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“What if raising your sister doesn’t work?” he wondered. “It could take years to perfect such a ritual.”

“Then it takes years,” I told him simply. “You wanted me to find meaning, Emmett. This is it. I’m going to raise my sister from the dead. Whatever it takes.”

It was something my sister and I had always said. Once I made the decision, it was a promise to Nicole to see this through to the end. If Emmett wasn’t going to help me, I’d find someone who would.

He contemplated my offer, then stood. “All right, Clarice. As long as you keep supplying me with treatments, I will do as you ask.”

We sealed our agreement with a witch’s vow. When I said whatever it took, I meant it to the very core of my being. I’d burn this coven to the ground to bring my sister back.

I returned to work that fall with a renewed sense of vigor. I had a purpose and a direction, and nothing could stop me.

I visited Nicole in her tomb often, to keep her company and tell her about the research Professor Carlisle and I were doing. I was cleaning one day, because she deserved a nice tomb. I picked up the leather-bound book we used to pretend was a grimoire. I had so many fond memories of playing magic with Nicole here in this cavern. Sometimes, when our parents weren’t home, we’d invite Faith over and she’d pretend to brew potions with us here.

I flipped open the book to find all kinds of drawings of a cauldron, along with scribbles I couldn’t quite read. We’d found the book in Faith’s attic when the three of us were playing up there one day. She’d said it belonged to her father—a man named Nicolas who had died before she was born. We all agreed it’d make the perfect spell book, so we’d brought it here to play with. We’d been so fascinated by the intricate crescent moon design on the front, but as children, we’d never given much thought to what was inside.

As I flipped through the journal, I realized it contained powerful spells and valuable information about lost coven relics. I remembered Faith’s father had been a Miriamic priest before he died. That hadn’t meant much to me as a kid, but now it occurred to me he possessed secrets of the Imperium Council.

I pored over that journal for weeks, searching for any information that could point to a revival spell the council kept hidden. I took notes of my own and added entries to Nicolas’s journal. He wrote extensively of a special cauldron and drew all kinds of pictures of wands, but ultimately, his entries lead us nowhere.

It took years of research before Professor Carlisle and I found anything promising. We’d tried endless rituals, incorporated as much Death magic as we could, and none of it was enough. With each ceremony, our efforts grew darker and darker. It was clear we had to go to lengths no other witch or warlock would attempt, but even animal sacrifices couldn’t get the job done.

We’d descended so far into the darkness, I wasn’t sure there was any ritual dark enough that we wouldn’t try. I’d do absolutely anything.

“I found something,” Emmett reported one day in my office. “But it’s not a ritual we could ever go through with. Perhaps there are ways to modify it so we don’t have to hurt anyone.”

“People are going to get hurt, Emmett,” I said. “We knew that when we agreed to go down this road. Whatever it takes, remember?”

“Yes, but not like this. The ritual requires the life of a cursed child.”

I shrugged. “So we cast a curse.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said. “The longer a child has been cursed, the more potent the magic. A curse we cast on our own wouldn’t be strong enough to perform the ritual, unless we waited many years for the curse to mature.”

“There are plenty of children in the coven,” I said. “I’m sure we can find one who’s been cursed.”

Emmett gaped. “You can’t really mean that.”

“I do,” I stated simply. “My sister is lost out there—she’s all alone. I don’t care who or what I have to sacrifice to get her back. We’ve dedicated years to this. Are you going to turn back on your witch’s vow now?”

Emmett appeared horrified. Without the treatments I was providing him, he wouldn’t survive long. “Even if we found a cursed child, we don’t have the magic to pull this off. We’d need the power of a demigod, or magic of equivalent magnitude. I daresay demigods are difficult—if not impossible—to come by.”

I tapped my pen on the desk. “So find a way to make it happen.”

“Where are we possibly going to find that kind of power, let alone contain it?” he asked.

“We can always find help for the right price. Perhaps a demon will strike a deal.”

Emmett’s eyes widened. “There are lines we can’t cross.”

I didn’t see it that way. “Lines are only drawn to keep you playing small, Emmett. Neither of us are small players.”

“To do so would have dire consequences,” he pressed. “Clarice, you know witches don’t make demon deals anymore. The cost is far too high.”

I smacked my hand on top of my desk, causing Professor Carlisle to startle. “ No cost is too high to save my sister! I will do whatever it takes, and I don’t care who gets in my way!”

He took a step back, though he appeared contemplative. “It would cost your very soul. You and your sister share a soul, and to sell your soul to a demon would destroy the very soul you’re trying to save. There’s no way around it, Clarice. Not unless…”

He trailed off, and I cocked an eyebrow. He cowered beneath my gaze. It was clear Emmett was terrified of what I’d become, but I held his life in my hands, and he cherished that above all else. It didn’t matter what I asked him to do, because after all these years of working with him, I knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his treatments—just as there was nothing I wouldn’t do for my sister. We were the same in that sense, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure if he was afraid of me , or afraid of how far he would go to get what he wanted.

