For days, Charlotte didn't sleep or eat as she tested dozens of spells. After she completed each one, she stopped.

Held her breath.

There.

That demanding push against her, frigid, merciless. The Endless One was still alive and well, unharmed.

All the while, Charlotte felt more than heard Jonathan moving around in his room. He'd had a small amount of food stored up for instances such as this. But he couldn't stay cooped up forever.

Charlotte cast three more wards to protect him, just in case. Living with a wife and daughter who frequently encountered dark energies as they honed their witchcraft, Jonathan had learned a long time ago to keep his head down until the coast was clear. He wouldn't move until he was certain it was safe. But she couldn't stop lingering worries from creeping into her mind.

Perhaps Charlotte could afford to take a short rest. She wasn't getting anywhere and a headache throbbed at her left temple—a sure sign she was wearing herself thin. If she tired herself out too quickly, she would never find a solution.

Besides, a hot meal with Jonathan in the kitchen would be a welcome respite, if only to reassure herself that he was alive and well, that she wasn't alone in this massive house with a monster locked in the room down the hall.

Just as she turned to leave the library, a book on the shelf by the door caught her attention.

It shifted.

Before Charlotte could choose a course of action, warm breath skittered along the back of her neck.

She spun.

Lashed out with the razor sharp kiss of a spell.

Papers swirled into the air like butterflies, slowly drifting to the floor. Her spell had hit nothing, apart from the opposing bookshelf across the room.

But something—someone—had been there, right behind her. Close enough to touch. She hadn't imagined it.

Charlotte stood stock still in the library and didn't dare move, didn't breathe. She waited, scanning the room for any hint of an intruder.

The book on the shelf rattled again, bucking and wiggling as if it was attempting to work itself free from its confines, sandwiched between a fat, charred grimoire of demonology, and a tattered, pale codex of jinxes.

Charlotte approached the shelf cautiously, studying the book that wouldn't sit still.

It was a Book of Shadows she wasn't familiar with. Bulging and bloated, its dusty leather cover was protected with a spine of snake bones that no human would dare touch. Even for a witch, it was dangerous to invade the privacy of a serpentine bond.

Whatever this Book of Shadows held, it was something that carried the potential to be just as dark as The Endless One.

As Charlotte tugged the book down, it stuck fast, as if...as if the book had teeth lodged in the shelf.

Of course.

Such a book as this wouldn't be readily available to just anyone who got a little curious.

The book would be spelled into place. Only witches with enough power to handle casting a spell to break it from the shelf would be allowed to read its contents.

Charlotte let her hands drop to her sides, frustrated. She knew the spell that would be required to loosen the book from its confines. Her craft could manage the power necessary to wield it without leaving her greatly depleted.

But was it worth the risk of using even a scrap of magic on this book that may not help her in the end?

The sweep and rush of wings pulled her attention away from the Book of Shadows. The presence of Nivian grew strong again, returned from Charlotte's request that she find out who—or what—that presence had belonged to.

The advantage of being a familiar was having access to both the living world and the spirit world at the same time. A familiar could reside in its corporeal form and still pass through walls like a spirit.

Nivian's familiar came coasting through the thick stone walls of the library and landed on Charlotte's shoulder, claws grasping lightly.

"Did you find anything?" Charlotte said.

The spirit world is far deeper and older than even I can comprehend and I'm part of it, Nivian replied.

Charlotte sighed. "Does that mean you're as empty handed as I am?"

Nivian hummed. Not necessarily. The presence—whatever it is—well...it blocked me from poking around.

"How did it do that?" Charlotte said, confused. "You have magic at your command. Not much, perhaps. But more than any other spirit that fades into the ether."

Unless it's a restless spirit tied to the mortal world in search of peace.

"Did you get that feeling from it?"

No, I...I sensed it held magic of its own. Stronger than mine.

"Then you're talking about another witch," Charlotte said, her mind spinning through possibilities.

Only a witch who has turned dark due to the misuse of her power would have more magic then necessary in the spirit realm. It happens, though not often. When they pass into the afterlife...more of their magic lingers, yes. But it...well, it seems to rot. Fester. Like an open wound.

Charlotte closed her eyes, shaking her head. "That means if it wishes to attack me from the spirit realm..." She trailed off, the thought too terrible to complete.

