Jessica
Samhain is when the wise goodwife finishes her preparations for winter. Animals should be fattened up enough for culling. Fruits, herbs, and harvest vegetables should be preserved for the cold winter days ahead.
Goody Fletcher, Book of Useful Household Tips
I started to laugh—until I realized Derrick Winters wasn’t joking.
“Wait,” I said. “The Chosen One? Me?”
Apparently he was serious, since he produced a pile of paper from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and unfolded it.
“This was copied from a witch’s grimoire found plastered into the wall of a house in upstate New York,” he said. “It’s thought to have been hidden there nearly four hundred years ago.”
“Wait.” I couldn’t believe this was happening. “This isn’t an ancient prophecy, is it?”
He eyed me sternly over the top of the papers. “Ms. Gold, I can assure you that though you may find it amusing, what’s happening here in your town is deadly serious.”
“What’s happening in my town?”
He stared at me like I’d just asked if the sky was blue. “A rift. A shift in the cosmic balance. Are you honestly telling me you haven’t noticed? Nothing unusual at all lately around West Harbor?”
“Well, no, not really.” When he continued to give me the hairy eyeball, I said, “I mean, I’ve been a bit busy getting ready for this sale.” When the disbelieving look turned into bewilderment, I explained, “My Fall into Fall sale? I have it every year. It’s when we slash our prices to get rid of all of our summer stock to make room for our winter inventory—”
Now the look turned to one of impatience. “Ms. Gold. Are you serious? You’ve noticed nothing strange around this village at all lately? Sinkholes? Missing pets? Unusual weather patterns? Anything unusual at all?”
“Well, if you put it that way . . .”
You couldn’t be a witch—even a nonhereditary witch like me—and not have some inkling when things weren’t quite right. Dina had been complaining for months that West Harbor real estate sales were down, while sales in neighboring Greenwich and Fairfield remained as brisk as ever. The shop next door to Enchantments had had a Vacant: For Lease sign in its papered-over display window for months, and I’d even noticed a slight decline in the usually vigorous market for my wide-leg loungers.
All of those things could be explained by a local—very local—economic slump.
But the wolf Mark swore he’d seen along the jogging trail while he’d been out for his daily run the other day? There hadn’t been a wolf spotted in Connecticut since the seventeen hundreds, when colonists, fearing for their livestock, hunted them into extinction.
Yet the more we tried to convince Mark that he’d only imagined the one he’d seen—or that it had been someone’s husky escaped from its leash or backyard—the more he stuck to his story.
Now I was wondering if he might actually have been right.
And then there was the water.
“I mean, sure, there’ve been a few odd things here and there,” I replied, carefully. The pleasant glowy feeling his touch had wrapped me in had all but disappeared, and I was beginning to feel something else instead . . . a slight chill. It wasn’t coming from the open window behind me, either. “Some flooding in town. Every time there’s a king tide or it rains more than a fraction of an inch, the Post Road floods, especially in the cafeteria over by the high school. That never used to happen. And there’ve been some odd animal sightings. But that kind of thing is going on all over the world, isn’t it? Climate change, or something—?”
“No.” Derrick’s silver gaze was steady. “It’s because of the rift right here in West Harbor. And it’s going to keep getting worse every day until the Chosen One puts a stop to it.”
“And by the Chosen One, you mean me? All because it says so in some book someone found buried in a wall? Oh, come on.” I guffawed, but the air around me did seem to be getting chillier. “You know this is basically the beginning of every supernatural horror film ever made, right? You can’t actually believe it.”
“I do believe it,” he said quietly. “Because I’ve seen it happen before, dozens of times. I’m sure you’ve heard of it happening before, too. Towns just like this one that were wiped off the map like they never existed—”
“You mean by fire or flood? Those were natural disasters.”
“Were they?” His eyes glowed. “Or was it because of an old wrong, a crime committed long ago that was never righted, so that the forces of evil were allowed to fester beneath the town until finally they created a rift they were able to slip through and destroy the area completely?”
“Oh.” I blinked. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Except that I had. A crime committed long ago that was never righted? I had personal knowledge of such a crime . . . several such crimes, actually. I’d contributed to them. I’d always wondered when—or if—anything would ever come of them.
I guess I had my answer.