Emmett shuddered. “A demon could take the soul of your kin as payment. But seeing as you have no kin, you’d never be able to make the deal. Not unless you were able to create kin of your own.”

It was horrible to suggest—no, worse than horrible. To put your own desires above the wellbeing of your child was the worst thing anyone could do. The only person capable of such a vile thing had to be broken beyond repair. They had to be so empty inside they couldn’t feel a thing at all, because any ounce of empathy would stop that person in their tracks.

They had to be like me.

“Whatever it takes,” I repeated.

He took a cautious step back. “I—I’ll handle the ritual so that it is ready whenever you are, when a demon can provide his assistance. But I can’t do it alone. I’ll need help.”

“I’m sure we can find someone. Demons aren’t the only ones who will make an exchange for the right price.”

Emmett seemed horrified, though I didn’t know why. I merely went about my day. It didn’t quite register what I was suggesting until I passed the large window above the Main Foyer. I caught sight of my reflection in the glass, and I had to do a double take. I didn’t know the last time I looked at my own reflection. It was too hard, because every time I looked at myself, I saw her.

I no longer recognized myself. I was well put together, in a clean black pantsuit and my hair tied into a bun at the base of my neck. I held my head high with my shoulders back. I looked all the part of the confident academic leader I was. It’d take one hell of an empath to notice how deeply I was suffering inside.

And yet… there was a darkness in my eyes that wasn’t there before. I knew when the light had left them—the night my sister was murdered. I wondered how no one else had noticed. I looked like an entirely different person.

It’s surreal, really—looking at your own reflection and not seeing yourself there anymore. How had I gotten to this point, where I was not only considering letting others suffer, but fully willing to go through with it?

I suddenly couldn’t breathe, and it felt as if the school walls were closing in on me. I tore my gaze from the window and began racing down the hall, pushing past students and faculty. I must’ve looked like I was late for a meeting, but the truth was, I was trying to outrun myself.

I turned a corner down a secluded hallway and slammed straight into someone. I stumbled back a step, and the man caught me.

I stared up into the soft eyes of Jonathan Warren. He was my age, a Mortana professor here at Miriam College of Witchcraft. We’d worked closely for years, but we’d never been this close. I didn’t think we’d ever exchanged more than a kind handshake.

“Headmistress, what’s wrong?” Jonathan asked. Goddess bless his heart, he was so genuine. He had no idea what kind of monster he’d just stumbled into.

“I—I,” I stammered. I never broke down, but in this moment, I just couldn’t bring the words to come. Part of me wanted to tell him—tell someone —what was on my mind. He needed to stop me, because I wasn’t sure I could stop myself. I wasn’t scared when Emmett told me what had to be done, but now… I wasn’t so sure.

Jonathan noticed the distress in my features. “Let’s talk,” he offered.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, guiding me through his classroom and into his office. The moment the door shut, I caught sight of my reflection in the window, and I completely broke down. I yanked the red drapes closed, and tears streamed down my face. I gasped for breath that didn’t come.

“Headmistress,” Jonathan said gently as he guided me into a chair.

“Call me Clarice,” I insisted through sobs. I tried to make them stop, but the more I resisted, the harder I cried. I was wholly embarrassed and ashamed.

He knelt beside my chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m here for you.”

I wiped my eyes. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Your boss, crying in your office. You shouldn’t see this.”

“We all need a good cry every now and then,” Jonathan encouraged. “This room’s a good place to cry, really. Alora knows I’ve shed enough tears here after Roberta passed.”

I barely remembered his wife died, to be honest. I’d heard of it in passing, but it seemed insignificant at the time. Now as I looked at him, I had the thought that maybe he could understand me, because he’d lost someone, too.

“How long has it been since you had a good cry?” he asked gently.

“Too long,” I admitted. “Not since Nicole died, at least.”

Jonathan took my hand in his. “Oh, Clarice. I’m so, so sorry. It’s okay to let it out.”

Nobody had ever given me permission like that before. Alora knew my father would’ve berated me for such a display of emotion. Jonathan was different. When I sobbed in front of him, I couldn’t stop. There was something about him that allowed me to be vulnerable, when I never could before. Jonathan wrapped me in his arms, and my shoulders shook as tears soaked his suit coat. I was crumbling into a million pieces in front of him, but somehow, Jonathan was picking up the pieces and putting me back together again. I had no idea there were any pieces left to hold together anymore.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here,” he offered.

It was so kind and unexpected. I’d have thought he would throw me out of his office and tell me how disgusting I was for the person I’d become. But he didn’t. He accepted me—broken pieces and all.

I thought about telling him, about laying it all out on the table and just being done with it. Jonathan was level-headed enough to do something about it, even if that meant locking me up so I wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Somehow, that terrified me more than actually going through with my plan, because if I didn’t, then my sister’s death meant nothing. Jonathan couldn’t know… ever .

