The doorbell chimed. Maximus’s and Evan’s cheeks flushed an identical shade of red. Joel crouched down to tame some of Pippin’s wild blonde tresses.
“Welcome,” said Maximus smoothly as he opened the door to the cold night.
Joel looked up to see an imposing middle-aged man standing on their dilapidated front porch, flanked by half a dozen motley looking teenaged boys varying in ages between eleven and sixteen.
“Maximus,” said the man in a low voice. “Erridox greetings.”
“Jefferson,” replied Maximus, offering his hand to the towering man. “How nice to see you again. Welcome to Blackheath. I’ve heard you’ve moved locally?”
Jefferson pretended not to notice Maximus’s outstretched hand. “Yes. Nice to see you also,” he said without enthusiasm. “Thank you for hosting me and my boys this evening,” he added, though his voice suggested anything but gratitude.
Maximus stepped aside and the army of guests began to trickle into the hallway. Then all of a sudden Joel’s mind went woolly and time felt as though it were slowing down, just as it had done at the party the previous week. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, time was moving in fast forward.
“Joel?” Evan’s smooth voice instantly grounded him. “You okay?”
Joel blinked and time resumed to normal speed. He nodded at his brother, then watched the backs of the guests’ heads as the procession followed Ainsley down the front hallway, filing sinuously through the house like snakes bleeding into the dining room.
Evan was following behind the last of the teenaged visitors now, speaking to them easily and politely. He seemed completely unperturbed by their less than friendly mannerisms. Joel, however, couldn’t even bring himself to look up as the newcomers filed by. He simply stared at the wall beside him, one hand resting protectively on Pippin’s shoulder.
Maximus had closed the front door and was trailing behind the convoy towards the dining room. He paused to introduce the man named Jefferson to his younger boys.
“This is my second son, Joel,” said Maximus. “And this is my youngest, Pippin.” He gestured towards Joel’s legs, which Pippin was now cowering behind.
Jefferson’s cold gaze landed on the child and bore into him. Joel bristled and lifted his younger brother up into his arms, breaking the stare.
Jefferson’s eyes rose to meet Joel’s for a split second. There was something about his expression that unsettled Joel. Something cold and detached. But before Joel could put his finger on it, Jefferson turned and disappeared into the dining room behind the convoy of young men.
“Joel,” Maximus hissed, his face like thunder. “Why are you just standing around? You’re in the presence of one of the most prestigious covens in the country. Get in there and make nice.” He nodded sharply towards the dining room before feigning a joyful expression and venturing forward himself.
Joel placed Pippin on the floor and crouched down next to him. “Go to the aunts,” he said quickly. “You’ll eat your dinner in the kitchen, okay? And then they’re to put you straight to bed.”
Pippin’s violet eyes widened sadly. He pointed a chubby finger at Joel.
“I know,” said Joel gently. “I’m sorry, Pip, but I can’t read you a story tonight. Dad needs me to meet the guests.”
Pippin touched Joel’s brow.
“I’ll check on you later,” Joel promised.
Then he withdrew a pen from his pocket and scrawled a note for the aunts on the back of Pippin’s hand. Dinner in kitchen, then straight to bed.
“Now go to the aunts,” Joel told him.
“The aunts,” Pippin echoed.
“And show them this.” Joel tapped the black ink on Pippin’s hand.
“Show them this,” Pippin said, sticking a thumb in his mouth as he toddled away.
With a heavy sigh, Joel ventured towards the dining room. When he stepped through the arched doorway, his stomach plummeted. Sitting in one of the tall dining chairs was none other than Kaden Fallows.
Joel’s mind began to race as the realisation dawned on him.
Kaden was a witch.
ONLY ONE MORE coven arrived at the Tomlins family’s dinner party that night: the Leominsters, a husband and wife with their three young daughters in tow. The Leominster girls, all under ten, twittered amongst themselves and shot furtive glances towards the teenaged boys while the adults held court with the dinner table conversations. And for the majority of the evening, Joel simply kept his head down and ate.
