Prologue
It takes three attempts to draw the circle. My hands are shaking so badly that the chalk snaps twice beneath my fingers.
I am running out of time. My sisters have surely realized I am missing, or will very soon. When they do, they will know exactly where to find me, and even our bond of blood will not be enough to save me from their wrath.
That bond is nothing now. I am the one who broke it first.
I burn my palms as I transfer the lit candles into the glass jars, but there is no other way to ensure the flames won’t be extinguished by the winds on the clifftop before the ritual is over. I can instinctively feel the pull of the elements as I place each candle at its proper direction. Even without the stars or the moon to guide me, I know they sit perfectly at the points of the compass.
My circle cast, I reach for the cloth bag I have slung over my shoulder, and extract the book. I had seen it so many times in the hands of the Vespers, or else tucked away on the shelf above their hearth, its bejeweled cover winking in the firelight. The rumors about that book have flown about the town like the gulls now circling my head. Many have coveted the magic it is believed to contain within its covers. Some believe the bookdoesn’t belong to the Vespers at all, but that they had stolen it before they embarked for the New World. All I know is that only Vesper hands have held it, only Vesper voices have whispered the incantations etched into its pages.
Only Vespers, until tonight.
I shudder when I think of what I have done to obtain it, but I shake away the doubts. They will cloud my concentration, and I can’t risk any distractions. I have one chance to perform this spell, and everything must go according to plan, or everything I have worked and schemed so hard for these many months will crumble to dust.
I cannot lose him. I will not lose him.
The Darkness is near. I can feel it gathering in the sand beneath my bruised and battered knees, in the waving grasses beneath my palms. Like an oncoming storm charging the air, the pressure is building. Anticipation licks up my innards like flames up desiccated wood, and my own power roils through my veins, ready to serve me.
To servehim.
My trembling fingers riffle through the pages until I find the one I seek. It is blank to the naked eye, but I know better now. I have discovered the secret of the book. Reaching into the pocket of my apron, I extract a small glass bottle full of something that gleams scarlet. I pull out the stopper and tip the bottle over the page, and watch with a ravenous expression as a single drop of the viscous red substance beads up at the opening, and then drops with a plop onto the page. The slow bloom of my elated smile echoes the slow bloom of words upon the page, shining in red ink that is not ink at all. I stopper the bottle once more, and stow it safely back in my pocket.
My eyes rake over the newly revealed incantation, as I ready myself. I look up at the sky. As soon as the full moon shows itself… as soon as the clouds shift…
There is the snap of a twig and I suck in a startled breath. I wheel on the spot, clutching the book to my chest, and peer into the tree line behind me. Shadows gather there, huddled under the canopy of lush summer foliage. Are they shifting, or are my eyes playing tricks on me, spinningenemies from air? I hold my breath, listening hard, but no further sounds break the stillness. I almost turn away, and then my gaze snags on a sudden movement.
Two bright green eyes appear low to the ground, staring unblinkingly at me.
All I can do, for a moment, is stare back. My head swims and I realize I’m not breathing. The air whooshes from my lungs only for me to suck in another, panicked gasp of air. I am being watched, but by what? A mere forest creature, or something worse?
As though in answer to my silent questions, the eyes blink and begin to move toward me. The tendrils of shadow unwind from the creature as it moves out of the embrace of the trees and onto the salt-swept clifftop. Pointed ears. Arched back. White bushy tail flicking back and forth behind it like a flag of surrender.
A cat. It is only a cat.
I almost laugh, but then the recognition sets in, and I choke the laughter back down. It isn’t a cat, not really. I know this creature. It is a familiar, and it belongs to the Vespers. I have seen it many times, winding its way around their legs as they work, patrolling the edges of their land like a sentry. I meet its eye as it moves closer. Its gaze is sharp and knowing, and its tail flicks in my direction like an admonitory finger.
I know what you’re doing, Sarah Claire. I know what you’re about.
I stand up, careful not to disturb my circle and hiss at the creature. “You can tell them, if you like. Go on, foul little beastie. Return to your mistresses and tell them what you’ve seen. It matters not. They are already too late to stop me.”
At that moment, there is a shift in the clouds, and a beam of moonlight breaks its way through the storm-tossed dark. The moment the moonlight falls upon the circle, the candles spark, their flames leaping higher, and the circle itself turns a bright, blinding gold. I look from the moon to the circle, and then, finally, back at the cat.
“You see? Too late,” I whisper.
Then I open the grimoire again, and begin to read the incantation as the cat vanishes once again into the embrace of the night-cloaked wood.
1
“And that’s the story of how a familiar saved Sedgwick Cove from certain destruction.”
I blinked at my aunt, Rhiannon Vesper, as she concluded her tale with a flourish of her kitchen towel. She dropped her hands to her hips, looking slightly put out.
“Usually this is the point where people applaud,” she said sourly.
I brought my hands together in a hurried flurry of clapping, and Rhi gave an exaggerated bow.
“That’s more like it,” she said. “After all, Wren, you’re theatrical. You ought to appreciate a good performance.”
