Josie parked the rental car and let out a long breath. It wasn’t supposed to be her, but Viola. However, the moment the visions and memories from witches past started, she didn’t have a choice.

Taréis. Their family’s hidden haven from the outside world, but also a special place that concealed a powerful secret: protecting the veil.

She shivered and shut off the engine. Had to park outside the village. The magical barrier was weak. Driving in the modern vehicle would surely break the invisible shield. Something like that had to be enchanted so the magic around her family’s territory could adapt over time as the enchantment slowly wore off.

Snow-covered hills blocked her view. How bad off was the place? Only a handful of relatives still lived on the property, but they mostly stayed out of the old village, leaving the homes and shops untouched.

She climbed from her car, locked it, pulled on her thin gloves, and walked around a large hill and turned down the main road.

A peaceful cold breeze nipped at her as though teasing. Magic. Perhaps the wind was alive or an old spell from long ago still greeted witches when they returned to their roots.

Charming homes with rounded sections had glorious peaked windows, many with fish scale cladding, some with diamonds. A stunning old world hidden from modern day boxy houses with their boxy windows and muted paint.

She walked along the light cobblestone street and turned down another full of shops with residences above, and more residences at the end of the street.

A figure knelt at the foot of some stone stairs leading to an ancient witch’s humble abode, the place since long abandoned by family, but still magicked to welcome them back should any in their bloodline return.

Jolie strolled closer.

Part of her vision flashed in her mind. The stone stairs. The very ones the man studied, they contained the first magic artifact needed. Was he looking for the same thing?

She searched her memory. Only witches had the visions. Well, the first-born daughter in her line. Since she had them, then maybe the man could, too. And if he was a danger or an outcast, then he wouldn’t have been able to get through the barrier. Which meant his intentions weren’t dangerous, and he was potentially safe. Should he prove to be otherwise, an alarm of sorts would go off as a blood-red flare that’d change purple.

The man pushed at different stones, then sat back on his heels and scratched his chin. A winter cap hid his hair, a scarf his mouth, but his face appeared a little weathered. Since he studied her destination, she’d soon find out.

A boy ran over, snug in a thick winter coat, hat, and gloves, and handed over a small glass orb. Huh. Then maybe they belonged there, but how’d they know where to look?

“Good job, Johnny.” An odd guttural accent colored the man’s throaty voice, drawing her in. “Now all we need is the witch who’s supposed to—” His head moved and his gaze locked onto her.

Her core warmed.

His eyes crinkled with a welcoming smile. “There you are. Please come and help me. The magic is only attuned to you.”

B-but, she was supposed to do it alone. Wasn’t she? Then again, she wasn’t the first-born daughter.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’m in rather a bit of a hurry.”

A shudder trickled through her. Most men didn’t speak so formally. They should consider it.

She regarded his ruggedly handsome, tan face.

He pulled his scarf down, revealing a well-groomed, trim beard.

Warmth pulsed inside her, and she swallowed.

The man lifted his flat cap and scratched his forehead, then gestured to the stone.

She blinked at him for a moment. Only her magic could give up its secrets, and he seemed to know that. Well, then… She swallowed again and went to him. Jolie took a knee next to him and inhaled a slow breath. A note of sweet spice tinged a heady earthy scent.

The temperature climbed, and she pulled at the collar of her coat before reaching for the stone, softly chanting a long forgotten spell as it wove through her. The rune carved in it glowed green. Magic consumed her in its brilliancy and power.

“Look. Her eyes are glowing.”

“Shh, Johnny.”

The last word passed her lips, and she touched the cold stone. It retreated and slid to the side.

“Well done, my dear.” The gentleman reached into the dark space beyond and pulled out an obsidian arrowhead.

Magic lowered to a soft hum inside her.

She gasped and fell forward, but the man caught her. She’d done it. The spell came to her, and the stone reacted. Only the wrong item came out. She leaned forward and reached—a strong gloved-hand caught her wrist.

“No, dear, this is what we came here for. Now return the stone to its rightful place. Your sister will arrive tomorrow to retrieve what only you witches can.”

Chills cascaded down her back. So then she was used for another purpose or she’d never have received the visions, nor would magic have guided and helped her.

A twinkle winked at her in his startling clear hazel eyes. “The stone, if you will.” His charming, thick accent sent a wave of desire through her.

Something deep inside her echoed his sentiments.

Jolie swallowed and turned her focus to the stone. She touched the rune. “Tilleadh.”

The stone slammed back into place.