The alleged aunts brought in serving tray after serving tray piled high with their concoctions. Each time they passed through the arched entrance, they cooed and clucked in adoration at the Fallows and the Leominster families—probably to ensure they could become alleged members of one of those families in the future if things went belly up with the Tomlins clan.
Although Ainsley wasn’t saying much, Joel noticed him disparagingly sizing up the Fallows boys and casting cantankerous looks at the Leominster girls. Evan, however, seemed to be totally in his element. He was looking upon everyone with intrigue, intently listening to the elders and their stories of witchcraft. Occasionally Maximus would bring Evan into the conversation, but he seemed relieved that his other two sons had decided to keep quiet.
When the topic of recruiting arose, the atmosphere around the table prickled. The air suddenly became charged and everyone took notice.
“We are seeking a boy,” said the Leominster woman. “As you can see, we’ve been blessed with three girls”—she gestured towards the three blonde, pigtailed girls—“and my husband and I would like a son to carry on the Leominster name.”
“That’s understandable,” said Maximus from his place at the head of the table, patting the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “I must say, my boys have been a blessing.” As he spoke, he gazed fondly at Evan, who was seated on his right. “Fine, young witches that any father would be proud of.”
Joel resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Hmm,” said Mr Leominster, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Ainsley stuff an entire flax seed bun into his mouth at once. “A young one would be nice. Then I can raise him in the way I see fit.”
“How old?” asked Jefferson Fallows in his deep, commanding voice.
“Nine,” Leominster replied. “Ten at most. I haven’t come across any I like yet, though.”
Of course Joel knew that there was more to recruiting than plucking any old kid off the street. There were criteria that had to be considered. The recruit had to be susceptible to witchcraft, first of all, or else they’d never survive the recruiting spell. How often had Joel heard the alleged aunts gossiping about how, back in the day, witches had often mistakenly recruited humans who were incapable of the initial spell? And none of the humans in their stories had survived the ordeal. These days, though, the screening process was supposedly much tighter.
Still. . . thought Joel with a grimace. He couldn’t understand why any witch would take the risk. Then again, he hadn’t been raised in a family that supported recruitment in the first place. Generally, to the Tomlins family, the whole ritual was bizarre and inhumane. Which made Maximus’s willingness to host the Erridox dinner this year all the more curious in Joel’s eyes. What was he trying to prove?
“Ours is the reverse case,” Jefferson was saying now from his seat opposite the head of the table. “As you can see, I have many sons, but as of yet no daughters.”
Joel looked warily down the table to where the six Fallows boys were seated. Each boy was different in appearance, ranging from fair and ruddy to dark and tanned. Some were short and stocky, others were lanky and thin. . . And none of them bore any resemblance to Jefferson Fallows.
Then it hit him.
They aren’t his biological children. They were all born human. Joel swallowed down the lump in his throat. They’re all recruits.
Joel’s mouth went dry as he looked down the table with renewed interest. Kaden bore himself with confidence and ease, t
hat was true enough. But the other five Fallows boys had dead eyes, empty of the life that had undoubtedly once occupied them.
“I have six boys,” Jefferson continued proudly. “One a year for six years. All are fine young men, but my oldest”—he cast an adoring glance over at Kaden—“is my greatest achievement. My most accomplished, by far. He was offered to me at a young age, you see.”
Joel froze at the statement.
He looked to the head of the table, but only Ainsley returned a raised eyebrow. His father and Evan, on the other hand, didn’t have any reaction to Jefferson’s revelation. Both seemed too focused on ensuring that the dinner party went off without a hitch.
“We’re both blessed with fine boys,” was all Maximus said, before directed a glowing smile at Evan.
“Yes, that’s so,” Jefferson acknowledged Maximus’s words with a cool nod. “But now I want a girl.”
For the first time that evening, Kaden spoke up. “And we have found her.”
Jefferson’s lips moved into a sly smile. “You have found her, my boy,” he praised. “And so close at hand. You’ve done well.”
