Chapter 1
“If I yell ‘boo-yah’ when we catch the ghost, you’ll get it’s meant to be ironic, right?”
Gwyn whispered the words as she crept behind her cousin, Vivi, through the dark woods, a sliver of moon bright in the navy-blue sky, the small ball of light Vivi had conjured up bobbing cheerfully right above their heads. The early September air was surprisingly cool and smelled crisp, a hint of smoke tickling Gwyn’s nose.
Definitely a good night for ghost hunting.
Maybe a less perfect night for joking, though, because Vivi looked over her shoulder, hazel eyes narrowed. “Gwynnevere.”
“What?” Gwyn protested. “It’s that or some kind of ‘ain’t scared of no ghost’ thing that I frankly think is a little dated.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not taking this seriously?”
Gwyn, who was currently wearing a black sweater dotted with little white ghosts, gave Vivi her most serious face. “I have no idea why you would think that.”
As she’d expected, Vivi’s stern expression gave way to a fond smile and a roll of her eyes.
“Fine. I accept your ironic ‘boo-yah.’”
“Thank you,” Gwyn said, readjusting the leather bag slung across her chest. Since this was her first ghost hunt, she’d raided Something Wicked for anything that seemed like it might be useful, but the store mainly catered to tourists, not actual witches.
That meant that Gwyn currently had a bag full of crystals, a couple of jarred candles, and a velvet pouch of the bath salts her mother made especially for the store.
Vivi looked back at her again as the candles clinked against the crystals. “I told you, you didn’t need to bring anything,” she said. “This is more of a fact-finding mission.”
“And I get that, Vivi, but I’ve seen exactly one ghost in my life, and it was super scary, so excuse me for wanting to be prepared.”
“With chamomile and lavender bath salts?”
“The important part is the salt.”
When Vivi paused again, her eyebrows raised, Gwyn waved a hand. “You know. Like in the shows.”
“The shows?”
“The ones where handsome guys hunt ghosts, and they’re always like”—she lowered her voice to a gruff growl—“‘We’re gonna need to make a ring of salt around the perimeter’ or something. So.” Gwyn patted her bag. “Salt.”
“We’re witches, Gwyn,” Vivi reminded her. “Maybe we shouldn’t take our cues from TV?”
“We’re not ghost-hunting witches,” Gwyn argued, dodging around a large branch as they pushed deeper into the woods. “And that show ran for, like, twenty years. I bet they got something right.”
Vivi considered that, then finally gave a shrug. “Probably can’t hurt.”
The wind rattled the leaves overhead, whipping Gwyn’s long red hair back from her face as she took bigger steps, trying to keep up with her cousin. “You know, if I had a hot husband, I would definitely find more reasons to be home, less reasons to scuttle through haunted forests.”
Vivi laughed a little at that. “I invited Rhys to come with us, but he’s swamped with work and trying to wrap everything up before our trip.”
Gwyn made an agreeing noise at that, ignoring the little pang in her chest at the thought of Vivi being gone. It was stupid—she was only going to be gone for a few weeks, making a trip to see some magical ritual Vivi was interested in back in Rhys’s home country of Wales—but it would be the longest Gwyn had been apart from her cousin in ages. And since Gwyn’s mom, Elaine, was also off at a witchy retreat in Arizona, it would mean Gwyn was totally on her own.
Which was fine. She was an adult, after all, she could handle running the show without—
Overhead, an owl hooted, and Gwyn gave a little shriek, moving closer to Vivi.
Clearing her throat, she pushed back her shoulders and moved on. “So first big trip to the homeland, how are we feeling about it?”
Vivi’s smile was almost brighter than her light spell. “It’s going to be amazing. Rhys is taking me to Snowdonia, up near where his brother lives, and—”
“Dickhead Brother or Werewolf Brother?”
Vivi shot Gwyn another look. “They actually go by Wells and Bowen, and for the last time, Bowen is not a werewolf, he just . . . doesn’t shave very often.”
“I don’t know, Vivi, sounds like an excuse a werewolf would make,” Gwyn said as she skirted around a pile of leaves.
Vivi laughed at that, shaking her head. “In any case, yes, Bowen. Wells still lives in the village where they grew up, so I’m sure we’ll pass by and visit him, too.”
“Cool. Maybe you can ask him what was more important than coming to his brother’s wedding.”
Vivi groaned. “Okay, Gwyn, seriously. It didn’t bother me! It didn’t even bother Rhys.”
“Well, it bothered me,” Gwyn replied, irritated all over again. Vivi had gotten married back in the summer, a small wedding in Graves Glen in the same meadow where she’d met Rhys years ago. It had been beautiful and simple, and even Gwyn had gotten a little teary-eyed, not that she would ever admit that, and while Gwyn really had been alarmed by Bowen’s facial hair and the fact that he looked like he might actually die if he ever had to smile, at least he’d shown up.
