Chapter 1

Marriage to a witch or any lower class of magic results in a dilution of power. A fae’s magic is no less brittle than it is beautiful, and so one cannot be too guarded in ensuring separation between the races.

The large tome shifted in my lap as I balanced on my stool and reached up to adjust my glasses. Potions bubbled in miniature cauldrons nearby, where my mom and sister worked away at their witchy concoctions.

 I grasped The Fae’s Blessing: Sacred Verses and squinted down at the small text in the dull candle lighting of our stuffy basement. The centuries old paper felt cool and dry under my fingers. The religious writings of the fae were scrawled in ancient ink and gave off the scent of dusty parchment that would linger with me for the rest of the day. I breathed in deeply and let the smell fill me before hugging the book to my chest.

I couldn’t get enough of combing through the old holy texts. It was both inspiring and confounding. Many of the passages stole my breath away and made me understand life in a whole new light. And yet I was a witch—well, a half-human that was a witch—and some passages condemned any association with my kind.

But I was also half-fae, too.

“Kitty! What on earth are you doing?” Mom ran up to my weeping sister. “You put in too much pearl dust! How many times do I have to tell you? Brewing love potion is an exact art. There is a fine line between obsession and possession.”

Instead of a healthy rose color, the cauldron in front of Kitty billowed putrid green smoke. My sister wiped at her face, her hair uncharacteristically askew and her mascara smeared. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “I-I got a little distracted.”

Mom cut me an accusatory glance. “And who was supposed to be helping you?”

Theoretically, I knew when it started to get cold people tended to pair off for the winter. Fall was the perfect time for love potions and Mom wanted to ensure we had enough on hand.

I motioned to the book in my lap. “I’m reading a holy text like I usually do before church.”

Mom shook her head. Her graying golden hair that she’d spent the morning curling bobbed in rhythm. “It’s always an excuse with you, Mary. You’re always working on your fae ability or that silly internship.”

“It’s not silly!”

“And when you’re not doing that, you’re reading. Constantly.”

I straightened. “Knowledge is one of the few things worth pursuing in life.”

She huffed. “Only if you don’t know any men.”

Mom maintained that the highest priority in life was marrying off her daughters, with potion-making a respectable runner-up. As for me, in my twenty-three years, I’d avoided brewing and anything too witchy as much as possible. And as to the other point, she was right. I didn’t know any men.

She turned back to Kitty and threw up her hands, casting my sister an exasperated glance. “This is the third potion you’ve wrecked this week. Honestly, do you think these ingredients grow on trees?”

To be fair, some of the ingredients did grow on trees, but the crushed essence of pearls didn’t, and it was particularly expensive to acquire. Witches needed supplies or objects in order to do magic, whereas fae power was more innate.

A groan escaped Mom as she examined the potion. “We won’t be able to use this batch.”

The forlorn look in Kitty’s eyes made my insides twinge. My poor sister was suffering the ill effects of a recent breakup. While it may not be something new—I always had a sister in some sort of relationship crisis—it had really affected her normal cheery manner. And unlike my other sisters, Kitty occasionally acted like I was worth spending time with. I loved my family. Everyone was so different. However, I didn’t always feel as if they understood me.

For my nineteen-year-old sister, Lydia, chasing men was the only thing worthy of her attention. I knew Jane and Lizzy cared for me, but they no longer lived at home and were busy with their careers.

Slipping off my stool, I shut my tome, placing it carefully on my seat before turning to Kitty. “I’ll help clean up.”

Mom turned off the Bunsen burner, waving a hand through the uncharacteristic amount of steam billowing into the room. “Just leave it. We don’t want to be late for church.” She took off her apron and ran her hands over her pristine pantsuit. “Kitty, hurry and tidy yourself up. And where is Lydia?”

I exchanged a glance with Kitty. Lydia was last seen leaving her window wearing a yellow polka dot bikini and jean shorts, shoes in hand.

“Not sure, but I don’t think we’ll see her at church today,” Kitty said.

“Where is she? In her room?”

“More like heading out of it an hour ago,” I said. It was a completely illogical thing to do, considering Mom wouldn’t care even if Lydia strolled out the front door in broad daylight. She encouraged my youngest sister in all her silliness. A lifetime of gathering data on this point had proven me right.

The anxiety in Mom’s face eased and an indulgent smile curled her lips. “Out the window, no doubt. Clever girl.” She waved a hand. “Oh well, you two go. I’ll be there soon.”

