Page 1 of Summer of Sacrifice

Seleste, Then

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS AGO

SELESTE

The Strawberry Moon bathed the carriage in a blush glow.

“Madame Moon,” Seleste whispered into the night, the warm breeze kissing her cheeks through the carriage window. “Fill me up, so that I may pour it out.”

She hugged the Grimoire to her chest, eyes squeezed shut and head tilted toward the sparkling sky as the carriage bumped and swayed. The coachman—a rather handsome fellow—had taken two breaks to relieve himself since their previous stop in Crowborough and one break to offer her sustenance. A kindness she had demurely turned down.

Taking into consideration the fact that this man had enough courage to traverse the long-abandoned King’s Road straight through the dreaded Forest of Tombs as they headed toward Merveille from Drifthollow and the aforementioned stops, one could only conclude they would reach their destination by tea time tomorrow.

Wait to hire a carriage until you reach Merveille, Sorscha had said with a shrug. You’ll arrive more quickly if you transport.

Don’t take the risk, Winnie had warned. You’ve not been to the city in ages. You could end up landing anywhere.

Take the scenic route, Aggie had intoned. There’s a quaint inn in Crowborough, and my Forest of Tombs is beautiful.

Seleste enjoyed being thorough and listened to none of her Sisters directly when her Order had come, sending her to Merveille.

She had merely procured a copy of the listing that requested servant help for the Summer château to which the Grimoire was already sending her. Seleste would arrive at the hiring agency in her carriage, having travelled quite honestly from Drifthollow. In her opinion, it was best to receive the position as any other mortal person would.

Discreet and orderly, the advert had stated. Must hail from outside Merveille. Seleste certainly fit the description and wouldn’t need to put on a façade. She loathed disguises. That was unless one considered cyphers a form of guise. Then, she supposed, she was quite fond of them in certain forms.

Her position as Sister Summer, the third-born witch of the History-moulding Sisters Solstice, often called for her to parade as someone else, and that she was decidedly not fond of.

Though the Grimoire, in all its demanding mystery, had been as cryptic as ever on the Summer Solstice, Seleste had not, thus far, been instructed to arrive as anyone other than herself.

Witchcraft and ancient age aside, of course.

To date, all that had been scrawled in the Grimoire for her was as follows:

Take up a service position at Whitehall Summer Château. Boisloch, Seagovia.

Monarch—the first Sister Summer—had doodled a golden butterfly per the usual, and Seleste opened the Grimoire once again to trace her finger over it. Despite the black-as-pitch interior of the carriage, she could just make out the glint of the ink in the moonlight. Only her Orders from the Grimoire had ever appeared in gold. A brightness that was always there to add a soothing tone to what were sometimes rough-edged Orders.

The thought made her think of her sweet Sister Autumn, living in perpetual gloom, nary a glint of light to be found. That was unless one took into account the persimmon vibrancy of eternal Autumn surrounding her black cottage. Either way, the bright hues of dying leaves did not seep into Aggie’s soul as any form of cheer. No, it was more a shroud of death that draped over her like a mourner’s veil, ever-present.

Seleste took a deep breath, sending out love toward Aggie on the air, hoping that whatever magic and blood connected them might allow her to feel it.

Sister Autumn hated that Seleste’s life had been so simple compared to hers, though she’d never said as much aloud. In truth, it had been an easier life for Seleste than perhaps any of her Sisters. No orphaned child could ever claim to have an easy or simple life, and Seleste was no exception, but from the moment she’d been ripped from her Sisters after that blissful day at the cirque and taken to live with Prue—Sister Summer before Seleste—her life had been quite pleasant, save for the hole gouged out of her heart for the absence of her Sisters.

Prue was kind, loving, and an invaluable source of knowledge during those six formative years. The wise, elegant witch taught Seleste to hone her craft and cultivate her abilities—her cunning, Winnie called it. Prue would create minor mysteries or keep secrets, encouraging Seleste to look, seek, find, discern.

She had also ensured Seleste remained always in tune with the Goddess Three and herself. When Prue discovered Seleste’s penchant for the culinary arts, she’d encouraged that, too. She even went so far as to gain a position as a private chef for a prominent family in Bowery, Lyronia, when she was only thirteen.

Seleste smiled at the memories. There, the days were long and arduous but in the most beautiful of ways. A young girl with her complexion could have only dreamed of being treated fairly outside of her long-dead coven and her long-absent Sisters, but the Porter family had not only treated her with fairness but kindness. Blissfully, she’d been part of their family for nearly a year before the Grimoire bid Prue to bring her back home to their little cottage.

With memories flitting about her head, Seleste’s colossal monarch butterfly, Litha, landed on her shoulder and flapped her wings delicately, disrupting the reveries. Sister Summer chuckled. “We’ll have to keep you hidden, I’m afraid, lovely.” Litha fluttered a wing against Seleste’s cheek.

The carriage ground to a halt, jostling for a few breaths before the coachman’s face popped up in the window. “It is time to stop for the night, mademoiselle.”

Chapter

One

GRIMM