When secrets are what protect you, can the truth really set you free?
It's been six months since McKenna Ellerbeck killed her second Archdemon, saved Arcadia Commons and, and earned a spot on the Witches Council.
Things should be good, right?
Instead she's overworked, underpaid, disrespected by her fellow Council members, all while fighting demons on a regular basis and suffering through having her mother as a roommate. At least she has her friends--minus Bastien, her ex who told her to get the hell out of his life months ago.
When her friend Brooke is put on trial with the Council and may lose her magic, with Bastien reappearing to lead the charge, McKenna readily volunteers to represent Brooke. Then just when McKenna has hope there's more to Bastien's involvement and that they might reconcile, he goes missing, leaving a trail of clues and mystifying secrets: a strange new spell he's working on with an unknown partner, a secret demon research project, a ring filled with corrupted magic, and a literal demon hiding in his closet.
With an epidemic of demon-induced blunt honesty sweeping the town, hints of another Archdemon making plans to invade, her mom's mysterious and possibly criminal old flame showing up, time is running out for McKenna to find Bastien, figure out who's keeping which secrets, how dangerous they are, and decide whose side she's on: the powerless or the powerful.
Release date:
January 20, 2026
Publisher:
Orbit
Print pages:
352
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The perfect light snowfall sprinkled down from the ceiling, flakes glittering in the lantern-style lights in the Arcadia Commons branch of the Uncommon Collection. It had always been, to me, one of the most magical places in town. Gleaming hardwood floors, long tables with marble inlays, lantern-style sconces on the walls and fancy chandeliers above, all lit by magic. And, of course, shelves upon shelves of magical texts. The fact that it was connected to branches in other locations via permanent portals just made it all the more extraordinary; the dedication to shared knowledge and open access for everyone, across borders and distances, represented everything a supernatural community should be.
Tonight, the sense of warmth and magic and inclusion was at its peak. The illusory snow drifting down, each tiny flake holding just a whisper of winter cold, dissipating without any real damp or lasting chill, added to the cozy aesthetic that made the event feel so cheerful and welcoming. All the charming parts of the winter season and none of its drawbacks.
The charm was only amplified by the horrible conditions outside. The drive over had been slightly treacherous, and the hurried walk from the parking lot to the door had left me thinking I should’ve worn boots instead of heels. But I had kind of a lot riding on looking the part at this Solstice Ball—my first major event back in Arcadia Commons in ten years, where I, McKenna Ellerbeck, was not only actually invited but a guest of honor, and where I had no plans to end the night with a demon battle (fingers crossed). It wasn’t every day the prodigal pariah returned and got promoted to the Witches Council to boot.
To that end, my best friend and my plus-one for the evening, Leo Pallas, had insisted on dress shopping earlier that week, so we were both wearing “dresses that slayed.” Though she wasn’t herself supernatural in any way, being from a family of werewolves put her in the know. So, with her in a knee-length, bright-red, lace-and-velvet cocktail dress and me in a long, metallic gold gown with a slit up one side, very little back, and only slightly more front, we were both plenty chilly after our brief stint outside.
“Hair and makeup check!” Leo said after we handed off our coats at the door. “You’re good. Me?”
“Not a hair out of place,” I confirmed. “The green really complements the dress, by the way. Very festive choice.” Leo’s dark hair, currently chin length, had highlights whose color changed monthly.
“Gotta keep it current. Shall we?”
“We shall.” We hooked arms and entered the enchantingly enchanted ballroom. “Thanks again for coming with me. I get why my mom and Cam weren’t so into it, but it’s nice to not be on my own here.”
“Anytime—you know I’m here for Team Mickey. Also, always down for a reason to get out of the house for adult company and a break from single-mom-dom. The fancy dresses and free drinks don’t hurt, either,” Leo said. As awesome as her four-year-old son Griffin was, and as much as I was enjoying getting to be Aunt Mickey, he was still a four-year-old and had all the manic energy that comes with that age. “Wow, they go all out for this, huh?”
I gazed at the glimmering snowflakes in the air and smiled. “They sure do.”
“I haven’t been to something this fancy and flush with magic since Cam’s prom,” Leo remarked.
“How have I not yet seen pictures of that?” I asked. “It’s still weird you dated my little brother, but I absolutely deserve to see his awkward prom photos!”
Leo shrugged. “He probably burned his copies, but my mom’s got them somewhere. Ask her next time you’re over.” She grinned, nudging me with her elbow. “Speaking of, there’s your prom date. And he even wore the same tux!”
