Wicked Willow #1 - The Darkening by Navarro Yvonne

Author:Navarro, Yvonne [Navarro, Yvonne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The dawn was nearly breaking by the time Willow sent them all home. She fixed herself a small snack of honey graham crackers and crunchy peanut butter and sat down to go over the previous evening’s happenings and the members of her new coven. Njeri, who’d endured a brutal lesson, was one of the more powerful Wiccans and was now extremely unlikely to give her any more trouble. Ena was another powerful one—of course, the two with the most pizzazz would question Willow right off—but Willow didn’t think she would risk crossing her. The others varied in their degrees of light and dark, force and strength; the strongest of these was Cybele, then Sen, Kala, Ellen, Sying, Anan, Chiwa, Flo, Megan, and finally Dilek, who was the weakest. Even so. Willow was quite proud of the diversity of their nationalities and the strengths that each would bring to the spell she must ultimately devise if she were to be successful in bringing Tara back from her natural death. This was no easy task, and it would require—

“I’ve seen you come up with some foolish ideas before, Willow, but this is really going all out”

Willow stood up so quickly that her chair overturned. It crashed to the floor behind her, and across the room Oz scrambled to his feet and lunged in response to the noise. Even Spike stopped his rocking and muffled crying and looked in her direction, his eyes momentarily clearing a bit.

“Tara?” Willow’s voice was a shocked and broken whisper. “Tara, baby . . . is that you?”

Something swirled in front of the fireplace, a shape that was first white, then gray, then shot through with a thousand different colors. Speechless, Willow could only watch and wait until the amorphous fog finally stopped twisting around itself and took on a definite, and very familiar, shape.

Willow felt behind her for the chair, then sank to the floor when she couldn’t find it. It was Tara . . . yet it wasn’t. The same sweet face and full mouth, the same honey-blond streaked hair. The body Willow had known so well, the hands that had held hers tightly both during their most intimate moments and just walking down the street. It was all there, it was all right, except . . . except for the brilliantly bloodstained blouse, and the fact that Willow could see the oh-so-faint outline of the fireplace bricks right through her.

“Will, what are you doing? Why can’t you just let it be? Why can’t you just let me rest?”

Tara’s voice sounded reproachful and accusing, and Willow felt the surge of joy at seeing Tara again disintegrate like ashes after an explosion of fireworks. “W-what?”

Tara—no, the ghost of Tara—looked at her sadly. “Why are you trying to bring me back to life? You were told it couldn’t be done.”

Sitting on the floor amid the crumbs of her early-morning snack, Willow found herself gripping the fabric of her long robe hard enough to deform the material. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, am she struggled to find the right words.

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