“Something else we have in common. This is one of my spaces.”

They stepped into a clearing where the mist was white from the quiet light of the rising moon. The full ball of it shimmered between the trees, teased the dark summer leaves, spilled through at the edges of a stand of three stones. From the branches that ringed the clearing hung hanks of herbs. The glitter of strung crystals rang gently together in the light wind.

And the sound of the wind, the stones, the nearby sea, was music.

There was a primitive, essential feel to the place.

“It’s beautiful here,” Nell began, “and . . . I want to say eerie, but not in a frightening way. You almost expect to see ghosts, or headless horsemen. And if you did, it would seem absolutely natural, not frightening at all.”

She turned, her steps shredding the mist like gray silk, and caught the scents of verbena, rosemary, and sage carried on the breeze from the tree branches.

Caught something else as well—a quiet hum that was almost like music.

“This is where you were the night of the solstice, before you came out to stand on the cliffs.”

“This ground is hallowed,” Mia told her. “It’s said the sisters stood here, three hundred years and more past, and worked their spell to create their haven. Whether they did or not, I’ve always been drawn here. We’ll cast the circle together. It’s a basic ritual.”

Mia drew her ritual knife from her pocket and began. Fascinated, Nell repeated the words, the gestures, and found herself unsurprised when a thin ring of light glowed through the smoke of the mist.

“We call on Air, on Earth, on Water and Fire to guard our circle and grant our desire. Here protect and witness this rite. Open our minds to the magic of night.”

Mia laid down her knife, her wand, nodded to Nell after her chant was repeated. “You can cast your own circle in your own way, with your own words when you’re ready. I hope you don’t mind, but I prefer working skyclad when weather permits.”

With this Mia slipped off her dress and folded it neatly while Nell gaped. “Oh, well, I don’t really—”

“It’s not required.” At ease with her nakedness, Mia picked up her wand again. “I generally prefer it, particularly for this ritual.”

There was a tattoo—a birthmark? Nell wondered. A small pentagram shape against the milk-white skin of her thigh.

“What ritual?”

“We’ll draw down the moon. Some—most—usually do this when there’s serious work to be done, but I sometimes need, or like, the extra burst of energy. To begin, open yourself. Mind, breath, heart, loin. Trust yourself. Every woman is ruled by the moon, just as the sea is. Hold your wand in your right hand.”