Rhys’s father and other brother, however, hadn’t come.
Gwyn couldn’t imagine not being there for Vivi on her wedding day, and it wasn’t like Wells hadn’t been invited. He had. Rhys had even talked to him a couple of days before the wedding, but when the actual day arrived, he hadn’t been there.
No excuse, nothing. Just a total no-show.
What kind of brother was that?
But then, from what Gwyn remembered of the one very brief interaction she’d ever had with Llewellyn Penhallow, she shouldn’t have been that surprised.
“Rhys says that’s just how he is,” Vivi went on now. “His father wouldn’t come, so he wouldn’t, either. He’s . . . I don’t know, loyal, I guess. And I think that pub keeps him busy.”
It was still bizarre to Gwyn that Llewellyn Penhallow, who’d practically been famous for what a powerful witch he was that one semester at Penhaven, ran a bar back in Wales instead of doing some kind of Impressive Witch Shit, but Gwyn had never really cared enough to ask just why that was.
“My job keeps me busy, too!” she said now, crossing her arms over her chest. “The other day, I was organizing grimoires in the back room at Something Wicked, and then I was, like, ‘You know, “grimoire” is a weird name, where did that even come from?’ and the next thing I knew, I had, like, twelve Wikipedia tabs open, and it was dark outside.”
Vivi smiled at that, shaking her head as she continued trudging uphill, and Gwyn followed.
“But I still came to your wedding is the thing,” she added, and Vivi reached out, brushing Gwyn’s hand with hers.
“And I appreciate it. Just like I appreciate you checking this out with me.”
Gwyn had been so caught up in righteous indignation that she almost forgot where she was and what they were doing.
Right. Ghost hunt. Spooky woods.
“Maybe there won’t be a ghost?” Gwyn offered, really, really hoping that was the case. She’d had plans for tonight, plans that involved trying out a new tea she’d ordered and taking an obscenely long bath. Plans that in no way involved hiking through the woods late at night all because Vivi had overheard some of her students at the college talking about strange lights and noises in this part of the forest.
“It’s probably just kids with flashlights, drinking beer and making poor romantic choices,” Gwyn said now, her mouth a little dry as she looked around her. Even with the help of Vivi’s light spell, the darkness felt intense, heavy. She got the sense that there could be anything watching her just outside of this warm circle of light, a thousand eyes in the trees, and she shivered, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands.
“Maybe,” Vivi acknowledged, toeing a pile of leaves with one booted foot. “But we have a responsibility to the town to make sure it’s nothing more than that.”
“Responsibility” was not a word Gwyn was a huge fan of, but she had to admit her cousin was right: It was the Jones women’s magic that fueled Graves Glen, and that meant if there was magical fuckery happening, it was up to Gwyn and Vivi to stop it.
Linking her arm with her cousin’s, Gwyn tugged Vivi close. “I really hate when you’re right. It’s one of your most obnoxious qualities.”
Vivi grinned at her. “Rhys says the same thing.”
“The rare subject on which your husband and I agree,” Gwyn said on a sigh, and Vivi bumped her hip, still smiling, the light floating over them glowing brightly on her face.
Too brightly, Gwyn suddenly realized.
Because it wasn’t the only light around them now.
Gwyn turned her head slowly, her arm still locked with Vivi’s as she took in the . . . thing drifting through the forest toward them.
The one ghost Gwyn had seen had definitely looked like a person. Glowy and floaty like whatever this was, but definitely person-like.
This wasn’t that. It was almost like a cloud, shifting and undulating, emitting this weird green light, and the magic coming off of it . . .
Gwyn shivered even harder now, her teeth nearly chattering. She’d always been more sensitive to magic than Vivi or Elaine, able to feel its presence sooner than they could. This thing had sneaked up on her, but now that it was here, she could tell that whatever had made it, there was something wrong.
Big-time wrong.
She reached into her bag just as Vivi moved closer, her brows drawn together. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she said, raising one arm out toward the thing.
“Vivi, maybe don’t touch the scary blob?” Gwyn offered, pushing away the candles and the crystals, her fingers brushing the velvet pouch holding the bath salts.
Vivi kept walking toward it, that hand still outstretched. “Rhys and I spent all that time researching curses last year, and we didn’t come across anything that even remotely looked like this,” she went on. “I can’t even tell what it’s made of.”
“My nightmares and a bit of hair gel?” Gwyn suggested, finally managing to get a handful of salt. “Anyway, it’s bad and I hate it, so duck.”