The spells were going to be amazing, she could tell—but what she wanted most now was the history. And the Book of Shadows had it.

“One cup of Aztec hot chocolate coming … up.” Mateo stood in the doorway that led from the kitchen, staring at her with an odd expression on his face.

“Does the Book of Shadows look incredible to you?” vzyl She could only imagine what the world of magic looked like through a Steadfast’s eyes. Maybe this book could even teach her how it was possible for a guy to possess that kind of power.

“I—uh—yeah.”

Nadia suddenly realized how much of her leg he could see with her knee bent like that, and she tugged the robe around her snugly as she sat up and accepted the cup of hot chocolate. The water’s chill still clung to her despite the nearness of the fire, plus chocolate was always a good idea—but this stuff was amazing. There was a spiciness to it that made it utterly delicious. “Wow. Aztec?”

Mateo shrugged as he sat cross-legged in front of her; the warm light painted his dark brown hair. “Aztec by way of my dad inventing the recipe. A little chili and ginger to add some heat—well, people at La Catrina like it.” His hand rested on one of the fluffy towels still wrapped around her foot. “This book—this is important? The kind of thing you were hoping to find?”

“And then some. Goodwife Hale—she knew what she was doing. She has a lot of history in here, too; I’m looking through that right now. If she was a witch here when Captive’s Sound was founded, then there’s no telling what she might know.”

“History? I thought you said this was a book of spells.”

“It is,” Nadia explained, “but she has journal entries in here, too. Some witches only put spells in their Book of Shadows; others use them like diaries. Some people sketch. Most people do a mix. There’s no one right way. Luckily for us, Goodwife Hale was heavy on the diary entries. See, this talks about her fleeing Salem—this one mentions which shells she could use for spellcasting, which I definitely need to know—”

Nadia straightened. Her hand froze at the place where she’d been scanning, and her eyes read the words over and over without being quite able to believe them.

“What is it?” Mateo leaned forward to look, which spared her having to say it aloud.

Together they read the name: Elizabeth Pike.

From four hundred years ago.

“So her family goes way, way back,” Mateo said, which seemed obvious, but Nadia could tell even he was freaked out by finding the same name yet again. “Well, what does it say?”

“Let’s see.” Quickly Nadia skimmed through the words. “A witch of great power; led the coven here—I knew there had to be a coven once, but then—oh.”

The scariest words in all of witchcraft were written there: the One Beneath.

Mateo craned his head to look. “What does that mean?”

“Elizabeth Pike’s husband was dying,” Nadia whispered. “No natural or magical means would save him. So she swore herself to the One Beneath.”

“Who is that? The devil?”

“Maybe you could call him that. I don’t know how ancient he is, where he comes from. All I know is that he’s the prince of black magic. The one who rules over the world of demons, which can never—and I mean, never, ever, ever—cross over with ours. He has no name, no laws, no limits. No witch can swear herself to him and share in his power. That turns her into something inhuman. Something … beyond evil.”

Obviously Mateo had some trouble taking that in. Nadia had always tended to think of the One Beneath as something like a monster from a story—not anything she had to worry about. Yet here he was, woven into the history of Captive’s Sound.

And maybe not just the history. Maybe he was part of the skin over the sky. The rumblings underfoot. Maybe the One Beneath held dominion here.

“But she did it for a good reason,” Mateo said. “Elizabeth’s ancestor—she was just trying to save her husband.”

Nadia shook her head. “There’s no good reason to swear yourself to the One Beneath. Whatever love or kindness or decency you had in you when you made the deal—he takes it. He hollows you out. Only the worst of you will be left behind.”

Mateo didn’t look convinced, but he nodded toward the Book of Shadows. “So what happened to the first Elizabeth Pike?”

“Her husband survived, but he became afraid of her. He wouldn’t live with her, and she didn’t seem to care.” Nadia’s fingers ran along each line of handwriting, and despite the nearness of the fire, a chill ran through her. “Then—over the years—she began to change. Her hair became less silver—her back unbent—and very slowly she became … younger.”

The photographs they’d seen on Verlaine’s computer suddenly flickered in front of her eyes like film on an old-style projector. They weren’t several women with the same name; they were one person. One person growing younger, instead of older, with the years—with the centuries.

Could a spell make someone live that long? Make someone become younger, ever so slowly, going on backward through the centuries?

It was impossible. But it was also true.

Elizabeth Pike was four hundred years old. Elizabeth was sworn to the One Beneath. She would be the most dangerous witch Nadia had ever heard of—maybe the most dangerous one there could ever be. She was a Sorceress.