Sure enough, Bastien Lemaire was here, wearing a sharply tailored tuxedo and chatting with a group of local witches. Somewhere inside, eighteen-year-old McKenna’s heart stuttered when she saw how much more handsome he’d become. On the outside, I cleared my throat. “No cummerbund this time,” I noticed.
“Yeah, he traded it in for biceps,” Leo said, prompting a laugh from me. “Knew you’d noticed.”
“You have successfully proven I’m not blind. Drinks?”
“Drinks. Did you also notice you match?” she asked. I steered us toward one of the bars set up along the edges of the room.
“Match?”
“Yeah, his vest has a gold tone, like your dress. Not matchy-matchy, just enough to look nice next to it.”
I glanced back over—she was right, his vest had a subdued gilded pattern, along with his lapels. “Leo, are you trying to tell me to hit on my grieving ex?”
“Maaaybe. Two proseccos, please,” she ordered.
“That is a terrible idea.”
“Why, because of the whole his-wife-was—”
“Yes, because of the whole his-fiancée-recently-died thing,” I interrupted before she could possibly say more than the college-age witch working the bar should hear. Officially, Mariposa Perez had died in the sudden ballroom collapse at their wedding before the ceremony had taken place.
The bartender gave us a strange look but wisely just kept pouring and handed us the glasses.
“Thanks!” I passed him a big tip, taking the glass, and we walked a few steps away. “Watch what you’re saying!” I hissed in a whisper. The truth was far worse: After marrying him to gain access to his portal magic, “Mari” had revealed herself to be Saranthiel, the Archdemon of Madness. With a whole lot of help and by tearing down most of Arcadia Commons’ anti-demon barrier, I’d killed Saranthiel and granted her crown to my other ex, Remi Blake. Remi had already been the Archdemon of Desire, and I hadn’t seen a lot of her since basically forcing her to take on a second crown.
“I wasn’t gonna say what really happened,” Leo replied, giving me a look.
“Sorry, I’m… let’s just say it’s been made clear I’m not supposed to go talking about that night in public,” I explained.
“Is that so.” She rested a hand on one hip. “Was it just Laurent or the whole Council giving that order?”
I huffed. “Is there any difference? But yeah, the whole Council. Zipping up the truth and stashing it away like always.”
“Mm-hm. And you’re sure you still want to join up?” she asked.
“I can’t change them from the outside. This way, I’ve at least got a chance,” I replied, then glanced at her. “Right?”
“If anyone can, I believe you can, Mickey. Even if it’s just ’cause you’re too damn stubborn not to.” She grinned and clinked her glass to mine. “To bringing down the system from the inside.”
“Something like that. Cheers!”
Truthfully, I’d been asking myself that question a lot lately, ever since Laurent had offered me a seat on the Council. More so since I’d finally said yes. The witches of Arcadia Commons were very much made up of the haves and the have-nots, and they tended to take charge when it came to running things in town. Events like this were open to all supernaturals, one reason I’d always loved them when I was younger… but looking around the room now, I saw that this one was definitely witch-centric. Remi, the only demon who was technically invited, was not exactly welcome, and it looked like she’d chosen not to attend. At least, I didn’t see her go-to male or female forms among the attendees. Lucca and his wolfpack weren’t attending on account of Lucca’s wife, Brooke, having been explicitly uninvited since she’d been Saranthiel’s thrall, and only a handful of Fae, part Fae, and the mundane but in the know were present. Of the witches, the more powerful families and those of the Council members were a strong presence, while the rest—the lower-powered adepts and the bottom-of-the-pecking-order generalists, formerly known as hedgewitches—made up a smaller portion of the attendees.
I sighed. A party that’s supposed to be for everyone, and it’s actually for the privileged witches after all. And I was about to be one of the people who planned it.
“McKenna! Leo! You two look fabulous!” Preston Chang, half-Fae event planner and former classmate, gushed as he saw us. His green tuxedo jacket kept on going into a flared skirt, showing off his dancer’s legs. “How have we still not properly caught up since you came back?” he asked me as we hugged in greeting.
“I’ve been a little busy getting myself declared not dead. Turns out that involves a lot of paperwork. And fees,” I replied. “But it’s great to see you. How are you?”
