Enchantra

When she finally reached the bottom of the case and plucked out the item she was searching for, the pecking hushed.

It was a black envelope embossed with an intricate filigree design, the swirling patterns foiled in glittering silver. Its matching wax seal featured an image of a thorned branch adorned with wild roses and berries, a large letter “S” embedded in the center. Inside was a piece of velvety parchment more luxurious than any paper she’d ever felt, and the words elegantly scrawled across it were in rich sapphire ink.

Genevieve pulled the letter from its already torn sleeve, unfolding it as a heavy sensation settled over her shoulders. Her blood began to heat as she read it once again.

From the desk of the Enchantra Estate

Dearest Tessie,

My deepest apologies that it has taken me so much time to get back to you. The situation with my family has grown increasingly complicated over the years and I’m afraid that time got away from me. I won’t bore you too much with the details.

I know there is much we have to discuss after all this time, even beyond the topics of your letters, and so I must insist the two of us do so in person.

I must express that it is with the most ardent regret that we left things the way we did and that I have neglected to reach out before now, but I would very much like to rectify my mistakes.

Enclosed is a small gift for your travel expenses. Please do not take it as charity, I know how you are, but rather I have more than I, or my kin, know what to do with and it’s the least I could offer in order to reunite our acquaintance. I know the spring equinox is soon, but I insist you visit us before then as I will have a brief sabbatical from my duties to Knox. I demand you visit, actually. Plus, the demonberries will be perfectly ripe.

See you very soon.

Your old friend,

Barrington Silver

When she’d opened the letter for the first time back home, she had noticed that the ink of some of the letters had bled ever so slightly, making parts of certain words appear thicker than the others. Revealing an all-too-familiar shape amongst the lines.

A crow.

“Damned fucking birds,” she muttered.

The omen was blatant now—as was the sensation emanating from the parchment. The slight buzz of warmth was one that she’d been training herself to recognize in recent months. Magic.

I know the spring equinox is soon, but I insist you visit us before its eve.

Genevieve had always intended to leave Rome with plenty of time before the equinox, but between her nerves and all the city’s attractions…

Better late than never, right?

She shoved the invitation back inside the pages of her diary and clasped her trunks closed. It was time.

Behind her the murder reached a crescendo, their beaks hitting the glass panes so hard she wasn’t sure how they hadn’t yet shattered. Their caws were thunderous as their frantic wings continued to beat in sync with her heart.

“I’m going,” she grunted as she hauled her luggage off the bed, the weight of the trunks nearly too heavy.

But when she finally turned around, ready to go, the birds had disappeared.

2

THE INVITATION

Afternoon light filtered in through the window, swathing the first-class sleeping car in an enchanting golden hue. The Tuscan countryside just outside was likely one of the most breathtaking sights she’d ever behold, but she could hardly even look at it as it rushed past, her nerves on fire as the train barreled toward its destination.

The last of the lunch carts rolled down the hall outside her roomette, the sound of glasses and plates rattling against each other slowly fading away as it passed. She tapped her foot on the ground in a steady rhythm of impatience as she waited for the train to make its next stop.

The journey through the Italian countryside had been uncomfortable, exhausting, and, worst of all, tedious. At first she’d tried rereading the books in her trunk, but after confirming that the plague of crows following her was likely the result of magic known as a hex, she quickly became bored.

Reaching her right hand over to her left, she attempted to fiddle with a ring that she continued to forget she no longer wore. She dropped both hands back into her lap with a frustrated sigh. Being trapped within the same four walls without a single interesting soul to talk to was Genevieve’s personal version of Hell. She felt she’d done enough of that growing up in Grimm Manor.

While her late mother, Tessie Grimm, had trained her sister in the art of Necromancy, Genevieve had been stuck with nothing but her stuffed animals and dolls to talk to. As the eldest, Ophelia would be the only one to inherit their mother’s magic, and it had taken Genevieve years to realize how their mother’s focus on Ophelia had made her feel like an only child. And left her with a constant need to be in a crowd. Or someone else’s bed.

