“We heard,” one of them said. A woman Ramona vaguely remembered — she’d taught botanical magic until she’d been fired for teaching methods the Council deemed too radical. “Not a call. Just… we felt it. The cleansing. The ritual.”
“We wanted to help,” another added. A man who always wore a low hat in The Grimalkin. “All of us.”
They took positions around the circle.
Ten of them.
Then fifteen.
Then twenty.
And then, as Ramona knelt on the ground, her mouth hanging open in surprise, the High Priestess of Thornwood Coven walked into the clearing. Ramona’s breath caught in her throat. Choked there.
The woman she’d accidentally hexed. The woman whose judgment had expelled her from Thornwood. She walked stiffly, pausing at the edge of the circle.
But here.
“High Priestess,” Eleanor said. She bowed her head. Respectful. Surprised.
“Eleanor.” The High Priestess’s voice was warm. Gentle. She looked at Ramona. “You’ve done good work here. The cleansing was expertly performed. The ritual structure is sound. But you’re right — this curse is too old. Too complex. Too deeply integrated.” She paused. “It requires the full strength of a larger coven than your own.”
“I—” Ramona couldn’t find words. Her throat was too tight. “I don’t understand. Why are you helping me?”
“Because my coven needs a strong leader.” The High Priestess moved to the head of the circle. Slowly, carefully, and with absolute conviction. “The Council should have investigated your magic. Should have questioned. The Coven should have protected you.” She looked at Ramona with something that might have been regret. “We failed you. All of us. The whole magical community. We saw you struggling, and we blamed you instead of looking deeper. Let us help you now.”
The witches joined hands.
Twenty-three of them. Twenty-three voices. Twenty-three more sources of power.
Felix stood, cradling a still limp Gerald under his arm. Kashvi and Posey were hunched on either side of him — but standing. “Ramona, the unbinding spell is the only thing strong enough for this kind of curse. Trust me,” he said.
Ramona nodded.
They began to chant an unbinding spell. All of them. Her mother, her sister, the Thornwood Coven, the outcasts, her own coven.
The sound was overwhelming. It wasn’t loud, exactly, not in a volume way. It was overwhelming in its strength, its presence, like the air itself was vibrating, singing.
The power hit Ramona like a wave.
Twenty-three witches channeling energy into the curse-breaking. Amplifying Ramona’s words. Supporting Iris’s unweaving. Feeding magic into the ritual like kindling into fire.
The bark blazed white hot.
Ramona felt the curse beginning to crack. Only small fractures at first. Hairline. Barely there.
Then, gradually, the cracks became bigger, spreading. The magic that had held her down, had bound her for her entire life, was finally — finally! — starting to break apart.
But there was something else.
Something pulling at her. A second binding, intertwined with the first so closely she hadn’t seen it.
The tether.
Felix had been right. An unbinding was stronger than a dissolution. The binding to Zara was unraveling automatically.
Ramona looked across the circle, still frozen in place.
Zara was staring at her. Her face was pale. Her eyes were wide. She was terrified.
