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The air smelled of burnt dirt and wet grass. My nose wrinkled at the scent as my thoughts raced. It felt natural, but I couldn’t recall why. The knowledge was driving me crazy, like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

The ground felt hot against the bottom of my bare feet, yet the darkness that surrounded me wouldn’t allow for any hint of my surroundings. I couldn’t stop moving, stepping through the night. If I did, it might find me.

Hurry.

There was pressure against my lower back, urging me forward. My shoulders ached.

Keep going.

Finally, in the distance, was the smallest point of light. The reddish gold grew brighter with every step. My knees shook as I continued forward, fighting against the current until the shadows of the distant forest grew closer.

A strong wind was shaking the leaves, threatening to tear away the weakest branches. But I could not feel the storm against my face. Instead, the dream-like quality surrounding me continued. I was floating, yet tethered to the earth.

We’re here .

Red bled into russet and gray, and as my ears popped, I was back in a familiar place.

The bright white marble of Professor Hamway’s kitchen shone under the sinking light of the waxing moon. The room was spotless, like I’d left it earlier.

All except for a single coffee mug resting on the countertop and the aqua-colored ceramic pot on the stove.

Had I forgotten to put them away? Who had made tea while I was cleaning?

Even through my dazed thoughts, I was embarrassed that everything wasn’t perfect.

I should have been scared. But even though my heart was pounding and my skin was tingling, it was not from fear. There was an electric energy radiating throughout the space, a new feeling that I couldn’t quite place.

Maybe I was dreaming. That would explain a lot.

“Turn back, turn back.” A different voice now.

The wind brushed against my ear. I jumped, pressing my hands to cup my ears as I turned. There was no one and nothing, not even the slightest wisp, present in the darkened kitchen outside of me.

“There’s nothing for you here, only death,” it said. This time, it wasn’t a whisper at all, but a loud ringing in my ears.

I was moving through water, resistant and unable to control my body. Despite fighting against the action, I stepped toward the basement.

With that, the room changed. An oppressing presence fell over the space, and blurred shapes floated in the corners of my vision. The modern oven was replaced with a kitchen hearth and an open flame, and brick walls replaced the modern backsplash. Yet my thoughts stayed numb as I took another step and reached for the basement door’s handle.

My fingers itched as I touched the knob. I could feel the painful sting of frozen metal and iron. I wasn’t dreaming.

Then what was going on? Why was I back here?

I’d fallen asleep in Damen’s room.

“Hide, hide.” It sounded as though the speaker was directly behind me. I spun around, and this time, I saw her.

An elderly woman in a black dress turned from the hearth. A large cauldron bubbled over the open flames, and she set a wooden spoon on a three-legged bench before she wiped her hands on her apron. A russet-colored table was in front of her, and she pressed against the surface, fingers touching the deep indentations. There was an urgency in her voice as she said, “They will be here soon.”

Who would be here? I was afraid to move or to breathe, so I remained still in my corner.

Was she talking to me? But… she was not looking in my direction at all. Rather, she was looking at a growing shape on the other side of the table.

“Stop talking in riddles.” The form spoke, solidifying, and my throat closed. Her softly curled blonde hair was easily distinguishable, but not her expression. Every time I’d seen her before now, her eyes held more fear.

I wasn’t sure what was happening, or what I was seeing, but in this moment, this memory, she was alive. Was I really seeing this, or was this all my imagination?

She looked the same, but so different. Her gingham was not torn, and her anxious, unsure, personality was confident and collected. “I do not have time for this nonsense. Just tell me where my sister is. I will not leave without seeing her. ”

“I see why you’ve been chosen,” the old woman tsked. “It’s always the heroic ones who seek out an early death. But you must escape now, or you’ll lose the opportunity to do so.”

The girl stepped to the table, also placing her hands on the surface. When she spoke, she was powerful and frightening in a way that did not match her smallish frame, enunciating each word with a command. “Tell me where I can find Eleanor.”