“Fantastic. Living as my authentic self and getting paid to throw parties with other people’s money. It doesn’t get any better.” Preston had come out as trans after high school, in the years I’d been away. Half leanan sidhe, he had his Fae mother’s penchant for the arts but without the drawbacks. While a leanan sidhe inspired artists like a muse, they also tended to slowly sap the life force of their lovers. His mother didn’t stay with anyone too long, and so he’d been raised by his human father and stepmother. “Speaking of, what do you think? The stacks clean up pretty nice, huh?”
“They do. I mean, my biased opinion is this place is always lovely, but this is something else,” I agreed. “Your doing?”
Preston preened. “But of course, and thank you. The special effects are courtesy of some up-and-coming witches who enchanted the chandeliers.”
“Knocked it outta the park, Preston,” Leo said, while I wrapped my head around that. “So, you’ve got all your toes dipped into the society pages around here, what’s the latest on everyone? I’m locked in mom-land, and we’ve established Mickey’s woefully behind the times. We are desperately in need of an update.”
Preston grinned wolflike and leaned in. “Well, the biggest news is still Arcadia’s own Red Wedding, but what else… Rose Blackwood supposedly has a Fae boyfriend, but she came stag to this, as did her sibling, Ash. Danielle O’Brien called off her engagement and her hair and is currently backpacking through Europe. Natalie Phillips and Isabella Martinez are both single and here to mingle, and Tom Harwell has been making eyes at Hugo Phillips all night, whenever he’s not making them at a cocktail glass, that is. Jury’s out on whether Hugo’s interested or not.”
Leo and I exchanged a look. Tom had a bad habit of overindulging. “Where’s Tom now?” she asked.
“Getting a refill.” Preston nodded at a drink station not far from us.
“Right. I’ll go—” I started to say.
“No, you stay here, I’ve got this one. I could use some water before my next round anyway,” Leo said. She tossed back the rest of her drink and headed over to Tom.
“You know he’s got it bad for your brother, right?” Preston asked me.
“I’m pretty sure everyone but Cameron has figured that out, despite them being best friends and roommates. But I’m also pretty sure Cam’s a hundred percent straight and as clueless as that implies. Which I’m also also pretty sure Tom is fully aware of.”
“Crushing on a straight, the queer rite of passage,” Preston said with a rueful smile.
“I’ll drink to that,” I chuckled, and we did.
“I know you’re only newly back in town, but I’ve been hearing rumors and catching some vibes from you and your two exes,” Preston said. “Anything going on there?”
“No, absolutely not. Strictly just friends with both of them.” Granted, I had fallen into bed with Remi when I first came back to town, but I’d put a halt to that after learning she’d kept my mother’s illness from me. “And aware there are more than two people in the world available for me to date.”
“Sure, but you could do a lot worse. Have you seen Bastien in that tux?” Preston growled.
“I’d say you should go flirt with him, then, but speaking of a hundred percent straight…”
“More’s the pity.” A string quartet started playing a coyly sophisticated cover of a pop song. “Look, he might be in mourning and all, but it’d be criminal if you didn’t at least dance with him. The boy could use a pick-me-up, and it could only increase your social standing. Which, no offense, you could use.”
I arched a brow at him. Fae liked games, and Preston’s game of choice was social hierarchy. “Offense slightly taken. What do you mean?”
“I mean that, as the event planner, I may have been privy to certain information being announced tonight,” Preston said in a conspiratorial tone.
“Privy to or stole a look at?”
Preston shrugged enigmatically. “Does it matter? You’re about to take a big step up, McKenna, and you’re going to need more friends in that social sphere if you don’t want to get eaten alive. By my count, that number is hovering between zero and one. Dance with Bastien and you’ll be starting out on the right foot.”
He had a point, but that didn’t mean it sat right. “I’m not going to use Bastien for the sake of social climbing.”
“And you won’t be! He could use a real friend, and if there happens to be a fringe benefit to being there for him, that just makes it a win-win. Come on, you really think he’s enjoying being circled like a piece of meat?”
I followed his nod to where Bastien was chatting with a group that did include many of the single, young witches in attendance: the Blackwood siblings, Natalie Phillips, and Isabella Martinez. Isabella I’d briefly seen at the wedding—she had been one of Mari’s bridesmaids and oldest friends, from an earth magic family. I remembered her from our high school days, one of the quieter and nicer members of Mari’s posse. Probably the only one who had never taken up Mari’s favorite nickname for me: “hedgebitch.”
