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She tried a few more drawers. Nothing. There was nothing. She flicked open every drawer. All empty and bare. It was as if the entire house was stripped of possessions and boarded up.

Frustration washed over her once again, ready to explode to the surface. She let out a cry of anger. Her calming technique wouldn’t help her this time. It was far more palpable. She held it in the best she could. Alice gritted her teeth, allowing the faintest of a barbaric yawp to leave through the sides of her mouth. Her heart raced and thumped against her chest. Her fists clenched tight.

This was a nightmare. Everything was a nightmare going as far back as the night she visited Ez to ask for help leaving. If she could do it all over again, she would stay with Hugo. Everything would have been different. He would have never gone to face the Savinos alone. He would have never become a vampire. Hugowould have never been enthralled and controlled by Sylvia. She wouldn’t have been forced to stake him in the back. Hugo would still be alive.

One night. One decision. Everything was set on a course to be here, trapped here in this nightmarish land.

Alice didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to go. If those ghouls were surrounding the house, then what could she do? She would meet them and they would tear her apart? Take her off to see the banshee? Would she become one of them?

Fear and dread overcame her. Not fear for her safety, but fear that this was all for nothing. The fear she was too late. What if Hugo had become one of them? What if he didn’t hold on? What if she was too late?

Alice gulped. She was short of breath as another panic attack set in. She breathed in and out in rapid succession. She squatted down, pulling her knees closer to her chest. Alice buried her head into her arms.

Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .

She started her calming countdown once more.

“I can’t do this,” she said as her voice was muffled by her coat sleeve.

Seven . . . six . . . five . . .

“I’m powerless to do this.”

‘I was in a dark place. I never thought I was going to get out of it.’Hugo’s last words rushed into her mind. The words he uttered to her as she struggled to hold him back. The words he proclaimed right before she staked him in the back.

‘You rescued me.’

His words echoed in Alice’s mind as if he were in the house with her.

‘I want you to know that you’re not a good witch. You’re a great witch.’

Alice was a great witch. Her powers had never defined who she was. They never directed her actions. They bent to her will. Her thoughts. Her actions.

They were no more than a tool. There was no difference between her magical powers and the mortar and pestle she used to grind ingredients for her potions. They were tools. She was without her wine cellar, her ingredients, her potions, and she was also without her magick. Their absence didn’t change who she was or her greatest strengths.

She was Alice Primrose. The daughter of Rowena, who showed her love. Granddaughter of Beatrice, who instilled in her a sense of duty. Great-granddaughter of Hazel, who was resolute in her convictions. Great-great-granddaughter of Layla, whose story taught her courage in the face of unrelenting adversity.

Their gifts had comforted her as she faced isolation in an unknown town. Their lessons gave her courage to defeat the vampires threatening the town she grew to call home. All tests she passed because of who she was, not what she could do. The very reason Hugo loved her.

Alice was the combined strength and power of all the witches who came before her. With or without her magick, she was still the neighborhood witch of Newbury Grove. The witch who was leaving this ghastly place together with Hugo.

Alice rose. She pulled her purple hair behind her ears. She tugged on the front brim of her hat. She adjusted her modern Victorian tailcoat and wiped off her black leather pants. She stood tall, her shoulders pulled back.

It was time to rescue Hugo and kick this banshee’s ass.

Alice stomped around, arms outstretched, searching for any door she could find. She found a small door and placed her hand on the knob. Perhaps something in a pantry drawer or closet could be of use. Something she could wield. Or else she would attack with one of the kitchen chairs.

She dove her hand inside and found it. Something wooden and round, with a long handle. Alice yanked it out of its hiding place. She gripped the handle and slid her hand down to find what was on the end. Her hand met broomcorn.

“Of course,” Alice said. “What else could it be but a broom?”

The broom, devoid of any magick, would be the weapon she wielded against the ghouls.

Chapter 23

The Neighborhood Ghost

Alice stomped out of the kitchen and into the living room. The light seeped through the seams of the door, guiding her way out. An army awaited her on the other side. She steeled her resolve, inhaling deeply. With a long, drawn-out exhale, she closed her eyes.