The Last Harmon [Complete]

Prologue

The Summit, Arizona

I always hated crowds. There's just something spooky about them; like everyone is sharing the same thought. This place, this time, right now. Where else have I got to be but here? What else could be more important than this, right now? And all the eyes that you accidentally meet when you linger on a space too long, those glaring and obnoxious eyes, as though they despise it too, that's what it feels like. Questions. Endless questions.

I stand beside my mother at the Summit. The Summit is a stadium, a stadium built from ancient magic and protection charms that only those of magical blood can enter. We are at the very bottom, the front, along with the other most powerful covens. The rest, the thousands and thousands of others, are all around us; waiting.

They are too far away to see clearly, just merely shadows in the distance. But I feel their presence. The magic in my bones stirs at the magnitude of power in this stadium. All of us together. Every witch and warlock in the world. It is dangerous.

"How much longer will she keep us waiting?" my aunt Clarissa growls to my mother. "It's been almost an hour."

"She always liked to be dramatic," my mother responds. "I suppose she is waiting for everyone to arrive."

"That is what worries me," Clarissa says quietly. "Why the need for every coven? Even the damn Spanish covens are here, and she can't stand them."

I try to see what they see when they look out at the blurred faces of the people above us, but I just see that, blurred faces.

"It will be a big announcement," my mother says.

"The Slayers? You don't think-"

"Let's not speculate. Theresa?"

"Yes, momma," I say, smiling up at her.

"Are you alright?"

I nod my head, and she smiles back.

"It won't be much longer now."

An eerie silence befalls the entire stadium as the host finally arrives. Amara appears through a thin gust of wind. She is our Elder, our master, our leader. Every witch is raised to worship her, to respect her, to follow her. My mother never taught me such things. What I know, and what I respect, are separate things.

Amara smiles to her audience. She is a tall woman with broad shoulders, pale skin and short blonde hair. She wears a red cloak with the medallion of the ancient ones around her throat. Some of the covens believe that the medallion is what gives her ultimate power, that without it she would be just like us; ordinary.

"Well isn't this just a sight!" Amara exclaims. "All of my children, all of my family, here together. How wonderful."

Her gaze ends with us, the long line of Harmons. It's no secret that our coven is the strongest of all, that my ancestors alone defeated Amara's great-grandmother when she turned evil and threatened to burn them all alive. Amara is descended from the greatest power, but we are descended from the second greatest, so she's always viewed us as a threat. Maybe she always will.

"Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, brothers and sisters," she shouts, her voice magically projecting to all. "I have gathered you all here tonight for a special announcement. As of today, the world is ours."

I hear my coven begin to mutter quickly, in confusion. I keep my attention on Amara, on her smile, on her confidence.

"Yes, you heard that right," she continues. "No more will we hide our magic in the corners of the world, afraid of consequences and attacks. No more will we obey the laws of the mortal; no more will we see our people slaughtered by the evil demon-leaches because we're too scared of exposure to fight back. It is time we did fight back! It's time we took back this world from the mortals. We are descended from gods. We once roamed this world freely, using magic freely with no fear of punishment. Today we get that back. Today we exposure ourselves for who we are, and all those that block our path will pay with their lives!"