Night's Touch. Amanda Ashley

      A shiver ran down her spine as she read the spell a second time. All Hallow’s Eve. Among witches and warlocks, it was considered the most magical night of the year, a night of power, when the veil that separated this world from the world of spirits was at its thinnest.

      She read the poem again. It seemed much too easy and yet, if it was remotely possible, All Hallow’s Eve was the perfect night for such a spell. In ancient times, it was the one night in the year when the dead could return to the land of the living. In Ireland, burial mounds were opened and torches lit so the dead could find their way, though all had to return to their rightful place at sunrise.

      But if her incantation worked, Anthony would not have to return to the Otherworld. She closed her eyes, her mind filling with images of her beloved. Was it truly possible to raise the dead? To see him again! He would surely love her then!

      The blood of kin. Anton, of course. The blood of an enemy. Roshan or his wife, either would do. The blood of a maiden? Roshan’s daughter. An infant’s blood, and rosemary. The blood of love would be her own blood, of course, freely given.

      Hugging herself, she imagined how wonderful it would be to see Anthony again, to hear his voice, see his smile. And how wonderful for Anton to finally meet his father!

      All Hallow’s Eve. She had only a few months to plan and prepare. It seemed too long, and not long enough.