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Back Spells for Lost Things Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. – 1 – Willow
  6. – 2 – Mason
  7. – 3 – Willow
  8. – 4 – Mason
  9. – 5 – Willow
  10. – 6 – Mason
  11. – 7 – Willow
  12. – 8 – Mason
  13. – 9 – Willow
  14. – 10 – Mason
  15. – 11 – Willow
  16. – 12 – Mason
  17. – 13 – Willow
  18. – 14 – Mason
  19. – 15 – Willow
  20. – 16 – Mason
  21. – 17 – Willow
  22. – 18 – Mason
  23. – 19 – Willow
  24. – 20 – Mason
  25. – 21 – Willow
  26. – 22 – Mason
  27. – 23 – Willow
  28. – 24 – Mason
  29. – 25 – Willow
  30. – 26 – Mason
  31. – 27 – Willow
  32. – 28 – Mason
  33. – 29 – Willow
  34. – 30 – Mason
  35. – 31 – Willow
  36. – 32 – Mason
  37. – 33 – Willow
  38. – 34 – Mason
  39. Acknowledgments
  40. More from the Author
  41. About the Author
  42. ALSO BY JENNA EVANS WELCH

– 28 – Mason

Willow looks like she’s had the wind knocked out of her. The letter was in the jewelry box, pressed into its own velvet-lined drawer, the locket’s chain carefully wrapped around the sealed letter. After reading the letter, Willow holds the locket for a long time, running her thumb carefully over the engraving of the turtledove before opening it.

“It’s empty,” she says, passing it over to me.

The locket looks old, tarnished, and slightly dented on one side, but it’s still beautiful, and intricate, with its delicate chain and tiny hinges. The turtledove has its wings extended, its beak tilted upward. “I don’t think they had time to put a picture in it.”

“So this one was Thalia’s,” Willow says thoughtfully. She takes a deep breath. “Would it be weird if I put it on?”

“I think you have to.”

I hand it to her and she attempts to put it on, but after a moment of trying, she looks up, meeting my eye in the mirror. “The clasp is really small. Can you…?” She hands the necklace to me, then turns to look in the mirror, sweeping her hair up off her neck, and I realize what she is asking. She wants me to put the necklace on her. Which is fine. Except I’ve never put a necklace on anyone before, and I’ve certainly never put a necklace on someone who looks like Willow.

I can do this.

I step in close, my hands steady as I settle the pendant on her chest and fit the chain around her neck, but then I catch sight of her watching me through her lashes in the mirror, and her skin is hot under my fingers, and suddenly I’m fumbling even worse than she was. How do people do this?

After an embarrassing number of attempts, I manage to get the clasp in place, and then quickly let go. The locket slides into place, framed by her clavicle and bringing out the copper tones in her hair. It looks like it was always meant to be hers.

“Perfect,” I manage. We meet eyes in the mirror, and for a moment I feel something—but that’s not quite right, because it isn’t a something. It’s more like the absence of a nothing. The big, empty feeling I walk around with all the time, the deep, dark hole I’m constantly trying not to fall into, is gone. And for a moment I feel okay with being exactly where I am. I’m not with my mom, but I am in a house, with a girl, and her eyes are so pretty in the mirror, it hurts.

Willow drops my gaze. “That story was really hard. I can’t get the image of her standing on the beach out of my mind. I can’t believe how horrible Abigail was.”