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  The graveyard. It was in shambles, the earth upturned. Many of the headstones were cracked and broken. Dominic’s army of ghosts cast an eerie, silver light across the devastation. They seemed to be standing guard over whatever occupied the rest of the graveyard, and I realized what Gwenlyn had meant when she said that waking life in Yew Hollow was now worse than her nightmares. Animated corpses, in various states of decay, wandered listlessly about the remaining headstones. It was a wonder how the bodies even managed to perform a function so simple as walking, considering the despicable state of them. I made to turn away from the window, unable to watch the dead amble amongst the living, but Dorothy held me fast.

  “Look,” she ordered, pointing to the central area of the cemetery, where a large mausoleum stood.

  As I watched, Dominic emerged from the tomb. Yet another of his undead cronies followed behind him, its empty eyes glowing with an unearthly, sickly green shade of witchcraft. Clearly, this was a newly summoned corpse.

  “Dominic’s craft was purple,” I said, watching as the zombie joined its cohorts in the cemetery.

  “Necromancy distorts witchcraft,” explained Dorothy. “He’s possessing the bodies. They aren’t simply reanimated corpses. They’re demons.”

  “Demons?”

  “Lesser ones,” said Dorothy, “but demons nonetheless.”

  As we watched, Dominic crouched in the graveyard. For a moment or two, he only rested his forehead in his hands. Then he stood, kicked the nearest demon in what appeared to be a fit or tantrum, and yelled obscenities up into the sky.

  “Not going so well for him, I see,” I said. I should have felt relief at Dominic’s frustration but it only made me even more uneasy. “Will the gun work on the demons?” I asked Dorothy.

  Dorothy’s eyes narrowed as she watched Dominic stomp through the cemetery and disappear into the trees of the forest. “Yes. Fortunately, that weapon is strong enough to rid the mortal world of any negative influence as you see fit. Just be careful. Demons are no laughing matter, even if they are housed in poorly restored bodies.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to sound sure of myself.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about.” Dorothy released me to wrap her arms around herself as if she was struck by a sudden chill. “You’ll have to protect the others, Morgan. Your gun will be the only effective weapon against the ghosts and demons. Witchcraft and attack spells will slow them down, but ultimately, you’re the only witch in the coven that will be able to send Dominic’s creations back to the otherworld for good.”

  I removed the wool blanket from my shoulders and cloaked Dorothy in it instead. “That’s if I’m even able to free the coven of Dominic’s trance.”

  “Fortunately, I may have a solution to that particular dilemma,” said Dorothy. “Have you ever heard of a blood bond?”

  I glanced sharply at her. Blood bonds had once been quite prevalent within our community. When one witch shared blood with another, it provided each witch with the abilities of the other. Covens often linked themselves together in order to strengthen their overall power, but sharing your life essence was no trivial decision. A blood bond was permanent. “I hope you aren’t serious.”

  Dorothy continued to observe Dominic’s thralls as they paced about the cemetery. “You’ll need the coven’s help to truly vanquish Dominic. Even if they don’t have the power to kill the ghosts themselves, they can still assist you in doing so yourself. Since you arrived in the otherworld, I’ve been thinking of ways for you to thwart Dominic’s trance.”

  “And the only thing you came up with was a blood bond?” I asked. “That’s walking a fine line, Dorothy. I know the coven is family, but a blood bond means sharing everything that makes me, well, me.”

  She gripped the corners of her wool blanket, drawing it tighter around her. “I’m well aware of these consequences.”

  “Yet you still suggest them?”

  “To my knowledge, there is no other way to free the coven of Dominic’s grasp,” she said. “Unless you think you can take him on all by yourself, what with his cavalry of demons and ghosts. Do you have that much faith in your own abilities? Or is there something about your young apprentice that you haven’t shared with me?”

  I sucked in a breath. Dorothy had a point. There was no way that Gwenlyn and I would be able to defeat Dominic on our own. He had too much fire power. We would need the rest of the coven’s help, even if it meant binding all of us together for the rest of eternity.

  “What about Gwenlyn?” I asked Dorothy, pushing thoughts of the blood bond away for the moment. “Can you show her to me? We’re basically just waiting on her to contact us, right?”

