“Happy Hell Week, witches!” a chorus of voices shouted in her ear.
All at once, the lights snapped back on. Scarlett, Tiffany, Mei, and Dahlia stood before her, along with the rest of the sorority’s upperclassmen. The older girls were all grinning while Vivi and the other pledges, who’d just burst into the hallway, stood dumbly, blinking in the bright lights.
“This week, you’ll be asked to do impossible things,” Scarlett said. This time, her smile was bright and genuine. Contagious.
In spite of her still-racing pulse, Vivi started to smile too.
“If you can’t hack it, you’ll never be able to so much as mention magic again.” Scarlett’s gaze settled on Vivi. “But if you survive this week? Maybe we’ll make a witch of you yet.”
Chapter Twelve
Scarlett
“You want me to do what?” Vivi gaped at her.
Scarlett eyed her calmly and explained. “Dean Sanderson reprimanded Hazel for protesting the male-only lineup of speakers on Class Day.”
“That’s terrible, but that doesn’t sound like cause for . . . I mean, couldn’t we just paint the admin building pink? Boycott Class Day?” Vivi asked.
Scarlett paused dramatically, then went in for the kill. “We protect our sisters above all. Which is why I want you to bring me the dean’s heart.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to harm anyone,” Vivi said carefully, watching Scarlett with wide eyes, like someone afraid of upsetting a deranged killer.
Scarlett couldn’t help it. The corners of her mouth twitched into a faint smirk.
Vivi sighed as her cheeks flushed bright red. “Oh. That was a joke.”
Scarlett burst into laughter. “You should’ve seen your face.” She doubted there had ever been such a naïve witch. And for what felt like the thousandth time, she wondered how someone so freaking simple could have made Mason forget their date. Part of Scarlett knew she was being unfair, but something about the girl rubbed her the wrong way, and it was more than seeing her talking to Mason. She was too eager, somehow. Too innocent, too . . . free. She’d lived a lifetime without the weight of expectation. This was all new and exciting to her. Scarlett couldn’t tell if she envied her or hated her for that. All she knew was that she was going to enjoy every second of Hell Week.
Scarlett pointed to the staircase. “Second floor, third door on the left. Do be thorough.”
“What?”
“Our bathroom. That’s your task.”
The embarrassment on Vivi’s face faded away, replaced by a glare. “Let me guess: I have to do it with nothing but a toothbrush?”
Scarlett stared at the girl, deadpan and unamused. “No, Vivian, you’re supposed to use magic.”
Vivi stood there an extra beat, hesitant.
“Don’t worry, Moaning Myrtle isn’t in there,” Scarlett said. She saw a flash of concern cross Vivi’s face, as if she was seriously expecting the ghost that lived in the Hogwarts bathroom to have taken up residence in their sorority house.
She waited until Vivi had tromped up the main staircase before she traded grins with Tiffany, who was sprawled across the sofa next to her. Tiffany slow-clapped for her.
“You’re wicked,” Tiffany said.
“Why do you think we’re friends?”
Tiffany swatted her arm. “What’s in store for Little House on the Prairie, anyway? Did you go with blood or bugs?” Tiffany asked, looking up the stairs.
“Mold,” Scarlett said, feeling a little embarrassed now for giving her a softball. If Gwen hadn’t shown up on Tuesday night, Scarlett would have probably created a scary spell instead of a tedious one, like spell something Vivi was afraid of to climb out of the toilet. But given everything that had happened the other night, she just . . . couldn’t.
Tiffany crinkled up her nose in judgment. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft, Winter.”
“Never. I just want to lull her into a sense of security before I pounce,” Scarlett said. Tiffany nodded, not looking entirely convinced. “Where’s your Little?” Scarlett hadn’t seen Ariana all day. The other pledges had been busy running errands for their individual Bigs—all of them except Bailey, who’d really lucked out to score Etta as her Big. The two had spent all day together in the kitchen, giggling and mixing up some new hair-relaxing potion Etta had been eager to try.
“Sent her to hex the boys over at Alpha Tau Pi.”
“That’ll piss off Dahlia,” Scarlett pointed out. Dahlia was the type of president who wanted to know—and control—everything that was going on in the house. If you were planning to go off script, it was understood that you would tell her first. “Unless they did something to you that you’re retaliating for . . .”
“Relax. The spell I gave her is a dud.” Tiffany smirked. “All it’ll actually do is make her hallucinate blood all over her hands for the next hour.”
Scarlett snickered. “You are the wicked one.”
Her best friend donned an innocent expression. “I’m just trying to teach my Little early on about the importance of magical law. If you curse someone else, there’s almost always an unintended rebound on yourself.”
Scarlett sighed. “When you touch evil, it touches you.” She could still hear Minnie’s voice in her head after all this time.
Tiffany darted a glance around the living room. But they were alone. “Scar,” she murmured. “You need to stop fixating on that. It’s in the past.”
“But it’s not, Tiff. The present is right here, on this campus. Gwen is back. I can’t stop thinking about her face the other night. She looked so out of control, so desperate.” Scarlett frowned. She thought of all the strange things that had happened since she’d arrived back on campus. The necklace on her balcony. The footsteps following her in the forest. The tarot cards on the door. Was it possible that it was all Gwen?
“After her . . . fit, there is no way she will dare come near us again,” Tiffany said firmly. She tightened her ponytail. “I’ll never understand why she was admitted to Kappa in the first place. Anyone could see that she was a serious bitch.”
But Tiffany’s words only made Scarlett’s frown deepen. Scarlett had actually liked Gwen at first. She didn’t have the years of polish that Scarlett had. And her style was more earthy than Southern belle, but she was smart and powerful and she had a caustic tongue that always made Scarlett laugh—until she turned it on Scarlett’s best friend. Gwen was also a Swords and she and Tiffany were always in some unspoken competition to be the strongest Swords in the house. It had gotten really ugly by the end.
“I can’t stop picturing her; it was like she was being strangled.” Scarlett winced. “Our magic did that.”
“You do remember what she did to me, right?” Tiffany grumbled.
“I know, Tiff.”
“If we hadn’t stopped her, who knows what else she would have done, who else she would have hurt?” Tiffany grabbed Scarlett’s hands. “Scar. What happened to Harper was awful, but thank God no one else got hurt.”
Scarlett’s memory raced back to their freshman year, to an ordinary party at Psi Delt. To the day she tried never to think about. To the day that Harper died. It had started like any other. Gwen had been standing on the balcony overlooking the frat’s backyard and Harper had joined her.