I jolt as what began as a small current now amplifies. The magic that would normally waft off us funnels itself along the line of witches, the throb of it startling and decadent as it passes through me.

Again we repeat the phrase. And again and again, until the air is electric and my body is a live wire.

Est amage, what is happening? Memnon says, cutting through the magic-induced haze of my mind.

Witch stuff, Memnon.

I don’t know if he says anything after that. Magic is filling the space where my thoughts are. There’s only this moment and the touch of my sisters’ hands, and the world is magic, all magic, I think as my limbs tremble from the power and heat engulfs me. We are magic.

“…come and join our hallowed feast⁠—”

All at once, the nearly unbearable power flowing through me is sucked toward the center of the circle.

With a crack like thunder, the air rips apart. From it pours forth a wave of some translucent substance. It takes a moment for my eyes to realize it’s not a substance but spirits. Dozens of them. They cut across our circle, heading for the lantern-lit pathway.

“Welcome!” one of the witches shouts, her greeting trailing off into a cackle as more and more specters cross over, their ephemeral forms streaking across the clearing. Laughter rises around me, and I feel it bubbling up in my throat too. The aftereffects of the communal magic have left me lightheaded and euphoric.

The unlit bonfire at the center of the clearing now lights, the wood snapping and smoking as it goes up in flame.

None of us witches have released our hands, and we begin to sway and dance as one, moving in a circle. I don’t know who decides this. Maybe it was me? I can’t tell if my thoughts are my own or ours, the collective whole of our coven.

Someone begins to hum, and the melody catches, until we’re all humming the same wordless tune.

The song grows louder, and the dancing becomes erratic until someone—or maybe all of us—decide to release hands. The magical current cuts off abruptly, and what’s left in my body leaves me tingling and high off power.

“To the feast! To the feast!” a witch shouts, and though the group’s magic is no longer linking us together, I still feel that shared unity, and carelessly, I laugh.

At the sound of it, a nearby witch dressed like a wraith comes in close and gives me a hug, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Merry Samhain,” she whispers before dashing off.

More laughter fills the space as sisters dance and embrace, their eyes and hair a little wild. I’m sure I look the same.

I was wrong to worry about this spell circle. This is how they are meant to be. A moment of unification between witches and a reminder that we are all one.

Sybil appears out of the crowd. “C’mon, my nubile bride!” she shouts, grabbing my hand. The bonfire’s flames dance in her eyes, giving them a moonstruck look.

As soon as my fingers entwine with hers, she cackles. The sound is contagious, and I begin laughing with her, feeling lighter than air. And then we’re running, racing alongside dozens of other wild-eyed witches and eager spirits, all of us following the magical road.

As we careen down the pumpkin-lined path, a deathly chill moves through me. A spirit emerges through my abdomen, and I let out a startled scream at the sight of its transparent form.

The spirit, a young man in a three-piece suit with slicked-back hair, lets out an echoing laugh and streaks ahead of us.

Sybil laughs and laughs at my reaction, her spelled butterfly wings beating behind her. Her laughter turns into a choked cry when a hag on a spectral broom flies out from her body before careening through the group of witches ahead of us. Now I’m cackling and Sybil’s reluctantly giggling, and our bare feet are stepping on sticks and rocks, and I know I’m getting nicked but the wind is smoothing my satin slip over my body like a lover’s touch and raking its fingers through my hair and the veil floating behind me, and I’m caught up in the magic of the moment.

That all ends when hoofbeats—then screams—erupt behind us. Sybil glances over her shoulder, her eyes going wide.

“Seven hells!” She veers off the path, dragging me with her. She’s not fast enough.

I hear the pound of hoofbeats a moment before someone snags my veil from behind me, lurching me backward. I stumble, about to turn around, when a hand catches me around my waist, lifting me off the ground and onto a steed.

I cry out as my ass lands on an oiled leather saddle. I glance up at a man with sharp, dark eyes and inky hair that seems to be decorated with raven’s feathers. My gaze lands on his pointed ears.

A fae.

Did he come from the portal we opened?

“There’s been a mistake,” I say, pushing against the man’s chest, my dress riding up my legs.

His arms tighten on me. “I don’t think so. You’re dressed like a bride.”

My eyes widen. “A b-bride?” I echo. What had Sybil said long ago? Something about stories of fae snatching witches from these woods to be their brides? “No, no. This is not an actual wedding dress, and I’m definitely not looking for a groom. I kind of already have one of those in fact. This is a costume.” I squirm some more in his arms as his horse cuts down the path, nearly trampling dozens of other witches. “Seriously, let me go.”

“No.”

My gaze snaps to his. The fae lifts his chin, as though he doesn’t think a witch like me will do anything.

Maybe it’s the side effects from all that communal magic. Maybe it’s just that I’m tired of bossy men. Maybe it’s that the last fairy I crossed paths with tried to kill me. Or maybe it’s the fact that this pretty asshole is openly trying to abduct me.

I rear back a little, then punch the fucker in the face. The fairy’s head snaps back, and his whole body recoils, falling away from me. I must’ve added a little power to the hit. Whoops. I shake out my throbbing hand as the fairy slides off his horse, hitting the ground with a dull thump.

Witches jump out of the way around him, a few of them letting out startled screams.

What is going on, est amage?

Why do you only ever talk to me when there’s a problem?

I’m trying to give you space. Now, what’s wrong?

While the fairy regains his bearings, I hop off his horse and sprint for the cemetery, my terror eclipsing any pride I feel at that punch.

I threw a man off his own horse.

That’s my queen, Memnon says, immensely pleased and not at all bothered by the fact that I assaulted someone.

As I run, I rip off my veil and toss it aside so that no one else can assume I’m actually on the market. Fuck. I’m trying to drop the engagement I already have. I do not need a second one forced on me.

“Selene!” Sybil shouts from far behind me. “Selene!”

Everything in me is demanding that I continue to flee⁠—

Flee? Memnon’s voice is no longer playful. Who are you fleeing from?

I’m fine, Memnon, I insist, even as I glance past my friend, toward that black-haired fae rider far behind me. He’s remounting his horse and scanning the crowd of witches.

I dart behind a tree. Goddess, but if he tries to grab me again…

Who tried to grab you? Memnon demands.

Stop eavesdropping on my thoughts, I respond, my breath coming in quick pants.

“Selene!” Sybil is still shouting.

“Over here!” I call out.

I will gut your enemies from navel to throat.

You won’t, I correct him, because like I said⁠—

I pause to peer around the trunk of the tree. When I catch Sybil’s eye, I wave her over.

—I am fine.

Memnon doesn’t respond to my words, but I sense his skepticism.

Sybil jogs over just as I hear the fairy’s horse snort.