Vibrations thrummed under my bare feet, and I was pulled from their conversation as the plank flooring began to shake under the weight of heavy footsteps.

But the two women did not seem to notice.

‘R-run—’ I opened my mouth to warn them, but I could not speak. I was frozen. Fear finally reached me, and a line of sweat dripped down the center of my back. My skin crawled as a gray-black cloud that smelled of patchouli and wormwood began to curl through the crack at the bottom of the basement door. It took me a moment to recognize the scents—it’d been years since I’d been taught to recognize the herbs.

‘Run…’ I mouthed, but still, silence.

Why couldn’t I warn them? Why couldn’t they see what was coming? The women continued to argue, and no matter how much I fought, no one except me noticed the rising shadow.

It rose through the room, surrounded the air in a suffocating stillness, until the scene was swallowed by it and the light was plunged into darkness.

“Bianca!” A familiar voice rang loudly in my ears. “What are you doing here?”

Rough hands pressed against my shoulders, guiding me from my hunched-over position to sit on my bottom instead. The floor was rough against my shins, but I ignored the discomfort as I blinked.

I raised my hands and touched Finn’s wrists. What was he doing here?

“Finn?” I asked, my voice breaking. The scrambled pieces of the room around me gradually returned to place. “What—”

It hadn’t been a dream. Yet, somehow, I really was in Professor Hamway’s kitchen. But, unlike in my vision, there was no ghost, and no darkness outside of the usual night. The space was bright and clean, and no resounding thrumming was pounding against the floor.

What was I doing here? What was he doing here?

And after all his dramatics and denial, how could he have the nerve to show up now?

“Are you okay?” Finn asked. Worried lines formed around his eyes, and his blond hair fell over the side of his face as he glanced around the room. “I think they’re gone,” he said.

He saw them too?

“You…” I began, my heart sinking. He really had been lying to me. “You can see ghosts.”

I thought it was just me. That I was alone.

And in a way, I really had been.

“Not quite,” Finn answered, nose wrinkling. “Not normally. Only when I’ve summoned my shikigami.”

“Well.” I was being abrasive, but he deserved it. “Where is it?”

He stood and brushed off his knees, even though there was no way he’d gotten dirty. “Already gone,” he replied. His features were drawing closed as he began to pull his emotions behind his mask. “It’s too much of a risk to keep her around for long.”

What, exactly, would he be risking?

I wanted to be mean, to hurt him as he’d hurt me, but a coldness stirred against the back of my neck, brushing the loose locks of my hair against my cheeks, and I involuntarily shivered. So, instead of responding, I ignored Finn as I looked at the now-opened basement door.

Did I open it? I didn’t remember.

“Bianca?” Finn questioned.

“We have to go down there.” I wasn’t sure why. But as I moved to my feet and looked into the darkened stairwell, my heart began to race with an important urgency.

There was something there I was supposed to see.

“Why, for the love of God, do we always do this?” Finn remained true to his kill-joyish ways. “Why can’t we find a nice twenty-four-hour restaurant, order some coffee and pie, and talk like normal people?”

“You’re obligated now,” I told him. This could be part of his penance. Besides, I’d had a massive dinner—thanks to Miles. Pie would not deter me from my mission.

“No, I’m not.” He leaned past me and reached for the door. “I can’t do this with you anymore.”

I bit my lip, unable to stop him. One side of me was relieved—maybe we should follow his plan—but the other was disappointed.

Why did I have to go down there?

“Ow!” Finn pulled his hand back and looked at his red-tinted palm. “What was—” he began, but his surprised statement halted when I moved forward. “Bianca!”

“Come on,” I said, already stepping into the stairwell. He was here now, so I might as well make use of the company. “Let’s go.”

“No, but…” Finn’s protest faded. It was too late—I was already halfway down the stairs. I didn’t stop until I reached the landing, relying entirely on the handrail and feeling to guide my way, and glanced back. He still stayed at the doorway, the bright ki tchen lights reflecting from behind him, before he finally began to grumble.