Genevieve had become accustomed to hiding her own magic, terrified of her mother finding out about her power and sheltering her like Ophie. She told herself she wanted nothing to do with Tessie Grimm’s outlandish world. Then her mother had died, just a few months ago, and Ophelia had taken over their family’s legacy. Instead of their mother’s approach, Ophelia had decided to embrace her Necromancer title by becoming a sort of problem-fixer for every paranormal being who arrived on Grimm Manor’s doorstep in recent months—Witches, Ghosts, Vampires, Devils—and it made Genevieve realize just how willfully naïve she’d been about the world.

Her experience in Phantasma—the Hellish competition that she and Ophelia had entered this past autumn—had made her want to learn as much as she could about such paranormal things. The competition itself had not worried Genevieve a great deal when she’d entered. She’d known that her particular brand of inherited magic—from her and Ophelia’s father—would make it easy to avoid all of the physical horrors and trials within the Devil’s Manor. But it had been frustrating to think that if she did not have such magic, she would likely have not gotten past a single day in the competition.

There had been plenty of opportunities for Genevieve to tell Ophelia about her newfound desire to learn. But every time Genevieve had tried, she’d found herself unable to admit how foolish she’d been. How she’d been running from her family, from herself, for so long.

Nor had she been ready to admit the largest reason she’d stopped scorning the paranormal. Because she was no longer trying to win the affections of a man who’d never loved her…

A whistle sounded overhead, slicing through her thoughts to announce that the train would soon be approaching its next stop—Florence. The closest city to her final destination.

Genevieve’s reflection in the window perked up.

She was so close now. So close to discovering another family like hers.

She dug into the pocket of her cape and pulled out a photograph. She had found it in her mother’s room, hidden away with other keepsakes from the life Tessie Grimm had led before settling down in New Orleans. A life that even Ophelia knew nothing about.

The sepia-colored picture showed a man standing next to Tessie Grimm, his arm slung over her shoulders in a way that made their comfort with one another very apparent. But what always drew Genevieve’s eye was the fact that they were both wearing matching heart-shaped lockets.

From the moment she found the photograph, Genevieve had found herself asking the same questions. She knew that her mother’s locket was connected to her family’s lineage, that it had always been meant to pass on to Ophelia upon their mother’s death. Was the man in the picture a Necromancer, too? Did he have children? Were any of them… like her?

And so her curiosity grew over the years. Until she could no longer resist it.

She flipped the photograph in her hands and read the names on the back, written in her mother’s elegant script.

Barrington Silver and Tessie Grimm.

The blast of the steam whistle echoed a second time, and Genevieve shoved the photograph deep into the pocket of her cape. The rhythmic clatter of the train’s wheels over the tracks gradually diminished as they approached the new station, the soft hum of the engine slowly quieting as she stood to gather her things.

Despite the invitation’s directive to visit Enchantra before the eve of the equinox, she couldn’t imagine Mr. Silver would turn her away. Firstly, because of the fervor in which his note had been written. There were deep indentations in the paper where the pen had nearly pierced through with the intensity of his strokes. And secondly, because if he refused to speak with her after tormenting her with that hex, she might be tempted to murder him.

Perhaps that last sentiment wasn’t exactly fair. After all, the invitation was addressed to her mother, and she should probably never have opened it. Not to mention the guilt she felt for initiating the correspondence with Mr. Silver months before her mother’s death, hoping to reconnect them in order to get exactly this sort of invitation. She’d sent six letters, signing each of them with Tessie Grimm’s name. But by the time she finally received a letter back, her mother was gone…

A quick rap against her roomette’s door startled her out of her thoughts.

“Miss Grimm,” the familiar attendant greeted her politely, his thick Italian accent filled with warmth. He had voluminous sable hair and a youthful face. They had shared a few brief conversations over the journey, a nice interruption in the maddening solitude. “Do you wish for me to pack you a meal to go?”

