A Frequency of Truth, page 26
The last of the spectating witches drifted away, leaving Ember alone in the frozen garden. Their voices carried notes of fear, confusion, and anger—emotions that would need to be addressed sooner rather than later. But for now, Ember simply stood in the settling silence, watching her breath form clouds in the cold air as Beatrice was led away.
Chapter 18
Vesper’s fingers traced the weathered stone of the altar, her breath forming delicate clouds in the frigid air. The moonlight filtered through the cathedral’s broken windows, casting fractured patterns across the snow-dusted floor.
Her head throbbed. Fragments of Selene’s memories pushed against her consciousness—the sharp taste of fear, the weight of responsibility, the desperate need to protect. The images felt more vivid now, less like watching someone else’s life and more like remembering her own.
Not now. Vesper pressed her palm against her temple. The moonstone pendant at her throat hummed with the masking spell, but it couldn’t shield her from what was already inside her mind.
A flash—Selene standing at this very altar, her hands stained with ritual chalk, her voice hoarse from chanting. The echo pulled at Vesper’s senses, threatening to drag her under.
She gripped the edge of the altar, anchoring herself in the present moment. The stone was cold beneath her fingers, real in a way the memories weren’t. But even as she tried to steady herself, another wave hit—Selene’s final night, the desperate race against time, the growing certainty that something dark was closing in.
The warmth of Rafe’s hand on her shoulder drew Vesper back from the brink of another echo.
“We could wait,” he murmured. “Give you time to—”
“D’Arco won’t wait.” Vesper straightened, forcing her trembling hands to still against the altar stone. “Neither will Cassandra. They know what we’ve been collecting the artefacts.” Her gaze drifted to the shadow-touched crystal nestled among their ritual components. “They’ll come for us soon enough.”
“But—”
“We’ve got to perform the ritual. I can do it.” Vesper turned to face him, meeting his worried gaze. The moonlight caught the pale strands of his hair, reminding her of how much he’d already sacrificed. “Selene died trying to find the Echo. I won’t let her death be for nothing.” Her fingers brushed against the moonstone pendant, drawing comfort from its steady pulse of magic. “Besides, I’ve got this now. And you.”
The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched, but concern still shadowed his eyes. “You’re seeing more echoes, aren’t you?”
Vesper winced. “It’s just the nexus. I’ll be fine.”
“Just…promise you’ll tell me if it becomes too much.” He didn’t look convinced, but he knew they were out of time. With every minute that passed, more of Nightreach was falling under D’Arco’s control.
“I promise.” Vesper nodded, though they both knew some promises were harder to keep than others. She glanced at their gathered components, each thrumming with their own distinct magical signature.
“Okay. Blair and I will set up some wards.”
Vesper watched Blair and Rafe work as they moved around the cathedral’s perimeter. Blair’s silver watch caught the moonlight as she consulted her compass, its needle spinning wildly. The ancient ley lines beneath their feet made her enchanted tools go haywire—not a comforting sign.
“The magical interference is stronger than I expected,” Blair muttered, tapping the compass face with a frown. “These ley lines are practically singing.”
Rafe’s hands wove through the air, trailing threads of protective magic that settled into the crumbling stonework. His wards shimmered like gossamer before fading into the walls.
“The stones remember older protections,” Vesper said, sensing the remnants of ancient magic in the walls. “They’re…responding to your wards, Rafe.”
He nodded, not breaking his concentration as he worked another defensive enchantment into place. “The old magic’s helping, actually. Makes the new wards stronger, more stable.”
Blair marked key points around their space with small crystals that would anchor Rafe’s protective network. Her enchanted compass continued its frantic spinning, but she’d switched to relying on her watch instead, which vibrated at different intensities.
The air grew thick with layered enchantments as Rafe wove the final threads of his protection spell into place. The wards settled into the cathedral’s bones with an almost audible sigh, ancient and new magic merging into something stronger than either alone.
“That should hold,” Rafe said, lowering his hands. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill. “Anyone tries to break through, we’ll know.”
Vesper reached for the thorn first, carefully taking it out of its box. Creation magic radiated from it in gentle waves, warm and pure. The delicate point gleamed in the cathedral’s dim light as she positioned it at the centre of the altar.
Next came the vial of water from the Original Source. The liquid inside caught what little light filtered through the cathedral’s windows, fracturing it into prismatic patterns across the stone. As Vesper set it down, the water shifted and swirled of its own accord, responding to the ley lines beneath their feet.
The shadow-touched crystal lay waiting in its ornate box. Vesper’s fingers hesitated over the clasp. Even through the container, she could feel its unnatural chill. Still, she had to take it out.
She opened the lid, revealing the crystal within. It seemed to drink in the surrounding light, its core pulsing with dark energy. Her hands ached with cold as she lifted it free and placed it alongside the other components, completing the triangle.
“The crystal’s crucial,” Rafe explained to Blair, who watched the proceedings with sharp interest. “It’s been exposed to shadow magic long enough to develop unique properties. When properly aligned, it can bridge multiple ley lines simultaneously.”
“Like a magical conductor,” Blair mused, her enchanted watch vibrating more intensely as Vesper adjusted the crystal’s position.