  Dorothy remained silent, her lips pursed.

  “What?” I asked her. I had spent enough time with Dorothy to know that a keen comment often lay behind her impassive expression.

  She pivoted from the window to face me. “I won’t show you Gwenlyn.”

  I stepped away from her, back toward the bed. “Excuse me? You promised—”

  “You made a promise too, Morgan,” Dorothy said, advancing toward me. She shook off the blanket, and it fell to the floor in a heap.

  “To destroy the yew tree, I know,” I said, wondering why Dorothy’s faith in me had inexplicably faltered. Dominic had wreaked havoc on Yew Hollow, but there was no way I’d let him take over my own family’s legacy.

  “You will waver,” Dorothy said. She took me by the shoulders, her fingers digging into my skin. “When the time comes to burn the tree, you will hesitate. But you must complete the ritual. It’s the only way. Promise me.”

  “I already did,” I said and attempted to shrug out of her grasp.

  She held me fast. “Promise me again.”

  When I looked into Dorothy’s eyes, they were not the familiar gray of my mother’s. They burned with the intense royal blue of her craft, an odd and archaic display of power in our world. I gripped her wrists and said, “I promise.”

  Thankfully, my sincere tone seemed to convince her of my dedication to the task at hand, since she released me and spun back to the window.

  “Chances are, as soon as I show you Gwenlyn, she’ll be able to contact you,” Dorothy said, taking one last look at Dominic’s demonic camp. She swiped once more at the window, and finally, Gwenlyn came into view. This time, though, we did not peer down at the scene from above.

  It was almost as if I were at home in my loft, sitting cross-legged across from Gwenlyn. She looked directly at me and smiled, but the expression did nothing to soothe my worry. In fact, judging by the bags beneath her eyes and her pale complexion, Gwenlyn had not slept since we spoke last.

  “Gwen?” I said as Dorothy moved away from the window to allow Gwen and me to talk in private.

  “Hey, Morgan,” she said, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. “You ready for this?”

  “You actually got the hair?” I asked, a little incredulous. When she held two nearly invisible strands of hair up so that I could see them, relief flooded through me. Half of me was so proud that Gwen had managed on her own. The other half of me wondered what kind of hell Gwen had gone through to procure such a trivial piece of the human body.

  “It wasn’t easy,” she rasped. She cleared her throat. “Dominic had some crazy protection wards around the house.”

  “How did you get through them?”

  “Magic,” she said, coughing out an unconvincing laugh.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. She looked far from well. Her hair was tied back haphazardly, her eyes were bloodshot, and tear tracks stained her cheeks, as if she had been crying just before our call. “What happened?”

  She lay the two strands of hair side by side on the floor in front of her. An empty olive-wood bowl stood nearby. “I’m fine. Just worn out. Are you ready?”

  My heart leapt. I was more than ready to go back to Yew Hollow, but Gwenlyn looked like she could barely stand up straight, let alone bring my soul back from the otherworld.

  �
��Dorothy,” I said, beckoning the older witch to my side. “Can you help Gwenlyn with this?”

  Dorothy peered through the window at Gwenlyn. “Of course. I push, Gwenlyn pulls. My goodness, she does not look well, does she?”

  “I can hear you,” Gwenlyn said, wiping a leaking tear from the corner of her eye. “I told you, I’m just tired. Can we just do this already?”

  The edge to Gwenlyn’s voice cut through me. Something was wrong. Gwenlyn was one of the strongest people I had ever met, even for a sixteen-year-old. If something was bothering her—

  “I’m ready,” said Dorothy. She raised her hands, royal-blue witchcraft glowing at the tips of her fingers.

  “Wait,” I said, reaching out to push Dorothy’s hands back down to her sides. I looked at Gwenlyn. “Gwen, I know when you’re trying to hide something. What are you not telling me?”

  For a moment, I thought that Gwen would only stare back at me, a look that was born out of both defeat and defiance etched on her face. Then she reached behind her and produced a simple paring knife. My breath hitched.

  “I’m scared,” she said, her voice breaking. She ran a finger down the length of the paring knife.

