The vibe was unlike a monthly Town Hall meeting; you could not speak out without first being spoken to, the flatlanders who weren’t of our ancestors weren’t welcome—aside from Mina Mae—and the punishment against a member of a coven was far worse than those the flatlanders would receive. We were hardly favored in our own town, but I understood the reasoning why.
We had magic. We held an advantage. They didn’t.
Hence the reason Mina Mae sat in the corner of the room, always the mediator. Mina’s ancestors had been among the first flatlanders to arrive in the late 1800s after we’d already claimed the land. As we learned from history, our covens had been appalled as to how they’d found the town and were able to pass through the protective shield—we still couldn’t make sense of it to this day.
After their first arrival, a new family, couple, or solo flatlander would mysteriously arrive and take residence every passing decade. Some had learned of our ways, our beliefs, and chose a side. Some had kept to themselves yet strived in the small town of Weeping Hollow with their talents and occupations, making the town what it was today. We’d grown dependent on the flatlanders, the only ones who could move in and out of the town through the protective shield.
And Mina’s family was well respected within the community, becoming the voice of the flatlanders and making sure every decision the Order made was in all fairness and for their safety as well. The town’s very own fairy godmother.
I stood tall with my hands behind my back. Viola Cantini’s son, Cyrus, sat behind us. We looked alike as if we had been bred from the same family line, both tall with jet black hair and light eyes, but we were from two different worlds within the same town. I never had bad blood with Cyrus. He kept to himself, never giving Norse Woods or the Heathens problems. But I had no idea why he was here, what he had to do with Fallon, or why this group was gathered. In this small chamber, I was outnumbered by sea witches.
I kept my statue posture, feigning all weakness I had toward Fallon.
In the center of the table sat Augustine Pruitt with a stack of books before him. I immediately recognized the Book of Blackwell, the silver foil. We’d learned passages from each of the books in our schooling at the academy, only approved copied passages. However, resting before the Order were the original books, inaccessible to the rest of us, undoubtedly containing the history of our home, our families, spells and curses placed on the town, and the shadow-blooded Blackwells.
Mr. Pruitt pushed his glasses over his nose and sucked on his teeth, flipping through the battered pages. “First, we will discuss the careless magic at Voodoos. Kane, what is your claim?”
“It wasn’t magic harnessed from the elements,” Kane stated in his fucking boat shoes and polo, sure of himself. “It was the kind of magic we haven’t seen in town since …” he paused, turning his eyes away from his father and looking to the ground, “Javino Blackwell.”
If Agatha was offended, she didn’t show it. It would be no surprise if her heart were forged by the toughest of iron with a blend of gold by the blacksmith of her soul. She was kind and empathetic to those who deserved her compassion, but she concealed her own emotions and vulnerabilities like a cloak ever since she lost her husband and son.
“We get it, the Blackwells are shadow-blooded,” Mr. Goody spoke out in the Chamber, always defensive of my family. “Let this be a history lesson, shall we? Their element is spirit, containing all four other elements, and this includes the dark void. This isn’t brand new information, everyone knows this.” He turned to Augustine. “Julian has been a remarkable citizen, showing no signs of his shadow-blood.”
“Julian?” Mr. Pruitt abruptly said, his perfectly cut brows pinched together over his glasses. “Could you tell us what happened?”
“There were over sixty people in the bar that night, including both covens and flatlanders. It could have been anyone.” How much longer could I hide behind these half-truths? It had been my fault, though it couldn’t be proven. “In spite of what happened, no one was hurt, and there is no solid proof on either side.”
At the corner of my eye, Mina nodded, pleased.
“Cyrus, you were there. Could you please tell me the events of what happened?” Mr. Pruitt asked.
Kane turned to face Cyrus. I did not. I was somewhat familiar with the dynamic of Sacred Sea. There was a reason Fallon’s father appointed Cyrus’s mother, Viola, to take over his position before he left twenty-four years ago. The Cantini’s were known for their brutal honesty and trustworthiness and lived by the Law of Return: whatever energy a person puts out into the world, positive or negative, will be returned to that person three times. Norse Woods lived by that law as well, or at least, we used to. I had no doubt Cyrus would be honest about the events.
Kane’s teeth clenched at my side as Cyrus spoke loud and clear of what had happened the night at the bar, about Kane’s outburst and ill actions. Word after word, Cyrus betrayed his friend, as I knew he would. What he hadn’t mentioned were his thoughts on where the mysterious storm had come from.
“I see, this all stems from Fallon Morgan,” Mr. Pruitt uttered under his breath, bothered by the facts and sorely disappointed, if not embarrassed, of his son. “Let me be clear, for the shield to stay intact, the laws we set forth tonight must be followed,” he reminded all within the Chamber, which caused my chest to tighten. “The Order and all under the dome must remain balanced.”
Then Viola Cantini’s voice filled the room. “Tobias had entrusted Sacred Sea with Fallon’s safety if she ever returned for reasons I cannot disclose. From this point forward, she is under Sacred Sea protection.”
Zeph had told me this after hearing the whispers amongst the covens since the night she had arrived. Kane had spat the same words at Voodoos after I’d caught her when she fell from the bar. That she wasn’t a flatlander—not free—but with Sacred Sea. Even my conscience had warned me, but it seemed nothing else inside me wanted to hear it. As I stood solid, appearing to be unbroken by the news, I was fucking falling apart on the inside.
My head pounded. My jaw flexed. My eyes closed.
Memories from the night she’d found me in the woods alone and at a low point violently surfaced like the Atlantic waves against the sharp-edged cliffs. She hadn’t run from me. She had only stood by me until my fears took her. Fallon was able to calm me in ways I had never expected, straightening a broken chord in my heart, and plucked it, bringing it to life in a soothing song, like a nightingale of the Norse woods. A part of me knew this would happen when I first met her on the rocks. I tried to ignore it, but it was too late. We’d connected, a kind of connection that seemed as unworldly as this very town and the residence it beheld. And it was just as surreal to try and explain this to the Order, the reasons for my erratic behavior lately.
How do I rid myself of her, and fast?
“There was a reason Tobias took her away,” my mother spoke up, surprising everyone. She’d never spoken up against Mr. Pruitt, and my eyes snapped to her, eager to hear what she had to say, if she had a say. “Neither he nor Freya wanted her to be a part of this. I spoke with Fallon myself. Her only purpose is to see that Benny gets well. I doubt she will take an interest in being a part of a coven, let alone stay.”
“She cannot leave. The town won’t let her,” Mr. Goody argued.
He was correct. Without knowledge, Fallon had driven into town under the weight of the Blueberry Moon. It had taken a great measure of unity and magic to allow her and Tobias to leave twenty-four years ago, which remained a mystery to most as to who had been involved in their escape. I’d watched her from the woods the night she’d tried to leave again, waiting for the town to stop her, hoping she wouldn’t get hurt in the process.
Though neither the mystical town nor the Order would allow her escape again, the thought of Fallon leaving tensed every muscle. Having her leave could make it easier for me, but I didn’t know which was worse. At least if she were here, being able to see her would sing to my masochistic soul.
“Fallon Morgan belongs to Sacred Sea,” Mr. Pruitt ordered in finality as the book slammed closed. Dust clouds exploded from the pages the same time my heart did. “Kane, do you have any interest in the girl?”
I could not stop my muscles from flexing—a weak attempt at holding this anger in, this bubbling loudness in my spine.