“But what if that evil could have been stopped?” he went on, those silver eyes gleaming excitedly. “That’s why I’m here. I’m hoping to keep such a rift from happening to West Harbor—but I can only do it with your help.”
“Okay,” I said. No way was I going to mention having personal knowledge of any crime that might possibly have contributed to the evil festering beneath my town. I was going to keep it cool. As cool as a witch in a neon jumpsuit could keep things. “In that case, yeah, I think maybe I should hear about this ancient prophecy of yours. Just to be on the safe side.”
Looking pleased, Derrick lifted his stack of papers and began to read aloud from the first page. “‘Every thirteenth generation, a child is born. Into this child, the light will be implanted—’”
Implanted?
“‘—by one trained to wield it. That child will become the bringer of light. Through her, compassion and empathy will be reborn. Through her, harmony in nature will once again be restored. Through her, evil will be extinguished—’”
“Sorry to interrupt.” My heart, which had already been drumming at the possibility of my having contributed in some way to the formulation of this supernatural fault line, was beginning to slam inside my chest. “But was this fact-checked by anyone? Because it seems a bit—”
“There’s more.” Derrick pointed to his paper.
“I’m sure. But—”
“Just let me get to the end. ‘Without her, hope dies. And without hope, humanity dies itself. And because there will always be those who prefer evil,’” Derrick continued reading, “‘she must be protected by the one who is chosen. When the Bringer of Light is joined by the Chosen One, her power will increase tenfold. Because it is only with light that evil can be destroyed, and it is only with light that life can flourish.’”
I realized my hand had crept toward the amethyst stone I always wore on a silver chain at my throat—or had worn, at least, since the trouble with Billy. Amethyst had protective properties, and the stone had always worked.
Up until now.
“There,” he said. “That’s it. This is your copy to keep.” He laid the folded pages on top of the pile of lacy bralettes between us. “You can ask your questions now if you still have any.”
“Um,” I said, the cheesiest of the supernatural horror movies I’d watched obsessively as a teen now replaying on a loop in my mind. “Listen. I’m sorry. But if the Council sent you here to implant the light into me so that you can protect it, I’m going to have to give that a hard pass.”
He stared. “Pardon?”
“Not that I don’t think you’re attractive, because I do.” Like, majorly attractive—except for the part where he worked for the WCW. “I like the witch hunter vibe you have going on there with the hair and the leather jacket and the boots and everything. And I love that thing you do with your fingers—you’re going to have to show me how you do that. But the whole reason I’m on continuous birth control is so no implantation-type situation can ever take place. And before you say anything about how I’m missing out on the joys of motherhood, I don’t consider myself childless as much as child-free. I love kids, but I tried the relationship thing, and it really didn’t work out, so I’m done with all of that. I’m happy to be a single, prosperous, child-free business witch with my own home and a cat. So while I’m sorry about this rift thing, I have to decline your invitation. Do you want your parking validated? Because I can do that.”
The corners of Derrick’s mouth twitched. I wouldn’t have said he was smiling, though. That seemed beyond his emotional range. “I’m not here to implant anything in you, Jessica.”
“Oh.” I had to admit that, despite having meant every word I’d just said, I felt a little disappointed. Derrick Winters may have been with the WCW, but he was hot. Living in a village as small as West Harbor, the dating prospects were appallingly slim, especially when you were looking for someone who was supportive of entrepreneurial businesswomen and uninterested in any kind of long-term relationship. If I’d had to have sex with him—in order to save my town—it would not have been the worst thing imaginable. “Then I don’t get it.”
“You are the Chosen One.” He tapped the parchment paper. “The One selected to implant—and protect—the light.”
I shook my head. “And how am I supposed to do that, exactly?”
He reached for the papers he’d laid on the pile of bras and unfolded them again. On the second page was what looked like a bio that included a full color photo—a school photo, from the looks of it, and not a very good one—of a shyly smiling brown-skinned girl, a teenager in glasses and braces.
“Esther Dodge,” he said, and tapped the photo. “Through forensic genealogy, we believe she’s the Bringer of Light.”
“She’s supposed to save West Harbor from the rift?” I gaped. “She’s just a kid!”
“She’s sixteen. But even so, if she’s the witch we seek, her powers—coupled with yours—are all that can save this town.”
I studied the photo skeptically. “Really? What type of witch is she?”
