Jude Abrams sat hunched over the steering wheel,

squinting against the smoke curling up from the cigarette

clamped between her teeth. The rain was pouring down in

sheets, all but obscuring the reflectors on the winding,

two-lane road.

    It didn't matter.  She had to get to her mother's house

quickly, heavy rain or not.  He could already be there,

causing trouble.

    The thought made her stomach clench into a slick knot and she flicked her cigarette out the cracked window.  The air was immediately fresher inside the car and she breathed in deep, inhaling the unmistakable scent of fall as it wafted in.  It always calmed her, that smell of rain and burning leaves, and she welcomed it now as she had when she was a child, when All Hallow's Eve was imminent and the prospect of helping her mother and Gran' Mere with the rituals was all she could think about. It was funny, she thought, how certain things stick with us well into adulthood.  Halloween was still her favorite holiday and she couldn't wait to share it with her own children someday; the decorations, the costumes, the cooking. 

    And, of course, the spells.

    Odd, how it felt like decades had gone by since she learned her first one.  Although only in her late twenties, Jude felt as though she had lived several lives already.  She felt it in her bones when the winter clouds dropped their weight of snow; in her mind when it was shrouded in memories; in her heart, where the ache was almost like another organ, all the time. 

    Almost unwillingly, she cast her mind back to the first time she ever met Archer Black and shuddered at the image of that naive girl, the girl who opened her heart to him to be taken, abused, shattered.  In the end she was little more than a shell of her former self, a dry husk robbed of the ability to feel much of anything until her Gran' Mere had intervened.  She had reminded Jude of her responsibilities, and that there were people in this world who loved her and needed her to get back to normal.  It had taken almost all of her strength, but she had finally managed to get out of bed, to stop feeling sorry for herself.  She had showered and brushed her teeth and even kept down her Gran' Mere's pumpkin soup, and at the end of it she felt somewhat human.

    That had been six months, three weeks, and four days ago, and she had never looked back.

    She wondered what it had been like for her mother and Gran' Mere during those dark days, if they had been tempted to cast a spell upon Archer that would cause his thick, coal-black hair to fall out, or perhaps one which made him tell the truth no matter what question he was asked.  She was sure they would have thrown every vengeance charm they had in their repertoire at him if she hadn't pleaded for them to leave him alone.  Her mercy hadn't been born out of love, however.  She had simply wanted to pretend he no longer existed.

    She focused intently on the road now, trying to make sense of what was before her.  The day was winding down and twilight was falling around her, throwing its purple cape across the land, making it difficult to see much further than a few feet in front of the car.  She twisted the switch that controlled her headlights to the bright setting and gasped.

    A woman stood in the middle of the road.  Her face was mostly obscured by the hooded cloak she wore but Jude could see a pale, silvery scar on the woman's chin, winding it's way up into the shadows that were cast across her features.  As Jude slammed both feet upon the brake pedal and the car began to slide--almost gracefully--across the slick blacktop, the woman pulled the hood away to reveal a pallid face.  She had no eyes.

    Jude screamed as the brakes locked up and the car spun out of control.  She closed her eyes and waited for the impact of metal against flesh, but none came. 

    Time seemed to slow.  The only sounds were of her harsh breathing and the screech of the tires as her car did a complete three hundred and sixty degree turn on the narrow road.  Distantly, she remembered seeing a section of guardrail just before closing her eyes and hoped it was enough to keep her car from going off the road.

    It wasn't.  The sound of the impact was shrill and terrible in the stillness of the day, the shriek of metal against metal rending the air for miles.  The car pushed through the barrier and slid down a small slope, where it collided with the remains of a tree before finally coming to a stop.  Jude, who was not wearing a seat belt, was thrown forward, where her head connected with the windshield.  The pain was intense for a moment, almost star-bright, and she slumped against the dashboard, stunned.  She was worried, suddenly, about the backseat of the car.  What was there?  She couldn't remember.  Her brain felt muddled, drunk almost.  She couldn't move.  So tired, she thought distantly.  I just want to sleep.

    Right before she lost consciousness, she remembered the woman in the road.  She had disappeared at the last moment, and Jude hadn't hit her with the car.

    But where had she gone?

    It was a question she would never get to answer.  As her mind drifted, so did the pain, until she was in a quiet place.

    And a moment after that, a small cry erupted from the backseat.  The infant girl was unharmed, but frightened. 

    She wanted her mother.