Rowan stood at the edge of the swamp, heart thudding like a war drum beneath her ribs. The sun had just begun to dip behind the horizon, staining the sky in shades of gold and blood. In her arms, Maisie rested her chin on Rowan’s shoulder, unusually quiet.
The wind carried the smell of jasmine and rot. Old magic.
This was where Saffron LaRue lived now—deep in the bayou, hidden behind saltwater charms and spells older than any Rowan had ever dared cast. The trees around the property leaned toward them like they were listening, watching.
Rowan stepped carefully across the moss-covered path, clutching her daughter tighter.
When they reached the crooked cottage, the door opened before she could knock.
Saffron looked the same as she had three years ago—long black braids down her back, pale