Genevieve shook her head. She was much too excited to eat. “No, thank you, Luca. But if you could help me with one of my trunks, I’d very much appreciate it.”

Luca dipped his chin in a nod. “Of course, Miss Grimm.”

He stepped forward to gather the larger of the trunks before ducking back out into the hall and pausing for her to follow. She didn’t bother lingering or looking back at the stuffy little room, just followed Luca down the narrow hall, relieved to finally be moving on. As they walked, her hip bumped against her trunk and into the wall uncomfortably, her knuckles knocking painfully into the wood paneling as she adjusted her grip. If there was one thing that irked her so far about this continent, it was that everything was much too small for her ample curves and the space she took up.

Checking over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear from behind, she unfurled a tiny bit of her magic and extended it down her left arm and to the trunk in her hand, making it—and her fist—completely disappear.

When she and Luca finally made it to the front of the train, she returned her hand and luggage to a solid state once more before the small crowd of passengers and employees spotted anything odd. With a gentle hiss, the train doors slid open, revealing the bustling station nestled in the middle of a charming city, the colorful fashion of the crowds and the floral fragrance in the air the clearest signs of spring despite the suddenly cloudy sky above. The crisp breeze was sharp as it hit her skin, the season here so much different from the one back home. More vibrant.

She let Luca step off onto the weathered platform before them and waited for him to set her second trunk on the ground before allowing him to assist her down as well. He gave her a small bow as she procured a folded wad of crisp bills from the gilded case hanging from the chatelaine around her waist beneath her cape.

A warm smile stretched over his face as she pressed the tip into his palm. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Grimm. I shall miss your colorful company.”

“I am devastated for you,” she told him sincerely, bending down to haul up both of her trunks, ready to leave the train long behind. “Try not to fall into too heavy a depression from my noticeable absence in your life.”

He chortled as she turned and pushed herself through the scattered throng of travelers, toward a line of pristinely uniformed men near the station’s entrance. She flicked her eyes over each of them with faux admiration and waited to see who might take the bait.

The first one to fold was a middle-aged man with a thick beard and a gnarled cane.

“Hai bisogno di un passaggio, bella ragazza?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” Genevieve told him. “I don’t know much Italian. Do you speak English by chance?”

“English, no,” he told her, shaking his head. He lifted his cane and pointed to another driver a few carriages to the left. “Morello.”

“Grazie,” she said before hurrying toward the other man.

This man was handsome, only a year or two her elder, with dark, combed-back hair and hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Which he very much did as she approached.

“Are you Morello?” she checked, giving him a flattering smile.

“I am,” he told her. “How may I help you?”

She dropped her bags at his feet. “I’m going to an address a few miles outside of the city. I have a map with all of the details.”

She pulled out the hand-drawn map she’d also stolen from her mother’s keepsakes and held it up for him. He bit his lip, and for a second she wondered if perhaps he didn’t understand the slight drawl of her accent, but as his eyes shifted to the right, toward a father and son hugging each other goodbye, she realized he was only taking a moment to consider her question.

A shriek rang out overhead.

Genevieve looked to the sky, glaring at a trio of crows circling above.

I’m trying! she wanted to scream at them.

She peeled her gaze away from the creatures and cleared her throat to regain Morello’s attention, making sure her next words dripped with the sort of saccharine Southern drawl that always seemed to hypnotize the marks she set her sights on.

“I promise to tip handsomely,” she told him. “It’s probably a bit further than you’d be used to driving, but it would mean the world to me if you could oblige.”

His hazel eyes widened at the pleading expression on her face, glazing over ever so slightly, and she knew she was about to get her way.

With a vigorous nod, he bent down to scoop up her bags. He glanced at her hand, clearly checking for a ring, as he said, “No problem, Miss…?”

“Grimm,” she provided.

“Miss Grimm,” he acknowledged. “Right this way.”

