The car rolledup to the tall, chained gates of the abandoned Happy Harry’s Fairground on the western limits of Coldharbour. It was a dark and dreary place with a lonely energy I wanted to leave immediately. Goosebumps prickled my skin, an icy tongue working my spine.
“Creepy,” I muttered, pulling on the door handle.
“Massively,” Riley agreed from beside me.
I stepped out into the cold February air, a bitter breeze hitting me in the face. Two lampposts either side of the gates lit up a murky puddle beside my feet. Hecate Crystals grew around the bottom of the fences in clusters of three and four. The shimmering shards were the source of all magic on Earth, growing everywhere across the globe. Without them, none of the four types of witches would survive.
Rolling my shoulders, breathing out wisps of condensation, I considered the fairground.
The moon cast a smattering of lunar light on it, faintly highlighting the shadowy husks of the rides beyond the tall perimeter fences. They sat there like sad relics from long-dead glory days of fun and frivolity. The tallest was a Ferris wheel, its silhouette the most prominent of all, and the creepiest. I wasn’t sure why, but it gave me intense heebie-jeebies.
Did we really have to go in there?
I shivered, licking my lips and longing for my bathtub and Taylor fantasies.
Riley joined me on the other side of the car, letting out a sigh. “Call me negative, but something tells me Preston’s not in there.”
I smiled, ruffling his hair. “Honey, you’re anything but negative.”
“Thanks,” he answered brightly, giggling at my move of affection.
His laugh was an antidote to the eerie energy of this place. And he was right, The Star wasn’t in there. Still, we couldn’t assume anything in these crazy days.
Always be ready for the unexpected, and never shy away from investigating dodgy activity. Explore every angle, never give up, and smite any fucker who tried it.
Oh, and don’t get killed.
As if to counter Riley’s warmth, the wind blew harder, rattling the gates, setting off a chorus of creaks in the darkness of the fairground beyond.
The writhing fear in my belly came with being a sacred witch of House Aurora. It was my destiny to fight the good fight, to rock up to places like this, whether I liked it or not. And while a small part of me wanted to run for the hills, I’d come too far and seen too much to turn my back on everything.
Riley and the world were counting on me. An apocalyptic threat was rising, and I needed to be on the frontline when the true big bad finally showed its face.
Right now, there were two contenders jostling for prime position.
Firstly, the strange fae woman trapped in Blue Orchard, her motives mysterious. Secondly, Marcus Kingwood, the head of House Kingwood, and son of Kane Kingwood—the creator of shadow magic and the endlessly irritating shades.
Marcus. The fuckhead who’d performed a spell to summon Preston at the expense of his daughter Rhianna’s unborn child in a fucked-up shadow magic ritual.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, Marcus had been in a relationship with my littlest brother. Apparently. Called him ‘my darling,’ which made my guts throb just thinking about it.
Gross.
But something wasn’t right with Preston. The way he’d looked so vacant, not saying a word. Empty. We were missing something, the puzzle pieces too scattered for us to shove them together yet.
We’ll figure it out,I told myself. Because we would. Because we would be three brothers together under one roof to kick the arse of the bad shit. Drag the monsters into the light and burn them to ashes.
Soon…
Preston definitely wasn’t here tonight. Why would he be? Marcus wouldn’t offer him up so easily. And shadow witches were notoriously hard to find, even for the High Coven. Anyway, the prick had given us an ultimatum.
If we wanted to meet our brother properly, a guy we desperately needed to fulfill our full potential as Aurora triplet witches, then we had to join House Kingwood—become shadow witches, betray Hecate’s blessing.
I’d rather mount a spear.
Time was running out. There was only a week left until Marcus’s deadline of eleven o’clock next Thursday. If we didn’t comply, the city would suffer. And we still didn’t have much of a plan to thwart him.
Darn it!
