Naomi went inside to find Madalena and the others, bracing herself to face Alaric. To her relief—and disappointment—he wasn’t there. Madalena and Casimir were the only ones seated at the table; Madalena told her the others had left to again scout the surroundings and grab more food.

In a rush, Naomi told them about the Memory spell she performed and what she’d seen.

“You said you weren’t going to use your magic to find her,” Casimir said, looking confused.

“A Memory spell is different from a Locator spell. You can dig up information on the person without them being aware,” Madalena said, giving Naomi a look of approval.

Naomi studied her, biting her lip. Casting the Memory spell had reminded her of the whisper that saved her and Alaric after Genevieve left them for dead. She hadn’t told Madalena about it yet.

“Madalena . . .” she said, perching on the edge of the couch. She told her about the mysterious whispered counter spell.

“Goddess,” Madalena murmured, shaking her head. “That’s amazing.”

“Given all the ways I’ve been magically connecting to my mother; the enchanted letter, the Memory spell . . . is it possible the whisper was my mother?” Naomi asked, hope surging through her.

Casimir tactfully cleared his throat and stood with his laptop.

“I’ll be in the other room,” he said.

Naomi knew why he left; it was a personal question, and she wasn’t as close to him as she was to Madalena. She was glad they were alone to discuss this.

She searched Madalena’s eyes, eager. It was what she’d hoped deep down, that the whisper was her mother’s voice, calling to her from beyond the grave. If magic was real, couldn’t ghosts be as well? Would it be possible to talk to her parents again?

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Madalena said, dashing her hopes. “Even in the supernatural world, death is permanent. Believe me, there have been many witches who’ve tried to breach the boundary of death. But it’s the one thing we all share with living creatures. We die, and that’s the end. The closest we can get to life after death is to enchant an object that can carry traces of our magic after we’re gone. That’s what the Incantation Stone was. That’s what your mother’s letter was. But it’s akin to a tape recorder, not the actual person.”

“Then where did that whisper come from?” Naomi pressed. “I’ve never seen that type of spell before. How could I have known the counter spell?”

“Despite what you think, you’ve taken to magic well. As a Descendant, you absorb spells more readily than most witches. The spell Genevieve used is not a common spell, but it’s not unheard of, either. You’ve been buried in my grimoires since London; I think the spell and counter spell was tucked away in your brain somewhere. As you were fading, your magic came to life, trying to save you. Humans have a survival instinct. So do witches.”

Naomi nodded. This should have filled her with relief, but she only felt disappointed, and a little silly. Of course her mother couldn’t speak to her; she was dead and gone. Madalena reached out to place her hand over hers.

“I’ll tell you a little secret,” Madalena said. “After my father died, I spent weeks trying to reach him using magic. Of course it didn’t work, but . . . as we both know, grief isn’t logical.”

Naomi gave her a sad smile, and they sat in silence. After a moment, Madalena cleared her throat.

“I couldn’t help but notice the tension between you and Alaric.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Naomi said, tensing.

“OK, I understand. But if it’s what I think it’s about—I have a confession to make. Remember how I seemed hesitant about your engagement? Back in London?”

Naomi frowned; she did remember.

“Yeah,” Naomi said slowly.

“Well . . . it’s because I’m the one who put the idea of the bonding ceremony in his head,” Madalena said, with a guilty look. “He seemed intrigued, and I warned him to propose for the right reasons, but—“

“It’s not your fault, Madalena,” Naomi interrupted. “It was Alaric’s decision to make. I gave him every chance to be honest with me, but he chose not to come clean about his true intentions.”

Madalena opened her mouth to say something, but Naomi held up her hand.

“I know he’s your close friend, but don’t make excuses for him. And we need to get to the matter at hand,” she said, forcing Alaric from her mind and changing the subject. “If I can do another Memory spell, one that’s more directly connected to Genevieve . . . I think I’d be able to find her in the present. But I need something more tangible to perform the spell.”

“I think we might be in luck,” Madalena said. “Casimir just found one of the homes Genevieve lived in before disappearing from the record. It’s not too far from here, a town called Halsford.”

