Chapter 110

Maeve’s POV

I leafed through the pages of my mother’s grimoire, the ancient leather cover worn soft from generations of use. It had belonged to my mother, and before her to every witch in our family—passed down only through the women, since it was our female line that carried the gift. My fingers followed the flowing script as I settled deeper into my mother’s private spell room on the top floor, determined to learn everything I could from her journals and incantations.

I’d been at my brothers’ pack for two days now, and I’d locked myself in this room the entire time. By day and night I pored over my mother’s journal and practiced spells from her grimoire. Only now did I realize that my mother was a weaver—a creator of spells. Every witch had a unique gift. Channelers, for instance, could draw magic from anything containing latent energy. Weavers