ghosts rounded up the witches and herded them away from the town square. To my absolute horror, none of my family members tried to resist the pull of the ghosts. Even Gwenlyn, who was able to see the strings manipulating the coven, turned from me and followed the coven up the hill, away from the square. I let them go. Despite Dominic’s hold on them, I felt utterly relieved that they wouldn’t have to be involved in the next part of Dominic’s scheme.

  As the procession of witches and spirits faded into the darkness, I turned back to Dominic. “Why haven’t I been affected in the same way?”

  “You’re a medium,” Dominic answered simply. “I work through the spirits. Since you and I have similar abilities, you aren’t affected by the ghosts as others are.”

  “What about Gwenlyn? She’s a medium, too.”

  He gave a shrug of his shoulders and a smile. “I suppose she’s too weak minded to resist.”

  I looked up at the remaining ghosts. They now sat in the branches of the yew tree like strange, glowing cats, waiting for Dominic to give them further orders. I spotted Ronan near the top of the yew, balancing precariously on a springy bough of the tree.

  “What now?” I demanded of Dominic. “Ready to raise the dead?”

  Dominic chuckled. “No, the ritual for that takes a little more preparation. Nothing savage, of course, but I do need a few things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  Dominic ticked off a list on each of his fingers. “Wine, honey, candles, bay leaves, dittany of Crete—what am I missing—oh, and some kind of musical instrument. Bells would be best, but anything will do. I don’t suppose you play guitar, do you?”

  “No, and before you ask, I gave up piano when I was five.”

  “Damn,” he said.

  “Besides, I think the town apothecary is out of dittany of Crete.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, the shipment only comes in once a month.”

  Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “You’re messing with me.”

  “What town still has an apothecary, Dom?”

  He laughed. It was an odd moment, the two of us standing there, discussing ingredients for a spell to raise the dead in such a blasé fashion. Perhaps my attempt at nonchalance was a coping mechanism, my sarcasm being the only line of defense I ever knew how to fall back on. If anything, I could only hope to distract Dominic long enough to get the upper hand over him.

  Dominic wrapped an arm around my shoulders as if we were best friends. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  I shrugged him off. “What part of ‘I won’t help you’ didn’t you understand? There are only so many times I can say it.”

  “Exactly! I’ll wear you down eventually.”

  “No, you won’t, Dominic.”

  His expression hardened, his eyes solidifying like sapphires. “Morgan, I’ve given you the option of doing this the easy way. Please don’t make me up the stakes.”

  “You’ve already pod-peopled my family,” I reminded him. “That better be reversible, by the way. What else could you possibly want from me?”

  “I need you for this ritual, whether you involve yourself willingly or not,” he said. Behind him, the ghosts in the yew tree seemed to be getting restless.

  “Why me?”

  “One, because you’re a medium, and two, because you’re the strongest of the Summers coven,” Dominic said. “I need someone with Summers blood for part of the ritual.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that,” I muttered then said more clearly, “I still won’t do it.”

  Dominic grimaced. “I was afraid you might say that. Ronan?”

  Ronan detached himself from the yew tree to float behind Dominic. Dominic’s ritual seemed to have strengthened Ronan’s physical appearance even more. His muscles rippled beneath his T-shirt like a bodybuilder’s during an extreme workout.

  “You rang?” Ronan said to Dominic, leering at me.

  Dominic refused to break eye contact with me as his next order left his mouth. “Unless Morgan consents to help me, I want you to find Teagan and kill her. She’s in Room 12 at the local inn.”

  My mouth dropped open in horror. Ronan, alternatively, buzzed with joy over this new assignment. He pumped a fist in the air like a frat boy at a beer bash.

  “You can’t do that!” I said to Dominic.

  He shrugged. “You can stop it. Just help me with the ritual.”

  “No,” I growled.

  “Last chance.”

  “NO.”

  Dominic waved to Ronan. “Sounds like she’s made her decision, Ronan. Off you go.”

  As Ronan soared off in the direction of Teagan’s hotel room, I said to Dominic, “We spelled Teagan’s hotel room, remember? Ronan won’t be able to get in.”

  Dominic walked around the base of the yew tree, gazing up into its leaves and admiring the remaining ghosts. “Unfortunately, the protection spell won’t work.”

  I crossed my arms. “Why not?”

  “First of all, because I smudged the line of black salt on my way out of Teagan’s room. Furthermore, that spell was created by the Summers women,” he said. He picked a twig from the tree a
nd began to twirl it between his fingers. “As such, anyone with the same power can dismantle the protection spell, just like that.”

  He snapped the twig in half to illustrate his point.

  “I don’t believe you,” I said, though my hands trembled at the thought of Ronan finally enacting revenge on his wife.

