hair crackling around my face, fiery tendrils writhing against my neck. “I chose you.”
“I won’t let you.”
“It’s already done.” My heart thudded, and his heart echoed it. “If the goddess wants me to fulfill some purpose of hers, I’ll do it—gladly. Because you’re mine, and I’m not done with you yet.”
My final words were almost identical to those the goddess had once said to me. They rang with power, quieting the wind and silencing Corra’s cries. The fire in my veins subsided, the burning sensation becoming a smoldering heat as the connection between Matthew and me tightened, the links that bound us shining and strong.
“You cannot make me regret what I asked the goddess for, or any price I’ve paid because of it,” I said. “Nor will I break my promise to her. Have you thought about what would happen if I did?”
Matthew remained silent, listening.
“Without you I would never have known Philippe or received his blood vow. I wouldn’t be carrying your children. I wouldn’t have seen my father or known I was a weaver. Don’t you understand?” My hands rose to cradle his face. “In saving your life, I saved mine, too.”
“What does she want you to do?” Matthew’s voice was rough with emotion.
“I don’t know. But there’s one thing I’m sure of: The goddess needs me alive to do it.”
Matthew’s hand came to rest on the space between my hips where our children slept.
I felt a soft flutter. Another. I looked at him in alarm.
His hand flexed over my skin, pressing slightly, and there was a stronger flicker of movement in my belly.
“Is something wrong?” I asked. “Not at all. The babies. They’ve quickened.” Matthew’s expression was awed as well as relieved.
We waited together for the next flurry of activity within me. When it came, Matthew and I both laughed, caught up in the unexpected joy. I tilted back my head. The stars seemed brighter, keeping the darkness of the new moon in balance with the light.
The crossroads was silent, and the sharp need I had felt to be out under the dark moon had passed.
It was not death that had brought me here, but life. Hand in hand, Matthew and I went back to the house.
When I turned on the kitchen light, something unexpected was waiting for me.
“It’s a bit soon for someone to leave me a birthday present,” I said, eyeing the strangely wrapped parcel. When Matthew moved forward to examine it more closely, I put out a hand and stopped him.
“Don’t touch it.”
He looked at me in confusion.
“It’s got enough magical wards on it to repel an army,” I explained.
The package was thin and rectangular. An odd assortment of wrapping paper had been patched together to cover it: pink paper with storks, paper covered with primary-colored inchworms forming the shape of the number four, garish Christmas-tree wrapping paper, and silver foil with embossed wedding bells. A bouquet of bright bows covered its surface.
“Where did it come from?” Matthew asked.
“The house, I think.” I poked it with my finger. “I recognize some of the wrapping paper from birthdays past.”
“Are you sure it’s for you?” He looked dubious.
I nodded. The package was definitely for me. Gingerly I picked it up. The bows, all of which had been used before and therefore lacked adhesive, slipped off and rained down on the kitchen island.
“Shall I get Sarah?” Matthew asked.
“No. I’ve got it covered.” My hands were tingling, and every rainbow stripe was in evidence as I removed the wrapping paper. Inside was a composition book—the kind with a black-and-white cover and pages sewn together with thick string. Someone had glued a magenta daisy over the white box for your name, and WIDE RULE had been edited to read WITCHES RULE.
“‘Rebecca Bishop’s Book of Shadows,’” I said, reading aloud from the words written in thick black ink on the daisy. “This is my mother’s missing spell book—the one she used for the higher magics.”
I cracked open the cover. After all our problems with Ashmole 782, I was braced for anything from mysterious illustrations to encoded script. Instead I found my mother’s round, childish handwriting.
“To summon a spirit recently dead and question it” was the first spell in the book.
“Mom certainly believed in starting with a bang,” I said, showing Matthew the words on the page.
The notes beneath the spell recorded the dates when she and Emily had tried to work the magic, as well as the results. Their first three attempts had failed. On the fourth try, they succeeded.
Both