A small burst of relief filled Naomi. This was what she’d been hoping for. It could possibly turn up nothing . . . or it could be monumental.

Alaric entered just then with the others, carrying several bags of food. She froze at the sight of him. He was as beautiful as always; only his eyes were tinged with sadness. Everyone else in the room faded away as her eyes locked with his, and a multitude of emotions washed over her—remnant anger, love, heartbreak. It was a good thing she hadn’t seen him before performing the Memory spell; she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. Just the sight of him was a splintering distraction.

“Naomi was just telling us about a Memory spell she performed,” Madalena said, looking back and forth between the two of them. Their tension must have been obvious; everyone in the room looked uncomfortable.

Madalena filled him in on what they had learned. Alaric gave her a brusque nod.

“When do we leave?”

Naomi considered protesting; how was she going to concentrate with him so near? His eyes met hers as if daring her to challenge him. She held her tongue; now was not the time to argue and delay their departure. Alaric was stubborn and would insist on coming with them. She’d just have to force herself to concentrate with him there.

They determined that the vampires would come with Naomi while Madalena and Casimir would stay behind. Madalena gave her a reassuring smile before she left, mouthing the words: You can do this. Madalena had been her mentor in magic since day one, and despite her setbacks, she seemed to trust that Naomi could perform spells on her own with little guidance. If only Alaric felt the same, Naomi thought bitterly.

She sensed his gaze on her during the entire drive, but she forced herself to not meet his gaze. Elisabetta and Elias looked back and forth between them, sensing their tension.

Elisabetta’s presence didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would; from the conversation she’d overheard between her and Alaric, she knew there was nothing between them. And she owed the vampire her gratitude for helping rescue her from Isobel. Hell, she should thank her for revealing Alaric’s lie.

Naomi gave Elisabetta a quick smile to show her she bore her no ill will. Elisabetta blinked in surprise, and quickly returned it.

Thankfully, the drive was quick, and they soon arrived at a small craftsman-style house on the edge of town in a rundown neighborhood.

“There’s someone inside,” Elias said, sighing. “It must be the current owner. I’ll take care of it.”

They watched as Elias went to the front door. He spoke to the petite woman who answered; she immediately moved past him, heading down the street.

Grinning, Elias turned to face them, gesturing for them to come inside.

“What did you tell her?” Elisabetta asked, as they approached.

“Something convincing,” Elias said, with a mischievous wink.

Naomi moved past him to enter the cluttered living room, looking around. Where would a young Genevieve have spent most of her time?

Instinctively, she moved to the bedroom in the back of the house. She didn’t know how she knew, but she sensed that this room had once belonged to her.

The bedroom was simply furnished; a twin bed, a desk, a large bookshelf. She stepped inside, looking around, and stiffened when Alaric appeared behind her at the doorway. It took every part of her to remain stoic as she said, “I need to be alone to perform the spell.”

Alaric hesitated, but he obliged.

Naomi moved to one of the walls and sat down, leaning back against it. Conjuring her scant memories of Genevieve in her mind, she whispered the words of the Memory spell.

For several moments, there was no reaction to her spell. Naomi’s shoulders slumped, but she repeated the words of the spell, until she saw a young Genevieve in her mind, crouched in the corner of this same room. Bruises marred both her arms, and she was weeping. A woman stood above her, shouting.

“Do it!”

“I can’t anymore! I’m drained! Please!”

Naomi could feel Genevieve’s pain, her rage, her sense of inferiority. It was the strongest connection she’d ever felt to the witch. Her heart picked up its pace, a steady drumbeat against her ribcage. She knew this was a massive risk, but she had to take a chance, now that she was so close to Genevieve, without her being aware. For the first time, Naomi had the advantage.

She whispered the words of a Locator spell, and a space opened up in her mind. She saw a quick flash of something—Genevieve kneeling over a someone in an alley, a knife in her hands—before the image was gone again.

Naomi closed off her mind, her eyes flying open. What she had seen was an image from the present, an image from now.