“Harper?”

My aunt’s voice is like a balm on an open wound, and even though I want nothing more than to throw open the bathroom door and run into her arms, I don’t. I remain in a fetal position, my cheek pressed against a floor I hope has been cleaned in the last week. It’s too potpourri-y in here, which is never good. No one uses potpourri this strong unless they’re trying to hide something. Mold. Urine. Germs.

“Harper,” my aunt tries again.

“It’s bad this time,” I tell her, my gaze on the crack under the door. She’s wearing tennis shoes, which means this is serious. Aunt Eloise owns one pair of tennis shoes—a pair of neon yellow Velcro monstrosities—and she only wears them when there’s an emergency and she’s in a hurry. Otherwise, she dons outrageously colored boots or ballet flats. The bright tennis shoes look like caution tape and rightly so.

Jeanine Turner yells something unintelligible from her office.

Aunt Eloise answers her with, “It’s fine. Everything’s okay. She just has a thing for bathrooms.” She raps on the door. “Harper, honey, you’ve got to open up. You’re scaring the mortal.”

I glare at her feet. “This is why you were ‘hmming’ at me earlier, isn’t it? You knew!”

“She flew across the room!” Jeanine roars, her voice rising. “Explain that!”

“Addie, why don’t you take Mrs. Turner out for some fresh air?” another voice breaks in.

I would know that voice anywhere. Saundra Beaumont. A powerful witch of one of the founding families of the Luna Coven. She also serves on the Court of the Sun and the Moon, a court that basically runs Havenwood Falls. All of the members are from old blood and old money.

“I didn’t mean to,” I immediately defend.

A pair of navy high heels joins Eloise’s worn sneakers. Old family blood versus us.

“Calm yourself, Harper,” Saundra says firmly. “We can fix what happened here.” Papers rustle, and I cringe. “As for what you wrote, that’s another story.”

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing is habit for me. I’ve been practicing the art of apology ever since I first entered the Court of the Sun and the Moon. Then, I had been an awestruck child standing in a windowless room in the City Hall’s basement, candlelight flickering off of sympathetic faces.

Oh, how I have fallen.

The message I wrote at five years old isn’t the only message I’ve scribed. I did learn how to read and write, after all. Not to mention it’s hard to completely avoid words, especially as a child, but the Court has steadily protected me and the people I inadvertently threatened while I learned to be what I am now: detached from the world. As far as I know, I’ve only caused one death with my curse.

“I just want the keys to my house,” I say weakly. No potpourri for my bathroom. I will scrub my toilets.

“Come out,” Saundra soothes. “Get medical attention. Go home with your aunt. What’s happening to you is wrong, Harper. No one should have to see their family . . .” She pauses, and I know she’s looking at my aunt. When her voice comes again, it’s closer to the floor, surprising me. I’m having a hard time imagining the silver-haired, suit-wearing woman stooping. “Generational curses be damned. We protect the supes and the mortals, Harper. We made a promise to you and to your aunt. You can’t help what’s happening to you.”

“He’s coming,” I whisper. From the paper she’s holding, she knows who I mean.

“We’ll have someone stronger here to meet him.”

Finally sitting up, I reach over and flip the lock on the door. My aunt opens it, her concerned gaze finding my face. She looks every bit the eccentric with her colorful clothes, tennis shoes, and hoop earrings. Saundra is her opposite in every way.

I stare up at them. “I still want the keys to my house.”

Arching a brow, Saundra lifts her hand, a set of keys dangling from her fingers.

Taking them, Eloise leans down next to me and presses them into my hand. “I didn’t know this would happen. I saw something big, but not this . . . darkness.” She starts to hug me, and then stops. I don’t do hugs. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The Court will take care of the rest.”

Amnesia spells. Wards. Secrets. The Court of the Sun and the Moon runs this town on magic and mystery.

“My soul hurts,” I breathe.