It means you are at its mercy. But I doubt it has such intentions.

"How can you tell?"

With that kind of magic still in its grasp, if it wished to attack you, it would waste no time in doing so.

"Then why did it block you from discovering its identity?" Charlotte said.

The crow ruffled its feathers as if in an approximation of a shrug.

You are a living witch of the spirit persuasion. And what you are undertaking here is not pleasant. Perhaps it doesn't wish for you to make contact.

"But I wasn't the one who reached out first," Charlotte said. "The presence approached me. And it's here. In Laeves Keep, even though it never has been before."

You know why this house was built, Charlotte. It's a sanctuary for witchcraft and those who wield it. This witch, whoever she might be...she has sought refuge.

Charlotte hesitated. "Should I be worried about her? What she might do to me if I let my guard down?"

Nivian was silent for several long minutes.

I wouldn't settle on a definitive answer right away concerning that. She may have sought refuge here, but the fact that she holds more magic than you, and it could be dark magic...she has to release it. Let it go. She's still clinging to it and that...that won't be good news for you I'm afraid.

Charlotte stifled a groan. She didn't need more distractions than what she already had. Her attention and magic were stretched thin enough as it was.

If she decides to act, Nivian said, I wish I could provide you with a warning. But with her ability to hide her intentions, thoughts, and presence from me with her craft, I'm afraid I can't help.

Charlotte scratched the crow beneath its chin. It tilted its head to the side, eyes closed, and let out a trill of contentment. Her gaze returned to the Book of Shadows still lodged on the shelf.

"Mama," she said. "There might be something you can do. This book...I thought it might be useful against the curse but it's bound—"

A serpentine bond. That would be the handiwork of the Crosses.

"You know them?"

The girl, Samara, she's a year or two younger than you. And her power is latent. The last I heard, while you were spinning spells at eight years old, she didn't even have a spark. She felt the warmth of magic, certainly, but she showed no abilities of controlling or conjuring it.

So the Crosses sent this Book of Shadows to us for safe keeping. It's been in their family for years. Edyth took great pride in it. She believes it might be one of the greatest sources of craft known to the Cross lineage.

"What does it contain?" Charlotte said, trailing her fingers over the slim, brittle snake bones clamped around the book's spine.

I was never granted a glimpse inside. But Edyth did say it was old. The writing was outdated—she couldn't read it and since Samara's craft was so poorly coming along, she didn't think Samara would ever use it.

An old Book of Shadows, bound with snake bones. Protecting craft so ancient that the words were lost. This might be just what Charlotte had been looking for.

"Where do the Crosses live?" Charlotte said, absently.

Somewhere in the Southern states of America I believe. New Orleans, or thereabouts. Why?

Too far away to help. If she could scry, she could contact them. But scrying was out of the question. That would expose other witches to The Endless One, witches who might not be as prepared to defend against him as Charlotte was.

"What sort of craft do the Crosses practice?" Charlotte said.

They're hedge witches. Very earth bound.

Charlotte nodded. "I need a different type of magic to dislodge this curse. My own won't be enough, I've already felt that."

You are trained and inclined towards spirit magic. Hedge witchcraft isn't the same.

"It's still witchcraft. I'm sure I won't be able to weave the spells right the first time, especially if the language is indecipherable. But if I can get a feel for it...earth magic is far more solid than spirit magic."

Nivian made a small noise of agreement.

It might work, she said. As long as you don't pour all of your craft into this one venture.

A small smile graced Charlotte's lips.

"I'll be careful, Mama," she said.

With a twirl of one finger, Charlotte twisted a single silver thread of magic in and out of the snake bones. The book gave off a heavy sigh of dust and mold as her magic worked between the pages in an effort to get a solid grip on it.

Then she pulled.

The Book of Shadows dropped from the shelf. The weight of it landed with a dull, heavy smack, as if the worn, cracked leather was as wet as human skin.

It could be human skin for all she knew. She had encountered such books before when dealing with witchcraft.

Charlotte crouched to retrieve the book from the floor. It didn't budge.

The book felt like a massive stone lodged in the mud. Bones hissed and rattled when her fingers came in contact with the cover. But she didn't let it intimidate her and she adjusted her grip a little tighter.

It required both hands and a considerable amount of strength to pick it up, haul it to the table, and deposit it. She blew across the cover to clear the dust away.

