“Do you think we can reverse their spell?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Not on our own,” Holland admits. “If it is even possible at all…”
I lose myself in my thoughts. What is the point of reliving this nightmare if Holland is not strong enough—or smart enough—to find a way for me to break it? I feel hexed, and there is no telling how far this spell will go. Who is to say the witches are done casting their spells on me?
“I know you are scared, but I need to know what happened,” Holland says.
I exhale sharply and nod before I begin.
“Mamá lured me by lying about Liv’s disappearance,” I say. “She was never really missing.”
Holland hangs his head low, processing my words. He sits back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest, prepared to give me his full attention, so I continue.
“But everyone already knew that,” I say. “Everyone else saw her deception for what it was.”
“You cannot blame yourself for caring too much. You are a good person, Ava, with a good heart. That is not a bad thing.”
I shake my head. “No, but it gets me into some bad situations.”
Holland does not respond. He does not need to. He cannot refute the truth. If I did not care so much, I would not have tried over and over again to help my former allies. If only I could have abandoned them the way they ousted me, my life would be so different right now. I might not even have stayed in Darkhaven.
“After I met Will…” I say, my heart burning at the sound of his name. I glance at the clock. I am still several hours away from sunset, from Malik’s deadline. Silently, I pray he can hold out that long. I do not know what torture the witches are bestowing upon him, but I hope he knows I would never abandon him.
“I know you care for him,” Holland says, breaking my trance.
I blink and focus on Holland once again. “I do. In a short time, he proved himself as an ally. And we could really use some of those.”
Holland smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. Like the vampires, he is cautious of Will. He does not trust him yet, but in time, they all will. They will see he is a friend, and we certainly cannot have too many of those.
“The witches attacked us in the forest, but they did not seem intent on hurting me. Now, I understand they were only after Will. They were hunting, and they were probably watching me the whole time.”
I remember that night so vividly. Everything was orchestrated. Mamá knew I would patrol, and she knew I would stop at nothing until I discovered the truth. They were waiting for me. I walked right into their trap.
“Can you tell me about the actual spell?” Holland asks.
I search my memory, trying to find something, anything, that might be helpful, but I come up blank. My defeat must be written all over my face, because Holland frowns.
“Anything at all could be useful,” he adds.
“I—I do not remember much of the actual spell,” I admit.
“Do you remember anything they said? What did they chant?” Holland leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands in front of him.
“I do not know. I am not even sure it was truly Latin. I did not understand what they were saying. Honestly, I could barely hear them. The sun was rising, and I was panicking, and all I could do was stare at Will and watch as we were about to die.”
I sniffle, shaking, and rock back and forth in my seat. Gnawing on my lip, I try to slow my sputtering heart. I cannot keep reliving this moment. I must move on from it.
“What else do you remember?” Holland asks.
“I remember begging my mother to save me. I remember the look on her face. She did not care. She did not look scared about the possibility of watching her only child being burned alive.” I cannot help the hate that laces my words. I am so angry with her. Mamá’s actions were unforgivable. I hope she knows that.
“I am so sorry, Ava.”
Holland tries to touch me, but I jerk away.
“Do you remember what they had on the altar?” he asks, pretending he did not notice my physical lurch as he tried to touch me.
I freeze, mentally assessing every inch of the tree stump. Situated almost at the center of Mamá’s backyard, I know this altar well. I grew up decorating it, learning the proper placement of relics meant to represent the elements and the strongest parts of each spell we cast.
“I do,” I say.
Holland catches his breath and waits for me to continue.
“They had the typical items to represent the elements—candle for fire, sea salt for earth, feathers for air, a chalice for water, the third eye emblem for spirit—and a golden sphere to represent the sun.”
Holland nods. “We assumed they harnessed the energy of the sun to complete the spell, but this does confirm it.”
“Does that help to narrow down your findings?” I ask.
“I have not found much,” Holland admits. “I have never encountered a coven willing to commit such an act. Using the black arts is forbidden. There is a universal law in place, which you are well aware of. The fact that they even felt the need to dabble in such dark magic shocks me.”
“I guess they desperately wanted to find a way to get rid of me once and for all.”
Holland shakes his head. “I do not think they ever intended to hurt you. They risked their own lives to perform a spell they had no business casting.”
“But I could have died.”
“I am sure they were praying it would not come to that,” Holland says.
I sigh. “You do not have to defend them, Holland.”
He throws his hands up in defeat. “By no means am I condoning what they did. I am just saying, I kind of understand it. That does not make it right, but who would not risk everything for family?”
“Unfortunately, I think they were more focused on eliminating an abomination than actually saving my soul.”
“The irony here is they risked their own souls in the process,” Holland says.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I have never encountered someone who actively explores the black arts,” Holland says, “but I have heard of witches who have attempted to harness a great deal of power. This level of magic is not innate to us, so a witch would need to source it from something inherently powerful, like the sun.”
“What happened to these witches?” I ask. “The ones who tried these powerful spells?”
“These are complicated, dangerous spells, Ava.”
I nod. “So what happened to them?”
“They died,” he says plainly.
“They…died? What do you mean they died?”
“Witches are mortal beings, Ava. Our bodies cannot contain that much power. Granted, the witches I have heard about attempted these spells alone. Your spell was performed by an entire coven. I suspect they did that to limit the burden on one witch. Everyone took a piece of that power, and together, they used it in unison to…alter what you were.”
“This sounds insane!”
He smiles. “It really does, but magic is not exactly normal. The insanity is what gives us life, power.”
“What is going to happen to them?”
“I am not sure,” Holland says, but his eyes gloss over. I know this look well. He is searching his mind, replaying the many scenarios until he comes up with something that fits. Malik has the same look in his eyes when he covers battle plans during our training sessions.