“Oh, honey, I know.” She smooths a hand over my blood-dampened hair, and murmurs, “Harpists harp harping. Angels airily dancing. On clouds, casting glances. Their eyes glowing brightly. Guarding. Guiding. And that’s how I got my name. Or so my mother says.”

“No Van Morrison right now.”

“It’s not Van Morrison,” Eloise reveals. “Your mother wrote that.”

“Really?” Even if she’s lying, it’s a good distraction.

“Really. Right before she died, she took your dad’s hand and said, ‘Name her Harper.’ We figured it was an omen. They say people see things right before they die.”

I killed her, too, I think.

Eloise helps me to my feet, throws a coat around my shoulders, pulls a hoodie up over my head, and leads me out a back door at the end of the hall. Past witches I don’t stop to talk to and a dazed Jeanine Turner. She won’t remember this tomorrow. Quite possibly, she won’t even remember her vacation.

I fist my hand around the keys until the metal bites into my flesh.

* * *

That night, after hours of forced wakefulness, I fall into a deep, exhausted sleep, my sore body curled around a pillow, blankets wrapping me, and my aunt’s familiar apartment surrounding me.

Then, I dream.

Night swallows the daylight.

I am standing on a mountain, a brisk wind lifting my hair against my face. There’s snow on the air, the smell of it heavy and thick.

A full moon shines down on a silver world, on a sleepy town full of people I’ve known forever. Streets, shops, parks, and cemeteries I could walk in my sleep spread out like pieces on a board game.

My town. No road map. No signs.

Words are dangerous, so I navigate without them. My mind is an atlas of landmarks. Over two miles of stamped images: avenues named after the Old Families, a town square, a park with a lake, a ski resort, a myriad of residences ranging in income and style, and mountain trails. Housing developments dot the town: Havenwood Heights, Creekwood, Havenstone, and Havenwood Village. Shops I rarely visit out of fear stare up at me: Howe’s Herbal Shoppe, Soothing Sips, Coffee Haven, Callie’s Consignments, Shelf Indulgence, and Tragic Ink among many.

In the mountains are other things—Cooley Creek, Mathews River, Smalls Falls, Peacock Lake, Bels Creek, Hale Creek—beautiful landmarks I’ve made a living hiking so that I can capture the animals and flora on film, being careful not to snap pictures of the shifters and other supernatural creatures that prowl the trails with me.

Somewhere in the forest, a wolf howls.

“It’s a beautiful town,” a gravelly voice says, the words a part of the wind. “What a shame it would be if I destroyed it.”

“Why would you destroy it?” My words sound far away, as if I’m floating outside of my body instead of inhabiting it.

“Because I can.” Evil doesn’t always need a reason to do things. “Can’t you see the future, psychic?”

Above me, the moon turns red. Something wet and sticky drips on my face, and I swipe at it, horrified when my hand comes away covered in a substance that looks suspiciously like blood.

Black shadows so dark even the night can’t hide them drop out of the sky, descending on the town. Screams rise from the streets below. Agonizing screams.

“They’re dying,” the voice gloats. “They’re all dying.”

“No!”

From the edge of the woods, animals emerge. They crawl toward me, all of them wounded, blood spilling out of their sides. Shifters. All of them are shifters. Shifters I know. People I spend every day passing on the streets. People I talk to. Friends.

“Help us,” they beg.

Blood. There’s so much blood.

The shifters crawl closer, reaching, their prone figures so close I can see the agony etched into their faces.

“No!” I scream.

Closing my eyes, I cover my ears and fall to my knees.

Only, I don’t hit the ground. My knees land on air, and I am falling, falling, falling.

When I come to, I stare into a dark room touched by a night-light that’s been in my aunt’s apartment for as long as I can remember. It’s shaped like a star, and I used to make wishes on it. Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.

That was before I learned wishes are scary things. That was before I learned it is much easier to wish for something than it is to make it happen.