  “What’s the knife for, Gwenlyn?” I asked, willing my voice not to shake.

  She refused to meet my eye. “The second part of the ritual.”

  “What’s the second part?”

  The knife made a daring path across the breadth of Gwenlyn’s right wrist, the skin there already marred by a collection of scars from past traumas. She’d been through hell and back before I had even met her, but somehow she had managed to muddle through all of her issues and find her place amongst the Summerses. She was family, and seeing that knife so close to her lifeline made my soul ache.

  “The ritual to bring you back requires a sacrifice,” she said. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted the olive-wood bowl in front of her. “Balance. Equality. Equilibrium.”

  “Gwenlyn,” I said firmly, tapping on the window in the hopes that it would get her to make eye contact with me. She glanced up.

  “Once I do this,” she began, her voice now solid and steady, “you have to come back right away. You have to be the one to find me—to save me.”

  “Save you from what?” I thundered, pounding on the glass. “Dorothy, help me here!”

  Dorothy raised an eyebrow, watching as the knife hovered above Gwenlyn’s pale skin. “The girl is aware of her actions,” she said. “She’s doing what is necessary in order to return you to Yew Hollow. We have no other option.”

  A realization clicked into place in my brain. I rounded on Dorothy without taking my eyes off of Gwenlyn’s trembling hands. “You knew?” I demanded of my ancestor. “You knew that she would have to kill herself for me? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Dorothy bristled with agitation. “She doesn’t have to die. Have you been listening to her at all?” she asked. “Once you return to the mortal world, you’ll have to find Gwenlyn and perform a healing spell. This ritual, her sacrifice for you, will establish the initial blood bond between the two of you. She won’t be able to heal herself. The ritual will only be complete when you save her life. She saves you, you save her. Equilibrium.”

  “Equilibrium,” Gwenlyn repeated. Her eyes fluttered shut, as though Dorothy’s thorough explanation of the ritual had relieved some of the pressure to perform the spell correctly.

  “Gwen, it doesn’t have to be like this,” I said. “I’ll find another way.”

  “There is no other way,” Dorothy said.

  “Shut up,” I shot back. I was pissed at Dorothy. She had known all along what Gwenlyn would have to do to get me back to Yew Hollow. In hindsight, I realized that my father’s dislike for Dorothy was justified. She cared solely about the survival of the coven. Since Gwenlyn wasn’t born into the Summers family, Dorothy considered her expendable. I wasn’t like that. I couldn’t just write someone off because they weren’t related to me. Gwenlyn had saved my life back in Yew Hollow, and here she was, planning to do it again.

  “Morgan,” said Gwenlyn. My eyes snapped back to hers. “Promise me you’ll come find me as soon as you get back.”

  “Don’t you dare do it, Gwenlyn—”

  “Promise me, Morgan.”

  The words echoed through my head. I had made so many promises already. More and more, it felt like I wouldn’t be able to keep them. The paring knife quivered over Gwenlyn’s wrist, and when I saw the tendons there tighten with intent, I broke.

  “I promise, Gwenlyn.”

  I closed my eyes as steel met skin, but not soon enough to avoid seeing the rush of blood that welled up at the long gash Gwenlyn had made along her arm. When I gathered the courage to glance up again, the olive-wood bowl overflowed with Gwenlyn’s blood, and she lay on her side, her entire body illuminated with the forest-green hue of her witchcraft.

  I felt a pull at my core, as if someone had tied a cable around my waist and was yanking me along behind a truck. Beside me, Dorothy chanted in Latin, and the glow of her craft filled the room and pushed at my back. The magic smashed me against the window as if trying to force me through it. I released a strangled yell as an unyielding force tightened around me, strangling me from head to toe. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear.

  And then I took a great, gasping breath of putrid, earthly air.

  6

  In Which I Reunite With My Sisters

  The unmistakable smell of rot attacked my nostrils. I lay flat on my back, cold mud seeping through my clothing, and stared up through the thick trees at a navy night sky that indisputably belonged to the real world. The stars blinked down at me, a serene sight that clashed with the abrasive scent of decay invading my nose. Gwenlyn’s ritual, her sacrifice, had worked.