I grabbed the aged tome off the stool, pressing it against my chest as I climbed the two flights of stairs to where our glamoured living space behind the shop was located. Someone had strung pumpkin Halloween lights in the hallway, creating an orangish hue over the photos of my sisters and me through every awkward phase of life. Kitty followed me up the steps, giving a soft sniff, indicating her dreary mood hadn’t lifted.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help with the potion,” I said quietly.

She gave a watery smile. “It’s not your fault. I’m just such a mess lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You know me. My life is constantly a mess. We can be messy together.”

Her mocha brown eyes widened. “How are you a mess?”

“I’m a mess when it comes to interacting with people.”

Kitty laughed. “People are just hard, period. But you’re amazing with books, organization, information-gathering, and analysis.”

Yes, that all made sense. But unfortunately, that was only half my life. “Why don’t people fit neatly in boxes? They’re so illogical and unpredictable.” There was no way to understand people’s motivations when they put on a mask and kept so much locked inside.

Kitty’s smile turned soft. “You’re right. We’ll be messy together.” She straightened and brushed at her eyes one last time. “Okay, I’m going to reapply my mascara and then it’s no more crying.”

After depositing my book in my bedroom, I headed downstairs and came into our main living area. The walls were painted a gentle beige. Two large sofas sat along the windows, with a thick, handwoven quilt draped across the arm of the one on the left. Lining the wooden coffee table were miniature pumpkins and cinnamon candles, and above the fireplace hung a wreath made of leaves and acorns and little witch’s hats with the saying Autumn Leaves and Witches Please.

The kitchen lay beyond a swinging door opposite the stairs. We had a dial on the wall that flipped between red and blue. If the dial pointed to the red, we were in our home kitchen. If it flipped to blue, it became the kitchen for our bakery, Cupid’s Confections, where we sold both potions and regular baked goods. Right now, it pointed to the red.

Mom’s voice came from the small bedroom just off the living room. A large bed with a comforter and a knitted throw blanket made of orange and burgundy yarn kept Dad warm. He used to be upstairs, but as he’d gotten worse, Mom moved him onto the main floor so that he didn’t have to traverse the stairs. Someone—probably Jane—had decorated his room for the season with strings of get-well-soon cards. Expertly crafted hanging paper ghosts and bats intermingled with the well wishes.

“You must take your medicine!” Mom said to Dad, hands on her hips. “You simply cannot refuse it. You are so stubborn, it’s driving me mad. How will we have any peace if you’re not well?”

Dad gave a wan smile. “I’m sure peace will find us, even in my current state. As for the medicine, it’s nothing but a nuisance. I’ve tried ten different ones with no effect. I am content to lie here in my own company, if you do not mind.”

“You cannot possibly be content. Think of the girls. Think of all the things you must still do!”

“You worry too much, my dear. Perhaps it is you who should lie down and rest. I assure you, I am quite capable of managing my own sickness.” Dad’s mouth twisted with amusement despite the tired look in his eyes and the gauntness of his face.

Mom held his hand and leaned over, kissing him on the forehead. Turning, she stepped from the room, muttering to herself. “I suppose if you won’t listen, I’ll have to call for the doctor again…”

Kitty came downstairs, rejoining us, her makeup freshly reapplied and her favorite yellow headband in her brown hair that curled about her shoulders.

With an aggravated sigh loud enough for Dad to hear, Mom marched over to the back door, ripping her coat off the stand. “Let’s head out.”

Kitty and I also grabbed our coats and followed her into the crisp fall morning. The trees were afire with oranges, reds, and golds. Carved pumpkins, ornaments of black cats, and outlines of witches dotted people’s yards and doorsteps. A sharp breeze whipped the end of Kitty’s scarf about, and I shoved my hands deeper into my coat pockets.

The church wasn’t far from our house, so we walked. The leaves crinkled deliciously under our feet with each satisfying step. Neighbors passed by and waved, mostly Unmarked—or non-magical people—but some Marked as well. Mom’s anxious mood dissolved as we interacted with more people. I stayed tucked between her and Kitty, only having to throw out an occasional nod if someone called me out specifically. I could live to be a hundred and I still didn’t think I’d enjoy small talk or gossip the way our mother did.

My sister breathed in deeply, adjusting her scarf, which had pictures of tiny cauldrons knitted into it. “I love the fall. Isn’t it so lovely?”

