Updated Apr 13, 2026 • ~6 min read
Chapter 22: Old Salem
Oliver
The original Salem execution site at dawn is exactly as ominous as Oliver expected—ancient trees twisted by centuries of dark magic, ground that still feels wrong from all the death that happened here, air thick with residual energy that makes Oliver’s sensitivity buzz uncomfortably.
Sage, Morgan, and Rowan are setting up the binding circle while Oliver keeps watch with the medallion carefully wrapped in spelled cloth, and through the bond he can feel Sage’s focused determination mixed with bone-deep fear.
“It’s going to work,” Oliver says, more to reassure himself than anyone else.
“Of course it’s going to work,” Rowan says with the kind of confidence that comes from being too young to fully understand mortality. “We have a solid plan.”
“Plans change when you actually confront immortal witch hunters,” Morgan mutters, but she’s smiling slightly.
The binding circle is nearly complete when Oliver feels it—a shift in the air, a sudden cold that has nothing to do with November temperature—and through the bond, Sage’s fear spikes.
“They’re here,” Sage says, pulling Oliver behind her protectively. “Everyone get ready.”
The Collector materializes from shadows between the trees, more substantial than Oliver has ever seen them, wearing Nathaniel Thorne’s original face—handsome in a cruel way, eyes that have seen two hundred years of death, smile that promises pain.
“Sage Thornwood,” the Collector says, voice smooth and terrible. “How kind of you to accept my invitation.”
“We didn’t come to talk,” Sage says, magic already crackling around her hands. “We came to end you.”
“Did you now,” the Collector muses, gaze sliding over each of them—Sage, Morgan, Rowan, and finally settling on Oliver with predatory interest. “And you brought the human. How thoughtful.”
Oliver tightens his grip on the medallion, and the Collector’s expression shifts to amusement.
“You think that’s your weapon,” the Collector observes. “You think destroying my anchor will weaken me. How delightfully ignorant.”
“It will work,” Morgan says, already positioning herself for combat. “We’ve researched this for weeks.”
“And I’ve been preparing for this for five years,” the Collector retorts. “Sage, did you really think I let you escape by accident? That I couldn’t have taken you when I took your coven?”
Through the bond, Oliver feels Sage’s shock, her dawning horror.
“You let me live,” Sage breathes. “On purpose.”
“To grow stronger,” the Collector confirms. “To refine your power through trauma. To become exactly powerful enough for my ritual. And now you’ve brought yourself to me, along with your pathetic human and your well-meaning allies. It’s more than I could have hoped for.”
“Oliver, destroy the medallion!” Sage shouts, and Oliver moves immediately, pulling it from the spelled cloth and raising his silver knife.
The Collector laughs. “Yes, please do. I’ve been wanting to remove that limiter for decades.”
Oliver hesitates—limiter, not anchor—and Sage’s eyes widen with understanding a second too late.
“Don’t—!” she starts, but Oliver has already brought the knife down, has already shattered the iron medallion, and the Collector’s power explodes outward in a wave that sends all of them flying.
Oliver hits a tree hard enough to crack ribs, gasping, and through the bond he feels Sage’s terror as the Collector transforms—shedding the last remnants of humanity, becoming pure predatory magic, power unleashed after years of careful containment.
“Much better,” the Collector says, and their voice is layered now, echoing with centuries of stolen magic. “I almost forgot what it felt like to be unrestricted.”
Morgan throws combat spells immediately, and Rowan joins her, both witches attacking with everything they have, but the magic passes through the Collector like smoke, completely ineffective.
“Your turn,” the Collector says to Sage, moving with speed that shouldn’t be possible.
They’re on her in seconds—one hand wrapped around her throat, lifting her off the ground—and Oliver feels Sage’s pain and terror through the bond as the draining spell activates.
“NO!” Oliver shouts, scrambling to his feet despite broken ribs, despite knowing he’s useless against this kind of power.
The Collector glances at him with idle curiosity. “Ah yes. The human. I promised myself I’d make you watch.”
They release Sage—dropping her to the ground where she gasps for air, magic already being pulled from her—and turn their attention to Oliver with clear intent.
“I’m going to drain him first,” the Collector says conversationally. “Slowly. And you’re going to feel every moment through your bond while you’re helpless to stop it.”
They move toward Oliver, power forming around their hands—killing magic, draining magic, the accumulated weight of two hundred years focused on ending one human life—and Oliver knows he’s about to die.
And then Sage does something desperate.
She throws herself between them, taking the hit meant for Oliver, and the draining spell that was designed to kill a human slams into a hereditary witch instead.
“SAGE!” Oliver screams, catching her as she falls, feeling through the bond as her power starts bleeding out, pulled toward the Collector who’s consuming it with visible satisfaction.
“No,” Sage gasps, fighting the drain, trying to resist. “Oliver, run. Please.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Oliver says, and through the bond he pours everything he has—his life force, his trace magic, his will to live—anything that might help her resist.
Morgan and Rowan attack the Collector from both sides, trying to break their concentration, but the entity barely notices, too focused on draining Sage to care about lesser threats.
Through the bond, Oliver feels Sage weakening, feels her magic being pulled away, feels her slipping, and he knows—with terrible certainty—that they’re losing.
The Collector is too strong. Their plan failed. And Sage is dying to protect him.
“Hold on,” Oliver begs, cradling Sage in his arms. “Please, Sage, hold on.”
But he can feel through the bond that she’s fading, that the Collector is taking everything, that this is exactly what the entity wanted all along.
They played directly into the trap.
And now they’re all going to die.
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