Joel felt his stomach flip. Wait. They’re recruiting in Blackheath?
Something about the notion made the whole recruiting ritual all the more barbaric to Joel’s mind. Blackheath was a small place, and chances were he’d know the family whose child was unwillingly abducted. Suddenly, it was all hitting too close to home.
Maximus must have been sharing his feelings, because the news was enough to make him visibly tense. He began to squeeze his fist around his silver dinner fork, opening and closing it like a hooked fish’s gills straining to take in oxygen.
Finally, Maximus spoke. “Congratulations,” he said stiffly.
“Congratulations,” the others echoed around the table. Incredulously, Joel found himself saying it, too. He winced at the sound of his own voice.
Maximus cleared his throat. “May I ask, have you sought permission from the parents?”
It was becoming increasingly difficult, Joel knew, for witches to strike deals with recruits’ parents without the authorities becoming involved.
Jefferson’s smooth smile slithered across his lips. “That’s the best part. The girl’s parents are out of the picture at the moment, which is what makes it such a coup.”
Joel’s heart rate quickened.
No, he thought, suddenly feeling sick. He can’t mean. . .
“Some covens have stopped recruiting altogether,” Maximus was saying through pressed lips. “My family, for one—”
“Recruitment is the only way to ensure coven supremacy,” Jefferson sneered coldly. “Surely you cannot question that? Although,” he went on, “I have heard the rumours that one of your boy’s is a Chosen One?”
Maximus began to give way to a proud smile. He opened his mouth to speak.
“However,” Jefferson continued, “these days, having a Chosen One simply isn’t enough.”
Joel noticed the fork in his father’s fist begin to tremor with the sheer force of the grip around it.
“Right,” Maximus replied tightly. “Are you’re sure you’ve found a human able for recruitment?”
Jefferson gave another enigmatic sneer. “Quite sure. Kaden has already found her.”
Joel’s heart began to race. No. No, no, no. . .
“Kaden’s mark has been placed upon her,” Jefferson elaborated sinuously. “It is done.”
JOEL LAY ON his bed staring up at the ceiling. Somewhere inside the house, a grandfather clock struck four a.m. He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach.
He’d hardly slept at all—he couldn’t, not after the revelations of the dinner party that evening—and what little sleep he had stolen had been plagued by recurring dreams of Maggie. In his dreams, she was always surrounded by that bright gold light. Then Kaden would appear, and Joel would awake in a cold sweat.
So Kaden Fallows was a witch—or, more accurately, he was the Fallows coven’s most promising human recruit. A dangerously unnatural creation of a human bestowed with witch’s powers. And, worse still, he had marked someone for the Erridox ritual.
Someone who was more than likely Maggie.
Joel sighed. He reached over the edge of his bed and patted the floor until his hand grazed his phone. Lifting it to eye level, he stared blankly at the screen. The bright digital clock display stared back at him. It read 4:03 a.m.
With another sigh, Joel scrolled through his messages and re-read all the texts from Maggie. All the texts begging for his help.
He glanced at the clock feature again. It was 4:04 a.m. now.
Is it too late to text her? he wondered.
He wasn’t particularly clued up on text etiquette, but he figured it probably was.
Abandoning the idea of sleep, Joel rose heavily to his feet and plodded across the room. He slunk noiselessly into the corridor and began to creep down the stairs.
The muted glow of light from one of the lower rooms was casting long shadows across the wood floor at the bottom of the staircase. Joel traced the light to the kitchen, where he found Quite Old Aunt Ruby chanting over the flame of a candle that was dwindling in a brass candlestick.
When he surfaced in the kitchen doorway, Quite Old Aunt Ruby ceased murmuring and turned to greet him.
“Hello, my angel,” she said.
Of all the alleged aunts, Joel had decided long ago that Ruby was his favourite. She had a kindly face and long silver hair that framed her tiny amber eyes. In fact, everything about Quite Old Aunt Ruby was tiny, from her petite frame to her mouse-like voice. Another reason why Joel liked her, of course, was her general illusiveness. They only ever seemed to cross paths in the dead of night. In fact, Joel was beginning to wonder if she was nocturnal.
