Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~9 min read
The Witch Council didn’t call emergency sessions lightly.
In the hundred and fifty years since its founding, there had been exactly seven emergency gatherings. Sage knew because she’d researched them all during her brief rebellious phase at sixteen, when she’d thought maybe—just maybe—the Council could force peace between the covens.
She’d been wrong then.
She had a sinking feeling she was about to be proven wrong again.
The threatening text had changed everything. After showing it to her grandmother, the estate had gone into lockdown. Wards reinforced. Guards posted. Sage hadn’t been allowed to leave until the Council’s summons arrived three hours later, delivered by a shimmering silver owl that dissolved into sparks after dropping its message.
Now she sat in the back of her mother’s car, dressed in the formal green robes that marked her as Mitchell Coven, heading into the city toward the Council chambers.
“Remember,” her mother said, eyes on the road, hands tight on the wheel, “let Elder Mitchell speak. Don’t volunteer information. And for the love of the goddess, don’t mention your theories about the Thornes’ innocence.”
Sage bit her tongue. Hard.
Iris, sitting beside her in the back seat, squeezed her hand in silent solidarity.
The Council chambers were housed in a building that appeared to mundane humans as a historic courthouse. Old stone, ivy-covered walls, the kind of place tourists took photos in front of without ever wondering why they felt compelled to leave immediately after.
Inside, magic hummed in the walls.
The main chamber was circular, with a domed ceiling painted with constellations that actually moved. Thirteen seats arranged in a half-circle for the Council members. And below, two sections of seats facing each other across an open space.
Sage stopped in the doorway.
Because the seats on the left were filled with Mitchells, three generations of her family in their green robes.
And the seats on the right were filled with Thornes in deep purple robes so dark they looked black.
Her first thought was that there were so many of them. Her second thought was that they looked just as shocked to see the Mitchells as her family looked to see them.
“What is this?” Elder Mitchell demanded, her voice cutting through the chamber.
An elderly man in silver robes stood from the center Council seat. Sage recognized him—Councilor Vance, the head of the Council for the past thirty years.
“Please, sit,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “All of you.”
Nobody moved.
“This is a trap,” someone from the Thorne side said. Male voice, deep and sharp. “You brought us here with the Mitchells? After they’ve been killing our people?”
“We haven’t killed anyone!” Sage’s uncle James shouted back. “You’re the ones cursing us!”
The chamber erupted.
Thornes on their feet, shouting accusations. Mitchells screaming back. Magic crackling in the air, sharp and dangerous. Sage felt her own power rising in response to the threat, earth magic pooling at her fingertips.
“ENOUGH!”
Councilor Vance’s voice boomed, amplified by magic that rattled the windows.
Silence fell.
“Sit,” he said again. “Now.”
Slowly, both families lowered themselves into seats. But the tension didn’t dissipate. It coiled in the air like a living thing, waiting to strike.
Sage couldn’t stop staring at the Thornes across from her. She’d never seen one up close before. Never been in the same room as the family she’d been taught to hate since birth.
They looked… normal.
Scared, angry, grieving. But normal.
Human.
The thought unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
“Three weeks ago,” Councilor Vance began, “the Mitchell Coven reported the death of Thomas Mitchell. Cause of death appeared natural at first glance, but further investigation revealed dark magic. A curse.”
Sage’s grandmother nodded stiffly.
“Two weeks ago, the Thorne Coven reported the death of Catherine Thorne. Same circumstances. Dark magic. A curse.”
Sage’s head snapped up.
What?
“One week ago,” the Councilor continued, “Marcus Mitchell died. Yesterday, Jonathan Thorne. This morning, Lily Mitchell.”
The chamber was silent enough to hear breathing.
“Five deaths in three weeks,” Councilor Vance said. “All powerful witches. All from two specific bloodlines.” He paused, letting that sink in. “The Mitchell and Thorne covens.”
“That’s impossible,” Sage’s mother said. “The Thornes are targeting us. Why would they curse themselves?”
“Why would we curse ourselves?” A woman stood from the Thorne section. She was tall, elegant, with silver-streaked black hair and eyes that could cut glass. “My son died yesterday. My nephew the week before. You expect me to believe this is coincidence? That the Mitchells aren’t behind this?”
“We’ve lost three!” Elder Mitchell shot back.
“So have we!”
Councilor Vance raised his hand for silence. “We have investigated thoroughly. The curse is not coming from either coven.”