Surrounded as he was, Bastien’s pleasant, polite society mask was firmly in place—the guise of social nicety that he wore at events such as these. All while the elder Blackwoods and Mrs. Phillips lingered nearby, watching the interactions with clear anticipation. “Seven hells, what is this, Bridgerton?”
“No, he’s much more of a Darcy.”
I snorted, finishing my drink and handing over my empty glass. “All right, I’m going. But only for his sake!”
Preston grinned. “Whatever you need to tell yourself. Go get ’im, tiger!”
I had only seen Bastien a few times since his disastrous wedding almost two months ago, all of them brief and tense with unsaid things. His life had been turned completely upside down, and most of it was my fault; I didn’t want to insert myself. The last real conversation we’d had, if you could call it that, had been him making me promise, in the middle of fighting Saranthiel, not to disappear again.
“McKenna,” he said when he saw me approach. He seemed to be pleasantly surprised, but his smile was more practiced than natural. “It’s good to see you. Happy Solstice.”
“You, too,” I replied, smiling at him. “Happy Solstice, everyone. Rose, Ash, Natalie, Isabella, it’s nice to see you all again.” They gave some polite greetings, but I turned back to Bastien. “Sorry to interrupt, Bastien, but you did promise me a dance.”
He quickly caught on. “Yes, of course! I did. If you’ll all excuse me,” he said to the others, and took my arm. Out on the dance floor, one of his hands settled at my waist, the other taking my hand. Bastien was tall, but with heels on, I was only a few inches shorter. “Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome. Figured you wouldn’t mind getting away from the vultures.”
He smiled stiffly. “I think they mean well, but it’s hard not to notice a distinct pattern in the people who keep coming up to chat.”
“Apparently the collective witches of Arcadia Commons have never heard the term too soon,” I replied, and caught the way his eyes tightened. “Sorry. How are you doing?”
“All right. The hotel could be better, it’s unusually quiet for this time of year,” he said, despite that my question hadn’t been about his job. “We lost a number of reservations due to the construction. We’ve had to run some discounts to fill the rooms. Louis—my general manager—kept things running smoothly while I was on leave, and the renovations at this point are practically running themselves. I only need to check in when there’s something to sign off on.” He shrugged. “What about you?”
“A proud new member of the gig economy,” I replied. “Bartending at the Veil and Horn and Delivery Door driver.”
“Should I offer congratulations or condolences?”
“Congratudolences works.” He chuckled, the mask falling a little, and I smiled back.
“Congratudolences it is. Sounds like you’re keeping busy.”
“I am, but gotta make ends meet.” Plus I’m about to start an unpaid third job with your grandfather… “Mom still doesn’t have a job, but I don’t want to rush her.”
“I can imagine. How is Wendy? I’d rather hoped she might come tonight.” Bastien had stayed friendly with my mom in my ten-year absence, visiting her often while she was in the Harwell Institute.
“She and Cam didn’t feel comfortable with this particular crowd. But she’s doing good overall,” I said. “She’s going to look for work after the New Year, should be more openings then. Once she does, I can cut back my hours at the bar. How about your family?”
“Doing well. Adrienne graduates in May, and Celine’s in New York following her acting dreams,” Bastien detailed. “My parents are still in Hyannis. They invited me to come stay with them, but the last thing I want at this point is to feel run out of town on top of everything else,” he admitted, the mask of small talk slipping further.
“Good. This place would be lesser for it if you did.” I smiled and squeezed the hand that held mine.
His storm-blue eyes brightened more this time, holding on mine as he squeezed back. “Thanks. It’s nice knowing someone thinks that.”
“C’mon, I’m not the only one,” I replied.
“I suppose. Still, it’s nice hearing it. It’s—” He took a long breath in, looking at me. “—it’s nice having you here, too, McKenna.” His hand pressed at my waist, drawing me closer. His fingers just barely brushed my back where the dress dipped low, sending a shiver over my skin. One of the good ones. I felt like a teenager at a school dance again, right down to the same dance partner. The illusory snowflakes swirled around us, twinkling in the lights, but there was no chill, only warmth.
“Thanks.” I finally found my voice again. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
For a moment we just danced, naturally moving in time with each other. I belatedly noticed he’d started leading me in a waltz and that my feet were matching his before the rest of me had caught up. When he saw I had, he smiled—actually smiled, this time—and spun me under his arm, catching me again with his arm around my back, holding me close. I felt the room shrinking to just the two of us and wondered how soon was too soon to want to kiss your ex whose dead wife was an Archdemon that you’d killed.