Only one bare marking graced the front—a tall, thin rectangle with an imprint of a tree, limbs tangled together, moss weeping long and low, roots sprawling deep.

Delicately, with only two fingers, Charlotte lifted the cover.

Silver ink looped and tumbled across the aged brown pages. The language was old, as Nivian had said. Guttural and primitive, like sticks pressed into the earth one at a time in a neat, straight line and with little variation.

But there were sketches. Rendered in the scratchy, dark lines of charcoal ink that had faded to ghosts on the parchment.

Every witch composed a grimoire of her own to match the unique qualities of her magic. Tried and true craft changed from witch to witch, though some of the basic casting rituals remained the same throughout. A grimoire was personal, a piece of the witch and her craft.

Casting a spell from another witch, Nivian said, especially such a spell as this, created from blood and bone, thoughts and dreams...it's never quite the same by someone else's hand. Tread lightly with this one.

"Yes, Mama," Charlotte replied. She kept her hands braced on either side of the book apart from turning a page or two. Coming in contact with a written spell's words could steal more of her magic than she realized.

But what Charlotte looked upon now was not a book made from dozens, or even hundreds, of spells conjured from a lifetime of work.

This book was one spell alone, sprawled across nearly a thousand pages, twining and twisting and tumbling.

The further into the book she went, the more complicated it grew.

Depictions of garish devils and white-faced ghouls. Tortured souls trapped by their own indiscretions.

One theme seemed to run underneath, like a knife, slicing the belly open from throat to tail—two black, pitted eyes, depthless and hollow. Two eyes Charlotte had stared into, despite the warnings that she shouldn't.

Towards the back of the book, the very last few pages...a curse was mentioned, hovering above it all.

A curse belonging to a dying god.

It made sense. The Endless One's strength, coupled with his arrangement with the small village of Šuná. He was searching for sacrifices to keep himself alive. His worshippers had no doubt given up on him, forgotten about him.

Instead of receiving freely given gifts of devotion, he was forced to take.

"Is a god beyond my power?" Charlotte said.

Nothing is beyond your power when you know how to use it.

"I meant—"

I know. And no, he's not.

"He's a disgrace," Charlotte whispered. "A god who carves life from the living world instead of earning the goodness and loyalty of his people...he has no honor or prestige any longer."

Then he can hardly be classified as a god.

"Just a tyrant."

The crow hopped from Charlotte's shoulder to the table, angling its head to scan the pages.

From the looks of things, that would explain the possession, too, Nivian said. After he lost his worshippers, he struggled to survive with no body of his own. So, he adopted a mortal form.

Charlotte frowned and shook her head. "But the text shows that he adopted a mortal body from his own worshippers who had turned their backs on him. Alexander has never been religious, certainly not involved in any faiths from this area of the world. As far as I know, his family wasn't either."

True. But that doesn't mean any number of his ancestors didn't pray to foreign gods. Although if that were the case, then the possession would extend to more than the Prescott men. It would tarnish the Prescott women as well.

Charlotte braced her hands on either side of the book, shoulders bowed, intent on that stick-straight language she wished she could read if she simply stared hard enough.

"I'm using the spell anyway," she declared.

Charlotte... Nivian warned.

"I know, Mama. It's not quite right. This isn't The Endless One. But some of the pieces fit. And it's the closest thing I've found to a solution so far."

The duration of it will be taxing to your craft.

"I have to hope I can hold out."

You worry me with how willing you are to stretch your limitations. It's not necessary to push the boundaries all the time.

"I thought that was a good thing."

As long as it doesn't get you, or others, killed in the process.

"You're always telling me I should experiment for my grimoire," Charlotte countered. "This will fatten it up considerably."

When I said that, I didn't intend for you to take on one of the longest and most complicated spells ever recorded in witchcraft history. It's just...you tend to be set in your ways. You cast the same small, reliable craft every time you use magic—the same little jinxes and hexes. There's nothing wrong with that. But this...

Charlote flattened her hands, palms up, and sent magic bubbling to her fingertips, twined around her wrists, sliding over the red welts where the magic had been torn from her grip while scrying. The moonlight threads glowed silver against her dusky brown skin.

"This is bigger than anything I've ever tried before," Charlotte agreed. "Big enough to handle a curse as well as the god who cast it and put an end to them both."