The charred husks leered at them until Mei cast a spell that caused them to crumble to dust, then she glamoured away the scorch marks in the grass. “That could have been really bad,” Mei said, breathing hard from her efforts.
“Understatement.” Scarlett shook her head as she got back to her feet. “Dahlia, something is really wrong here,” she said, putting words to the mounting feeling of unease that had gripped her body ever since she’d seen the first lick of flame. “First the tarot cards, now this. I don’t think they’re coincidences or harmless pranks. Someone is gunning for us, and they’re getting more daring.”
Scarlett expected Dahlia to argue with her, but the older girl just nodded. “This doesn’t feel like a random coincidence. Someone wants to hurt us—or expose us.”
“Then we have to protect ourselves,” Tiffany said firmly. “We’re witches. We’re powerful. It’s our duty to keep our sisters—and our secret—safe.”
“What about the Hell Week task tomorrow night at the graveyard?” Scarlett asked Dahlia. “Maybe we do something else? We could have the sophomores whip up a graveyard in the backyard tout de suite.”
Dahlia thought about it for a moment, tapping her magically flawless manicured nails against her palm. “No, it stays on. It’s tradition. And we are not going to be scared off by some maniac. Tiffany, Mei, and I will come with you to help monitor.” When Scarlett nodded, Dahlia went on. “Mei, come back into the house with me. I want to check our protective spells. Tiff, Scarlett, please tell the others to be on alert.”
As Mei and Dahlia walked back toward Kappa House, Scarlett turned to Tiffany. “I can send a house-wide text to stay on alert—” She broke off. She’d just seen a flash of black hair beneath a streetlamp at the end of the road.
Gwen.
The girl’s eyes were narrowed, her mouth an angry red slash. As soon as Scarlett caught her eye, she stepped away from the light and disappeared into the darkness.
“Tiff.” Scarlett grabbed Tiffany’s arm.
“I know, I saw her too,” Tiffany said grimly.
A chill traveled down Scarlett’s spine. “You have to admit it’s weird timing. Gwen shows up, back on campus after all these months, right when strange stuff starts happening.”
Tiffany raised her eyebrows. “What are you implying? You think she’s behind it all?”
“Is it really so hard to believe?” Scarlett asked.
“But we cast a protection spell on the house; she can’t step foot on the property without feeling like she’s walking on coals or whatever torture Dahlia added to that spell . . .”
Scarlett knew what Tiffany was doing—she was trying to deny the only explanation that made sense. The only explanation that made this their fault. But Scarlett knew in her heart that somehow Gwen had gotten around the spell and done this.
“I did a spell last night looking for bad intentions on campus.”
Tiffany inhaled sharply and a shadow fell over her face. “What did it tell you?”
“Well, nothing specific,” Scarlett admitted. “The spell kind of exploded, but I know what I felt. It was really . . . dark.”
There was another type of magic, one that was darker and more dangerous than what the Ravens practiced. The kind of magic that involved death and pain.
The kind of magic that could get people killed.
But instead of reflecting Scarlett’s own mounting terror, Tiffany’s expression cleared. “That sounds super-scary, but you said it yourself—the spell didn’t work. And Gwen isn’t even a witch anymore. We made sure of that.”
“I’m serious. Gwen is back for a reason,” Scarlett argued. “What if she’s behind all this? What if she’s trying to get some sick version of revenge for losing her powers? Because if that’s what’s going on, that’s on us.”
Tiffany took Scarlett’s hand. It was clear from her expression that she thought Scarlett had totally lost it. “I love you, you know I do, but even if it is Gwen, what exactly do you think she can do to us? She’s just a pissed-off wannabe witch who lost her chance to be part of a kick-ass coven. She’ll back off eventually if we stop letting her get a rise out of us.”
Scarlett shook her head. “I don’t know. I just have this horrible feeling. What if Gwen figured out how to get her powers back? If she’s trying to hurt the people who hurt her, then we’re all in danger. We need to stop her.”
Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are you proposing?”
Scarlett bit her lip. “I think we need to tell Dahlia what happened—what really happened.”
“You know we can’t do that,” Tiffany said, her voice hard. “If we told Dahlia, who knows what she’d do? At best, we’d be sanctioned; at worst, she’d kick us out and bind our powers. We can’t take that risk. We are witches, and no one, not Dahlia, not Gwen, is taking that away from us. We were young and stupid and we made a horrible mistake. I’m the first person to admit that. But think about what you’re saying.”
Scarlett rubbed her arms, trying to dispel her goose bumps.
“Hey.” Tiffany put her hands on Scarlett’s shoulders and looked directly in her eyes. “What happened was an accident. It’ll be all right, Scar. I promise. You and I are the baddest witches around. Nothing is going to happen to us or our sisters. We won’t let it. If it comes to it, you and I will deal with Gwen ourselves. But you saw it with your own eyes: She doesn’t have her powers back. The binding spell worked. Gwen can’t even say the word magic, let alone use it to kill anyone. Don’t let her be the reason you lose your powers too.”
Scarlett looked at her friend, her sister. Tiffany’s eyes were wide and earnest. And she had to admit the truth of her words. Losing her magic wasn’t a risk she could take. Without that, she had no idea who she even was.
“You’re right.” Scarlett let out a slow sigh. “I’m being ridiculous.” But try as she might, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she was missing something. Something painfully obvious.
Something that could get another one of her sisters killed.
Chapter Seventeen
Vivi
Vivi rubbed her arms, less for warmth than to banish the chills she felt from the unsettling events of the past few days. Both her startling encounter with Gwen and the story of the burning scarecrows had left her with a cold, sinking feeling that the Savannah sunshine hadn’t been able to dissipate, and it had only grown worse since she’d entered Bonaventure Cemetery that evening.
The trees in this section of the famed burial ground grew so close together that their branches formed a canopy that blocked most of the moon. The dripping Spanish moss made the oaks appear to be wearing veils, as if they were in perpetual mourning for the bodies buried beneath their shadows. Even the scraggly plants that poked up between the headstones seemed diminished by grief, their drooping leaves and pale petals a far cry from the lush flora Vivi had come to associate with Savannah.
The pledges walked in silence as they threaded their way through the graves. They were supposed to meet the older girls at something called “the Tomb of the Horned God.” Whatever that meant. Internet searches hadn’t turned up anything helpful.