Black Moon (The Moonlight Trilogy) Read Free

smiled and sat beside her. “I had a dream, too.”
    “Wanna talk about it?”
    Simon put an arm around her and pulled her close, a layer of comfort. She dropped her head to his shoulder. “Not really, but I’m okay now,” he whispered, lying to them both. A wave of disappointment moved from her to him.
    “Want me to stay? I can sneak back in my house early, before my parents wake up.”
    He kissed her hair. “Yes, please.”
    Willa looked up at his troubled, tired eyes and touched his cheek. “I’m here.”
    The next day, after her classes at the university, Willa stopped at the Twelve Acres Museum, which housed a small but impressive collection of town artifacts in the old Town Hall building. She needed to catch up on some filing that the curator, Bill Bentley, had asked her to do. She’d been volunteering at the Museum since eighth grade and knew the collection and history as well as he did. Bill had told her on several occasions that he hoped she’d take his place one day.
    After chatting with the receptionist, Bertie, for a minute or two, Willa went to the cramped, stuffy back office. It was freezing, and she flipped on the space heater before dropping her bag and navy blue pea coat to the floor. She grabbed the pile of papers from the desk, plopped them in the seat of the chair, and rolled it over to the filing cabinet.
    As she worked, Willa’s mind wandered to her night with Simon. Her dream about him had been far more complicated than she’d let on. In the dream, she’d watched Simon walk down an empty sidewalk suspended in a black void. But he wasn’t alone. A menacing shadow followed only a few feet behind, its form constantly shifting and morphing so that Willa could never identify it. She’d woken just as the shadow reached out to grasp Simon’s shoulder.
    She’d immediately gotten up and snuck out of the house, knowing he needed her—and that he probably wouldn’t talk about what was really bothering him. It’d been four months—almost to the day—since the battle at the cave, since Rachel had stabbed Willa, Charlotte, and Elliot, and taken Simon hostage; since Simon and Wynter had been imprisoned in the cave; and since Archard nearly killed Wynter just to see Simon heal her. Four months since Simon summoned a power no one seemed to understand, to free himself and Wynter, killing their captors in the process.
    Willa tucked a paper into a file and moved to the next drawer.
    She knew it was eating him up inside, his healing nature in upheaval because of what he’d done. Simon fixed things, never broke them; and it didn’t matter why he’d done it, or even that he’d had to do it—it still hurt him. So then why wouldn’t he say anything? Their relationship was based on talking about the strangeness and on being open about how confusing it was to be witches; but something about this was untouchable. And the not-talking left a constant phantom pain in the bottom of Willa’s heart.
    “Willa the Witch!”
    Willa jumped and almost screamed. Lost in her thoughts, hearing the sudden sound of Solace’s shrill voice, Willa dropped a file, scattering papers everywhere. “Solace! How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?”
    The ghost laughed, her round face, framed by chin-length blonde hair, flickering in and out of focus. “But it’s just too entertaining!” She leaned against the desk, arms folded. She wore an early 1930’s style dress: straight silhouette, dark purple, short sleeves, and playful organza ruffles at the collar. “I am sorry about the papers, though.”
    Willa smiled. “Oh, sure you are.”
    Solace smiled back, pale blue eyes sparkling. “I like your sweater. Black is a good color on you.”
    Willa threw the mess of papers on the desk and then pulled the bottom of her black v-neck sweater down over the top of her boot cut jeans. “Changing the subject? Well, thanks, I like it, too. I got it last week when Simon took me to dinner at that great