But the song ended, and there was some light applause as the quartet announced they were taking a short break, ending the moment before it went any further. Probably for the best. We went over to grab a drink, reuniting with Leo, Preston, and Tom. The five of us fell into chatting about anything and everything. Leo showed off videos of Griffin and his preschool class singing an adorably terrible rendition of “Jingle Bells,” and Preston pointed out some minutiae in the library decor and gave us the latest gossip on various other people from our academy days. Tom, who taught at the academy now, regaled us with stories of some of his students’ antics. And, perhaps proving Preston’s theory about social standing correct, a few others dropped in and out of our circle as well, including the society singles who’d been eyeing Bastien earlier.
It was going about as perfectly as possible, and then Laurent Lemaire stepped up to the microphone.
“Happy Solstice, everyone.” His gravelly voice crackled over the speakers. “Welcome and thank you for attending. And thank you as always to the Uncommon Collection for hosting us. The reading room looks lovely, doesn’t it?” There was a smattering of applause; next to me, Preston pouted about not being mentioned by name. “I won’t take up too much of your time,” he said, before going on for a good five minutes about our community and how unique and special our town was. I couldn’t help but notice, however, how much he talked about the witches specifically.
“This would mean a lot more if it felt like he ever actually looked out for the community as a whole,” I muttered to the others. “The wolves, the Fae, the not-elite families.”
“Same old Laurent,” Leo replied.
“Let’s keep being the change we want to see in the world, then. Our day’s coming. Isn’t that right, McKenna?” Preston said, with a wink at me.
Bastien looked at him quizzically, but Laurent finally got to the part everyone had been waiting for.
“Finally, as you know, after the passing of Tobias Phillips, may he rest in peace”—there was a murmur of shared sentiment through the room—“the Council was left with an empty seat. After much discussion, we are pleased to extend an invitation to one of Arcadia Commons’ most promising young people, who will no doubt bring new perspective to the position as well as considerable talent.”
I noticed Bastien straightening up next to me, tugging his suit jacket into place, and with dread began to realize why. Oh, no. He doesn’t know. How does he not know? Didn’t Laurent tell him? “Bastien—” I started to say.
“Please join me in congratulating McKenna Ellerbeck, the newest member of the Arcadia Commons Witches Council!”
Every eye in the room turned to me. You could’ve heard the flutter of a pixie’s wings in the silent shock that followed. But no one was more surprised than the man standing next to me. Bastien’s blue eyes were wide, stunned… hurt.
I suddenly knew how Remi had felt when I’d learned what she had kept from me.
Then Preston and Leo, bless their souls, started to clap, and the rest of the room disjointedly followed suit. Bastien was one of the last to join, but as he did, I saw the polite mask slam firmly back in place. I was caught between acknowledging the rest of the community gathered here, even if they were only a small slice of the witches I now represented, and explaining myself to Bastien.
Leo nudged my arm and spoke between her teeth, holding a smile for show. “Now is when you wave to the people, Mickey!”
With one last look of apology, I put on a smile for the room, waving and nodding my thanks. There was a bit of ceremony to follow, including a short ritual of me pledging to protect the people of our town and all witchkind and signing the Council grimoire. The book was mostly symbolic; more of an enchanted logbook and not a true grimoire like the ones some witch families had.
Afterward, Laurent bade everyone enjoy the rest of the evening, and a small crowd of other witches came over to congratulate me in person. I made my hellos and thank-yous and so forth, but my eyes kept scanning for Bastien over everyone’s head. Finally, I spotted him heading down the spiral staircase that led here from the mundane town library downstairs. “Excuse me,” I said hastily to the person in front of me, and hurried after him. He was out the doors to the parking lot by the time I caught up. The blast of winter wind and very real snowflakes hit me as soon as I stepped outside, coatless and nearly bare to the elements.
“Bastien, wait!” I called out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he hadn’t told you.”
He turned slowly to look at me, jaw clenched but shaking with anger. “‘Didn’t know’… it doesn’t matter, McKenna. You didn’t tell me.”
“I… I know. I should have, I just… with everything I already screwed up for you, I didn’t want to have to tell you more bad news.”
He shook his head, scoffing. “More bad news? Please. When have you ever told me bad news?”
I looked at him in confusion. “Are you kidding? When have I not?”
