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Howard gazed at the necklace, a rare green meteor rock glowing ominously in his hand. The pain it caused was immediate and intense, setting his veins on fire, muscles inflamed as he held it with no protection. The meteor was known for its ability to weaken natural-born witches. Dabblers—witches who gained their magic through unnatural means rather than bloodline—were less affected. Howard had chosen this weapon specifically to use against the coven, combining it with Colocasia root powder to completely block their powers. Only dark magic could resist the root, a fact proven when the Witch-Hunters had failed to kill Austen James years ago. The James blood was strong enough to negate its effects.
The first coven Howard had targeted had managed to dull the meteor’s impact, still wielding magic and fighting back. Someone with strong magic had channeled their power, but Howard couldn’t identify who it was. His gut instinct pointed to two dark-haired boys, but he had no concrete proof.
In the second coven, only three members of the Harvest Grove Coven had been subjected to the Colocasia powder and the green meteor necklaces. They hadn’t broken free until their coven mates had come to rescue them. The resulting magical interference had rendered Howard’s video footage blurry, but it was clear that a formidable force had been unleashed in that field.
Howard leaned forward, watching the five coven members pressing against the barrier in his latest footage. They were nearly breaking it, but not quite. A girl, previously unseen in the video, limped towards the barrier, looking ready to collapse. With the little energy she had left, she pressed against the barrier, her lips moving wordlessly.
Then, the boy next to her placed his hand on hers, and the barrier exploded. The footage ended abruptly, the screen turning a fiery white.
Howard leaned back, bringing his hands to his mouth, deep in thought. The sounds of honks, screams, crunching metal, and then silence haunted his mind. He shook his head, closing his eyes against the haunting memories, and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.
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Maya stared at the piece of paper left in the Chronicle’s letterbox, addressed to her in an envelope. The message was simple and unsettling: I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
Since the wolf attack, Maya had experienced a few days of peace, managing to forget about the note left in her locker on the day of the attack. But now, here was another one, identical to the first, and this time it grabbed her attention. She felt annoyed and unnerved.
“I know who you are,” she whispered to herself, not paying attention in class as she reread the note.
If it had said, “I know what you are,” it would be easy to assume it referred to her being a witch. But the “who” was throwing her off. How could this be construed as a threat?
She knew who she was. Everyone knew it. So what was the big deal? What was this person trying to prove?
“Ms. Burns,” her teacher snapped, indicating it wasn’t the first time she had spoken to her. “If you would kindly answer the question?”
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Maya jumped, looking around in confusion, having zoned out completely. She had no idea what the question had been.
“Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Dawson cleared his throat, answering for her.
“Correct.” Mrs. Harmon raised an eyebrow at Maya before turning back to the blackboard. “At least someone is paying attention.”
Maya sank lower into her seat, mouthing ‘thank you’ to Dawson.
He smiled and mouthed back ‘you’re welcome’ before turning his attention back to the teacher.
Maya’s gaze lowered to the piece of paper once more. I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
Her green eyes narrowed on the words. She knew who she was...
...right?
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Angelo believed in the team. He believed in loyalty. He believed in following his coach to the letter. But as he reached for the vial in his bag and applied it to the freshly burnt skin on his arm, where Coach had grabbed him for getting in the middle of him and Trevor, he began to wonder whether there was a fine line between team loyalty and masochistic subservience. The fact that he had gotten used to packing this vial with burn elixir made him stop and think for a moment. Thankfully, Coach never burned them to the point where it would leave scars...most of the time...but still. This wasn’t discipline.
This was abuse.
“Thanks, man,” a voice declared from in front of him. “You didn’t have to try and defend me like that.”
Angelo looked up to see Trevor. “It’s no problem.”
The other team members were silent, changing back into their clothes, yet obviously listening to the exchange.
“H-how can Coach do what he does?” Trevor stammered, unable to look at Angelo. “H-how is any of it possible?”
“How is any of the weird shit that goes around here possible?” Bradley spoke up, pulling on his shirt. “He’s a witch.” He turned and glared at someone who snorted. “My grandmother told me all about it. We used to have witches here in Harvest Grove. And they were all evil.”
Angelo bit back his defense at that.
“That’s not true,” Dan surprisingly came to the defense. “It wasn’t the natural-born witches that were the trouble. It was the Dabblers.”
Dabblers? Who the hell were they?
“How would you know that?” Bradley made a face.
Dan snorted. “You’re not the only one with a grandparent.”
“So what, we’re thinking Coach is a Dabbler?” Trevor asked in confusion.
“You guys can’t seriously think Coach is an evil witch,” Nathan snorted.
“Then how else do you explain what he can do?” Bradley demanded.
“Easy. Human evolution,” Nathan replied. “We evolved from cavemen, and we’ll keep evolving.” He nodded sagely. “One day, we’ll have gills and shit.”
The boys grumbled amongst themselves, each having different thoughts about what Coach was and how he could do what he did.
“What do you mean ‘what about Maya’?” someone asked.
Angelo looked up immediately.
“I’m just saying,” Hank shrugged.
“You wanna sic her on Coach?” Caleb blinked in near horror.
“No, I—” Hank cleared his throat. “All I’m saying is that he wouldn’t be the first...whatever...that she would have exposed.” He looked around at the others watching him. “How much longer until one of us gets a burn we can’t cover up and our parents find out? Or how much longer until Coach just deep-fries us?”
There was silence as the guys shared looks.
Nathan cleared his throat. “I read the Chronicle, and believe me, she’s going to go for the human evolution theory. She’s hinted at it before in other articles.” He made a face. “If you decide to go to her, go with that story. She’ll probably just laugh you off if you go with the whole stupid witch story.”
“I never said I was going to do it,” Hank mumbled, head lowered.
Silence returned to the changing room, none of the boys meeting each other’s eyes.
Angelo frowned as he watched them all, digesting what he’d learned, and fighting the unease he felt burning in his stomach.
4o