“Exactly.” Rafe nodded. “The ritual needs massive amounts of power. The crystal will help channel and direct the ley line energy without burning out the other components. Or us. It’s risky using shadow magic, but anything else would burn up.”
Vesper felt the crystal’s resonance change as she found its proper alignment. The dark pulses within its core began to sync with the gentle waves of magic emanating from the thorn and water. Three distinct magical signatures gradually falling into harmony.
Vesper stepped back from the altar, her fingers instinctively finding the smooth surface of her moonstone pendant. The masking spell woven into the crystal structure glowed with a soft, pearlescent light that matched the opalescent sheen in her eyes.
She drew in a steadying breath, hyper-aware of how her Resonant abilities seemed to reach out toward the converging ley lines beneath their feet. The pendant’s magic responded, drawing her power inward like a shield being raised. It felt strange—like trying to hold her breath underwater—but the restriction was oddly comforting. Better contained than detected.
Her hand tightened around the pendant. They hadn’t had time to test Ash’s masking spell. The thought of Cassandra sensing her power made her skin crawl, but there was a good chance that it wouldn’t matter anyway. Once the ritual accessed the nexus, Cassandra would see the disturbance in the ley lines and come running.
They had to hope that she wasn’t watching.
Rafe took his place beside Vesper at the altar. His presence steadied her, a familiar anchor in the rising tide of magical energy that surrounded them.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to find her voice as the ley lines beneath their feet pulsed with growing intensity.
“The first step is to create a connection to the nexus.” Rafe’s hands moved through the air, weaving intricate patterns that sparked with blue light. “Follow my lead. Let your power flow naturally into the channels I create.”
Vesper closed her eyes, focusing on the unique signatures of their ritual components. The thorn sang with pure creation magic, while the water rippled with ancient power. The shadow-touched crystal thrummed with dark energy, its presence a cold weight against her magical senses.
Rafe’s magic wrapped around hers, guiding her power toward the components. The moonstone pendant at her throat grew warm as her Resonant abilities reached out, connecting with each item in turn.
The thorn responded first, surging up to meet her touch. The water followed, its ancient power swirling into patterns that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat. Finally, the crystal’s dark energy joined the symphony, its cold presence threading through the other magical signatures like frost across glass.
The components began to glow—the thorn with golden light, the water with silvery brilliance, and the crystal with a deep purple radiance that seemed to bend the shadows around it. As Vesper’s power connected them, their individual energies started to harmonise, creating patterns of light that danced across the altar’s weathered surface.
Rafe’s magic continued to guide her, helping her weave the disparate energies together. The ley lines beneath the cathedral responded, their ancient power rising up through the stone to join the ritual’s growing resonance.
The magic surged through Vesper’s body, raw and ancient. Her skin prickled as the air grew thick with power, static electricity dancing across her arms. The pendant at her throat burned hot against her skin, struggling to contain her magic as they reached toward the nexus point.
Fragments of memory pressed against her consciousness—Selene’s voice chanting unfamiliar words, her hands moving through familiar patterns. The echo felt stronger here, more insistent. Vesper’s grip on the present moment began to slip.
The altar stone beneath different hands. Chalk marks glowing with power. A shadow moving at the edge of her vision—
Vesper forced her eyes shut, fighting to push back the memories that weren’t her own. Her fingers curled against the rough stone, using its solid presence to ground herself. Beside her, Rafe’s magic pulsed in steady waves, his presence a beacon in the storm of competing sensations.
The air crackled around them as the ritual’s power built. Each breath felt charged, like inhaling lightning.
Selene’s fear, sharp and metallic. The desperate need to complete the ritual before—
“Stay with me,” Rafe’s voice cut through the encroaching memories. His magic wrapped around hers, steady and familiar, pulling her back from the edge of the echo.
Static filled the air, making her hair stand on end. The magical current flowing through the nexus point felt like a live wire, raw power seeking release. Vesper tried to keep hold, but it surged through her body, raw and fierce. Her bones hummed with the sheer force of power flowing through the altar and tears welled in her eyes.
The cathedral floor trembled beneath her feet. Ancient stonework groaned under the pressure of so much concentrated magic, as waves of energy rippled outward from their ritual circle.
Through half-lidded eyes, she glimpsed the protective wards Rafe had woven. They shimmered like heat waves in the air, holding strong despite the magical onslaught. Each surge of power made them flex and bend, but the ancient stones seemed to reinforce them, lending strength to Rafe’s spellwork.
Blair stood at the circle’s edge, her usually composed demeanour tense as she monitored the situation. She stared up at the buildup of magic, her mouth open in awe…or maybe it was shock. The ritual hadn’t even begun yet. This was just connecting the battery.
The pendant at Vesper’s throat burned white-hot against her skin as another wave of power crashed through the nexus point. Her Resonant abilities stretched and strained against the masking spell, desperate to reach out and connect with the raw magic saturating the air. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to maintain control. They couldn’t risk Cassandra detecting her now.
Then the magic surged without warning. Vesper’s knees buckled as raw power exploded from the altar, sending ripples of force through the cathedral’s ancient stones.