“It is.” A small flower of relief bloomed in my chest. Kitty was regaining her cheery attitude.

“Oh, I do hope Jane is coming today. Perhaps escorted by a certain someone,” Mom said to us.

As if on cue, a ray of perfection with golden hair and a sweet smile revealed herself, emerging around the corner and walking toward us from the direction of the church.

“Jane!” Mom lifted her hand as if she were a best friend she hadn’t seen in months instead of just yesterday. “Jane! Over here!”

“Hello, everyone.” Jane approached in a stylish black blouse and a beautiful dark blue skirt with ebony tights and classy heels. After spending so much time at Netherfield recuperating from an injury, we were all glad to see her about and healthy these past couple of weeks.

“My sweet! How has your day been?” Mom asked, looking around. “Where is Charles Bingley? Didn’t he drive you here?” She craned her neck as if there were crowds of people along the sparsely populated street and she might spot him.

“I drove myself,” Jane said.

Mom’s shoulders fell, a pout forming on her lips. “And I see Lizzy couldn’t bother to come today, either.”

“Lizzy, I believe, got here before me. She’s already inside the church.”

“Is she?” Mom huffed. “Too good to wait outside for her family?”

“It is a tad cold out. I’m sure—” Jane started.

“Let’s get inside,” Mom hurried toward the chapel.

The church was a small white structure, among the oldest in Austen Heights. But from the fresh coat of paint and occasional updated internal structure—along with a little fae magic—it had remained well maintained over the years. A picket fence ran around the front of the building and lined the cobblestone sidewalk.

A sign before the door announced the times of the two congregations that gathered there. One of the founding human pastors and fae pastors had struck up a bargain that they both could use the building for their congregations, and that deal held strong to this day. Although magic wasn’t a secret in Austen Heights, the meetings still remained separate.

The old cemetery sat behind the church. Ever since I was a child, I’d often spent hours reading there. It was my sanctuary.

 The meeting would start in only a few minutes, so we rushed up the steps of the church.

“Oh, hello, Mary.” The fae assistant pastor, Brexton, stood at the door with a wide grin on his face. His hair was styled neatly, and he wore a woven brown cardigan over his white dress shirt. The easy warmth in his expressive eyes welcomed me. “How are you liking The Fae’s Blessing?”

Tucking a stray strand that had come loose from my bun behind my ear, I looked up at him. “I’m liking it a lot, thank you. I’ll return it to you as soon as I’m finished.”

Mom, Jane, and Kitty hurried to the seats Lizzy had saved for them. I took a step to move past and join them.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Assistant Pastor Brexton. Sometimes we talked a little too much, since I studied and cataloged the ancient texts stored beneath the church for my internship and he was often there doing his work. But I didn’t know if it was always the best use of time, and I was hesitant to get caught up in yet another conversation with him when the service was about to start.

“I’m glad you are enjoying it.” He ran his hand through his sandy brown hair, causing it to mess. Some strands fell over his pointed ears and eyes, lending him a decidedly non-pastory look. Lydia irreverently called him the hot, young pastor, although he was in his mid-twenties and Pastor Collins was only in his early thirties.

“So, you were asking about that old fae writer last week,” he continued. “I think you were reading one of his manuscripts? I scrounged around and found out the author is buried here in this very cemetery.”

I paused, perking up. “Really?”

“Yes. Here, I wrote the information down for you. Thought you might want to go check if you could find anything else about him from his gravestone.”

I took the paper, offering him a shy smile. “Thanks.”

Brexton was kind to me. He’d been the one who had talked Pastor Collins into giving me my internship in the first place.

His warm grin grew, and for a moment the light flashed, playing off of his piercing reddish-brown gaze. “Anytime, Mary. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you.”

I stuffed the paper in my pocket and rushed to join my family. I sat next to Kitty, settling onto the soft cushioning blankets someone had laid on the hard wooden pews. Whether it was to protect the benches or our backsides, I wasn’t sure, but I was grateful either way.

Mom chatted with Ms. Hetty Bates, who was seated with her knitting and her aged mother in the row ahead of us. They were the oldest fae in town. Mrs. Bates, being hundreds of years old with her gray hair and stooped posture, proved that the physical effects of age do show in the fae… eventually.

The air in the chapel smelled of old wood, carrying a quiet history all its own in every breath. Soft rays filtered in through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the benches, as though the church itself was wrapped in a patchwork quilt of light. I took it in, the atmosphere familiar, like the comforting warmth of a well-worn sweater or the gentle hum of a favorite song playing in the background, wrapping me in a hushed sense of belonging. 

