CONQUERING SHADOWS (Shadows Book 3)

Chapter 3

Before I made the journey to Northumberland, I went home and changed. Recently, the days have been hot, but come sunset, the temperature dropped with the lowering of the sun. Instead of changing completely, I tugged on leggings under my dress and covered up with a cardigan.

I also had time for supper with Arden and Callan. Arden had made a fish pie topped with loads of golden-brown cheesy mashed potatoes, it smelled divine now but I knew it would make me heave the moment I got home from visiting Ingrid later. Quite unashamedly, I shovelled loaded fork-fulls into my mouth, unable to get enough.

Arden asked about the meeting with the coven while skirting around the subject of Toby - the reason he hadn't attended himself. I wondered if they would go on like this forever, hiding their love in near-secret until Toby was ready and falling out when he retreated again. Callan too joined in the conversation, but he was quite happy to blatantly ask if Fawn had attended and blushed at every mention of her name.

These boys had it bad.

The flight was swift, favoured by the wind blowing in the right direction. Below me, dots of lights and patches of black which could have been blankets of fields or roofs of houses blurred in a streak of contrasting colours as I soared overhead.

As I approached the Northumberland National Park, the once coven of the Obsidian Star came into view. I'd never been here, not once in my eighteen years but it was as familiar to me as Valestone. It made the magic in my blood sing. The houses, arranged in a perfect pentagram, stood silent and still beneath the brooding sky. I descended and landed my broomstick in the centre of the enclave in the shadows of a gnarled tree, gravel crunching beneath my feet. That pull, that connection was stronger on the ground, opposite ends of a magnet drawn together through unseen forces.

In Valestone, all our homes were different, Gran had a cottage, Mrs Horton an imposing mansion, the Underhills a four-bed family home that could be found in every town in the country, but here, the houses were very much alike as if they had been created in unity and not to cater to the whims of individuals.

Crafted from sturdy timber, the structures bore the weight of time with a quiet dignity. Moss-covered pathways wound their way between the houses weaving a labyrinth through the dense undergrowth. Each house bore the unmistakable signs of age, with timeworn facades and sloping roofs that sagged under the weight of centuries. It looked like a historical visitors centre.

Smoke curled lazily from one stone chimney. I headed towards the only house that showed signs of occupation and thumped up the wooden steps to the door. I raised my fist but something caught my eye before my knuckles made contact.

Sinking to my knees by the side of the door, my fingers traced paler lines etched into the wooden slats that made up the house. They were names in a column, all claiming a beam of their own.

Bryn A.

Connor P.

Shane P.

I smiled despite the tears in my eyes and the emotion welling up inside me as I ran my fingers over and over the first name. Even without witchcraft, this place would hold more magic for me than any other place on this earth because my dad had been alive here. He'd laughed and cried and messed-up and done wonderful things. He'd brought my mother here.

"I was going to show you those. Guess you found them all by yourself."

Taking a moment to compose myself, I turned to face Ingrid who stood in a shaft of light from the open doorway with a knowing smile.

"Come, Priya has just made hot chocolate."

I dried my eyes on my sleeve and followed her inside where the thrumming in my blood only intensified. "Where are the others?" Footsteps sounded on the floorboards above me in answer.

Ingrid handed me a cup crowned with a swirling mound of whipped cream. "I wanted to talk to you alone."

I raised an eyebrow, looking from cup to witch. Ingrid still wore the clothes of the Iron Moon, black-laced spiderwebbed dresses and calf-high boots. Her thick ebony hair had been pinned into a sleek bun atop her head, her winter-blue eyes appeared as dull as a stormy sea. Despite the darkness that lingered in the shadow of her gaze, there was a flicker of warmth, a spark of grit and determination.

"Hot chocolate is not the go-to beverage for bad news. Something stronger is the norm, something that burns the throat. What is it? Demons? Nova-"

Ingrid gave a sad laugh. The corners of her eyes crinkled giving only a hint that she may have been older than she looked. "Nothing like that. All is well on that front. No signs of anything that shouldn't be. Come sit with me."

With foreboding twisting my gut, I followed her into the living room, my grandmother's taste in decor stamped in the floral wallpaper and heavy curtains. In the faded, patchwork armchair which was twin to the one currently decomposing in the living room back at the cottage. I perched myself on the edge of a chair and waited.

Ingrid took a seat in what I would call Gran's chair, cradling the bowl-like cup of hot chocolate in both hands. "Have you managed to get through to your angel yet?"

I was struck. That was not the direction I expected this conversation to go. I shook my head.

"Do you still plan on retrieving him?" Her voice was smooth and calm, so why did I feel like a storm was brewing?

"If I can. My coven are against it but I made a promise to his family." Where was this going? I hadn't dared take a sip of my drink yet in case I ended up wearing it. The cream sank ever lower in the cup as my uneasiness grew.

"You'll need someone to take his place then, to rule the demons in his stead. And you'd have to trust that person."

"Yes."

She nodded slowly, then looked me square in the eyes. "I want to do it. I will take your angel's place in Chaos."

I let out a strangled laugh. "No."

"It's not your choice."

I put the cup down on a side table in case I dropped it. "I cannot allow that."

"With all due respect, High Witch, you are not my High Witch." She held my glare with a look of steel.

"Semantics."

Ingrid huffed. "You Archers are as stubborn as shit. My mind is made, and it's a win-win for you. You get your angel back without sabotaging the peace he has forged for the last few months. I can do it. I can control the demons."

My head was spinning and my heart raced inside my rib cage. It could work, she was right, it would tie everything up neatly and we got to have Rafe back. I smacked my palm against my forehead. "Wait, no. If I let you do that, Astrea would find a way to resurrect herself just so she could kill me. She wouldn't want that for you and I'm not sure I do."

"This is not the way I expected this to go."

"Yeah? Well that makes two of us."

Ingrid chewed the inside of her lip. "What has stopped you these last few months from falling down and down into that vertical pit of grief? Your coven?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"More than that then. Your friends?"

I huffed and folded my arms. "You have friends."

"Or is it that you have awoken every morning with a purpose? A reason to get up. The angel is out of arm's reach, yes. But he lives. You just have to get to him. That drive, that goal, that promise to his mortal family has kept you afloat. I'm drowning, Riley. My reality is that endless pit of grief and I know there's no way out for me. I live that everyday, except I don't have a kernel of hope that I might get her back. And if it were possible? Then, by the Goddess, I'd break all the rules. Let me do this, please. Please let my existence be worth something."

It was the 'please' that lingered with me, and when I sailed home to Valestone that night the word echoed through my memory. Please let my existence be worth something. Surely that's all anyone wanted.

Upon leaving Ingrid, it was clear I was damned no matter what choice I made.