The Keeper's Gambit
Paige POV
I crushed the dried wormwood between my fingers, watching Rosemary through the library's tall windows as she stumbled down Main Street like a woman fleeing ghosts. Which, in a way, she was. The cemetery visit had gone exactly as planned—Luna had delivered her precisely where she needed to be, when she needed to see the truth carved in stone.
The mortar and pestle ground the herbs into fine powder as I worked. Wormwood for visions, mugwort for dream clarity, and a touch of belladonna for sensitivity to supernatural forces. Just enough to open her mind without killing her. Yet.
My phone buzzed against the counter. Luna's text was brief: She found them. All six stones. Ran like hell.
Perfect. Fear would make her more receptive to guidance, more willing to accept help from someone who claimed to understand the forces hunting her. I'd been preparing for this moment since I was sixteen, since I first discovered the truth about what ruled this town from the shadows.
The library felt different at night, sacred in the way old churches felt sacred. Books held power that most people never recognized—not just knowledge, but actual energy that could be shaped and directed by someone who understood the old ways. My great-grandmother had taught me that before the Ashworths silenced her permanently.
I measured the herbal powder into a delicate porcelain teacup, one of the antique sets I kept for special occasions. The blend needed to steep for exactly seven minutes to reach proper potency. Too little time and it would be useless. Too much and Rosemary might not survive her first vision.
The leather-bound grimoire lay open on the circulation desk, its pages yellow with age and crackling at the edges. I'd inherited it from my grandmother, who'd inherited it from hers, passed down through generations of women who served as keepers of forbidden knowledge. The Ashworths thought they controlled everything in Thornwick Hollow, but they'd never suspected that their victims' families kept their own records.
The section on covenant redirection made my pulse quicken every time I read it. The ritual could be altered, the power redirected from male heir to willing female participant, if certain conditions were met. The sacrifice had to understand the true nature of the exchange. She had to enter the circle willingly. And she had to possess enough supernatural sensitivity to channel the energy without being consumed by it.
Rosemary possessed that sensitivity—I'd sensed it the moment she arrived in town. But she lacked understanding and willingness. Both could be cultivated with proper preparation.
Or I could take her place entirely.
The thought sent a thrill through me that I tried to suppress. It wasn't about Rosemary, not really. It was about power that had been denied to women for six generations. Power that should have been mine by birthright, if not for the Ashworths' stranglehold on this town's supernatural inheritance.
My reflection stared back from the darkened windows—angular features that spoke of old bloodlines, pale skin that had never seen enough sun, dark hair pulled back in the severe bun that made people underestimate me. Thirty-one years old and still unmarried, still living in the shadow of men who wielded forces they'd never truly earned.
The water reached the perfect temperature. I poured it over the herbal blend, watching steam rise from the cup like incense. The scent was earthy, bitter, with an undertone of something that made the back of my throat itch. Dangerous, but necessary.
Seven minutes.
I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled through the contact list until I found Rosemary's number. She'd given it to me during her first library visit, back when she still thought this was about books and small-town charm. Before she understood that some inheritances came with prices written in blood.
The phone rang three times before she answered, her voice shaky and breathless.
"Hello?"
"Rosemary? It's Paige Elliott, from the library. I heard you had quite an adventure tonight."
A pause. "How did you hear about that?"
"Word travels fast in small towns. Especially when someone goes wandering around the old cemetery after dark." I kept my voice gentle, concerned. "Are you all right? You sound upset."
"I'm... I found something. Something impossible."
"Nothing's impossible in Thornwick Hollow, dear. Why don't you come by the library tomorrow morning? I might have some information that could help you understand what you discovered."
"You know what I found?"
The desperation in her voice was exactly what I needed. Fear made people pliable, willing to trust anyone who offered answers.
"I know more than most people realize. My family has been keeping records for a very long time." I let that sink in. "I could brew some tea while we talk. Something calming to help with the shock."
"Tea sounds good. I don't think I'm going to sleep much tonight anyway."
"Ten o'clock then. And Rosemary? Don't mention our conversation to anyone else. Some people in this town don't appreciate when old secrets come to light."
I ended the call and checked my watch. The tea had steeped for exactly seven minutes. I strained out the herbs, leaving behind amber liquid that looked innocent as chamomile but held enough supernatural enhancement to crack open her psychic defenses.
The grimoire's pages whispered as I turned them, searching for the ritual specifications I'd memorized years ago. The covenant required a woman of the bloodline, but it didn't specify which woman. Rosemary was the designated heir, the one they'd groomed and manipulated into position. But substitution was possible if handled correctly.
All I needed was enough of her blood to establish the connection, a willing agreement to share the burden, and the ritual words spoken in the correct sequence. Simple enough, if she trusted me completely.
And after tomorrow morning's tea, she would trust me with her life.
My fingers traced the ancient text, translating the Latin phrases I'd studied since childhood. Power over life and death, dominion over the forces that shaped reality—everything the Ashworth men had claimed for themselves while women died to fuel their immortality. But the covenant had been written by desperate people in desperate times. They'd built in loopholes, probably without realizing it.
The tea sat cooling on the desk, waiting for morning. Waiting for Rosemary to arrive seeking answers and finding something else entirely.
I'd spent fifteen years preparing for this moment. Fifteen years studying the old ways, learning to manipulate supernatural forces while hiding my abilities from those who would silence me like they'd silenced my grandmother. The Ashworths thought they controlled the covenant, but they'd never bothered to read the fine print.
Their arrogance would be their downfall.
Tomorrow, Rosemary Decker would drink my tea and open her mind to forces she couldn't imagine. She would see visions of past rituals, feel the echo of six generations of women who'd died feeding power to unworthy men. And in her fear and confusion, she would turn to me for guidance.
I would be ready with answers. With solutions. With alternatives she'd never considered.
The library clock chimed midnight, its sound echoing through empty halls lined with secrets. Twenty-four days until the eclipse. Twenty-four days to decide whether to save Rosemary Decker or replace her entirely.
Either way, the covenant would be fulfilled. But this time, a woman would claim the power.
This time, the hunters would become the hunted.
The tea glowed amber in the darkness, patient as a predator waiting for prey to step into carefully prepared snares. Tomorrow would bring new possibilities, new choices that would reshape everything the Ashworths thought they understood about power and sacrifice.
I smiled, closing the grimoire with gentle hands. Some secrets were worth waiting for.
Some power was worth killing for.