Chapter 22

They were a sad little bunch.

Sam sat at the table, allowing Angelo to apply a mixture of mud and herbs to his burnt hands, chanting softly as he worked. Angelo then wrapped the mixture with a cotton bind, instructing Sam not to disturb them for at least half an hour.

Maya lay on the sofa, her hands and face finally able to move, thanks to a foul-tasting potion Angelo had concocted from bitter herbs. He had forced her to drink it, despite her protests. Who would have thought that Angelo Stiles, the Quarterback, would be so useful in a crisis?

"The pain's numbed," Sam commented in a near daze, staring at his bandaged hands.

Angelo nodded as he crushed more herbs, adding them to a glass half-filled with spring water. He stirred the murky mixture with his finger, whispering a soft incantation before removing his finger and shaking it off. Grabbing the glass, he made his way to Maya.

Maya whimpered. "Not again."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "This will help speed up your body's metabolism and fight whatever they've jacked you up with."

"But it tastes awful," she complained, but she couldn't do much more as he helped her sit up enough to drink the foul concoction.

"Don't be such a baby."

She glared at him before closing her eyes tightly and gulping down the horrid liquid.

"That's it, a little more," he encouraged until she finished, then lowered her back onto the pillow. "Who knew you were so whiny, Burns?"

Maya stuck out her tongue at him.

Sam snickered.

Angelo rose, smirking. "I wouldn't be too gleeful if I were you. Yours is going to taste worse."

Sam's eyes widened in horror. "What?"

Maya smirked, sticking her tongue out again.

He narrowed his eyes at her, pouting.

Angelo tried his cellphone again as he went to the jars of herbs, holding it between his ear and shoulder while preparing Sam's concoction. "Clarissa's still not answering."

"Do you want to be able to use your hands normally ever again?" Angelo raised an eyebrow, his tone sharp.

Grumbling, Sam took the glass from Angelo clumsily with his bandaged hands. "I hate you," he muttered, then chugged the whole thing down without taking a breath. His Adam's apple bobbed with each gulp before he finally finished, bending over and coughing violently. "That was vile!"

Angelo ignored the complaint, hissing as he hung up his call. "It keeps going to voicemail!"

"You don't think they've got her too, do you?" Maya asked, clenching her hands into fists and pushing down on the sofa hard enough to slide her body upwards, leaving her back against the armrest.

Sam dropped the glass, which shattered into a million pieces on the floor. "Oh fuck, I never thought of that."

"We have to consider the possibility that we're the only ones in commission," Angelo said, frowning. "Our parents are useless. Yours don't know, and mine's too much of an asshole to help. Mr. and Mrs. Ross will throw a fit if they know Jason's practicing and in trouble—and Clarissa is nowhere to be found."

"That leaves Mr. and Mrs. Woods," Sam reminded. "They're not happy with Dawson practicing until he's twenty-one, but they're our best bet."

Angelo nodded his agreement, scrolling through his phone contacts.

"Why do you have Dawson's parents in your phone?" Sam made a face.

"We're a coven. It's obvious we'd need to get in contact with family members sometimes," Angelo mumbled, as if this should be obvious. "I have your mom's and Maya's dad's numbers in here too."

Sam exchanged a look with Maya.

Wiggling her toes, Maya sent the look right back at him.

As one, they turned to look at Angelo expectantly as he stood and began to pace the floor between them.

"Why are you doing this?" Harper's voice trembled as she tried to free herself, her magic and strength utterly depleted. She hung helplessly on the cross between Dawson and Jason, her wrists chafed and raw from the ropes. "We haven't done anything to deserve this!"

Figures cloaked in darkness surrounded them, their faces and bodies hidden beneath deep hoods. There were about six of them, but one stood apart, clearly the leader. His imposing height and authoritative stance made his role evident, even without seeing his face. He watched silently as the others meticulously inscribed symbols around the crosses.

"Let us go!" Harper struggled against the restraints, glaring up at the sky, desperate to call down lightning or any form of magical assistance. Nothing happened. Whatever they were using to suppress their powers was working flawlessly.

"Save your breath, Harper," Dawson's voice, rough and strained, startled her. She had thought he was still unconscious. "They're not going to let us go."

She turned her head towards him, worry etched on her face. "Are you okay?"

Dawson managed a nod. "You?"

She nodded back, though it felt more like a reflex than a genuine response.

"I'm hoping I'm not the only one with a massive headache," Jason grumbled from his cross, his voice laced with frustration and pain. It was a relief to hear him, even if he was complaining.

Harper glanced at him, feeling a surge of relief that he was conscious and coherent, before shifting her glare back to the leader. "Where are the others? What have you done with them?" Her voice cracked with desperation. These were her friends, her coven, and she was supposed to protect them. The weight of her failure pressed down on her, making her feel even more helpless. Aunt Clarissa would be so disappointed if she knew...

Aunt Clarissa!

The realization hit Harper like a bolt of lightning. Surely Aunt Clarissa had noticed her absence by now. She must know something was wrong and would be searching for them. Harper clung to this hope, drawing strength from the thought. She needed to stall, to buy time for Aunt Clarissa or anyone else to find them.