out at them from the covers of magazines and the grainy front pages of newspapers.
She’d hoped that as more time passed, her story would be forgotten—or at least be moved to the back of the line, behind more breaking news. But rather than the story dying down, it was ratcheting up as the whole country took an interest in the witch who had escaped Terminal Island.
So the two of them kept moving, driving when Torin’s incredible stores of energies had been sapped. Cars were easy enough to come by. Magic allowed them to take what they needed, leaving behind no memory of their having been there. Being a car thief wasn’t high on Shea’s list of occupations, but then she preferred being a thief to being dead. Over the following days and nights, Shea saw more of the country than she ever had before and knew that if she hadn’t currently been listed as Public Enemy Number One, she might have even enjoyed the trip.
As it was, all she felt was trapped. The motel was small and clean, but had been decorated sometime in the seventies. There were pink and orange shag throw rugs on the floor and wildly flowered bedspreads. The walls were painted a dark pink and boasted a wallpaper border of orange and pink daisies at the ceiling.
Under other circumstances she might even have been amused at the place—it was like stepping back in time. But for Shea, this room was yet one more box in a series of boxes where she’d been holed away, denied any freedom of movement. Wherever they were, that closed-in feeling rose up like solid white gold walls around her and Shea wondered if she’d ever really be free again.
Every night on television, the news channels displayed their Witch Alert Boards. Tiny colored pushpins dotted maps of the country and showed exactly where witches were being caught and imprisoned. There were talk show hosts who made jokes about flying witches and suggested to their audience that they study the night sky and lock up their broomsticks. There were children playing MP and witch on the streets.
And worse—for them anyway—there was a reward of fifty thousand dollars being offered for Shea’s return.
That she didn’t understand at all. She was a witch, just like so many others being herded into camps and prisons all over the world. Why was she being singled out?
“Stay inside,” Torin said as he walked to the motel room door. “I’ll get food and be back in a half hour. Stay away from the windows and don’t open the door to anyone.”
Irritated, Shea snapped, “I get it, okay? We’ve been doing this for days, Torin. I know the rules.”
His jaw clenched, but he only nodded as he left.
The moment he was gone, she regretted tearing into him. After all, he was all she had. The Eternal had been by her side through all of this, had kept her safe, and she felt the connection between them growing every day. She didn’t need to see the spreading tattoo on her skin, already circling around to her back and toward her spine, to know that the bonding between them was almost complete.
She felt it with every breath she drew.
Every time he touched her, she knew that she belonged with him and no other. Every time she thought about her past or her future, he was there. A part of it all. He was the only person in the world she could count on. And even he was still somewhat of a mystery.
He hadn’t told her any more about the last great coven and what had happened after the portal into Hell had opened. He’d insisted that she remember the rest of it herself.
“You know enough now,” he had said, holding her close, their bodies still locked together. “I’ve given you some of the knowledge, but the Awakening must come from within you. You must be able to draw on your memories as well as your power if we are to complete this task before the month is up.”
“But the month is nearly half over,” she whispered now to the empty room. “And I don’t have the answers I need yet.”
Oh, she was learning, remembering. Her dreams were filled with ancient images. Of Shea and Torin through the years. She saw him, unchanging, unflagging, always there, always near her. She saw herself, crafting spells, calling on magics—and those dreams had quickened her latent powers and given her a road map of sorts to