It was nearly three hours later that the carriage finally rolled down the long, winding driveway of Barrington Silver’s estate. Genevieve brushed back the velvet curtain covering the cab’s window and peered outside to take in the romantic landscape that stretched out around her. The birds continued to fly just ahead, chaperoning her through a much clearer sky than the one back at the station.

At least they’re quiet now, she thought as her gaze dropped back to the horizon.

Nestled within the rolling hills of the countryside, the vineyard unfolded like a canvas of nature’s finest artistry. Rows and rows of staked vines stretched out over the meticulously pruned fields, flowering trees adding splashes of color in every direction while the golden sun combed through their branches. As the carriage continued down the drive, a massive gate came into view. The swirling details of its silver metalwork were so intricate that they almost obscured the name spelled within its ornate design.

Enchantra.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and she heard Morello call out her name with confusion. When the cab’s door swung open a beat later, his eyes were filled with concern.

“Miss Grimm, I worry your directions may have contained a mistake.”

She lifted a brow. “Why is that?”

He beckoned, offering his hand to help her from the carriage, his boots crunching over the gravel.

A moment later they were standing before the silvered gate. Her eyes traced over the thorned vines entangled amongst the steel bars and narrowing in on the peculiar purple berries that dripped through the spaces between them and littered the ground at their feet.

She pulled the invitation from her pocket once more, Morello watching with rapt curiosity, and, as she had thought, the vines and berries were the exact ones embossed on its wax seal.

“This is definitely the right place,” she confirmed to herself.

Morello looked from the envelope to the estate beyond the gates. “But…”

And he was right. There was absolutely a but.

Past the gates, as far as she could see, there was nothing but a sprawling, empty field.

3

BERRIES

“I can take you back to the city,” Morello assured her. “No extra charge.”

Genevieve continued to stare through the gates. Something about the scene before her was scratching at the back of her mind…

“Miss Grimm?” Morello pressed.

For a moment she wondered if she should take this as a sign to accept his offer and return to the station. And then something beyond the gate shimmered. Like a mirage.

She blinked and it was gone.

A series of belligerent caws sounded above. Genevieve looked up at the sky, now turning black with the promise of rain. The three crows were now circling in an endless loop of anticipation.

She’d come all this way, risked too much trouble, dreamed about this for too long, to go back now.

There’s something here for me, she thought. There must be.

Squaring her shoulders, Genevieve turned to Morello and stated, “I will not be leaving. I appreciate the ride and do hope you return safely before this weather rolls in.”

“But I cannot abandon you here,” Morello insisted. “If it’s a place to stay that you need I⁠—”

“You can and you will leave me here.” She gave a flick of her hand. “I’ll be just fine.”

“There’s nothing else around for miles,” he protested. “You cannot possibly expect me to strand a lady in the middle of nowhere.”

She sighed. She forgot how deeply entranced some men became with the illusion of sweet innocence she’d crafted—but she didn’t have time to let this one down easy. She needed him to go.

Channeling the haunting stares her mother and sister were capable of, she fixed the most bone-chilling expression she could muster onto her face. Of course, Genevieve didn’t have all the creepy details of a Necromancer working for her like they did—the icy eyes, the pallid complexions—but she’d have to make do.

Reaching inside of herself for a kernel of her magic, she began to make her form flicker in and out of its invisible, non-corporeal state as she crooned, “Who said I was a lady?”

Morello balked, stumbling back from her as she continued to flex her magic, his hazel eyes dancing from shock to terror as whatever charm he thought might have drenched her before melted away entirely.

She advanced a step. “Unless you want to end up as one of those whispered legends… of a man who wandered off with a beautiful stranger into the middle of nowhere only to disappear and never be heard from again… I suggest you leave. Now.”

Morello swallowed and backed toward the carriage, though, to his credit, he didn’t run.

“One can be only so intimidating when gifted with such a darling appearance, I suppose,” she mused beneath her breath.

