With an effort, she returned her scattered thoughts to the reason she was standing outside the shabby cottage.
“So you were there when I was murdered?”
“No.” Charlotte started to shake her head only to bite her lower lip as Wynn glared at her. The older woman had just admitted she’d watched Wynn die. “I mean I was hidden in the woods. I wasn’t old enoughto be an official member of the coven, but my mother and aunt were there. I followed them and watched from a distance. It was horrible.”
“No shit.”
Charlotte flinched. She looked old and miserable. As if she were decaying along with the isolated covenstead.
“Sorry. I don’t understand,” the woman said. “How did you survive?”
Wynn held up a hand. “First I want to know about the coven.”
“Know what?”
Wynn shrugged. “I have no memory of the witches. Or my time here. I want you to fill in the gaps.”
“Really?” Charlotte blinked. “No memory at all?”
“Only of my near death.”
The woman winced again, then with a jerky motion she abruptly turned away and shuffled toward the fireplace.
“I have a book that might help.”
Wynn cautiously stepped over the threshold, careful to leave the door open. “I’m not a traditional mage, Charlotte, but I’m not helpless,” she warned. “Be very careful what you plan to do next.”
The woman clicked her tongue, smoothing her palms down the threadbare fabric of her nightgown that looked to be at least three sizes too large. Had she recently lost weight or did it belong to someone else? Wynn couldn’t sense any other presence in the area, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be disguising themselves with a spell.
“My powers are for healing, and they have faded until I can barely brew a potion,” Charlotte admitted. “The magic of the coven died a very long time ago.” The woman bent over to study the books, at last choosing one from the middle of the stack. Grabbing it with gnarled fingers, she straightened and shuffled to the table. “This should answer some questions,” she said, glancing back at Wynn.
“What is it?” Wynn demanded, tapping into the strand of magic that would create a blinding darkness so she could escape if things went sideways.
Right now, Charlotte was her only connection to the past. She didn’t want to kill her unless she absolutely had to.
“The history of the Graia Coven.” Charlotte tugged on the heavy leather cover of the book, tipping it open to reveal the spidery handwriting on the yellowed parchment. “Most of it’s pretty boring. The earliest witches had a connection to the druids who first crafted the medallions that we all wear. It supposedly gave us a mystical power that other covens envied.”
Charlotte stepped aside to allow Wynn room to stand in front of the book. With a frown, Wynn studied the faded illustrations of robed men forging the medallions before handing them to a circle of identically robed women. She flipped over the page, realizing that the scribbled text was written in a language she didn’t understand. Ancient Celtic? A secret language only the coven understood?
“What’s in the rest of the book?” she demanded.
“There’s a brief explanation of how the witches were drawn to this location by a powerful magic that made the earth tremble,” Charlotte said, thankfully not going into any boring details as Wynn continued to flip through the pages. When Wynn said she wanted to know about the coven, she didn’t need a tedious history lesson. Wynn reached a page that was different. It looked like a long list. “What’s this?”
“The rest of the book is a catalogue of the names of the witches who were members of the coven over the centuries.”
Wynn skimmed her fingers over the names, more resigned than surprised that she didn’t recognize any of them. So far nothing about this place had jogged her memories.
“Why are some of them written in purple?” she demanded as she reached the last page.
“Those are the witches that came from aristocratic families.”
Wynn snorted. “Why would that matter?”
Charlotte hunched her narrow shoulders. “Many of them brought large dowries with them that helped to support the coven. One of the early founders even donated this land that extends from the river to beyond the woods along with the cottages.” The woman heaved a heavy sigh. “At one time there was a large meeting hall in the meadow, but it collapsed long ago. I’m the last witch left, you see. Or at least I thought I was until you showed up.”
Wynn shut the book. This wasn’t the information she wanted. “Why are you the last one?”
Charlotte looked confused. “Because of what happened to you, of course.”
