Chapter 71: Calling The Coven

Sweat beaded and pooled under my clothes in the sauna of the kitchen. We'd gathered a crowd, the room tingling with an overcharge of hovering magic. Well over fifty witches packed themselves into the good-sized room with spill over into the hallway, a mix of emotions flickering past me and sometimes through me as even they, accomplished as the coven members were, lost threads of power. I flinched from the air magic, trying to keep my grounding in earth, but that just made the heat worse.

These were not the witches of my birthday, the calm and black robed family prepared for Beltane night. No, these were terrified and furious witches, most still in robes and slippers, pajamas and nighties, with pale frightened faces and sleep deprivation to feed their panic.

One of our own was taken. Now no one felt safe.

James Crossman huddled near the perimeter, his five-month-old daughter Eliza clutched to his chest. It broke my heart when I realized it was his wife Sandra who was taken. Their lit