Page 5 of Cruel Moon
I catch sight of Lawrence across the pyre. His face is illuminated by the flames, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. For a moment, our eyes meet, and I see a depth of loss there that makes my chest ache. Whatever happened between him and Meredith, whatever drove them apart, it’s clear he never stopped loving her.
As the pyre burns, a palpable sense of anticipation builds. This is the moment when Meredith’s magick should return to the coven, to be distributed and reincarnated among the remaining witches. Alice told me that’s why the ceremony was so important. And why it had been so important to the coven that we find Meredith’s body at the bottom of the rubble of Oliver’s house. We dug for days before finding her. And now she is being laid to rest the way she deserves. The way she would’ve wanted.
But nothing happens.
Although maybe I can’t see it—I’m not a witch.
The silence stretches on, becoming uncomfortable, then alarming. Whispers break out among the gathered witches. I catch snatches of confusion, fear.
“Where is it?”
“What’s gone wrong?”
“Her magick…it’s not there.”
I turn and lock eyes with Liam a few paces to my right. His face mirrors the shock and unease I feel. This is bad. Very bad.
Lila steps forward, her face ashen. “Something or someone took Meredith’s magick,” she announces, her voice trembling. “It’s gone.”
The declaration falls like a bomb in the clearing.
Lawrence pushes forward, his grief momentarily overshadowed by anger. “How is this possible?” he demands roughly. “No one had access to her body. We got to her first. This couldn’t have happened. Which of you stole it from her?”
Stole it? Is that even possible?
Lila raises her hands, trying to maintain order. “You need to control yourself, Lawrence. We are her family. We’ve been with her the last twenty years. No one here would do what you’re accusing us of. We need time to investigate. We will find out what happened to Meredith’s magick.”
But her words do little to calm the rising tension between the witches of Banfield Court and Lawrence. I can feel it in the air, an electric charge that sets my teeth on edge. Around me, the other pack members shift on their feet uneasily, their instincts as sharp as mine.
As the arguments grow louder, my mind drifts back to that strange feeling I had in White Fork. The unexplainable pull.
Could it be connected to this?
Or am I just grasping at straws, desperate for any explanation that might make sense of this angry chaos?
But one thing’s for certain—nothing’s going to be the same in the Banfield coven now.
Chapter Three
Bridget Winslow
For a Moment I Forgot
The road from Ash Hollow to White Fork hugs the river like a lover, each curve revealing another breathtaking vista bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. I grip the steering wheel of my rental car tight. The tension in my body isn’t just from the unfamiliar mountain roads, it’s also from the weight of my mission and the lives hanging in the balance.
I’m torn between awe at the beauty surrounding me and frustration at how different this is from Salem. The familiar streets and centuries-old buildings of my home seem a world away from this wild, untamed landscape. A pang of homesickness hits me, unexpected and unwelcome. I push it down, burying it beneath layers of duty and determination.
As I round yet another bend, White Rock Lake comes into view, its surface a mirror of liquid fire, reflecting the vibrant oranges and pinks of the sunset. The towering pines and craggy peaks that surround it are silhouetted against the darkening sky, like sentinels guarding ancient secrets. For a moment, I allow myself to feel a spark of wonder at the sight.
What would it feel like to wake up every day and see this majestic beauty? To live free from the constant weight of theMathairs’expectations? I understand the temptation, but unlike my sister, I’m aware of my place in this world.
Then I ruthlessly quash the feeling, shame and anger warring within me. How dare I entertain such thoughts? Lives depend on me. Mine. My sister’s. I can’t afford to be seduced by pretty scenery and impossible dreams.
The road continues to wind along the lake’s edge, and I can see White Fork nestled in the valley ahead. In the fading light, the town looks almost magical, its windows beginning to twinkle like fireflies against the deepening twilight. It’s picturesque in a way that almost seems unreal, like a painting come to life. But I know better than to trust in pretty facades. Salem taught me that beauty often hides the darkest secrets.
As I enter the town, I notice a subtle but distinct change in the atmosphere. The streets aren’t crowded, but there’s an energy in the air, a sense of anticipation mixed with something else. Tension, perhaps?
A few cars with out-of-state plates are parked along the main street, and I spot small groups of people carrying bags into local inns and bed-and-breakfasts. Their excitement is palpable, faces flushed with the thrill of escapism. It would be so easy to lose myself in their enthusiasm, to pretend for a moment that I’m just another tourist here for a fun weekend.
