Chapter Ten

Preparation day.

Otherwise known as “The Annual Pre-Ritual's Meltdowns,” “Witches Screamin' in Three-Part Harmonies,” or my personal favorite: The Day We All Pretend to Work Together.

I stood in the middle of the sacred grove, hands on my hips, brow furrowed as I surveyed what could only be described as a chaotic art installation of half-finished altars, trampled herb bundles, floating crystals bumping into each other midair, and a nervous-looking coven novice trying to iron ceremonial robes with a heated wand and absolutely no supervision.

Darcy had put me in charge of “flow logistics.” A fancy way of saying: make sure no one dies, sets a guest on fire, or vomits on the ritual stones again.

I took a deep breath through my nose, exhaled slowly, and then barked, “Tonya, dear!”

A blur of bright scarves and cinnamon-colored curls appeared from behind a low circle of candles. “Yes, my oh-so glorious leader?”

“Did you leave the ritual wine barrels next to the open fire pit?”

Her eyes widened. “No?”

I stared.

She blinked.

“...Yes.”

“Fix it. Before we end up launching a sacrificial merlot into orbit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She scampered off with a mock salute, and I made a mental note to drink directly from the wine spout later.

Over by the south altar, Mira was crouched in deep conversation with the enchanted runes. Literal conversation. I could hear her whispering to the sigils in Old Feytongue like they were gossiping about someone’s aura imbalance.

“Does anyone know what Mira’s doing?” I called out.

“Bonding with the leyline network!” she shouted back.

“Tell the leylines to hold still and stop rearranging the seating stones!”

A chorus of “AYE!” and “Already on it!” echoed across the grove.

Somewhere to the north, two junior witches were arguing with a werewolf guard over proper perimeter boundaries.

“No, you can’t just draw a new ward line—he’ll piss on it!” one shouted.

“I will not,” growled the wolf.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and muttered to myself, “This is why I told them we needed color-coded badges.”

From behind me, Darcy’s voice crackled like a dried leaf. “I thought you said everything was under control, Thea.”

I turned slowly. She stood tall and regal in her long indigo robes, silver hair pulled back into a braid that could probably be used as a weapon.

“It is under control,” I said through gritted teeth. “I have a system.”

“Chaos isn’t a system.”

“It is if you’re brave enough.”

She rolled her eyes and began inspecting the incense table. “If I smell patchouli anywhere near the central altar, I’m disbanding this coven.”

“Duly noted.”

As she hobbled away, I turned back to the grove and let out a long, theatrical sigh.

The outer circle was finally being cordoned off for non-witch guests—stone seating for werewolves, shadow-draped benches for vampires, and a “neutral zone” with spell-buffering enchantments to keep interspecies posturing to a minimum.

Probably.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

The sky was starting to dim, casting amber light across the clearing as the sun slid into early evening. The moon would rise in just a few hours. And despite the chaos... it was coming together.

The herbs had been hung.

The runes were stabilizing.

The candles were lit.

And no one had exploded—yet.

I was about to go recheck the seating charms when I felt a familiar presence behind me—steady, warm, quietly watchful.

Dylan.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

“Unless that hand comes with a fireproof robe, a tranquilizer spell, and the ability to smite inflated egos with a glare—probably not.”

"How about coffee instead?"

I whipped around to find him holding my toad mug awkwardly. It was almost as if he dared to think I'd refuse such an offering. I greedily snatched it up with a giddy grin. 

He looked around the grove, took in the floating candles and the bickering witches and the array of magical nonsense slowly weaving itself into order.

Then he smiled. “Looks good.”

“You’re a liar,” I said flatly with a noisy slurp. 

“A supportive liar.”

I huffed a laugh and nudged him with my elbow. “You can carry the ritual chalice. It’s cursed. A little.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“You chose to do this.”

He glanced down at me. “I chose you.”

That shut me up for a beat.

But I couldn’t let it linger. Not when the vampire delegation was due to arrive any moment and we were still arguing over ceremonial seating placement.

“Come on, wolf-boy,” I said, turning back to the center circle. “Let’s go make magic. Or at least make sure no one dies trying.” I joked.

******

The grove should have been humming with ceremony—music, spellfire, nerves—but instead it thrummed with something brittle. We were mere minutes from the beginning, and somehow the air already smelled wrong. On top of it all, the vampires were late. Egging was officially on tomorrow's schedule.

Then the scream came.

It sliced through the noise, pure and human and final.

Every sound snapped dead. The wards flickered in alarm. Someone dropped the chalice.

