Page 151 of Summer of Sacrifice

“It would be amusing.”

“Fine.”

Winnie snapped and the three of them were standing in the woods that butted up against the cottage.

Seleste flourished her hand and Aggie’s clawfoot tub landed in the fallen leaves, filled to the brim with steaming water, drizzled with milk and honey.

Sorscha flicked her wrist and Aggie appeared, jolting awake in the tub.

Aggie cursed no more than six times, water sloshing over the sides, dampening the leaves as her Sisters cackled.

Agatha splashed Sorscha, who was closest.

“Why are you both naked and wet?” Winnie demanded, mocking herself. Her facade cracked, and they all descended into fits of laughter.

“Hush, hush,” Seleste finally cautioned through her giggles.

Agatha climbed from the tub and summoned a mauve nightgown for her and a scarlet one for Sorscha—both lace, one silk, one sheer. The four Sisters wound their arms together and trudged to their crooked cottage.

The door creaked as they entered, and walking in felt like coming home. Everything was exactly how they’d left it. Sorscha’s lavender sat shrivelled on the window sill. A bundle of dried flowers sat in the corner when Aggie had left them.

Fanning out, they each moved like ghosts toward the thing they most remembered.

Seleste went to the kitchen. There, on the counter, was her mixing bowl and frosting knife.

Winnie followed her in. Together, they took in the empty plates and glasses on the table. When she spoke, her voice was soft. Distant. “I— Couldn’t bring myself to leave the food.”

The meal they’d not been able to eat, save for a bite or two. No—Greta, Prue, Helda, and Sybil had come to take them away, one by one. Winnie bartered for one more day, but it was the last time the four of them were ever at that table together.

Sorscha and Aggie came into the kitchen, arm-in-arm. Winnie conjured lemon-herb chicken and potatoes, while Seleste conjured ice-cold lemonade and frosted lemon tea cakes.

“Happy Day of Birth, Sister Autumn,” Winnie said, her eyes glistening.

They pushed every thought, every fear aside, and ate, the four of them. The way it should have always been. The Sisters Solstice.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

AGATHA

One step in front of the other.

Agatha took a steadying breath, all eyes on her. Horses stamped. Soldiers, mages, Druids, and witches shifted on their feet and in their saddles.

They were just outside a valley. A burnt tunnel of land that had housed her beautiful coven so long ago. The sun was already offering murky light, tinged like it was considering twilight at midday. Shadows were tilted, doubled—hazy.

The Reaping Moon barrelled for the sun’s shine, prepared to block it out.

The time for speeches was through. The time for emotions and encouragement was gone.

Agatha took one look at Grimm on her right, Nuit snorting and stomping, as ready as his rider. Then she looked to each of her Sisters, flanking her left. Faces set like stone, magic rippling off of them in waves.

Sister Autumn turned back to her people, Laurent, Asa, Eleanor, and Augustus on the front lines. The charge in the air was palpable. They were ready, every last one of them. Come what may.

Fate lay thick in the air.

Fuck Fate, Grimm slipped into her mind. We write our own. That, in the air, is our people ready to end this.

---