While Ophelia’s icy gaze was often described as unsettling, Genevieve’s eyes were a warm, inviting cerulean, framed by thick lashes and a heart-shaped face—which had the most endearing freckles smattered across the bridge of her nose and pink cheeks. Not to mention her voluptuous figure—which made the soft lines of her curves anything but sharp, even in a corset. Details her suitors had fawned over time and time again.

Your freckles are adorable.

You have the most beautiful eyes.

You’re so sweet, you couldn’t hurt a fly.

She’d bet good money Farrow Henry had regretted letting that last one roll off his tongue. He would hardly recognize the person who had frightened Morello away.

And frightened she had, because now Morello was scrambling up into his driver’s seat, sans promised tip, and snapping the horse’s reins to pull away as fast as he could. As the sound of the carriage faded into the distance, it was replaced by the sky’s sudden grumbling. She glanced up to see several dark clouds rolling in and sighed. Her outfit was likely going to get ruined.

She turned back to the gate, squinting into the distance beyond it anew, gripping the silver bars and ignoring the stray thorns that dug into her palms as she concentrated.

A beat. And… aha.

The shimmer of magic.

“I know you’re there,” she whispered.

As if her words had awoken something, the sudden feeling that she was being watched sent a tingle down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, but there was nothing behind her except the winding driveway and the rows and rows of berry-covered vines.

Squawk.

Genevieve jumped, tilting her face upward to find one of the large crows landing atop the gate’s arch. She watched, cautious, as it began to peck at the berries dripping from the sculpted steel.

Plus, the demonberries will be perfectly ripe.

Genevieve reached up to pluck one of the bright, purplish berries from its vine, holding it up in front of her face to inspect. It wasn’t quite a grape, nor was it a blueberry, but despite its strangeness, it certainly made her mouth water.

Of course they do, she could imagine Farrow’s voice saying. You’re a Demon yourself, after all.

Genevieve gritted her teeth.

She had entered Phantasma in part to escape him, but she’d found the manor’s hallways crowded with wispy illusions of Farrow, lurking in every cobweb-filled corner. His face had appeared to her in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep—and in her nightmares when she could—and he had somehow managed to follow just one step behind her everywhere she went, even after she’d escaped the haunted house’s bleeding walls.

He was in the reflection of her hot chocolate at every café. In the heat of every fire. In the faces of the few lovers she’d had since he shattered her heart to pieces. Some days the agony of what happened between them lingered in a way that made everything she thought she knew about herself hazy. Like all this time she’d thought she’d been breathing clean air, but now she realized the smoke had just taken a while to suffocate her.

She had hoped maybe the unwanted memories would stop when she finally left New Orleans, but as the dull memory of ocean-blue eyes watching her through a wall of orange flames flickered through her mind now, she knew no amount of distance would take the burn of his memory away.

Ophelia might be the Necromancer, but Genevieve dealt with Ghosts just the same. Only hers were still alive.

Forget him, she ordered herself as she popped the fruit onto her tongue, relishing the sweet taste of the juice that flooded her mouth when she cracked open its icy exterior with her teeth.

“Mmm,” she hummed in satisfaction.

She picked another. And another.

The berries were delicious enough that she didn’t notice the change occurring around her at first. When her eyes refocused, the last berry she’d plucked dropped to the ground in her slackened hand as the magic veil she’d seen rippling in the air finally lifted beyond the gates.

Stretching across the grounds in front of her was an intricate hedge maze, the lush green walls too tall for her to see what it might hide in its center. But even the looming labyrinth couldn’t block out the glittering silver villa it sat in front of. Two squared structures that looked like towers bookended the front façade, stretching so high into the gloomy sky above that they nearly kissed the clouds. The entire stone exterior was encrusted with pearls of silver and draped in the same climbing, thorned vines as the gate. She could see that the driveway continued just beyond the locked entryway, forking before it reached the hedge maze and circling around to either side of the estate. And all of it was dusted in untouched, powdery white.