“Hey, Ruby,” he replied, stepping out of the shadows cast by the flickering flame.
At once he noticed her dressing gown and fuzzy slippers, which suggested that she must have moved into the mansion at some point without his explicit knowledge. He briefly wondered how many other alleged aunts and uncles had taken up residence in the sprawling dwelling without his knowing, but he pushed the thought aside. He’d long ago come to terms with the fact that trying to keep tabs on the alleged relatives was about as productive as herding kittens.
Regardless, Ruby certainly was no bother. Actually, tonight, he was glad to see her. She always seemed to know when he needed to talk.
“Something troubling you, Joel?” she asked.
“You could say that,” Joel muttered, staring at the dancing flame atop the candle.
A rat scuttled across the floor. Quite Old Aunt Ruby gave it a quick toothless smile, then returned her attention to her alleged nephew.
“I see,” she said. “And is this problem too big for one person to shoulder himself?”
“Yes.”
“Can you share it?”
“No.”
Ruby held up her quite old hands. “Then I cannot help you.”
Joel looked up from the candle and assessed her with his gaze. “If I tell you something, can I trust you to not tell my father?” he asked. “Or Evan,” he added with a wince.
Quite Old Aunt Ruby said nothing, but her gaze remained impartial.
Joel took that as his cue to continue. “There’s this girl. . .” he began.
“I shall raise the baby as my own,” Ruby declared nobly.
Joel wrinkled his nose. “No! God, Ruby, not that. It’s nothing like that.”
“Blessed be,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’m far too old to raise babies.”
“You’re not that old,” Joel replied kindly. “You’re only quite old. Anyway, it’s nothing like that. It’s”—he cleared his throat—“witch related.”
“Ah,” Ruby murmured, raising a silver eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“There’s this girl,” Joel started again, flinching at the memory of the gold light that had locked around Maggie in his dream. “This human girl. And she’s been. .
.” he trailed off, then lowered his voice. “She’s been marked for Erridox.”
The candle’s flame flickered anxiously.
Both of Ruby’s thin silver brows flew upwards now. “I see,” she murmured, her tone guarded.
“And I said I’d help her break the spell,” Joel went on.
Ruby’s frail hand went to her throat.
“Only I can’t break it,” Joel finished. “Can I?”
He looked up and warily met Ruby’s ochre eyes.
“Don’t help her,” Ruby’s thin voice crackled.
Joel groaned and dropped his head onto the kitchen counter, burying his face in his arms. He’d been afraid she was going to say that.
“But I have to,” he told his alleged aunt, mumbling the words into the counter top. “I promised.”
“You cannot make promises like that, Joel,” she said. “Your promise, foremost, is to your brothers and sisters of the craft. You know that.”
“You don’t understand,” Joel muttered, lifting his head just enough to peer at her over his forearms.
“What is it that I don’t understand?” Ruby challenged gently. “Do you owe her something? Are you involved somehow?”
“No,” Joel admitted.
“Then what is worth risking your own life for?” she pressed. “Because, Joel, that is what it could cost. If you intercept another witch’s spell—an Erridox spell, no less!—then with your life you may very well pay. It is an unforgiveable crime.”
“But I. . .” Joel began, then trailed off. This time he had no response.
“Again I ask you, what could be worth risking your life for?” Ruby pressed.
Joel cringed. She had a good point. What was he risking his life for?
And then it dawned on him.
“Maggie,” he whispered.
ON MONDAY MORNING, Maggie was dressed and ready for school in record time. It was officially November, and the temperature had dropped. She pulled on her navy school sweater and tied her hair into a ponytail as she hurried down the boarding house’s spiral staircase. She passed through the main floor hallway just as the other girls were beginning to emerge from their dorm rooms, bleary-eyed and padding towards the shower rooms in their flannel pyjamas.