She was staring down at the grimoire, which sat in her shaking hands.
I understood. It was the night of Sarah Claire’s betrayal—the night of the Covenant. The Darkness had been thwarted and cast out, and yet the terror remained, sharp as a knife. In Mary’s hands, she held the grimoire. She looked at it like it was a beloved pet that had attacked her. Then she looked behind her and saw her two sisters asleep on a bed in the corner. They were curled up together like cats, their curls tangled like their fingers as they held hands in their slumber. Both looked the worse for wear from the night’s events—scratched and bruised and dirty, their skirts torn and their hands streaked with blood.
I watched a decision crystallize in Mary’s mind—she would protect them. She would protect all of them, every witch that called Sedgwick Cove her home now, and for generations to come. Dear as it was, she could not justify the grimoire’s continued presence under their roof. It was too dangerous—too tempting. It had yielded the magic that had almost destroyed everything. It could not stay, and she could not destroy it. It was too closely tied to her coven, imbued with their very essence. Todestroy it would be to destroy their own gifts, and she could not do that. She did not speak aloud, but I could understand her thoughts, nonetheless.
She must hide the book. But where?
There had been markings on the Source—she had seen them. She closed her eyes, and began to draw in the ashes of the hearth the symbols she could still conjure in her mind’s eye. When she finished, she looked down at what she had created, and shuddered. She knew at once they were correct. The sight of them sent strange energy skittering through her veins, just as they had done when she laid eyes on them in the cave. She placed her hand over the symbols, her palm facing down, and focused her inner eye.
Show me the place, she begged the goddess.Show me the place that holds the answers I seek.
And bursting clearly into my mind, just as it burst clearly into Mary’s, was the sight of a castle set in the countryside, a mighty yet beautiful fortress of stone, crowned with four towers. And carved over the great arched doors to the castle was the triskelion, a symbol Mary knew well, and which she had seen carved atop the archway in the cavern. Mary hurried to her feet. She must tell no one, not even her own sisters. She would hide the book, and she would take the secret to her grave.
Then I had to brace myself against a violent barrage of images, each bursting on my mind like a wave, and dragging me under to the next: using a love potion and a glamour to secure her passage aboard a ship; standing, drenched upon the deck of that same ship, arms raised to the sky, casting powerful magic to see them safely through a storm; riding upon horseback, sleeping in barns, gathering herbs and plants to dress a wound on her leg; and at last, standing upon the threshold of the castle itself, weak with exhaustion, and gratitude that the mercy and wisdom of the goddess had carried her so far.
Next, I saw Mary standing across from a woman with red hair that cascaded down her back almost to the ground. This woman wore a richly embroidered purple gown and, at her throat hung a silver pendant withthe very same triskelion symbol, winking with gemstones in the firelight. She was looking down at Mary with an expression of deep consideration.
“Come with me,” the woman said, and led Mary through hallways hung with tapestries and torches, through a great hall and then out into a courtyard, at the center of which stood a very familiar-looking archway.
“I can’t believe it,” Mary whispered. “It’s the same. It’s exactly the same.”
“They stand all over the world, and it is our job to protect them,” the woman said. “But I admit, the threat you speak of is… disturbing. This Darkness… what is its origin? Its nature?”
“As to that, I cannot truly say. It is not human, nor do I think it ever has been. It is powerful. And it feeds on the power of the Cove, and the power, it seems, has its source in the archway. I do not think the Darkness will ever rest until it can consume it completely.”
“We have no magic to combat such a being. It is unknown to our lore and our Castings,” the woman said, frowning. “And you are sure your magic can fend it off?”
“It has been Bound from the deep magic. It is powerful blood magic. I believe the Source will be safe,” Mary said. “Safe from the Darkness, that is. I fear what human greed can do.”
The woman smiled, a wise and knowing smile. “Yes, we must always protect against our own worst natures, mustn’t we? So it is not the Darkness you fear?”
“Certainly I fear it,” Mary said. “But it seems the Darkness needs a human servant to carry out his machinations. I do not want to hand that servant to him. Therefore, I ask that you take this book, hide it, and protect it. It contains the magic that any servant of the Darkness would require to assist him.”
“Does this magic not exist in the spellbooks of others of your kind?”
“No. This grimoire is… it is unique in its power and in the way the magic comes to its pages. I risk my own coven by speaking more plainly. But I beg that you take me at my word. We both want to protect the same thing, do we not, even though it be for different reasons?”
The woman’s expression softened. In that moment, I knew that she trusted what Mary had told her.
“You hand me the key to immense power in surrendering this book,” the woman said. “That speaks of great humbleness. Even I, unschooled in your ways, can sense the magic you possess. Why do you not seek this power for yourself?”
“The Vespers do not abuse our power,” Mary said sharply. “But I can no longer trust the other covens in our village. I wish to remove the temptation, for all our safety, and for the preservation of the deep magic. Please. I think it will only be safe with those who understand the nature of the Source, and who are already sworn to protect it.”
She held the book out to the woman, and the woman took it into her hands.
“We will guard it carefully,” the woman promised, “and return it only to a Vesper.”
“No living Vesper will seek it,” Mary said, “for I shall take this secret to my grave. Only a Vesper from beyond the grave will ever seek to retrieve it, and if that is the case, you can be sure she has been sent by me, and that the book is needed to protect the Source.”
“An alliance between witches and Durupinen,” the woman said, shaking her head incredulously. “I never would have believed it. But then again, what are we all, but women persecuted for our power? Perhaps an alliance was long overdue.”
“Perhaps,” Mary agreed.
I emerged from the memories as from deep water, gasping for air and shivering with bone-deep cold. Asteria still sat beside me, smiling gently.
“Mary was the one who hid the book,” I said. “She… she gave it to the Durupinen. But why didn’t they protect it, like they said?”
“They did try,” Asteria said. “But they encountered their own enemies and shifts of power through the centuries. The book was never lost completely, but its significance and origin was lost to time.”
