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strengthened until it was a tangible thing throbbing in the air. She pushed her way through it to stand over the woman. Long black hair was artfully arranged around her like a cloak; her skin was white, flawless, but for the three sickle moons that marked her right cheekbone. Freya recognized her at once, the woman from her visions—the Goddess—not dead but trapped in an enchanted sleep.
    She fell to her knees beside the couch.
    “Who is she?” The question came from behind her. She’d forgotten the warlock’s presence. Now she peered over her shoulder to where he stood in the doorway, a frown on his face.
    “The Goddess,” she replied.
    Shock flared in his face, and he took a step forward.
    Freya ignored him and turned back to the Goddess. Relief washed through her as she saw the slight rise and fall of her chest. Not understanding what drove her, she reached out and took the woman’s hand in hers. The magic flared, and behind her Jarrod gasped.
    She squeezed the slender hand. Heat flowed between them, and she was sure she detected a faint movement in the fingers she held so tightly. Staring down into that pale, beautiful face, she willed her to awaken.
    Finally, after what seemed like an age, the Goddess’s eyes flickered open, dark purple, fringed with thick black lashes. At first unfo-cused, they grew brighter with each passing second until they filled with knowledge and recognition.
    “You came,” she murmured. “I’ve been waiting so long.” All her life, Freya had prayed to the Goddess. Her prayers had never been answered, and she’d believed them all abandoned and left to their fates. Now, a wave of pure joy washed through her. They had not been forsaken. The Goddess had been trapped here, unable to help. “Tell me what I can do,” Freya said.
    “Arroway is dying. You must bring together the three witches with the mark. Only they can free me and save the land.”
    “I don’t know...”
    The Goddess waved away her words with a weak movement.
    “We do not have much time. Come closer.” She reached out her free hand, her fingers shaking with the exertion. Freya leaned in closer, until one finger stroked her cheekbone. “I give you back what was taken from you.”
    Deep inside her, in that empty place, the moon magic awoke. In that moment, Freya realized all that had been ripped from her and her sisters, and her anger soared at the enormity of what had been done to them. She sensed the warlock still behind her and wanted to whirl around and rip out his throat. She gritted her teeth and remained on her knees.
    The Goddess’s gaze left Freya to settle behind her. “Warlock.” Jarrod stepped closer.
    “In the past, the witches of Arroway would always choose their mates. That was no longer possible, and I had to put my trust in you.” A weak smile flickered across her face. “I believe you chose wisely.
    Now go—the dark one approaches.”
    “How? They’ll catch us straight away as soon as we leave the tower.”
    “Trust in the magic.” Her eyes fluttered closed.
    Freya searched the room. There was no way out except the door they had entered through, and she could already hear the sound of booted feet on the stone steps. There had to be another way. Panic clawed at her guts. She wouldn’t be taken again. Jarrod appeared dazed, his staff hanging limply in his fist. An idea occurred to her. A crazy idea.
    “Can you blow a hole in the wall?” she asked.
    “What for?”
    “Can you?”
    He nodded.
    “Then do it.”
    Raising his staff, he whispered the words of a spell and the far wall erupted in a cloud of rock dust. When the dust settled, a six-foot hole appeared in the wall.
    “Now what?”
    “Now we jump.”

Chapter Four
    Far below them, the courtyard milled with people, gazing upward at the cloud of dust rising above the tower.
    Jarrod searched his mind for a spell that would carry them both down safely while his thoughts reeled with the implications. He didn’t doubt for a second