Bridget gave a chuckle. For a second I could imagine what things might’ve been like if I’d met her in her own day. Would I have liked her or would we have butted heads because we were so much alike? I wanted to believe that we would’ve been friends. We could’ve bonded over our mutual love of power and the color red.
“Samuel is a different matter entirely,” she said gently.
“But why? What makes him so different?”
“Well, for one, he chose darkness over the light of the universe. His heart is black. So is his soul, and when it is time for him to meet his maker—which I anticipate will happen soon—he will be punished for all he has done. The otherworld does not take kindly to those who defy its laws. Which is why we are always to be careful of where our alliances lie.”
Something Bridget had said stopped me. “Wait. So you think we actually have a chance of winning this thing? I mean, that’s what I’ve been telling everyone, but to be honest, I haven’t been so sure… .”
Standing among the ashes of my fallen coven members, I was finally able to admit it out loud: I thought there was a possibility we wouldn’t make it out of this fight alive. But here was the first person slain in Reverend Parris’s quest for total magic domination, and she was telling me there was a chance. We had a chance. Samuel’s reign of terror might be coming to an end.
“As I said, we must be careful with whom we align ourselves. If you ask the right people for help, you will triumph. But this is a decision you must make for yourself.”
“I thought we already had,” I said, growing confused and then frustrated. “Why aren’t you people ever clear about these things instead of talking in riddles? Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“The Bishop women are beautiful and passionate, but one thing we are not is indolent. I cannot give you the answers, but when you come up with the right questions I will be here. We are all here for you whenever you choose to call us.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” I mumbled, beginning to feel defeated. Between the vague advice and the fact that I was standing in the place where my mom had died, I was starting to think I’d rather be awake than dealing with all this.
“Look again,” Bridget said, gesturing widely.
I turned slowly to find the previously empty space before me now packed with people. The first face I recognized was my mom’s. She was standing at the front of the crowd, smiling at me. There were tears in her eyes, but I knew without asking that they were tears of joy, filled with pride. I resisted the urge to run to her and give her a big hug, because even though it was a dream, I knew that her presence wasn’t tangible. There would be no hugs, no kisses, no comforting hands on my shoulders. So I stayed where I was and beamed back at her, hoping she understood how much it meant to see her.
Then I began to pick out other faces in the crowd. Peter’s parents were there and so were Jasmine’s. Fallon’s hulk of a dad stood with his arm around his mom. Even my grandparents were there. But it was more than just my coven and immediate family. There had to have been hundreds of people standing in the crowd that was now stretching back as far as my eyes could see. Most of them I didn’t even recognize, but I knew in my gut we were all connected.
And just when I began to understand what was going on, I started to shake violently, until everything around me evaporated and I found myself back in my room staring up at Fallon.
According to him, I’d been murmuring in my sleep. Given the dream I’d had, it made sense. But I couldn’t worry about what he may have heard, because we were running out of time to do what we needed to do before the Parrishables showed up. There was no doubt in my mind that they were already on their way. Luckily, Bridget had given me the last piece in the puzzle of how to defeat them.
First, I let the others in on what I’d discovered through my dream. My theory, which I hoped would lead us to win, was a little far-fetched and I had expected some resistance—or worse, a flat-out refusal from Fallon—but everyone stayed silent as I explained what I believed Bridget was trying to tell me. By the time I was finished, the others in the room were on board.
Telling the rest of the Cleri had been easy, and afterward we went back to training in a last-ditch effort to prepare ourselves for what was about to happen. People were growing tired, and to be honest, we all could’ve used another month or so of intense practice, but by the time the afternoon started to give way to the night I knew we were as ready as we’d ever be.
I figured that the Parrishables wouldn’t strike while the sun was still out. It wasn’t that they couldn’t; they’d done it before. It was a question of comfort. Darkness craved darkness. It was when they moved best and did the most damage. The night sky was like a security blanket for people like them. And with Emory free to tell the Parrishables everything we’d been doing and where we were staying, we were practically sitting ducks.
At least that’s what they would think.
An hour before sunset, I gathered everyone together and went over one final time what we were going to do. I explained that just because the Parrishables had managed to get to us in the past, that didn’t mean we weren’t strong enough to stop them. This time for good. The exact words I used weren’t important. It was the feeling that rippled through our coven that mattered. The overwhelming knowledge that we were going to win. And when I told every last one of them how we would do that, I could physically see their spirits lifting up. They stood a little straighter and looks of fear were replaced with a determination and a confidence that hadn’t been there before.
I knew that in order to maximize our chances, we had to wait for the exact right moment to take action and until then, there was nothing else to do but wait. So I told everyone to take the next hour for themselves and get in the best head space possible before the battle—watching the sunset, getting lost in a book, painting, gossiping with a friend—whatever it was that gave them some modicum of joy and comfort. They deserved that at least, because it was a real possibility that not everyone would have the chance again.
How would you spend your last hour alive if you knew it was your time to go? A teacher had asked us this question in a creative writing class and my answer had involved going to Paris (the carb capital of the world); making wild, passionate love to Zac Efron (I heard he was into magical chicks); and dyeing my hair blond (I wanted to see if they really did have more fun). But when it’s actually a possibility, the reality is much different.
Now, instead of wanting to do things I’d never done before, I found myself wishing I could spend the time with my old faithfuls. I went upstairs and took a shower, taking special care to use all my favorite soaps and shampoos, getting lost in the scents that the different products created. When I got out, I carefully applied my makeup, opting out of using magic as a shortcut. Before life had gotten complicated, I used to love doing this. Taking the time to choose my colors, using opposing shades and blending them creatively across my eyes. Lining my lids with such intense precision that you’d have sworn I was born like that. Dusting the makeup brush lightly against my skin felt unbelievable. This was my quiet time. The time I let go of all the nonsense and stress that bogged me down.
I didn’t realize how much I’d missed the ritual until I was faced with the possibility of never doing it again.
Getting dressed was more difficult. What does one wear to a war? How to be fashionable yet functional? I turned to TV shows and movies for inspiration on what the modern femme fatale was wearing these days and ended up in a skintight catsuit the color of a fire engine with hidden pockets to hold a few spells I’d written out, plus my lip gloss. Black boots extended up my calves, just skimming the bottoms of my thighs. The heels were short for me, only three inches, but still stiletto. Anything more than that and I might break an ankle or impale someone during a roundhouse kick. And the latter would mean destroying another pair of shoes, which I was so not into.