“Fine,” he said, stomping after me. But he knew me—even though we didn’t ever talk about it—and the next time he spoke, he was louder, voice easier to distinguish. “There’s not even a light switch,” he complained. “Is there one down there? Someone is going to fall and break their neck.”

“No one is going to break their neck,” I muttered, running my fingers over the soft, uneven wall to my left. “There’s no light switch. Do you have a flashlight?”

So early into my mission, and I was already unprepared.

But it wasn’t like I’d had notice.

He paused halfway down and complained under his breath once more. But I knew him, and despite our differences, that in a pinch, he’d find a way to come through. Sure enough, he began to pull at his coat, and a moment later, a small, warm glow erupted from the palm of his hand.

That was no flashlight.

“What do you have?” I asked, watching him as he joined me at the bottom of the staircase. Now that he was closer, I could make it out—a piece of paper, burning with soft orange flames. I frowned at it—at him—and at the way that he was clearly not burning to a crisp.

“You can control fire,” I pointed out. This was even more of a betrayal than anything. To think of all the times this power could have come in handy.

“That’s not what this is,” Finn protested. But even though the light wasn’t bright, the guilty movement of his Adam’s apple was clear. “Technically. We’ll talk about this later.”

Yes, we would. But that did answer my question about Damen’s elemental abilities.

“There’s an old magic down here,” Finn remarked, changing the subject. “What do you think you’re going to find?” He held out his hand as he illuminated the space around us.

“I—” I stepped forward, careful not to touch anything. Not that it was difficult, because while the basement was massive, there was no end to the darkness outside of the half-stone, half-mud walls to our left. There was also a lack of items to contend with within the space. Small, unseen pebbles dug into the bottom of my bare feet, and the earth felt wet against my toes. Surrounding us, however, was nothing but an empty room.

Shouldn’t there at least be mold damage? But I didn’t smell it.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

There was nothing here. But if that were really the case, then why was my heart beating so frantically? I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten to this place, or even why, but the same drive pulled at me regardless.

“Run, hide,” the old woman’s voice rang through my head. “Don’t let yourself be eaten.”

My breath caught, and I turned. Eaten?

When had that become an option?

But no one was around besides the onmyoji who was once my best friend, and while he’d startled at my quick movements, it was only to look at me. “What’s wrong?” Finn asked, obviously unaware of the words floating through the room.

The kitchen lights at the top of the stairs looked so bright and inviting. In comparison, the darkness throughout the rest of the space made the hair on my arms stand straight. There was a resistance pushing against us, and every step was met with struggle.

But, in my heart, it didn’t feel right.

I was here for a reason. I couldn’t leave now.

“Summon your shikigami,” I told him.

“What?” Finn looked at me and scowled. “I told you, I can’t—“ As he moved, the path of the light shifted, and finally, the furthest end of the rectangular room flashed into sight. I grabbed his forearm, interrupting his protest, and pulled him after me.

He still complained even as we walked.

“Where are we going now ?” he asked, trying to sound ever-so-patient, but failing. “There’s nothing here.”

I ignored his feeble attempts to deter me. I was used to his constant pessimism. In most cases, he was a begrudging but willing participant in our adventures. He would get over it, and, in the end, we’d usually see eye-to-eye.

I pulled him to my side and held my hand out in front of us, trying to use the light. The vision that’d captured my attention swayed like ripples moving over once-still waters.

“Bianca?” Finn narrowed his eyes, finally noticing what I’d already seen. “What are you…” As he spoke, the silver mirage lifted, and, before another breath could pass, he was in front of me. “How did you do that?”

“I—” I looked down at my fingers. The pressure trying to keep us back had lifted, and the room was a little bit lighter.

But not by much.

“I don’t know,” I finished. Finn was more of an expert than me, so why bother to ask? Instead, I peeked past him.

The musty scent of old spices tickled the air as the scene came into focus. Across the back wall were thick, shattering shelves, displaying hundreds of mismatched jars in various states of togetherness. In front of the space was a table with a broken leg.

