Salem, Massachusetts, 1693

Nightmares.

Emotions.

Wilderness.

Knowledge.

Past.

Present.

Future.

Connections.

Greed.

Power.

Jonathan James Garwin looked at the list in his hands and rubbed his face wearily, his wife, bless her soul, was going to be the death of him…even if she was the very life he breathed.

He asks for a list of what she thought was most vital to the value and essence of life and this is what she gives him. The woman.

Raising his head, J.J. Garwin watched the other members of the newly formed covenant through tired, haggard eyes.

"How is James, Jon?" J.J. turned his head to regard his oldest and strongest friend, Tristan Simms, a relatively quiet man but, as his wife had so often pointed out, a very observant and focused man as well.

James, Jonathan's two year old son, was suffering from some sort of stomach illness; he could hold no food down, tossed and turned in his sleep and ran as cold as ice and as hot as hell constantly. The poor boy had lost a good fifteen pounds and all of his pallor, which was a worry in and of itself because the boy was already so skinny and fair-skinned.

Shaking his head Jonathan couldn't help but laugh drily at James' antics. He was a rebellious boy, a vibrant boy who loved to scare his mother and live dangerously—a trait Isabelle had been very adamant in insisting that their son had inherited from him.

"I was on my way to the market this morning and he clamors out of bed before I had time to stop him and insists that I bring him too. He stated that Isabelle was smothering him and that he was a bird and needed to stretch his wings. He said, and I quote, 'Baby birds can't fly if their mother won't push them out of the nest!'" Laughing at the memory, he watched his friend's eyes light up in a humor not often found these days, in this time.

"I bet Isabelle was anything less than happy."

"She was furious, threatening to do more than just push him out of the nest if he didn't clamor his hide back into his bed." Jonathan felt warmth flood his smile as he thought of his beautiful, dark-haired wife; a wife he knew had given their son his spirit, no matter what she said to the contrary.

"How goes your courtship of the elusive Emilie Birdell?" At the hardened line of his friend's jaw, Jonathan knew that the courtship was anything but easy.

Tristan was of one of the wealthiest families in Salem – the other wealthiest just so happened to be in their coven as well – but he was a humble man, his parents were not.

Fearful of losing their wealth should their son not be given a very wealthy dowry, they were unaccepting towards any engagement or proposal of Tristan to a woman outside of noble status. Unfortunately for them, any woman they chose Tristan kindly – but firmly – rejected; he had chosen Emilie Birdell, a young peasant woman who was as beautiful as a butterfly. She was a dancer, and an artist, but she came not from a good background.

She suffered in a silence that only strength and circumstance could ever provide. But when his parent's found out his intent towards the young woman, they threatened to disown him, Tristan didn't care, but from Jonathan had been told, Emilie refused him; he may have been willing to lose everything for her but she couldn't let him do it.

"She says she's not worth the price I'd have to pay, that I may think I want this, want her, but I'll come to hate her if I give up all I have."

Placing his hand to his friend's shoulder Jonathan knew Emilie couldn't have been farther from the truth. Tristan may have been the youngest of them all, a mere twenty-three years, but Tristan had always known what he wanted, he always followed his heart and utilized his brain only to figure out the best way to go about the situation to get what his heart desired.

If he wanted Emilie—and Jonathan knew Tristan would do anything for the eighteen-year-old girl—he'd get her; and he wasn't likely to ever change his mind, not now, and not in the next one hundred years.

"You'll convince her Tristan."

"Yes, but I'd rather not have to duel for her approval to do so." A dark mutter from his friend's usually peaceful mouth.

"Do what?"

"She's got suitors lining up now that they think I'm out of the picture. Her father knows I'm intent on having her, he wants me to have her despite what the old bastard says otherwise, but he's got powerful people knocking on his door, dangerous people and he can only keep them back for so long before the danger becomes imminent to Emilie. He'll risk himself, but he won't ever risk Emilie, he made sure to tell me that when I came across him in a brawl with a knight."

"And Emilie?"

"Was aware of what would come of her when she was twelve and cornered by a drunken nobleman. She doesn't expect paradise, she expects to go to the highest bid and do her husband proud. She never expected me, and she never expected me to last. She knows I love her, but doesn't think it enough to survive the life of a peasant."

Tristan's hands curled into fists, anger pulsating beneath the usually calm man's skin. "I'll kill any man who dare thinks to take her away from me, let alone one whom thinks to touch her."

Sensing the truth in his friend's words, Jonathan squeezed his shoulder, "No matter what, you've always got Isabelle and I, remember that." For it was the truth, Tristan had been there for Jonathan when he had done just what Tristan was threatening to do; he'd killed for Isabelle, and there would come a day where he would have to do it again, but he would, without a blink.

"Alright. So we're all here." John Putnam clapped his hands as soon as Parry walked in, an ever present darkness clinging to the older man like death as he walked silently to his seat by the aged William Danvers. "What did you call us here for Jonathan?"

Shooting a look to the man far older in appearance than twenty-nine, his use of their power enough to put even Danvers to shame, Jonathan addressed the entire circle.

"Before Brianna died, she sent me a vision." Holding a hand to still the unasked questions, Jonathan held up the slip of paper he had been studying before. "She told me of a prophecy, a prophecy that would come about only when the ties between the coven are as distant as they'll ever be, as one lost becomes found, one bond of blood becomes broken and the connection between each family runs strongest. And in order to save the covenant when this time comes to pass, I was told to gather with each brother of choice around a list of the essence of humanity and burn it into our futures."

"Burn it into our futures?" John laughed, going to stand when a subtle pulse of power from Parry slammed him back into his seat; apparently, Christopher was in no mood for antics; John didn't bother trying to rise again or retaliate because Christopher was lethal, the most deadly by far of the five, even if he wasn't the strongest power-wise.

"Brianna always spoke in riddles." Danvers sighed.

"She always knew too much." John grumbled.

"What's the point of burning it into our futures?" Tristan inquired.

"She didn't say, my guess is to make sure whichever generation it is that will live out this prophecy, understands that they're not just the power; that they're not above norm and that they are as subjected to the punishments and rewards of humanity as the rest of the world."

"So we can only hope she isn't just fucking us over because she's dead." Putnam glared, "I don't plan on fucking my descendants out of greatness just because a witch was feeling a little testy."

The list suddenly flew out of Jonathan's hands, followed by a brief hiss of pain from John as an angry red slash fell from his cheek.

Looking to Parry, Jonathan could only lift his brows in curiosity, "Brianna wasn't vindictive. Let's just get this over with, Dylan's at home alone."

At the mention of Dylan, the rest of the procession went quickly; gathering blood from each member before using a collective push of power to let the list burn in an eternal flame. A flame connected to each of their life forces, once they were each dead, the flame would extinguish and the list would be forever imprinted into the makings of their descendants, there would be no turning back from this.

The covenant of silence had just set in motion an unknown future for descendants they would never meet, would never know. They could each only hope that they hadn't just destroyed their families with a list of characteristics that each, in their own way, had a formidable darkness to their names.