  Before Dominic could respond, a shrill scream ripped through the air. My heart stopped. The scream had come from the direction of the inn. It had to be Teagan. I turned from Dominic and sprinted away, not bothering to glance over my shoulder to see if he was following.

  When I arrived at the inn, panting, I kicked open the door to Teagan’s room to find more than one surprise waiting for me.

  “Gwenlyn?” I breathed in disbelief.

  Sure enough, Gwenlyn stood between Ronan and Teagan, her hands barely visible beneath the dark green of her witchcraft. Ronan, a look of pure frustration etched across his beefy face, attempted to force through the pulsating glow of Gwenlyn’s shield but didn’t seem to be making much headway. Teagan cowered behind Gwenlyn in the corner of the kitchenette, covering her head with her hands as Gwen’s shield sparked and sputtered.

  “Morgan!” Gwenlyn squeaked with relief. Her face had drained of color, and a sheen of sweat was visible on her forehead. She wasn’t strong enough to battle with Ronan’s new powers. It was evident in the tremor of her hands.

  With Gwenlyn distracted by my entrance, Ronan took a step back and body-slammed her shield with renewed vigor. This time, Gwenlyn couldn’t hold him off. The forest-green buffer vanished, and Gwenlyn fell back into Teagan. Ronan, his face stretched into a satisfied smile, reached out for Teagan.

  Without thinking, I flung myself across the room and tackled Ronan. We connected with a loud smack, his absurdly large muscles just as solid as they would be had he still been alive. It was like running into a brick wall. The crashing together of our bodies knocked the wind out of me, but I still managed to wrap my arm around his neck, preventing him from reaching Teagan.

  As I struggled with Ronan, Gwen surged to her feet. She looked wildly around the kitchenette, caught sight of the knife block, and flung herself across the room to reach it. Ronan pitched me forward, over the top of his head, and slammed me down onto the kitchen table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gwenlyn raise a butcher’s knife above her head. She swung it downward, thrusting it into the middle of Ronan’s back. He roared in frustration, releasing me to reach around and yank the knife out of his ribs. I took the opportunity to roll off of the table and help Teagan to her feet. Together, we staggered toward the door of the room in the hopes of escaping Ronan’s rampage.

  Suddenly, the butcher’s knife embedded itself in the doorframe, perilously close to taking a chunk out of Teagan’s nose.

  I spun around to see Ronan take Gwenlyn by the throat and lift her into the air. My lungs felt devoid of air as Gwenlyn’s face reddened above Ronan’s meaty fist.

  “Hand her over, Morgan,” Ronan growled, ignoring Gwenlyn’s fingers scrabbling against his hands.

  I edged in front of Teagan, reaching slowly for the knife sticking out of the wall. “Put her down, Ronan.”

  “I’ll trade you,” he said with an abhorrently pleased grin. “One bitch for another.”

  Behind my back, I wiggled the knife back and forth, hoping to free it from the plaster. “You’re a better guy than this, Ronan,” I said, feeling the lie on my tongue as it left my mouth. “No one has to get hurt.”

  Gwenlyn coughed, kicking her feet out as Ronan tightened his grip once more around her neck. She wouldn’t be able to stand it much longer. At my side, I felt Teagan shift nervously from one foot to the other.

  “My wife murdered me in cold blood,” he said in a dangerous whisper. “So, Morgan Summers, you’re very wrong. Teagan will die in this room today, but you get to decide if your little friend here survives or not.”

  He wrapped his other hand around Gwenlyn’s throat and squeezed.

  “No!” I yelled. I wrenched the knife free of the doorframe and hurled it at Ronan. At the same time, Teagan stepped out from behind me and launched herself across the room.

  The handle of the blade clocked Ronan in the forehead, stunning him enough to make him drop Gwenlyn. She crumpled at his feet, gasping for air, as Teagan put herself between Ronan and Gwenlyn.

  “Fine, fine!” she shouted. “I murdered you, I admit it! You were a bastard and a terrible husband, and I couldn’t take it anymore. Just don’t hurt them. They’re only trying to do what’s right.”

  In a flash, Ronan took Teagan by the hair and pulled her into a violent embrace. Gwenlyn scrambled away from the unhappy couple, backing up against the far wall of the small hotel room. I, on the other hand, stepped forward once again. Teagan’s confession was a shock, but it wasn’t up to Ronan to decide whether she lived or died.

  But then Ronan stooped to scoop up the abandoned butcher’s knife. He whirled Teagan around, her back to his chest, and pressed the knife to her throat. I stopped dead in my tracks. Time seemed to halt. For the longest second of my life, I stared at Ronan, and Ronan stared back, and Teagan shivered and wept, and the uneven gasp of Gwenlyn’s hoarse, damaged breathing was the only sound in the room.

