The Wind has Risen

Meet Bethany Salem. She’s sixteen years old. She’s a high-school student. And she’s a witch. Well, more like a witch-in-training. Together with her friends Tillie, Nick, Karen, and Nam, Bethany is part of the Witches’ Night Out coven.

When Bethany "sees" a murder before it happens, along with a mysterious three-eyed woman whose image keeps showing up in mirrors and glass, she and the other members of the Witches’ Night Out coven decide to investigate. Together, they are drawn into a dark world of illusions and secrets, murder and magick, where nothing is as it first appears . . . and no one is safe.

In the following excerpt, Bethany contemplates using her magickal powers to help her dad, a New York City cop, solve a grisly murder case.

to catch a murderer
Bethany turned the picture over and read the neat handwriting on the back. Annabelle Arneau. Age 7. Non-parental abduction September 1. Body discovered September 14. This was the case that was taking her father away from her. It was as if Annabelle owned Dad instead of Bethany. No, that wasn’t fair. She was just a little girl who never got the chance to grow up. No parties, no dances, no college. What had Ramona said about taking care of the young ones?

Bethany fingered the picture for the hundredth time. "What happened to you, Annabelle?" she whispered. Maybe if Bethany could help her father in some way, she could feel like she was more a part of his life? Now, there was a thought!

Bethany thought of the speed of the wind, how it moved so quickly through the back yard, dancing along the roof of the garage, whistling under the eaves . . . how fast it travelled.

Wind. The element of air. She felt that familiar sensation. That power that often snuggled dormant within her, waking slowly, making her fingers tingle. A rhyme kept playing in her head, one that her mother had taught her years ago. What was it? "Element of air. Something flow . . . wait. Element of air. Element of flow. Send my message . . . help it go." She snapped her fingers. That was it! She repeated it just to make sure she had it right.

Hecate grumbled and stretched, his cat eyes blinking at her in irritation. He picked up the crow’s foot and jumped off the bed. The black ribbon was the last thing to disappear beneath the dust ruffle.

Her fingers clenched the picture. It was really all she had. If she helped her father catch Annabelle’s killer, then he might spend more time at home. A small voice, a calm whisper in her mind said, "But do you understand the ramifications of what a spell like this might do?" She knew from before that asking for the truth could be a dangerous business—and she could find herself in the middle of another very big mess. The last time she and her friends tried to cast a spell to catch a bad guy, she almost got creamed herself. Did she really want to risk it? She thought of the words of Oscar Wilde that they’d read in English class today: "The truth is rarely pure, and never simple." If she went after the truth, how much would this complicate her life? Worse, how convoluted was the truth of Annabelle’s murder?

And what about the Merriday woman? This was her town. No one was safe until they found her killer. If they ever found him. No, one spell at a time. She would help her father first.

She peeked out her bedroom window again. The wind pounded around the back yard flagstone porch. Something white and flat flashed by the window. The wind screamed, almost like a lamenting woman. Bethany shivered, and her hand clutching the edge of the drapes jerked spasmodically.

She vacillated. Why not do something about Mrs. Merriday? She pushed the vision of the bloody, inert body from her mind. She just didn’t want to deal with it right now. First, Annabelle. In a way, the little girl wasn’t real. Bethany hadn’t known her personally. No matter how terrible the murder, Bethany was removed from the heart of the pain. Not like seeing Mrs. Merriday. No, not at all. This isn’t like the last time, she convinced herself. I won’t come in contact with the killer. I’ll just find information that can help my father solve the case. That’s all. Yeah, that’s good. That’s OK.

Element of air. Element of flow. Who killed Annabelle? Let me know. She flattened her lips, feeling the tenseness around her eyes. Annabelle. Bethany shoved open the window, stumbling backward as a gust of wind tore thought her bedroom, rattling the bureau mirror, sending papers spinning in the air, pulling in dust and debris from outside. A forlorn, crumpled paper cup sashayed next to the dust ruffle of her bed. A muffled growl from under the bed informed Bethany that Hecate wanted no part in what she was about to do. "Chicken!" she muttered.

She stood in front of the open window, the drapes billowing around her, the picture of little Annabelle clutched firmly in her hand. She could feel the power of the magick boiling in her blood, urging her onward, pleading to be released into the universe. "It’s time," it whispered. "Time."