PROLOGUE
The scent of the wet earth was ripe and potent, the air heavy with magic conjured in the dead of night beneath the blood moon. Hester breathed heavily and shifted a fraction, the side of her face pressed against the dead leaves and soil. The thick dark coils of her hair were a tangled mess of sweat.
She had to move, her mind was screaming at her to get up, but her body was so heavy. Instinct had her curving her bloodied fingers, digging them into the dirt as she grounded herself.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as her breath released on a shaky exhale, nothing more than a thin, insubstantial mist in the freezing air. Digging in harder, she tried to push herself up, but there was no strength left in her arms. Her body and her magic pushed beyond the point of exhaustion.
Another wave of fatigue washed over her causing her eyes to drift closed again as she fought the sly invitation to sink down into warm, velvety darkness. A violent shudder wracked her body. Lying on the cold, hard ground had chilled her to the bone. Something cold and as soft as a fairy wing brushed her cheek. With effort she cast her unfocused gaze upwards, only to witness delicate snowflakes dancing on the air. Blinking as her sight began to waver once more, she forced herself to stay awake, dimly taking in the devastation.
A circle of dead earth surrounded her. Even now, she could feel the poison saturating the ground, and at the center of the circle, her tree. His once fine branches, no longer thick and lush with life, were now stripped to nothing more than twisted, spiky fingers of dead wood. His once solid trunk, no longer a rich, deep brown, was now hollowed out and charred black, blanketed with diseased white lichen. Encircling the tree, scorched deep into the earth, was a pentagram, and far beneath, she could hear the faint echoes of pure, unadulterated rage.
It was done.
She released a long breath, and her eyes drifted closed once more as she pressed her throbbing head to the hard ground, already sinking down into the inviting darkness.
“Hester.” Desperate hands shook her roughly. “Hester, wake up!”
Hester blinked slowly to find a dusting of snow already covering the ground. Feeling someone shaking her awake, she rolled her eyes, vaguely aware of her sister leaning over her, her cheek smeared with dirt while dark, sticky blood oozed from a deep cut at her temple.
“Bridget,” Hester whispered, her voice sounding rough and scratchy but impossibly loud in the stillness of the night.
“Come on, Hester, we can’t stay here.” Bridget’s voice was laced with fear and desperation as she struggled to pull her sister to her feet. “Hess, come on.” She stumbled as she tried to take Hester’s weight. “The snow will hide the circle, but we can’t risk being discovered here.”
Hester knew she was right. Using what little strength she had left she stood and swayed alarmingly. Bridget pulled Hester’s arm over her shoulders, and took much of her sister’s weight as she could, steadying her as they crossed the clearing.
The snow was falling harder now, as if it were trying to conceal the scarred ground beneath them. Hester averted her eyes. Her circle—her sacred space—which had once been teeming with life, was now nothing more than a raw, open wound, and the sight of it caused her deep pain.
“Stop,” Hester gasped, her breath labored.
Bridget paused once they reached the tree line at the edge of the circle and watched her sister press her injured palm against the thick tree trunk. The symbol burned into the bark and sealed with Hester’s blood now glowed and pulsed in the darkness.
“Will it hold?” Bridget asked as she glanced around nervously.
Hester let out an exhausted breath. “The magic will hold.”
Bridget nodded and held onto her sister. She stumbled through the woods, her heavy cloak snagging on spindly branches, which speared out of the darkness. The cold moonlight filtered through the twisted canopy of the sparse trees and reflected a red cast upon the lake, making it appear as if the water itself wept blood.
“Not much further, Hess,” Bridget wheezed, trying to bear her sister’s weight despite her own injuries and exhaustion. “Just hold on.”
The tree line opened up, and Bridget almost wept with relief at the sight of their small cabin, smoke still rising from its crooked stone chimney. They hurried across as the snowstorm blew in, the wind and flakes swirled wildly around their legs. The snow on the ground deepened rapidly and saturated their boots and petticoats.
Heading toward the ramshackle lean-to, Bridget reached for the door, her magic releasing the lock with a tiny metallic click. Once open, she pulled Hester inside and closed the door behind them.
Bridget dragged her sister across the dimly lit room as the candles burst into flame at their presence with not so much as a hand lifted nor an incantation muttered. The fire flared to life and began to heat the heavy pot of herbs they’d left to steep. Her energy was sapped and her magic drained, all she wanted to do was sleep, but there was still much to do before she could rest.
Bridget untied Hester’s cloak and helped her into the rough-hewn chair next to the table. Working quickly, she hung both of their cloaks on the hook at the back of the door. She removed Hester’s sodden boots and set them to dry in front of the fire, along with her soaked woolen stockings, and began to unbutton her sister’s dark brown gown.
Although Hester was a full-grown woman, Bridget stripped her down as a mother would a child. She removed Hester’s petticoats and unlaced her stays, leaving her clad only in her chemise. She fetched a pail of water and with a gentle touch, cleansed the painful looking lacerations slashed across her sister’s palms. She soothed the ragged flesh with salve, which filled the warm air of the cabin with the heady scent of poppies and comfrey. After binding the wounds with clean dressings, she lifted her tired bones from where she knelt at Hester’s feet. Her whole body ached and throbbed as if every inch was bruised.
Bridget lifted her sister’s head, cradling her pale cheeks carefully as she peeled back Hester’s eyelids one by one. Hester’s eyes had rolled back in her head, and she was completely unresponsive. Bridget wasn’t at all surprised. Hester had borne the brunt of the spell, and it had cost her dearly.
Bridget’s brow folded as she watched her sleeping sibling, her troubled thoughts drifting back to earlier in the evening. Back at the circle, even adding her own power at the last moment to boost the spell’s potency Bridget never experienced anything like it. The magic Hester had conjured had been more powerful than anything she’d ever known or heard of.
She watched as Hester’s head lolled forward like a rag doll, and she sighed. This was going to make the next part much harder. Pushing herself to her feet, she crossed to the fireplace and ladled some of the restorative herbal tea into a tin cup, taking an experimental sip to ensure it was not so hot it would burn Hester’s mouth. Once again kneeling in front of her sister, she cupped Hester’s chin and slowly began to tip the tea into her mouth. Hester began to cough as it washed over her tongue and hit the back of her throat. Her eyelids fluttered as she lifted her hands as if to push the cup away.
“There now, Hess,” Bridget soothed, keeping a firm grip on Hester’s chin. “Drink it all up, love, and then you can rest.”
Hester coughed again, gagging slightly, but Bridget was relentless. She poured the tea steadily into her sister’s mouth, small rivulets that escaped the sides of Hester’s lax lips and dripped to her chest, dampening the front of her chemise.