My gaze traveled down to his lips, and Goddess, the only thing that kept me sane was thinking of what he might taste like. “I don’t want to talk.”

I drew him close, and we both paused at the precipice. For the first time in years, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. If I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it, then maybe there were other ways to drag myself back from my descent into madness.

Jonathan didn’t pull away. Our lips connected, and the world seemed to spin around me once more, vibrant with colors I forgot existed. I’d forgotten what it was like to feel something. And Alora, it was magical.

Jonathan and I couldn’t get enough of each other after that. Months of passion rooted me in sanity. We agreed to keep our romance a secret, because it put both of our jobs at risk to admit we were anything more than colleagues. And that made it all the more thrilling for both of us.

The moments I was with Jonathan, he brought me back into my body—grounded me here so I didn’t feel quite so broken. I shared the most vulnerable parts of myself with him, both in the bedroom and out of it. We had so many deep conversations, and I opened up to him about my parents and how empty I felt following my sister’s death. He listened, and he validated me with every admission. We shared the deep connection I so craved.

And despite all that, I could never open up fully. I tried so many times to tell him about the rituals and ceremonies I’d tried to raise my sister from the dead. I’d wanted to tell him what Professor Carlisle and I had talked about that day I broke down. But I couldn’t.

One night, after hours of passionate love making, I laid in his arms and asked, “Do you ever wish you could bring your wife back?”

I’d wanted to ask that question so many times, but I’d always talked myself out of it. It was out there now, and I nervously awaited his response.

“I did for a long time,” Jonathan admitted as he kissed the top of my head. “But not even Death magic can bring her back. I find peace in knowing she’s all right in Alora.”

“What if she isn’t?” I asked. “We don’t really know who makes it to Alora or if they get stuck someplace else, do we?”

“I have to believe she’s there,” Jonathan said gently. “I understand why you’re asking. You’d bring Nicole back too if you could, and that’s completely valid. But we don’t have the power to do that, so we’ve got to find ways to keep going. If you’re not ready yet, it’s okay, but I’ll be here every step of the way to help you.”

I scoffed, though I tried to make light of it. “Believe me, you don’t want to stick around that long.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked incredulously. “I’ll be here until we’re old and gray, if you’ll have me.”

I stiffened. I never really thought of where we were going with this, or how far we’d take it. Jonathan made it sound like he’d go to the ends of the Earth for me, and I realized then that I couldn’t let this go that far. Jonathan was perfect in every sense of the word, and there was this innocence about him that I would destroy if we let this continue.

Goddess, I never realized it before. I was in love with Jonathan Warren.

That was more terrifying than any dark road I could go down, because I knew if I let myself love him hard enough, he just might fix me. I didn’t want to be fixed, because if I healed from this gaping wound inside of me, then there’d be nothing left to push me forward. Above all else, my sister came first.

Before even my love.

I drew away from him, my naked body still on full display. I’d allowed myself to strip away the layers, to be vulnerable with him in ways I couldn’t with anyone else. I realized now that was a terrible mistake.

“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” I said in a trembling whisper. “I can’t do this.”

I fled from his house that night, and every stitch he’d sewn up inside of me burst at the seams, until that empty hole in my chest gaped wider than ever before. All those pieces of me he’d picked up and held together shattered into smaller pieces, leaving me more broken than I’d ever been.

Two weeks later, reality came crashing down on me in the face of a positive pregnancy test.

My life had fallen into complete shambles, and I’d gone so far beyond rock bottom that I seemed to exist in an empty abyss. I couldn’t imagine hell could be worse than this. If bringing my sister back didn’t save her piece of our soul, then I had to do it to repair the fractured bits of my own.

I didn’t plan on telling anyone about the baby. I scheduled an appointment and resolved to be done with it—to be done with it all. Professor Carlisle was right. There were lines we couldn’t cross. I’d break my witch’s vow, even if it killed me, because if I was being honest that’s all I wanted anyway.

I knelt beside Nicole’s body in our hideout. The potion I’d administered all those years ago had preserved her body, so she looked no different than she had the night she died. Her cheeks were pale, but I’d spent so much time visiting this tomb that I’d nearly forgotten what she looked like otherwise.

This was how I remembered her now. For years, I’d been coming here daily, having one-sided conversations with my sister, telling her of all my plans to bring her back. I felt the madness seeping into my psyche. I talked to her all the time, even outside this tomb, because even though she wasn’t here with me, she was the only thing that felt real.

I took her icy cold hand in mine. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that I couldn’t keep going and that I’d failed her.

But as I stared down at my sleeping sister, I couldn’t bring myself to utter the words. Without me, she was wholly alone.

“I’m not going to give up on you,” I promised instead. “Everything I do now is for love. I don’t care if I tear apart the priestess’s coven if I can restore what I lost, because their coven is not one I wish to live in anyway. We vowed to make this world a better place, and I won’t break my promises. I’m going to make things better by bringing back what I love. Whatever it takes.”

Even if that meant becoming a monster I no longer recognized.