Holland has never been one to brawl. Even though Amicia always considered him an invaluable asset and strong ally, his time is better spent in the books and cooking up spells. He despises confrontation—I know that now. And the more I think about how often I have brought this feud directly to him, the more my insides twist into a painful lump. I hate myself for getting him involved, even if his arrival meant the reconciliation of his romance with Jeremiah.
Jeremiah and Hikari are not with us either. With Holland offering to stay behind to protect the manor and remaining vampires in case our assumption is correct—that this fire proves to be a trap—Jeremiah made it clear he was staying behind too.
We all agreed we might be walking into a bad situation, but only Jeremiah feared the trap might not be for those who go but for those who stay behind. And with that dreadful thought consuming his imagination, he refused to leave Holland behind. I admire his loyalty to his partner, and I can’t blame him for ditching us in favor of love.
Hikari said she was staying behind to help ease Jeremiah’s guilt for choosing Holland over his duties, and no one argued, even though we are all secretly aware that the loss of Amicia has taken a great toll on her. The truth is, ever since we lost our leader, Hikari has been…different. She mopes silently through the house, keeping her head down and her nose out of our troubles.
I could tell Malik was contemplating ordering her to join us, but he never did. We didn’t argue with her logic, because in the end, we are a group of six. Splitting us down the middle, divvying our strength so everyone has a fair chance, seemed like the right thing to do. But was it the smart thing? I guess we will find out.
Thinking about our situation gives me a headache. It took mere seconds to make our decision to aid Darkhaven, but in doing so, we were forced to abandon both the manor and remaining vampires who call it home. Before, rushing to help another came easy to us, but now, without Amicia, we have to choose—the manor and the vampires who rely on our protection, or Darkhaven. Should the decision come so easily?
The closer I am to the billowing smoke, the more I start to wonder if running toward a blazing inferno with only two allies beside me is a good idea. After all, Darkhaven still has witches to protect it. My nest only has five hunters and a witch who despises conflict.
As we approach the edge of the forest, I clear my mind, readying myself for what may wait beyond the tree line. There is no point in hashing out past mistakes when I can’t change them—and honestly, I don’t even know how I would change them. Both our vampires and the humans need protection. But what’s done is done. I need to remain focused and diligent if I am to overcome the mess we’re in.
With smoke swirling upward into the dark sky, I realize even the moon is hiding, as if it too fears what is to come. The uneasiness settles over me, like a warm blanket on a hot day. It makes my skin crawl, and I fight the urge to scratch at my flesh.
Something flashes in the darkness, and I almost welcome the distraction. I peer toward the treetops to get a better look, all while effortlessly maneuvering through brush.
At first, I discover nothing but darkness, each shadow forming its own shape. As I rush steadfast into the unknown, the shadows morph into something else completely. And then I see it—at least, I think I do. Something dark and menacing, watching and waiting. I think it smiles at me, but I know that’s impossible, for crows cannot smile. The glint in its beady eye drains the blood from my body, and I nearly pass out.
I come to an abrupt stop and rest my palm against a nearby tree. The bark is rough, and it scratches my palm. I welcome the sensation, letting it ground me as I continue to stare at the bird. While I catch my breath, I clutch my chest, but my fingers are drawn to the crystal. I squeeze it tightly, finding the stark edges of stone comforting.
“Ava, what is it?” Jasik asks. He speaks slowly, carefully, and I’m sure the sight of me holding the amulet is revolting, considering what this weapon contains. But I don’t release it. It almost feels like I can’t. Like the pendant itself refuses to relinquish me, not the other way around.
Jasik’s gaze follows mine, trailing upward. He squints, allowing his vision to adjust to the darkness looming overhead. I know the exact moment he sees it. He sucks in a sharp breath and holds it, and that’s when I know the crow isn’t my imagination playing tricks on me. It is really there. Watching. Waiting. It caws, a forceful burst that makes me flinch, and I know it’s warning me of impending doom.
“Is that—”
“The crow,” I whisper, cutting him off.
“Let’s go. We need to keep moving,” Malik says. He never looks up.
A natural-born leader, Malik is always the voice of reason during even my darkest moments, and even though I want to obey, I can’t. My legs do not move. My limbs are numb and heavy, and my vision swirls. My mind races with the realization of what is happening. Holland and I were right to fear the crow, for it brings nothing but devastation.
“I know what it is warning us about,” I say, my voice so low I wonder if I have even spoken at all.
“What? What is it? What’s coming?” Jasik asks. His brow furrows, forming a deep crease.
“The fire,” I whisper. “The witches.”
We emerge through the tree line and step onto the property of my childhood home. It looms overhead, boxy in shape, with startling gray wood planks weather-worn by the tumultuous winter months.
The woods spill into the backyard, and I think about all the times I played here as a child. I never had that fancy playground equipment my other friends had in their backyards, but I never needed that. Even as a child, spirit was strong. I would invoke the elements, garnering just a taste before my strength dwindled.
I close my eyes and see it: me, as a child, wrapping sticks in twine to create villagers. I would craft their homes out of stones I found littering the streets. I buried bricks, leaving only the tops bare, to form roads. My little village resembled Darkhaven, a place I loved calling home. Now, the sight of it makes me sick.
I walk closer, the shock of what I see silencing my cries. The stump in the center of the yard that is used as their altar during rituals was from a tree that fell after a particularly gruesome storm. My father repurposed it, and it remained there ever since. I remember watching him prepare nature’s offering. Abuela was by his side, using her air magic to slice through the trunk with such ferocity and precision, I ran back inside the house and refused to come out.
That was my first real taste of the power behind magic and the first time I feared my elders. Afterward, I made a point of obeying any order, of becoming the best witch I could possibly be—even if my coven’s constant doubt in my abilities made it difficult to remain obedient.
I am reminded of all these things because as I walk through the backyard, wavering closer to the house I lived in all my life, I am mute. I can’t speak my truth aloud, but I relive these memories in my mind. They loop round and round, smothering what little optimism I have.
The fumes are so strong I can hardly breathe. The house my father built with his own two hands is on fire, the thick smoke swirling into the air, black and ominous.
In the distance, I hear the crow’s caw. It morphs from an eerie, singsong melody to a harsh, abrupt caw, as if its life has been smothered too.