I close my eyes, feeling the shelter of the willow tree around me. The words come easily. Willow tree, please keep him safe. And if it’s not too much trouble, please bring him back to me. I open my eyes and tie the knot carefully; it’s easier than I thought it would be. I release it, and stand back.

When I look at my mom, her eyes are soft. “This tree has a good track record.”

“Yeah?” I say.

She nods. “All those years ago I asked the tree for love, and it sent me you. That’s why I named you after it.”

A quietness settles around me then. Mason will be okay. He has to be. “I knew it.”

“You knew it.” She gestures behind her. “Now let’s go inside.”

We don’t say it explicitly, but at some point, Mom and I make the decision to camp out in the house until we hear from the Morgans. To pass the time, my mom shows me the house room by room, telling me stories about each one. I can’t stop thinking about Mason, but I find myself swept into her stories anyway. She shows me the room where she and Sage attempted to secretly hatch a nest of abandoned robin’s eggs, and another room with a trunk full of old dresses and gloves and hats that they had spent hours dressing up in. She shows me a secret panel in the library that opens to a small cupboard filled with seashells and sea glass, and the peony bushes that she and Sage had built fairy gardens under. We even read through her Book of Shadows, her telling me the stories behind every spell. Her childhood was painful in many ways, but it had also been filled with magic.

Eventually we end up sprawled on the couches in the front room, me on one, her on the other. Light is filtering in through the high windows, and my mom has the Books of Shadows open on her lap. If it weren’t for Mason being gone, this would score in the top ten best afternoons of my life.

But Mason is still missing. No part of me can forget that.

“Did Simon text back?” I ask. Every hour or so my mom texts Simon to see if there is any update.

Her voice is regretful. “He says nothing yet.” She holds up her phone. “But the aunts texted. They’ve been performing candle magic for him, and Poppy says they’ll be over soon. She said for me to tell you, ‘Don’t worry, dearie. He’s making his way back to you.’ ”

“I hope so.” I collapse, sinking even more deeply into the sofa. I want to believe Poppy, but I can’t stop thinking about the thing Emma said earlier, Every minute matters right now. The problem is, the clock refuses to stop ticking.