“There are new rules governing the country–namely, no magic. But Fiona Forzese has never been good with rules.”
After a ghostly army terrorized Boston, the Ranulf family say they’ll help Fiona and her classmates finish up junior year. They say their old Virginia plantation is a safe haven. All Fiona and her secret coven have to do is show up to a few math and English classes.
It should be a perfect solution. And it would be, if the Ranulfs weren’t members of a witch-hunting cult.
As Fiona digs deeper into the Ranulf’s past, she learns a dark truth that shocks her to her core. But it isn’t only the Ranulfs who are keeping secrets, and as the witch-hunting cult closes in, Fiona is forced to confront the demons of her own past.
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A hundred yards away, on the other side of the gardens, flowed the James River. Fiona frowned. Of course they’d live near the James. It was named for the Purgator King who’d made a hobby of torturing witches in Scotland. In fact, much of the landscape around here seemed to be named for the witch-hunting kings, James and Charles. They weren’t far from where the Jamestown fort had once stood, a colony settled even before Plymouth. Something had gone terribly wrong there, but she couldn’t remember what.
If she pressed her face against the glass and looked far to the right, she could see a lone willow on the river’s banks, surrounded by untamed woods of ash and magnolia. She pressed her face against the cool pane in the other direction. A hedge labyrinth stood between the house and the river, and more magnolias lined the river’s banks.
Mariana rose from her bed and began cramming clothes into a drawer. “The Ranulf mansion is kind of perfect. Apart from the Ranulfs. And apart from the fact that we’re only here because half our schoolmates burned in a fire.”
Fiona winced. “You do have a way with words.” She turned to her friend. “Well, I’m glad we’re alive, but I never thought we’d end up beholden to Munroe. What was that argument you had freshman year?”
“She tried to recruit me for her abstinence club.”
“I told her I’d rather die of syphilis.”
Christine (C) grew up in the historic town of Lexington, and has a lifelong interest in New England folklore – with a particular fondness for creepy old cemeteries. Nick (N) spent his childhood reading fantasy and science fiction further north during Vermont’s long winters.
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