The floor beneath her feet trembled. Through her connection to the ley lines, Vesper felt Nightreach shudder in response. The city’s protective wards flared to life, ancient magic awakening to answer the disturbance.
Something stirred deep beneath the cathedral. Old magic, older than anything Vesper had encountered before, shifted in its long slumber. Its presence pressed against her consciousness—vast and deep as an ocean, ancient beyond comprehension. She recoiled from its touch, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of power.
The air grew thick, heavy with the weight of awakening. Vesper’s lungs burned as she struggled to breathe, each intake carrying the metallic taste of raw power. The pendant at her throat pulsed in desperate rhythm, trying to shield her from the worst of it.
Through her connection to the ley lines, she felt the ancient presence unfurling. Layer upon layer of dormant magic stirred to life, each more potent than the last. It rose through the earth like a tide, inevitable and overwhelming. The very foundations of Nightreach seemed to quake in response, centuries-old wards bending under the pressure of so much concentrated power.
It was here. The shadow-touched crystal rattled against the altar like a kernel of popcorn waiting to pop.
“It’s done,” she rasped.
“Done?” Blair exclaimed. “You just plugged in the extension cord. What’s the actual ritual going to do?”
The cathedral’s foundations groaned beneath them, centuries-old stone protesting the sudden influx of magical energy.
“We can’t go back now,” Rafe was saying. “We have to complete the ritual.”
That ancient presence still lingered at the edges of Vesper’s awareness—vast and deep, like an ocean waiting to swallow them whole. Her hands trembled against the altar as another wave of power rolled through her body. The raw magic felt different now, charged with purpose and intent. Whatever they’d awakened wasn’t simply responding to their ritual—it was reaching back.
Vesper forced her eyes open, blinking away the spots that danced across her vision. The ritual components glowed with impossible brightness: the thorn blazing gold, the water shimmering silver, the crystal pulsing with deep purple shadows as it rattled. Their combined light cast strange patterns across the weathered stone, creating symbols she half-recognised from Selene’s research.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she straightened, fighting to maintain control over the magical current flowing through the nexus. The power buildup was only the first step—they still had to channel it, shape it, bend it to their purpose. And somewhere in the city, Cassandra and D’Arco waited, ready to seize control of whatever they unleashed.
The pendant burned against her skin, a constant reminder of everything at stake. Vesper’s gaze met Rafe’s across the altar, seeing her own determination reflected in his eyes. The ritual was far from over, but the stakes had never been clearer—whatever they’d unleashed was only the beginning.
“Vesper?” Rafe murmured.
“I’m ready,” she said, steeling herself. “Let’s get this done.”
Chapter 19
Ember’s muscles ached as she navigated Thornhallow’s familiar passages. The polished wooden panels that lined the walls seemed different now, as if the manor itself shared in the Concordat’s collective shock. Groups of witches huddled in corners, their whispered conversations falling silent as she passed.
“Did you hear about Beatrice?” A young apprentice’s voice carried from an adjacent room.
“Quiet,” came the sharp response.
The grand staircase creaked beneath her feet as she ascended to the second floor. Portraits of former High Witches gazed down at her, their painted eyes holding new judgement. Beatrice’s portrait would soon join them, though not in the way anyone had expected. No doubt her portrait would be relegated to some dark, dusty corner where no one would ever have to look at it.
Two senior witches stood guard outside the council chamber, their faces drawn with fatigue. They nodded as Ember approached, a silent acknowledgment of her role in uncovering the truth.
“The chamber’s being prepared.” Clara emerged from a side corridor, her silver-trimmed robes wrinkled from the night’s events. She looked a little sheepish, no doubt worrying about her role in tracking down Marina at the witch-house. “They’re summoning everyone who holds a seat.”
Ember paused by a window overlooking the manor’s grounds. Dawn painted the gardens in shades of grey, the carefully tended herbs and flowers oblivious to the turmoil within. The wards shimmered faintly, their magic somehow dimmer in the wake of Beatrice’s betrayal.
“Marina?” Ember asked.
“Still under house arrest. She hasn’t caused any trouble.” Clara glanced over her shoulder. “Though after tonight, I suspect she won’t be in there much longer.”
“I don’t know about that,” Ember said, rubbing her wrist where the spell binding her and Marina tickled.
“I feel a little…guilty about what happened at the witch-house.” Clara glanced over her shoulder, but they were alone in the corridor. “She was only trying to oust the real traitor.”
“Marina Sinclair still broke the law,” Ember murmured. “She betrayed the Concordat in more ways than one. The Council cannot overlook it, I’m afraid.”
A bell tolled somewhere in the manor’s depths, its deep resonance vibrating through the walls. More witches appeared in the corridors, their faces bearing various shades of disbelief and anger. Some wore their ceremonial robes, others still in whatever they’d worn when the summons came.
Ember’s fingers brushed against the scorched sleeve of her own robe, a reminder of the magical battle that had exposed a decade of deception. The wood panels still bore marks from where Beatrice’s spells had gone wild, her desperation evident in every scorch mark and crack. They were still repairing the manor after the third trial, and now they had a lot more work to do.