  Gwenlyn. She was my first priority. How long had my return to the mortal world taken? Was Gwenlyn still alive? I pushed myself up from the earth, my hands squishing through the soft, overturned dirt. It would have been too easy for Gwen’s ritual to dump me right at her side. No, I had been yanked back to some dark corner of the forest with no knowledge of how many miles it might be back to my loft. It didn’t help that my head felt so light that it might float away like a balloon in high winds. Traveling between spirit realms was no walk in the park. I rested my forehead in my muddy palms, willing my body to get it together. The longer I lingered, the less likely it was that Gwen would survive. If she didn’t pull through, I’d never get the chance to shoot Dominic in the face.

  A sudden shot of panic pulsed through me. Had the beast’s pistol made it back to the mortal world with me? I didn’t remember having it in the last level of the otherworld. I patted myself down, finding nothing, then combed through the dirt and dead leaves in the hopes of unearthing it. Finally, my fingers made contact with smooth, cool metal. A moan of relief found its way out of my mouth as the pistol’s neon-blue lettering flared beneath my touch, and I tucked the gun into the back of my jeans for easy access. Then, with the help of a sturdy tree trunk, I heaved myself to my feet and lifted my eyes to take in the world around me. Immediately, my ribs tightened around my lungs.

  I was standing at the edge of the cemetery, in full view of every ghost and demon that Dominic had managed to enthrall.

  The only good thing was that none of Dominic’s minions had noticed my presence yet. The demons seemed incapable of much movement without Dominic’s immediate influence. Most of them sat near the graves they had so recently vacated, staring longingly into the gaping holes of the earth as if wishing they could return there. The ghosts, on the other hand, lingered near the outer edges of the graveyard, chatting with each other or herding wayward demons back to the center of the cemetery.

  I swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. If any one of the ghosts noticed me, they would certainly alert Dominic to my presence in the mortal world. The only upper hand I had at the moment was Dominic’s ignorance of my return. I had to get out of the cemetery unnoticed. With a stea
dying breath, I took one tentative step backward, away from the hellish scene of the graveyard. None of the ghosts noticed my agonizingly slow retreat. So far, so good. I took another step, then another, feeling each footfall out to avoid tripping over any tree roots or rocks. When my view of the graveyard was obscured by the trees, I pivoted on my heel and took off at a dead sprint toward the direction of my loft, where Gwenlyn lay dying. As I vaulted a large boulder, I pleaded with my shaky legs to support me long enough to reach her.

  “Going somewhere?”

  I plunged through the silvery light of a ghost, emerging on the other side feeling as though I’d just taken a dip in a frozen lake. Stumbling, my foot caught the underside of a tree root, and I tumbled forward, reaching out to break my fall. I spun around, frantically crab-walking away from the ghost as I tried to regain my footing. The ghost chuckled darkly at my feeble escape attempt then reached down to grab the front of my T-shirt and hauled me to my feet.

  “Ronan,” I gasped as the ghost drew me closer to his face. He had been a mountain of muscles when he was alive and possessed the kind of bulk that wasn’t possible without the help of a cocktail of steroids. Unfortunately, death hadn’t diluted the effect. Ronan was Dominic’s right-hand man, and before my jaunt into the otherworld, I’d managed to piss him off a fair number of times. Of all of Dominic’s ghosts, Ronan was the worst one to welcome me back to earth.

  “Hello, Morgan,” said Ronan, baring his teeth. I pushed at his hands, which were still wrapped tightly around the neck of my T-shirt. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Yeah, I was just out for a stroll,” I snapped. He lifted me up, and my feet struggled to find purchase with the forest floor.

  “You’re supposed to be dead,” he snarled.

  “The otherworld wasn’t really my scene,” I said, shrugging.

  Ronan narrowed his beady eyes. His knuckles pressed against my throat, but I held back the cough that threatened to escape. “Your boyfriend misses you.”

  “Ugh, how many times do I have to say it?” I said, my voice crackling past the force of Ronan’s tightening fingers. “That repugnant asshole is not my boyfriend.”