That stopped everyone cold.
Sage leaned forward, her heart hammering. “Then who?”
For the first time, the Councilor looked directly at her. His eyes were ancient, sad.
“We don’t know,” he admitted. “But we know this: the curse is specifically designed to target Mitchell and Thorne bloodlines. It’s accelerating. And if we don’t stop it, both families will be extinct within six weeks.”
The words landed like a bomb.
Six weeks.
Sage did the math automatically. Her family had forty-three members with active Mitchell blood. The Thornes looked about the same size. Nearly a hundred witches, dead in six weeks.
Children. Elders. Everyone.
“This is a trick,” someone from the Thorne side said.
“It’s not,” Councilor Vance replied wearily. “I wish it were. But the magic signature is clear. This curse was cast by someone with intimate knowledge of both bloodlines. Someone with access to ancestral magic from both families.”
Sage’s mind raced. That should be impossible. The families had been enemies for over a century. No one had access to both bloodlines unless—
“The feud,” she said aloud.
Everyone looked at her.
She stood, her legs shaking but her voice steady. “The curse is using the feud. The hatred. It’s feeding on it.”
Councilor Vance nodded slowly. “That is our theory as well. Which brings us to why you’re all here.” He took a breath. “The Council is invoking the Emergency Cooperation Act. Effective immediately, the Mitchell and Thorne covens will work together to identify and break this curse.”
The chamber exploded again.
“You can’t be serious!”
“Work with them?”
“I’d rather die!”
“You will die,” Councilor Vance thundered. “All of you. Unless you put aside your hatred long enough to save yourselves.”
“The Mitchells can’t be trusted,” the elegant Thorne woman said coldly.
“The feeling is mutual,” Elder Mitchell replied with equal ice.
“Then don’t trust each other,” the Councilor snapped. “But work together. We are assigning research pairs—one Mitchell, one Thorne—to investigate the curse’s origins and find a way to break it. You will have full access to Council resources. You will work from a neutral safe house with wards that prevent violence between covens. And you will report your findings weekly.”
“And if we refuse?” Sage’s uncle asked.
“Then you condemn your entire family to death,” Councilor Vance said flatly. “Including the children.”
Sage thought of her niece, Maya. Five years old, with her mother’s smile and magic that made flowers bloom in her hands.
Six weeks.
She sat down heavily.
Across the room, she saw several Thornes doing the same. The fight draining out of them as reality set in.
They didn’t have a choice.
“The pairs have already been selected based on magical compatibility and research skills,” Councilor Vance said, pulling out a scroll. “They are as follows…”
He read through names. Sage barely heard them over the pounding of her heart.
This was insane. Mitchells and Thornes, working together? They’d kill each other before they broke any curse.
“…and finally,” the Councilor’s voice cut through her thoughts, “Sage Mitchell and Thorne Blackwood.”
Sage’s blood went cold.
Thorne Blackwood.
She knew that name. Everyone knew that name.
Heir to the Thorne Coven. Next in line to lead. Twenty-eight years old and already legendary for his combat magic. They said he’d killed a rogue vampire at sixteen. That his protection wards were the strongest in North America. That he was as dangerous as he was powerful.
That he hated Mitchells more than anyone.
Slowly, Sage lifted her eyes to the Thorne section.
And found herself staring directly at him.
He sat three rows back, and even from this distance, she could feel the weight of his gaze. Dark hair, sharp features, and eyes that glowed faintly green with barely contained magic.
He was looking at her like she was something he wanted to fight.
Or destroy.
Sage lifted her chin, refusing to look away.
She’d been raised to hate Thornes. But she’d also been raised to protect her family.
If working with Thorne Blackwood kept Maya alive, kept Iris safe, kept her family from extinction…
Then she’d do it.
Even if it killed her.
Across the room, Thorne’s eyes narrowed. As if he’d heard her thoughts and was thinking the exact same thing.
“You have one week to move into your assigned safe houses,” Councilor Vance said. “Use it to prepare. Because after that, the real work begins.”
The meeting adjourned in chaos. Families arguing, Council members trying to maintain order, magic snapping in the air like lightning before a storm.
Sage stood frozen, still locked in a staring contest with the witch who was supposed to be her mortal enemy.
Six weeks to break a curse.
One week before she’d be living under the same roof as Thorne Blackwood.
This was either going to save them all.
Or destroy whatever was left.
Reader Reactions