  And then the knife flashed.

  Blood spurted, coating Gwenlyn. There was a dull thud as Teagan slipped from Ronan’s grasp and thunked to the floor. She convulsed, grabbing at the large gash across her throat, but it was too late. Ronan vanished without another word, and I rushed to Teagan’s side, the shock of the brutal attack pulsing through me. Gwenlyn remained frozen, the muscles in her arms taut as she pressed herself against the wall, away from Teagan. She’d been splattered with Teagan’s blood, and there was so much of it that I knew Ronan had gotten what he’d wanted.

  Teagan, her eyes wide and unblinking, was dead.

  10

  In Which the Dead Wake

  Paralyzed, all I could do was stare at Teagan’s ruined body. It wasn’t until Gwenlyn choked out a sob that I remembered she was there. I needed to grow up, to take responsibility for the things that I had done. Cassandra had been wrong. There was no way I could ever run the Summers coven. Ever since I’d returned to Yew Hollow, a dangerous cloud seemed to linger over the town, threatening to burst. There were only so many times I could handle a shit storm like this.

  I reached out to Gwenlyn without intention. I had no idea how to comfort her, drenched as she was in Teagan’s blood, so I let my hand drop, useless. My vision blurred, a fog taking over my mind. The room fell away, and I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the tacky feeling of blood between my fingers.

  “Morgan.”

  Gwenlyn’s soft voice only did so much to pull me out of my sea of remorse. I didn’t want to listen or return to the world, but I owed it to the teenager to at least indicate that I had heard her. “Mm?”

  “You can’t fall apart,” she said, her voice, still gravelly, a little stronger now. “I know you want to, but you can’t. You have to keep fighting. You have to go stop Dominic.”

  I covered my ears, leaning forward to rest my forehead on my knees. Gwenlyn’s hand closed around my wrist. She’d finally moved away from the wall, simply to pull me up from the floor. She was a walking nightmare at that moment, painted in red, but she was also the only level head in the room. I let her tug me upward and forced my knees and then my feet to carry my weight again. When she let go of me, a bloody handprint remained on my arm, a macabre indication of what had happened there. The image of it wrenched me back to reality, and I realized that, no matter my mistakes, I was still the only person in town who would be able to prevent Dominic from making things worse.

  “I need you to go back to the coven,” I said to Gwenlyn. She opened her mouth to protest, but I shook my head. “Keep them safe. Dominic still has a hold on them, and I won’t be able to take it if anyone else gets hurt.”

  Gwenlyn still looked as though she wanted to argue with me. I marveled at her unwavering determination, evident
in her expression despite the coating of blood.

  “Please,” I said in a small voice. “Please.”

  She conceded with a graceful nod then led me to the door of the room. I glanced behind me for one last look at Teagan’s wasted potential. Her ghost had not appeared, which I was eternally grateful for. She was at peace, and Dominic would only have employed her spirit to join his ranks.

  Gwenlyn and I parted in the courtyard of the inn. We hugged briefly, exchanging no words. I couldn’t find anything appropriate to say, and Gwenlyn seemed to face the same issue, but as she left the courtyard in the direction of the house with her shoulders squared off, she seemed to transfer some of her fortitude to me. With a great breath, I left the courtyard, letting my feet carry me back to the town square.

  Dominic was waiting for me, leaning casually against the yew tree and chatting amiably with Ronan. Most of the other ghosts had vanished to who knew where. A select few lingered beside Dominic, as though waiting for further instruction. Ronan, whose wide, satisfied grin made me want to send him to a second death, saw me first. He nodded to Dominic, who glanced over his shoulder. To his credit, he looked appropriately concerned at the amount of blood on the knees of my jeans.

  “That’s not your blood, is it?” he asked, stepping away from Ronan to meet me at the edge of the town square. “I told Ronan not to hurt you.”

  “It’s Teagan’s,” I said, too emotionally exhausted to summon any more rage over Dominic’s complete lack of moral fiber. “And you don’t get to ask me if I’m hurt. Not after that. I’m hurt, you asshole.”

  He tried to sweep me into a hug, but I stepped away from his embrace. “You can bring her back, you know,” Dominic said.

  I scoffed, unable to wrap my head around his warped rationale.

  “You’re unbelievable,” I said. “You can’t pick and choose who lives and who dies. Don’t you get that, Dominic? Don’t you understand how screwed up it is?”

  “Morgan,” he said gently. “I’m only bringing two people back. That’s it. The only other people I’ll resurrect are those you ask me to.”