When he looked blank, I prompted, “Storm witch, cottage witch, hedge witch, sun witch?” There were almost as many kinds of witches as there were spells. Each of them drew their power from different types of energy, but they were all legitimate practitioners of the Craft—in my opinion. As a member of the WCW, he might disagree.
“Right,” he said quickly. “Right. Well, the truth is, I don’t know if she’s even aware of her powers. That’s where you, as the Chosen One, come in. Only you can determine if Esther truly is the Bringer of Light, by awakening that light within her yourself.”
Awakening sounded a lot better than implanting, but it was still pretty vague. “How do I do that?”
“In my experience,” he said, “if you’re truly the Chosen One, it will come naturally. According to my sources, her family isn’t magically inclined, so you’ll probably be the first witch she’s ever met.”
Great. No pressure. All of this sounded horrible. “But why me? Why am I the Chosen One? Why not you, since you obviously know so much about it?”
He scowled, though at the calendar on my wall, not at me. “I don’t have the necessary skills. You do.”
“Necessary skills? But I don’t know anything about—” Then I realized what he meant by necessary skills. “Is it because I’m a woman and she’s a sixteen-year-old high school girl, and you’re . . .” My gaze strayed from his eyes to his whiskers and leather jacket. “. . . you?”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, flatly refusing to acknowledge what I was saying. “Our research says the Chosen One is you.”
“Uh-huh.” Typical Council member, never taking accountability for anything. “Your research. Tell me this, then. Since when has the WCW been using forensic genealogy to test members of the public—minors, I might add—for proof of supernatural ancestry? Besides the fact that it’s stupid, is that even legal?”
Now his scowl was definitely directed at me. “Ms. Gold, you do realize that every moment we spend here, arguing over this, is another moment the forces of evil are able to gather strength, don’t you?”
“Oh, the forces of evil.” I widened my eyes at him mockingly, but truthfully, his words gave me another chill—enough so that I reached for a mini chocolate bar. Suddenly, I needed the comfort of a quick hit of sugar.
I hated the World Council of Witches, but I loved my town—obviously, since I’d moved back to it after college, and was sitting here listening to a WCW member explain to me how I could save it from ruin when every instinct in my body was telling me to run—run far away from him.
But a stronger impulse was compelling me to stay. Stay and right the wrong I was pretty sure I was at least partially responsible for committing.
“How exactly am I supposed to protect this girl—sorry, the Bringer of Light—who I don’t even know from the forces of evil?” I asked. “This is West Harbor. People here hardly bother keeping their doors locked at night. I don’t even own pepper spray.”
“Well, I suggest you start keeping your doors locked at night. This village is very quaint, but it’s only forty-five miles from New York City.” One corner of his mouth was turned up, which for him I guess counted as a smile. “And I’m fairly certain the powers of evil are resistant to pepper spray.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better about any of this?” The chocolate wasn’t helping. “What does the Council think it’s doing, anyway, putting all the responsibility of saving the universe on me and a teenaged girl?”
“Not the universe. West Harbor.”
“Right. Sorry.” I stared down at the photo. It wasn’t every day that a hot guy walked into my shop and told me that the fate of the universe—well, okay, my small town—rested on my shoulders. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to realize the girl’s maroon sweater vest and yellow striped tie looked familiar. “Hold on. Does she go to school here—West Harbor High?”
“I’m told that she does.”
“That’s where I went to school. Is that why I’m the Chosen One? Because I’ll have some kind of rapport with her?”
“It’s possible,” he said. Then he added, carefully, “That and the book.”
I raised my gaze to blink at him. “What book?”
“Don’t you have some sort of ancient book of spells . . . ?”
Comprehension dawned. “Goody Fletcher’s book? Oh my God, who told you about that? Was it Rosalie Hopkins?” It had to be. God, I couldn’t believe this. Rosalie had been itching to get her hands on that book since high school.
His gaze, which had always been sharp, became razor-edged. “So you and Rosalie Hopkins are friends?”
I opened my mouth to blurt out the truth—that Rosalie Hopkins and I were mortal enemies, and that if the rift was my fault, she was at least as responsible for it as I was.
But that didn’t seem the wisest thing to say in front of someone who’d been sent to help repair it.
“We went to school together,” I settled for saying instead.
Was it my imagination, or did he seem relieved? Some tension went out from beneath the padded shoulders of that motorcycle jacket, anyway. “That’s probably how the Council found out about the book, then. And also probably why I was asked to give you this.”
