His thoughts were interrupted by a knocking on his door. He opened it to find dawn had broken. Rubicus stood there, one hand to his jaw.
“Where have you been hiding yourself, Verty?” the he-witch blustered, pushing his way in. “My tooth has been aching for days, but you’ve ignored my messages.”
“You know how it is. An alchemist’s work is never finished.”
“What are you working on?” Rubicus eyed the scattered ingredients curiously.
“A cure for the pox,” Vertulious drawled, earning a roll of the eyes from the he-witch. “Really, I’m quite busy.”
“This can’t wait. You’ll never guess who is roaming the woods—the high and mighty Thor and two Valkyrie warriors. They’re looking for a boy who dared steal something from them.”
Vertulious’s blood went cold. “Are they now?”
“Yes. Please, Verty. My tooth is killing me.”
Vertulious thought desperately. He couldn’t lose his work, not when he was so close. It could take him years to find a source of power to complete the spell—maybe decades. He needed time—time he didn’t have. His mortal body was failing him even as his mind remained sharp.
If only there was a way to preserve his mind until he had the necessary tools … and then a thought came to him. Yes. That is what he would do. “I can fix your tooth. I have just the thing.”
Rubicus took a seat, and Vertulious rolled the small stone between his thumb and finger as he muttered a spell to soften it. Reaching back into Rubicus’s mouth, he shoved the turnium into the rotted tooth, sealing it in place.
“Better?”
Rubicus worked his jaw. “Amazing. You’re a genius, Verty.”
As soon as the he-witch was gone, Vertulious threw some things into a bag. There was still a chance he could flee before the god of thunder descended. At least for now, the turnium was safe.
He was just reaching for his spellbook when a pounding sounded on his door. Before he could answer, the door blew open, splintering off its hinges. Thor stood in the entry, his hammer clenched in his fist.
“You stole one of my father’s apples.”
Vertulious wanted to lie, but the remains of the apple were scattered over the table. Behind Thor, the fair Iduna eyed him accusingly, along with a pair of fierce-looking Valkyrie warriors in their golden regalia, gripping swords.
“It was one apple. Surely the gods can spare a bit of immortality in the name of science,” he quipped, shrugging his shoulders.
Thor spun the hammer in his hand, the metal head a blur. “You have underestimated my father. He does not like to share. Not one apple. Ever. Prepare to die.” He raised the hammer and threw it, sending it spinning straight for Vertulious.
Only the hammer went right through him. Vertulious vanished, changing into a wisp of energy that floated in the air above Thor’s head, and then zinged into the open spellbook on the table.
Chapter 1
Large flakes of snow drifted lazily from an iron sky, covering the Tarkana swamps in a winter blanket. Abigail ignored the cold, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her cloak as she marched along. This was all her fault, she reminded herself for the millionth time. All of it. The return of that horrible he-witch Vertulious. The demise of Endera’s mother. The threat of war hanging over everyone’s head. If only she had never picked up that stupid spellbook.
She doubled her pace, clutching her book bag over her shoulder. The worst part had been facing Endera. The witchling had been ordered to return to class after days locked away in her room, but the pain on her face was etched deep. She wouldn’t even look at Abigail—staring past her as if she were invisible.
It didn’t matter that Hugo insisted Abigail shouldn’t blame herself. Hugo was wrong.
Abigail paused, watching her breath fog in the wintry air. The swamps were eerily quiet. Gassy burps erupted out of the ground, shifting clumps of snow. Shreeks nested in the trees, eyeing her with red eyes but not daring to spread their wings lest they freeze.
Two months had passed since the night Vertulious returned, and so much had changed it made Abigail’s head spin.
War.
That was all anyone ever talked about, and Abigail was sick of it. Already, details of older witchlings had been sent off on secret missions. There had been no actual battles yet, just rumors that grew wilder and wilder, but it was only a matter of time.
She continued on until she broke through the trees and stood on the edge of a bluff overlooking the sea. Waves crashed against the rocks below. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the leather-bound book that had caused so much trouble. The spellbook was empty now, the pages blank. Abigail hefted it in her hands, waiting to see if she felt anything, but it no longer had the power to call to her.
It didn’t make her hate it any less.
She raised it over her head and threw it over the edge, watching it spin through the air. It hit the water with a satisfying splash and then sank from sight. Relief washed over her. She stared out at the horizon, wishing she could see the sails of a familiar Orkadian warship.
Robert was long gone. Never to return to their island. Never to face the friends who had betrayed him.
“I miss him too.”
She didn’t turn, unsurprised Hugo had followed her. “Do you think he’s still angry at us?”
“He has every reason to be.”
They were talking about Robert Barconian, of course—the one-time friend they had abandoned when he’d called on them to stand for him. Abigail had wanted to take his side that horrible night Vertulious had returned, but Madame Vex had silenced her, reminding her of her duty to the coven.
“If Emenor hadn’t practically throttled me, I would have spoken up, you know,” Hugo said.
“Me too.” She sighed. “Do you suppose we’ll ever see him again?”
“On the other side of a battlefield perhaps.”
Her chest tightened at the thought. She turned to face Hugo. He wore the black uniform of the Balfin Boys’ Brigade, even though she knew he hated it. Fresh bruises marked his face. The other boys still picked on him for preferring science over brigade training, but he didn’t complain. “Why did you follow me?”
“I’ve been thinking. About the vision Calla’s mother had.”
Calla’s mother was a witch named Calista who preferred to take the form of a mermaid. “About how if we go to war, the gods will erase this place as if it never existed?”
“Yes. Do you think it’s true?”
“Odin brought these islands here. He can just as easily get rid of them.”
“But what about the people?” Hugo protested. “Doesn’t he care about them?”
She shrugged. “Probably. I don’t know.”
Hugo sighed. “I wish things could go back to the way they were.”
“That’s never going to happen as long as Vertulious is here,” she said bitterly. “He’s determined to rule Orkney. He has the entire coven hanging on his every word.”
“Like Safina used to hang on yours.”
Pain needled Abigail. Safina, once her sweet protégé, now refused to speak to her—becoming Endera’s pet instead.
She turned to stare back out at the cold sea. “Safina’s misled. Like the rest of the coven, she’s put her faith in the wrong person. Endera doesn’t care about her any more than Vertulious cares about us. He’ll destroy anything that stands in his way.”