He hadn’t.
Scarlett hauled herself out of bed and threw on a robe. Then she shuffled down the long hallway in the general direction of the kitchen. Maybe she’d make some tea. Brew a little sleeping draft. As she passed Tiffany’s bedroom, she heard a heavy thunk inside, like a footstep. Scarlett hesitated. The house was silent, heavy with sleep.
She pressed her ear to the wood. “Tiffany?” she whispered. No response, although she thought she heard something within: tap-tap, tap-tap, followed by a shuffling sound, like furniture being dragged. She knocked softly, then reached for the doorknob.
It turned easily in her hand. She pushed open the door. “Tiff?”
The bed was rumpled, unmade . . . and empty. Frowning, Scarlett flicked on the light. Then she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Blood. Everywhere.
On the crumpled sheets. Splattered across the walls like paint. Pooled on the carpet. Smeared across the shattered glass of the mirror. The balcony doors were flung open, shuddering on their hinges, creaking and tapping out a rhythm against the wall as they blew in the storm’s wind. And right by the windowsill, on the cream-colored wallpaper, she spotted a single bloody handprint.
Scarlett screamed again.
This time, footsteps thundered from all sides. Doors opened, people called out, asking what had happened. But Scarlett could barely hear them over the rapid pounding of her heart; she hardly noticed the faces filling up the doorway behind her, the added shouts and screams that echoed her own.
That was when she noticed it. Placed delicately on the pillow like an invitation, a single red envelope. To the Ravens, it read in neat cursive writing. Writing she didn’t recognize.
She grabbed it off the pillow and opened it just as Dahlia’s voice rang out behind her.
“Everybody, get back. Scarlett, come on.” Dahlia’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, warm and strong. “Let’s get you out of here.”
But Scarlett was frozen to the spot, reading the note:
If you want to see your sister again, find the Henosis talisman. No outside help. No police. I will come for it the night of the new moon. Fail, and your sister dies. Fail, and I will take another and another—until I have what I want.
“What is that?” Dahlia said, plucking the note from Scarlett’s hands. The sisters in the hall grew quiet as Dahlia read the letter aloud, her voice steady, her shoulders square. Only her trembling hands gave away her nerves.
The house fell silent, but it was a far cry from the heavy silence of undisturbed sleep. The air felt thin, as if their screams had used up all the oxygen, making it difficult to breathe.
Jess was the first to speak. “Only a witch could have done this. No one else could have gotten through our protective spells.”
Hazel nodded, her eyes wide and frightened. “The new moon is in two days,” she said hoarsely. Juliet and Etta traded long looks.
“We have to do something,” Mei said from the hallway. “Call the police, or—”
“No,” Dahlia interrupted, her eyes narrowed at the letter. “None of us are going to the police.”
“We have to, Dahlia,” Scarlett countered automatically. Tiffany had been kidnapped and the struggle had clearly been violent. There was no time to worry about magical protocol, not when her best friend could be bleeding to death.
“And what do we say, Scarlett? ‘A witch kidnapped our witch sister using witchcraft’?”
“We can leave the magic out of it. We just have to find her.” Scarlett tried to push aside the image of Tiffany’s tear-streaked face as she cried out in pain. Or worse, her face still and silent as the life drained from her body.
“There is no leaving magic out of it. Magic is the motive and the weapon and the victim. And hopefully magic is what saves her,” Dahlia insisted. “If we call the police, we’ll spend the next twenty-four hours answering pointless questions instead of looking for Tiffany.”
“Dahlia’s right. The police are out of their depth—and we can’t risk that kind of exposure. Not yet, anyway,” Juliet said.
Scarlett hesitated, then let out a long sigh and released the phone that she’d been gripping in her pocket. “So what do we do?”
Everyone fell silent again; the only sound was the beating of the rain against the windows.
Dahlia looked around Tiffany’s room, taking in the chaotic scene. Her eyes landed on the pool of blood on the floor, and for a moment, her steely resolve seemed to crack. Her face crumpled and she let out a sob. Scarlett had seen her president cry only once, when her grandmother died. Somehow, on this already horrible night, it made things feel even more hopeless. But the moment was over as quickly as it came; Dahlia regained control once more and set her jaw determinedly. She took a deep breath and gazed out over the coven: Juliet and Jess clutching each other. Vivi, pale as a sheet, standing next to Ariana, who had tears streaming down her face. Scarlett knew Dahlia must have felt the weight of every sister’s anxiety on her shoulders.
“We’ll find the Henosis talisman, like it says.” Dahlia refolded the letter carefully. “We don’t have any other choice.”
“But the talisman’s a myth,” Mei said, looking from Dahlia to the frightened faces of her sisters.
“So were witches. And then we came along,” Dahlia said.
“But we have only two days.” Scarlett pressed her fingers against her temples. “And if we don’t find it . . .” She couldn’t even manage to translate her terrifying thoughts into words.
“The Ravens have done the impossible before. We’ve been outsmarting our enemies for hundreds of years. Even the blackest magic can’t stand up to our combined powers. Tiffany is our sister. We will find her together.” Dahlia lifted her chin and gazed at each of the sisters. Hazel pressed her lips together and nodded. Vivi’s face was ashen but determined. Sonali had a hard look in her eyes.
“Together,” Mei repeated, reaching out to grab Scarlett’s hand.
“Together.” The word echoed like a chant in the hallway.
Together.
Scarlett forced a smile for her sisters, then turned to Dahlia. “I want to scry for Tiffany. Make sure she’s okay. The letter says no outside help, but it doesn’t say we can’t use our magic.”
“Maybe we can try to find the writer of the letter, too,” Vivi suggested. “There’s got to be a spell for that.”
“I’ll prep the kitchen,” Etta said. She nodded at Hazel and Juliet to follow her.
“I’ll check my grimoire,” Mei said, spinning on her heel.
“Meet in the greenhouse in fifteen.” Dahlia held on to Scarlett’s hand as the rest of the sisters dashed off to prepare. “Scar, are you with me?”
“Dahlia, I can’t feel her,” Scarlett whispered.
Dahlia tightened her grip on Scarlett’s hand. “She’s Tiffany. No one messes with her. Remember the time she got locked in the coffin during Hell Week? When she couldn’t spell her way out, she managed to claw her way out without an ounce of magic. She’s a survivor.”
Scarlett shook her head. “You saw all that blood. We’ll be lucky if she’s even conscious, let alone strong enough to fight back. We tell every pledge, ‘Just because you’re made of magic doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt.’”