“Never.” Cold anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Not once have you had the courage to tell me yourself. Not even when you killed my best friend.”
The words hit like a fist. “I… Bastien… you know I didn’t…”
“No, it wasn’t your choice, not your doing. I know that. But you still didn’t tell me. For ten years you didn’t tell me, McKenna. You ran away, you told Remi, got her help, and then let her string me along pretending to be you for weeks—”
“I didn’t know she did that, I never asked her to!”
“Of course not. But you still didn’t tell me yourself. Not then, not even when you came back.”
“Hey, I told you when I came back,” I pointed out angrily.
“Because Remi forced your hand! Even she knew you had to come clean before you were willing to admit it!” Bastien roared back at me, throwing his hands into the air. “Seven hells, the only reason you ever told me about Forneus was because I found you out for myself first!”
Snow swirled as the wind blew, biting and cold. I hugged my arms around me, wishing I had my coat, shivering and stammering and trying to think of a reply, but I had none. He turned away, running his hands through his hair, ruffling its neatness.
“I used to think you were brave, McKenna. Brave for facing down Archdemons, owning up to your choices and their consequences. Even brave for just putting up with the judgment of those around you. For standing up to the Council when you were only in high school. I thought… I thought the world of you for it.” He turned back to face me, and despite the kind words, I knew the blow was coming next. “But you’re not. You’re a coward. You might be good at cleaning up your messes, but you still just can’t help making them, can you? And you don’t do messes by halves, oh, no. When you make them, the goddamn order of things has to come crumbling down and bury everyone around you!”
“I—”
“I married a demon, McKenna!” Bastien’s furious face was inches from mine before I even saw him move, the storm of his eyes alight with anger. “I opened up to her, I fell in love with her, I married her! And if you had just had the courage to think about me, to think about anyone else, for five seconds and tell me the truth, it never would’ve happened!”
Winter cold turned my tears to ice, their sting stabbing at the corners of my eyes before they fell, frozen rivers down my cheeks. My hand clenched against my lips to hold in the sob that shook me. “How… how can I make this right, Bastien?” I pleaded, shivering as the snow swirled around us.
Bastien didn’t meet my eyes this time. “You can’t. Just stay away from me.”
Four months later
“You’re late!” Cameron called out from the beach.
“You just texted me, and I had three deliveries to finish first.” I grabbed my demon-hunting bag from the car and jogged over the sand to join my brother. The sun was low in the sky, painting it in beautiful shades of blue, orange, and pink. If only we were here to take in the sunset. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Beats me. No reply from Remi or anyone in the pack.” He was bent over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath, his pants damp with ocean spray. “Which sucks, cause there are three of these things and they’re walking squid horror shows.”
“Again? Spring really brings out the marine demons around here.” Three days ago, two creepy mer-abominations with fish tails and pincers instead of legs had tried to come ashore, and last week giant spider crabs with sharp spines and sharklike mouths had terrorized the beach near Remi’s condo.
“Gimme your knife? One of them stole mine.”
“Yeah, sure.” I pulled my athame, a ritual knife, from my bag and handed it to him, keeping my eyes on the water. We were standing on a small stretch of private beach sandwiched between two jetties that belonged to the Bellerieve Bayside Bed & Breakfast. It was owned and operated by Abby Bellerieve, adoptive mother and distant cousin to my estranged friend Brooke. The Bellerieves were water witches but fell on the low-powered, hedgewitch end of things. Waves lapped at the beach, normal as anything, until I saw a tentacle pop up a few feet back from the water’s edge. “Where’s Abby?”
“On the porch, holding an illusion over the beach.” I glanced over—sure enough, Abby sat cross-legged and in a focused state, making sure our activities went unnoticed. “Where’s Codex?”
“Coming, hang on.” I closed my eyes and sent out a pulse of magic, which confirmed both that there were three demons in the water in front of us and the location of the family grimoire, in my room in my house across town. When I tugged on the thread that was the book, the air shifted as it appeared in my hands: leather-bound, with uneven, hand-cut pages edged in gold. The power it contained and represented welcomed my touch, sending a ripple over my skin, my magic stirring in response. I laid my hand on the handprint on the cover, and it opened up, gold light flaring over the page and settling into black ink that wrote itself.
Hello, McKenna. What are we doing today?
I smiled. “Hello, Codex. We’re banishing three tentacle demons.”
And erasing their memory of getting past the barrier, I assume?
“As usual, yeah.
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