The witches stepped over to the sidewalk, crossed the grass, and crouched beside my head.
“Is this Ember?” the Dark Witch asked, jabbing a long finger at my head. “She claims to be human.”
“It’s her,” said his companion. Her voice was clear and feminine, and her speech was precise, even through her shield-like face covering. “Of course it’s her. Look at her gold eyes.”
“Then do it,” the Dark Witch said.
I opened my mouth to ask what — dowhat— but I didn’t get out a single word before he uttered a new command.
“Don’t speak. Not a word.”
Against my will, I obeyed him, going silent as he held me down.
The wet, autumn chill must have seeped through my clothes and bones, leaving my heart iced-over, because I felt nothing as the woman prodded my scalp. There were tiny pinpricks at the roots of my hair as she combed through my mind. But there was nothing internal. Nothing, aside from an overwhelming sense of helplessness, a heavy feeling even worse than when my anesthesia had failed mid-surgery.
“Happy Birthday, Ember,” the woman said as a fleet of ambulance sirens blared in the distance.
I scoured my memories for a last, warm thought. My mind latched onto Gray falling asleep, his biceps bulging with his arm thrown over my side. Maybe in the next life, the end wouldn’t be so cold. In the next life, I’d try, and it would make a difference.
Then everything went black, and I remembered none of it.
CHAPTER
ONE
EMBER
The absence will live inside you. It is not a pleasant feeling, this longing which occupies the blood. It is like burning for a touch that’s never enough, or screaming for help that never comes.
— Charley Starvos, Echelon to the
School of Creation Magic
The sun was a long hour away from rising when I jolted awake, my skin burning from the phantom flu. The symptoms were always the same — headache, nausea, fever — but I was never actually sick, and they always wore off within an hour or two.
I swiped a bead of sweat from my temple. I was so tired of washing my sheets. Almost as tired as I was of never getting a full night’s sleep. Not since Dad’s accident. The night the nightmare started.
I stared out my window, trying not to think about Gray’s car parked at a wild angle along the curb, or how it hadn’t been there when I’d finally fallen asleep last night.
I let my head fall back, dinging my skull on the wood frame of my headboard with a dullthunk. Some deep-down part ofme knew I shouldn’t be the one who always sent the last text message, that the silence on his end wasn’t a problem with his service, but because he didn’t care enough to respond.
I sighed at the thick curl of paint peeling off my windowsill. Predicting the weather based on the texture of the paint in my room was one of my skills. Today was going to be another long summer day, the forecast soggy, the air heavy and swimming with mosquitoes.
If my sister were here, she’d say I was spending too much time in my room. Ash was always good about that. Getting me out of the house, taking me somewhere.
I rubbed a hand over my upset stomach, slowly exhaling as my attention drifted to the giant oak tree rustling in our yard. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, except our street was fully lined with mature, leafy trees, and only the one inouryard was moving.
Years ago, on a school field trip, I saw Washington DC’s largest tree. It was a colossal chestnut oak with a historic plaque in front of it, but there was no doubt in my mind ours was bigger. Hollowed out, its trunk could easily fit our round kitchen table, plus Dad and I sitting at it, along with the other two empty chairs.
As a child, I was so enamored by the size of it, it was my favorite spot to play. Every fallen branch was an enchanted sword. I’d stay out there for hours, slashing my stick-swords through the air as I played a witch in my make-believe wars. I guess I hoped Helen would notice, remember I was one of them, and invite me to live with her in Everden.
Eight months ago, I’d turned eighteen, and the witches were supposed to come get me. I had a few guesses why they didn’t. I didn’t like thinking about it, though, so I flipped my pillow over, planning to catch a few more hours of sleep — when I saw the oak tree glimmer.
I scrambled to the end of my bed and squinted at the towering silhouette. I wasn’t completely sure, but it looked like there were two tall figures standing beneath its branches, gazing up at me.
I blinked, my vision fuzzy and my head pounding because of the phantom flu I’d woken up with. It was dawn, still mostly dark, and whatever IthoughtI saw was gone by the time I finished blinking. I flopped onto my back and stared up at the wobbling ceiling fan. Add that to the list of my phantom flu symptoms — now I was seeing things.
I couldn’t fall back asleep after that, so I stayed in bed and waited an hour for my nausea to pass. I stared at my messy room and frowned at the dusty pile of ancient texts I’d stolen from Ash. I looked away, my eyes trailing over teetering stacks of cups and plates, the scattered paperwork left out from the morning I’d torn my room apart searching for my birth certificate.
