Chapter 19

Dawson drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as his truck rumbled down the long, winding road from his farmhouse to Jason's place. Cornfields stretched endlessly on either side, their tall stalks rustling in the evening breeze. He had offered to drive Harper, given that she lived nearby, but she had declined, explaining she had another appointment before heading to the Brew. She also didn't want to tip off Clarissa by letting her hear an engine so close to the house. So, his plan was to pick up Jason, then swing by Maya's place to ensure she wasn't walking alone after the attack she'd endured that day.

The young witch sighed, his thoughts heavy. If Maya hadn't already instructed everyone to meet at the Brew tonight, he would have rushed to her side immediately upon hearing about the attack. But she was fine, at least physically, and clearly didn't want to discuss anything in public. If the attack was linked to the Witch-Hunters and the death of Sam's father years ago, he understood her caution. She was trying to protect the coven by keeping their association discreet. Yet, he knew deep down that if the Witch-Hunters were truly involved, they likely already knew who the coven members were. It was only a matter of time.

Dawson's gaze drifted to the endless rows of corn swaying beside him. If the Witch-Hunters were back, they needed to bind their coven. They needed protection. He hoped that Maya, Angelo, and Sam would see the necessity now. Convincing Maya would be the hardest. He couldn't blame her after all she had endured with Clarissa, but he was determined. It had become his mission to persuade her to join and bind the coven. They all needed to understand that it was their best chance to protect themselves. He was especially worried about Maya. His feelings for her ran deep, which had made distancing himself from her, as per their plan, excruciating.

It was why Angelo had grown impatient and resorted to provoking Maya, trying to ignite her latent magic through anger and frustration. Dawson shook his head, focusing back on the road just in time to see a figure standing in the middle of it.

"Oh crap!" Dawson slammed on the brakes, swerving violently to avoid the man. The truck veered sharply to the left and crashed into the fence with a loud crunch.

The impact sent Dawson's head into the steering wheel, and everything went black.

The Mega-Hits Mashup blared in her ears, blocking out every sound as Maya trudged down the empty streets of Harvest Grove. After a certain hour, the town fell into a deep slumber, leaving the streets deserted and most houses cloaked in darkness. The occasional streetlight cast pools of dim light, guiding her steps as she made her way to the Brew. The moon had slipped behind a thick layer of clouds, leaving her feeling even more isolated.

As the song transitioned to Die Young Mega Mashup by bringmethemashup, a prickling sensation crawled up the back of her neck. Maya paused, her instincts screaming a warning. She spun around, her eyes scanning the empty street.

Left. Nothing.

Right. Nothing.

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the unease. Just nerves, she told herself. Harvest Grove might be eerily quiet at night, but it was safe. She turned to continue her journey when her breath caught in her throat. A male figure stood directly in her path, his presence sudden and menacing.

Maya's eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to scream, but before she could make a sound, she felt a sharp sting in her neck. Her vision blurred as the needle's contents flooded her bloodstream. The world spun violently, her knees buckling under her.

Everything went dark.

Harper rolled to the side, a sharp scream escaping her as the crowbar smashed into her parents' tombstone, chipping off a piece. Her eyes widened in horror at the desecration of her parents' resting place. She rolled again, narrowly avoiding another swing of the tire iron that crashed into the ground where her head had been moments before. Landing on her side, she thrust her arm out toward her assailant, fury coursing through her. "Be driven back!"

A gust of wind whipped up, slamming into the man and sending him flying back into the graves.

Taking advantage of the moment, Harper scrambled to her feet, her hand still outstretched. "Off!"

The wind obeyed, knocking him off the graves. She heard a twig snap somewhere to her side. Spinning around, her hand outstretched and ready, she scanned the darkness for a second attacker. But there was no one, only the eerie silence of the cemetery.

Narrowing her eyes, Harper turned back to the graves, her heart pounding. The ground next to the tombstone was empty. The man was gone.

"Where...?"

Before she could react, a heavy blow struck the back of her head. Everything went black.

"Take whatever you want!" Sam's mother pleaded with the man who had a knife to her throat. "Just please, don't hurt my son and me! Please!"

Sam's fists clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he struggled to contain the fury surging through him. This was his mother, a woman who could be a pain at times but was still his mother. The Witch-Hunters were not going to take her from him like they had his father.

The man sneered at Sam, pressing the blade harder against her throat.

Something inside Sam snapped. He flung his hand out toward the knife. "Return to your raw form!"

The knife transformed before their eyes, trembling violently as it reverted to a chunk of raw silver and fell to the ground with a loud clang.

"Sam?" His mother gasped, eyes wide in shock.

He couldn't look at her, couldn't face the horror in her eyes now that she finally knew the secret his father had managed to keep from her until his death.

The man threw his mother to the ground and reached for a plate on the sink, hurling it at Sam. He dodged the plate, but not the man who barreled into him. The impact sent them crashing into the table, breaking it into pieces. They fell onto the shattered remains, grappling and trading blows.

The man grabbed a piece of broken wood, lifting it high and driving it down like a stake. Sam barely managed to catch his wrist, stopping the sharp edge just before it impaled him. He grunted, using all his strength to keep the stake at bay.

The man snarled, putting more weight on the stake, which inched closer and closer until the tip pressed painfully against Sam's chest. Sam's hands trembled from the effort, the man's size and weight giving him the advantage.

In a desperate move, Sam let go of the man's wrist and grabbed the stake itself. "Burn!" he shouted.

The wood erupted into flames, consuming itself. The fire scorched Sam's hands and chest, and he cried out in pain, closing his eyes against the searing heat. Finally, the stake disintegrated into ash, blinding the man above him.

The man screamed, clawing at his eyes. Ignoring the agony in his hands, Sam reached for a shard of broken plate and slashed it across the man's throat. Blood spurted out, and the man flailed, trying to staunch the flow before collapsing, dead, on the ground.

Sam fell to his knees, crying out as he examined his burnt hands. The skin was bright red, peeling, and some of his fingers had started to stick together. He hissed in agony as he forced them apart.

"Sam?" His mother whispered, her voice trembling with fear.

Hanging his head, Sam pushed back the pain and wrapped a fallen towel around his injured hand. He staggered out of the house toward his bike. This couldn't be an isolated attack. The others were in danger.