I was moving before thought caught up—through the half-lit grove, past rows of frozen robed witches, the damp grass whispering under my boots. The crowd parted without a word. Even Darcy didn’t try to stop me.

The young witch who’d screamed stood near the ash tree, pale as candle wax, both hands clamped over her mouth. When she saw me, she just pointed a shaky finger.

The body lay at the tree’s roots. One of ours. Her ritual robe shredded, her neck torn open so deep the runes beneath her were smeared in blood.

I knelt beside her. The grass was still wet—too wet. Fresh.

My hand hovered over the wound, fingers trembling before they steadied of their own accord. The blood hadn’t cooled. It clung warm and heavy to my skin when I held my right hand to it.

“She’s only been dead minutes,” I said, quiet enough that the words carried anyway. “Maybe less. I still have time.”

No one breathed. The coven, the wolves, the guests—all watching. The world itself seemed to lean closer.

A low vibration started in the air, faint at first, like the hum before a thunderstorm. My wards flared against my arms, the sigils inked there lighting up in warning.

I ignored them, and grabbed my own throat- slicking it in blood. The scent of iron filled my lungs. My pulse pounded in my fingertips. The ground beneath me responded—alive, thrumming, remembering me. The runes carved into the soil around the altar brightened from gold to white, then to a dangerous, searing red.

Darcy’s voice cracked across the silence. “Thea—it's too dangerous. Too late.”

I didn’t look at her.

My eyes stayed on the dead witch. My voice, when it came, was no longer the same one that traded sarcasm for comfort or kept the peace with a smirk. It was cold. Still. Ancient.

“This was done under my protection,” I said. “Under my circle. My willow.”

The magic surged again, threads of light crawling up my arms, snaking over my shoulders like living veins of lightning. The hair on everyone’s arms stood on end. Even the wolves backed away, ears flat. Dakota stood at attention, having already met this Thea of the woods. My woods. He was holding Dylan back tightly by his arm. His face was covered in shadows.

A gust of wind tore through the grove, scattering petals, dimming every candle but the ones closest to me. They burned brighter—white and unnatural.

Every ounce of warmth finally drained from my body, leaving something cold and still in its place. The noise, the confusion, the panic—it all faded, like the world had stepped three feet away from me. I was awakening from slumber.

Then—of course—the timing had to be perfect.

The vampires arrived.

The temperature dropped instantly. The shadows stretched long and deliberate as they entered the grove—silken robes, jeweled hands, expressions carved from polished arrogance. The night itself seemed to bend to make room for them.

Niklaus was at their head, impossibly composed, the faintest smirk playing at his lips—until he caught sight of the body.

They stepped forward—and froze. The smirk died.

They didn’t need to ask what had happened.

I rose halfway from the ground, still crouched over the body, eyes glowing faintly with the reflection of the runes. The magic around me crackled like storm glass ready to shatter.

“Stay where you are,” I said. My voice didn’t rise, but the command in it made even the night itself hesitate.

Niklaus took a single step forward, hands raised. The ground shuddered. The warning sigils blazed brighter.

“I said stay.” Magic rippled through the grove, subtle but undeniable—like the air itself had decided it belonged to me. The candles flared white, the runes hissed, and every shadow bowed slightly inward.

Lightning traced the circle in a perfect ring around the grove—thin, silver, whispering against the trees. The air was alive with ozone and threat, and for a heartbeat, I think every soul there believed I might burn the forest down just to make the point.

I looked down once more at the dead witch, brushing a blood-soaked strand from her face. My lips barely moved.

“She’s still warm,” I murmured. “Whoever did this is still here.” No one dared move. “They’ll deal with my wrath when I return.” A fight broke out amongst the wolves, but I didn't bother with a glance.

The magic in me swelled again, dangerous and deliberate, pressing at its own leash. My control wavered for a heartbeat before I caught it—barely.

Thea Davis, coven’s troublemaker, chaos magnet, pretend peacemaker… vanished in smoke. The Thea from the rumors- the nightmares- stepped forward. Harder. Terrifying. The only true ancient being here. The one who wields blood magic.

When I finally spoke again, it was a promise whispered to the corpse, the grove, and every creature breathing my air.

“I’ll find them.”I took one slow breath, the taste of blood and smoke thick on my tongue. Then, without looking away from the body, I whispered, “Let the willow bear witness.”

The words rippled through the wards like a spell. The candles guttered. The earth trembled. I closed my eyes, and threw my soul into the stiffening body in front of me by abandoning my own. I was running out of time.