Prologue
Mel
Itwasatrickything, being in so many places and times at once. One minute, Mel was picking up a shell on the beach—it was pink with deep, rough ridges and they wanted to take it home for their collection—and the next, they were in the past, watching three people they had never seen before climb a jagged, snow-covered mountain. At least, Mel thought it was the past, but truly, they had no idea.
Mel scrambled to take in the scene as it flashed behind their eyes. The people were men—at least, Mel assumed they were, based on what features they could see under their fur-lined hoods—but they didn’t look like any men Mel recognized. All three of them had strangely pale skin and eyes that were as dark as night.
Mel watched as the men struggled in the deep snow, their faces strained and pinched with concern. Why was Mel seeing this?
That was the problem with visions. They came and went with no explanation of their significance. Mel worked hard to interpret their importance to Gaia, but they swore, sometimes, the visions seemed to hold absolutely no significance at all.
Like the time Mel was sitting at the kitchen table, eating some freshly baked bread, and suddenly they were inside a pitch-black, snow-covered forest watching a woman they vaguely recognized from their childhood debating what to cook for dinner with several of the strange-looking pale people. One of the pale people, a woman, was skinning a felled deer on the ground as she spoke, and Mel remembered vividly how entranced the woman had seemed as she watched the blood spilling into the surrounding snow. Other than that, it was a seemingly innocuous vision, and Mel wasn’t entirely sure why Gaia would need them to Know this.
But Mel was used to it at this point. They’d been a seer for the last eight years, since their Summoning at age twenty-seven. At first, they had been grateful when they received their Gift ofomen. Seers were extremely rare among the three Covens, and there hadn’t been one in Occidens in over a century. Thus, their position was a highly coveted and influential one, and for that they were grateful.
But they quickly learned it wasn’t quite the blessing they’d thought. Due to the nature of their Gift, they didn’t always have the capacity to take part in daily life, so they often found themselves outside of it. Always watching, always waiting for the next vision. Trying to figure out what came next, or what had already come—Mel often got those two confused.
They mostly spent their days by themself, trying to make it through the necessary activities of living—eating breakfast, bathing, dressing, cleaning up. But it often took them twice as long as anyone else to do those things. They were grateful Syrelle, their matriarch, and the rest of the Coven provided forthem as best they could, because when Mel received four to five visions a day, the images always yanking their mind to and fro, it often became hard to keep track of their day-to-day needs.
The Coven had been on edge lately, though, ever since the escape of the daemon and the Auster witch, and Mel had become a bit neglected. Their laundry was piling up and there were dishes in the sink that needed washing. But Mel didn’t blame Syrelle or the others. It was an extremely irregular time.
It was only a couple nights after the witch and daemon had fled, when Mel was sitting in their favorite green upholstered chair, knitting a new shawl and drinking some chamomile tea, that they heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” they called. It was just a formality, of course. There was only ever one person who came to visit them this time of night.
Syrelle walked in the door, her hawkish hazel eyes landing on Mel instantly as a motherly smile crossed her face. Her dark-blonde hair was piled high on her head, as usual, though her eyes looked more tired than they normally did. Though Mel supposed that was to be expected.
“Mel, how are you?” Syrelle greeted warmly.
“Oh, you know, here and there,” Mel replied, mustering a smile in return.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been over the last few days. I assume you’ve heard about the Auster witch and the daemon who escaped?”
“Yes, Cara came to do my washing yesterday and updated me,” they replied. Syrelle’s daughter often came to assist them when Syrelle herself didn’t have the time. She was a sweet child. She always stayed to chat with Mel afterwards, and she was a pretty good conversationalist, for a teenager.
“Well, I hate to get right to the point, but I need to know if you’ve seen anything regarding the Auster witches, or anymore about the amulet. We’re holding the Auster matriarch and the escaped witch’s sister here until we’re confident they had nothing to do with it, but I’m not sure what else to do,” she said, wringing her hands together in that anxious way she often did when she felt the pressure of her position too keenly.
“What does your Knowing tell you?” Mel asked her.
Syrelle arched her eyebrow at them. She was about ten years Mel’s senior, but the two of them had developed a friendship over the years—ever since Mel received their Gift and Syrelle ascended as the Coven matriarch. Syrelle relied on Mel’s counsel, and Mel, in turn, relied on Syrelle’s kindness.
“My Knowing tells me they’re concerned about her—the witch who escaped—and that they don’t trust the daemon who took her, but beyond that, I’m not sure. They’ve sworn they had no knowledge of the daemons’ plans for the amulet, but it’s hard to Know if they’re lying. Fear for the witch is overwhelming any of their other signs,” Syrelle added, not unkindly.
Syrelle was a cautious woman, and Mel knew she likely did not want to escalate the enmity between the Covens unless necessary. It was bad enough that the sister of the future Auster matriarch had been captured and held prisoner. Even though that move had been more than warranted, the smart thing to do would be to choose peace, because if they didn’t, they both knew it would be far too easy for the other two Covens to pull their weight once more and force Occidens’ hand, pushing them from their territory…or worse.
But luckily, Mel had seen the future, and they could help Syrelle in this.
“I have seen her, the witch who escaped. She will reunite with the amulet,” Mel stated simply. They’d seen the two escapees together, actually, though it was rare for Mel to see a daemon in their visions. They supposed this was an extension of the fact that witch magic did not work on daemons, and vice versa, thusthey likely only saw the daemon because of his association with a witch. Either way, Mel had seen the witch holding the amulet, surrounded by the daemon as he’d been described, as well as two others who must have been his companions. Mel remembered the way the purple amethyst had glinted in the firelight that was lighting whatever dark cave the four of them were in, and more than that, Mel Knew the witch’s intentions. She wanted to break its spell.
“But I haven’t seen any other Auster witches involved. Just her, the witch who was here, and the daemons,” Mel finished.
“I see.” Syrelle nodded, taking in this information. “And what of the amulet? Will it be returned to us?” she asked, her eyes filled with bleak hope.
Mel was silent. They hated having to be the one to deliver bad news, especially to those they loved. But Syrelle knew better than most that to resist the future was futile, so Mel simply shook their head.
Syrelle sighed. “I suppose I have little choice but to let the Auster witches go then, on the condition that they help apprehend the daemon and the witch if given the opportunity.”
No argument, no demand for more details. Syrelle always took Mel’s word on these types of things, and it was something Mel appreciated. Because Mel didn’t exactly know how to explainwhythey thought the amulet wouldn’t be returned to Occidens. They just Knew that the amulet was powerful. Too powerful. That’s why Occidens had kept it hidden all these years after all—to keep it from the others. To keep it from being used again. Mel had seen all that, of course, the amulet’s history, and part of its future. Enough to suggest that now that it had been discovered again, there was no going back. At least not until it was too late.