“What? Charles Bingley is here?” Mom stretched to observe Charles and his dark-haired friend sitting up front in the seats reserved for high fae.

“Ohhh, Charles is such a nice boy. And always so cheery and handsome too, isn’t he?” Ms. Bates turned to the elderly Mrs. Bates. “Handsome, mother.”

“He is the most kind and handsome man in Austen Heights.” Mom leaned over the pew to get a better view. “But why is he sitting with that horrible man, Darcy? He was rude to my Lizzy. I hope he knows he’s never welcome in our bakery.” She said the last part loud enough that the surrounding people stirred.

“Mom,” Lizzy hissed from Jane’s other side. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a half ponytail and a little notepad stuck out of her purse that she carried around for her job at the local newspaper.

“I don’t care how high born he is.” Mom said, increasing in volume. “If he can’t look past his pointed ears to see my Lizzy, then he’s as low as low can get in my book.”

Darcy, though he must have heard, didn’t move, but Charles glanced back at us with a worried frown. Lizzy ran a hand over her face, while Jane covered her red cheeks with her hands.

Pastor Collins rose to his feet with a no-nonsense expression.

“The sermon is about to start,” I whispered in an attempt to stop them, my sense of belonging evaporating as I felt the stares drilling into us.

Kitty wasn’t paying attention as she texted someone on her phone. I now wished I had a person to text to divert my attention from the surrounding commotion. Still, I elbowed her. She sighed, set her phone aside, and looked up, making me wonder if she had heard and was just using her phone to pretend not to notice.

I did a double take when I noticed Frank Churchill in the pew behind Charles. He sat there, his shoulders hunched. My heart started to race. Frank hadn’t been to church in years. He looked quite dashing in his wine-colored button-up shirt and black slacks. The sleeves were rolled, revealing his tanned muscular arms. His collar was slightly open, highlighting the lines of his neck and square jaw. Despite him being more Lizzy’s age, I’d watched him from afar, even as a child, envying his easy manner and deep laugh.

But today Frank wasn’t smiling. In fact, his rich brown eyes held an odd desperate gleam.

Kitty elbowed me back. “Frank is here.”

“I saw,” I whispered.

“Of course you did.” She gave me a smile, but the sound of a large book hitting the podium caused me to flinch and turn back to Pastor Collins’s sermon before I could tell her she was being ridiculous.

Frank and I hadn’t even spoken since we were kids.

Pastor Collins opened the large text with a sharp crack. I eyed the tome with a bit of concern. The ancient texts were magically protected, but preserved or not, that book dated back many centuries. Pastor Collins straightened his fae robes and looked over the crowd. He began flipping through the pages with purpose. Each flick was so rough, I found my fingers twitching, wanting to pull the large book from him and show him how to care for a text of such age. But Pastor Collins obviously didn’t care. He lifted his chin, observing his flock through narrowed eyes.

“There has been a death among us.” He paused, glancing around those gathered as several whispers rose from the congregation. He ducked his head back toward the book. “The ancients teach us to beware the magic that is unlike ours. Beware the magic of the witch, eschew the darkness of the werewolf and the vampire. But especially foreswear those witches who deal in death. For theirs is an abomination, and we, the fae of light, are to live within the brilliance of the sun.”

He looked up from the page he was reading. “And now we understand the wisdom of such words,” Collins continued. “We see it in the loss of our own. Isabella Ravenswood.”

He paused dramatically while more whispers erupted from the worshippers, as he probably knew they would.

When he spoke again, his voice was loud enough to rise above the indistinct murmur of the congregation. “She was taken from us, so young, so soon.” His eyes swept around those present. “Brought down by creatures of the dark.”

Tension rippled through the room, the uneasy murmurs growing like the rustle of pages in a library.

“Murdered.”

I sank lower in my seat and shivered despite the warm temperature, while Ms. Bates’s knitting happily clacked away in front of me. I’d heard about the fae woman who had been killed. Every Marked and Unmarked had heard about it. Found in the woods, dead, bitten by some creature. The killer still hadn’t been apprehended.

“And in such a bleak time shall we not band together to seek justice and bring down those sinister souls who wish our end?” Collins’s thin, angry gaze landed on the pew where my family sat. “Mark my words, the death of a fae is not taken lightly. We will have justice. The wicked will pay.”