And then, to my utter horror, he tossed a silver amulet—an exact replica of the double moons he was wearing—onto the pile of lacy bralettes between us.
“What?” I stared down at the talisman in complete shock. “Are you kidding me? I’m not wearing that.”
He shrugged again. “Suit yourself. It’s for your own protection, but whether or not you wear it makes no difference to me.”
I glanced from the amulet to his face, flabbergasted. “But I thought those were only for people like you.”
“Me?”
“Members of the World Council of Witches.”
Like all members of the WCW, he was a supremely good-looking and confident—one might even say overconfident—person. But suddenly, he seemed uncertain, shaking his head and stammering. “I . . . I . . . I’m not a member of the WCW.”
“You’re not?”
“No. What would make you think that?”
I pointed wordlessly at the amulet around his neck.
He fingered it in surprise, seeming to have forgotten he was wearing it. “Oh, right. You do know that this is the symbol of Gaia?”
“Yes. But it’s also the symbol of the World Council of Witches.”
“But they don’t own the trademark on the symbol for the ancestral Mother Goddess of all life, do they?” The bitter sarcasm in his voice was oddly soothing. “No, they don’t, despite what they might think. So I suggest you put it on. It’s not pepper spray, but it’s better than nothing.”
Reluctantly, I lifted the amulet he’d tossed at me. The metal felt cold and hard against my fingers. Rosalie wore one exactly like it, usually tucked away on a silver chain beneath her inevitable cashmere sweater set, where she thought no one would notice it.
I did, though. I’d noticed it long ago . . . and also noticed that Rosalie’s mother and grandmother wore similar ones.
It took me years to realize exactly what the pendant represented—and that I was never going to get one like it.
Until today, apparently.
Derrick was pointing to the open window above my head. “Aren’t you worried about break-ins?”
“No. It can’t open any farther than that, it’s been stuck that way for years. But it’s fine, my cat uses it to get in and out. If you don’t work for the Council, how did you get all this stuff, like the forensic genealogical report on Esther, and copies of the prophecy about her, and everything?”
“Other entities exist in the world besides the World Council of Witches,” he said. The sarcasm was back. “Entities that care as much as you do about saving this town from evil.”
“Right, right.” That called for another chocolate bar. “And precisely how long do we have before that happens? Did your bosses at this mystery entity give you a deadline?”
“Yes, actually,” he said, with a brisk nod. “Halloween.”
I choked a little on some peanuts and caramel. “I’m sorry—did you just say Halloween?”
“Yes. You know that Halloween is when the veil between this world and the spirit world is at its thinnest. That’s when we’ll have the best chance of defeating this evil.” He must have noticed my expression, since he asked, “Sorry, is that inconvenient for you?”
“Yes, actually. Halloween is next week. How am I supposed to save West Harbor from being rifted, or whatever it is, in a week?”
“I don’t know.” He was edging toward the door. “But I’d think you could start by contacting Esther and—”
“Please don’t say the word implant again.”
That caused both corners of his mouth to turn up—a hard-won victory for me. “I was going to say, see if you think she truly is as gifted with magic as we’ve heard.”
“Right. And how will I let you know if I do?” I’d already scanned the papers he’d left me, and seen that they had no phone numbers or email addresses or anything listed on them that could be considered remotely useful information. This was one thing I’d always hated about the witching world. The magic was wonderful, but witches themselves could be so flaky—except of course for Rosalie Hopkins, who was a stickler for the rules, and loved nothing better than coming after those of us who didn’t follow them to the letter—except herself of course. She defied them flagrantly. “Or are you just going to dump all the responsibility for this girl and the continued existence of West Harbor into my lap and then leave town?”
“I would never do that,” he said, as if he were not standing by the door, looking ready to do exactly that. “I’ll be around, enjoying the quaint ambience of this picturesque little seaside village during its Tricentennial celebration. You’ll be able to find me when you need me. In the meantime—how do they put it on the Council? Oh, right.” And then he smiled—an actual smile, showing a set of white, even teeth. “Blessed be.”
Then he was gone, leaving me with only a pile of paper, a pendant, a task I didn’t have the slightest idea how to accomplish, and the sinking feeling that West Harbor’s “rift”—which apparently only I could heal—might somehow have been caused by me in the first place.