It was very old, and in ruins, as the area was heavy with dust and spiderwebs.

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

“It’s an apothecary.” Finn stepped closer to the ruins. “It had to have belonged to a powerful, and probably bad, witch.” He lingered between the desk and the shelves, touching the surfaces and moving the light as he went .

“Why ‘bad’?” I asked.

Finn’s nose twitched as he confidently said, “Because why else would a witch go through the trouble to hide this? It’s expected to have a workstation. Besides, the magic just feels wrong.”

“Well…” I began—that was some leap of logic. I, personally, could understand needing a private space away from nosy onlookers, but maybe he did have a point.

There was an unpleasantness in the air.

“I guess,” I conceded. “How old do you think it is?”

Finn continued to hold the light in one hand and ran his pointer finger over the surface of the table with the other. He pursed his lips, studying the dust, before he replied, “Really old.”

I bit my tongue. Yes, he was trying to be helpful, and it wasn’t his fault that there wasn’t an obvious answer. But right now, everything he did annoyed me.

Would I ever be able to trust him again?

“Some still have labels,” he continued as he turned to the broken display. I stepped beside him, and he touched one of the few unbroken jars. The elaborate cursive on the cracking yellow label was impossible for me to distinguish, but apparently, Finn could read it. “It’s belladonna. Which further proves my point,” he added. “I’ve heard the witches talking about this one before. A lot of these herbs are hard to find, and are not usually used with positive intentions.”

“Really…” I began, allowing my gaze to drift to my right, away from Finn. “Belladonna is also known as Nightshade,” I pointed out, and when he looked at me, I shrugged, “Bryce has been growing some in the greenhouse.”

Did that mean that Bryce was evil? It wouldn’t surprise me.

But still, something didn’t sit right with me. A question was at the forefront of my mind: Why hadn’t Miles, the witch supreme, noticed this place? He’d been here at least twice .

“I wonder who owned this house before,” I mused. Professor Hamway had recently come into the property to use as a renovation project—she’d gushed about her plans before she left.

There was a heaviness in the darkness lingering at my right—a stale air that insulted my senses and couldn’t be ignored.

Finn began to reply, but my attention was entrapped, and I missed what he said.

What was back there?

I left him, feeling my way forward through the darkening space until Finn followed me and brought back the light. At the very end of the wall, at the corner of the room, were five wooden barrels—almost as large as me—unbroken and upright.

“Hide,” the woman’s voice sent a shiver down my spine. “Hide while you still can.”

“They’ve never been opened,” Finn was saying, but I barely paid attention. He reached past me and pressed his palm to the splintering surface of one of the barrels.

Keep going .

It was no longer a warning, no longer the voices from before. There was now a different tone echoing in my head. It was the same as my dream—the melodious male tenor that’d been encouraging me forward through the forests in my childhood. I recognized it now—an internal voice that’d been quiet until quite recently—had always steered me from trouble throughout the darkest moments of my life.

I’d followed it tonight and then ended up here.

But the ghost was nearby too—the girl who’d been warning me to leave—I could feel her presence even as Finn remained blissfully unaware.

She was still scared.

My chest was painfully full, and my breath was tight. I was torn between fear and duty. What was this feeling ?

What was wrong with me?

My hands shook, and my palms sweat as the outside presence became overwhelming, and the urge to run away, to flee, became almost unbearable. My heart pounded as I looked into the dimly lit corner. Self-preservation—a warning ringing in the back of my head that once I moved past this spot, it could not be undone.

Keep going. Escape. Help her.

A fear I’d been fleeing my whole life would soon catch up to me. Everything would change. Should I stay and take the risk? She didn’t even want help—she’d said so herself. I couldn’t save everyone.

I could leave now, stop this, and everything would stay the same.

It’s what we were born to do. It’s our duty.

My heart pounded in rhythm with the word. Duty. Duty.

I would not run, not even if all my carefully constructed plans came undone.