Chapter 1

My name is Elara Vance.

I am the last of my line, the women who carry The Watcher.

It' s an old spirit, tied to our blood, tied to a silver locket I wear.

The locket is always cold against my skin.

The Watcher protects our family, but its justice is harsh.

It killed those who betrayed our ancestors, a long line of them.

Their screams echoed in my grandmother' s stories, a warning.

Mama Willow, she knew the old ways, the folklore of these Vermont hills.

She taught me how to manage the locket, how to soothe The Watcher' s anger.

I survived because of this bond, this curse.

The spirit is part of me, a shadow in my soul.

We lived alone, Mama Willow and I, on the homestead.

Years spent in seclusion, learning the whispers of the spirit, the weight of its power.

It was a heavy life, a quiet one, always on guard.

We were close, Mama Willow said, to calming The Watcher for good.

A final ritual, a binding to bring peace.

Then the storm hit, a wild Vermont tempest.

And Marcus Thorne crashed his car near our land.

We found him by the old oak, thrown from the wreck.

He was dying, not from the crash, but from something else.

A sickness, fast and strange, was eating him alive.

His skin was cold, his breath shallow.

Mama Willow looked at me, her eyes knowing.

"The locket, Elara. It can draw out the sickness, but it will take from you."

I knew the cost, my own vitality.

I knelt beside him, the locket in my hand.

Its silver pulsed, hungry.

I pressed it to his chest.

Energy flowed from me, into him, a painful drain.

The Watcher stirred, uneasy with this stranger, this act of mercy.

He coughed, his eyes fluttered open.

Color returned to his face.

The Watcher detests liars, betrayers.

I had to bind him, make him understand.

My voice was low, strained.

"This healing binds you."

His eyes, blue and desperate, fixed on mine.

"If you betray me, what I have given, a terrible price will be paid."

I held his gaze.

"Do you agree?"

He nodded, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Yes. I agree. Anything."

He clutched my hand, his grip surprisingly strong.

The Watcher settled, for now.

The pact was made.

Seven years passed.