He shrugged. “Not anymore.”
“I’m sure Harper wouldn’t want you to stop doing what you loved.”
Jackson’s expression hardened. “What Harper would have wanted was to still be alive. But given that she’s not, she would want me to track down whoever did this to her and make sure they were locked away for the rest of their lives. That’s what she would want.”
“You’re right. I have no right to presume what Harper wanted,” Scarlett admitted. She’d bristled every time someone had told her how to grieve after Minnie died.
“I always thought once I put this to rest, once I knew what really happened, I would get back to it. But what used to matter to me before matters a whole lot less now.”
Scarlett took this in. Her plans. Mason. Being president of Kappa. That all did pale now in the shadow of what had happened to Tiffany. And what they’d done to Harper. “I’m so sorry, Jackson.”
He shrugged again. “Not your fault. All you’re doing is fighting for your sister. I shouldn’t have taken the fact that I lost mine out on you.”
Scarlett swallowed her guilt. Part of her—the good part of her, the part that came from Minnie—wished she could tell him the truth. At the same time, the worst part of her—the part that had let herself keep this horrible secret for two long years—was grateful that she couldn’t. Grateful that she was bound by the secrecy of magic. By her vow to her sisters. She knew she was taking the easy way out, but how could she ever tell him without explaining who—what—she really was?
When she looked back at Jackson, he was staring out the window pensively. They didn’t talk again for the rest of the drive.
* * *
“Maybe we should knock.” Jackson’s voice sounded thin, unsteady.
They stood deep in the forest of the island park near Savannah about five feet from the door of the most rundown, horror-movie-looking cabin she’d ever seen. This far into the woods, it looked like twilight already. The trees cast shadows over the gravel path and the sagging wooden porch up ahead.
The looming dusk only made the cabin look more forbidding. A bundle of thorns was nailed over the door. The windows were marred with dark streaks. Paint peeled from the wood siding in long furls. There was a stain on the porch that looked almost like blood. Are you in there, Tiff? The words were more like a prayer than a question. Scarlett closed her eyes, trying to pick up on a trace of magic, but the air felt dry and thin—the opposite of how it felt when Tiffany was nearby.
Scarlett realized just how far they were from help—or an escape route. They’d parked at a small turnoff about a ten-minute hike from the cabin. They hadn’t passed a single house on the way here. The trees were scrubby and gnarled, the grass long and untended. The only signs of life were the shards of broken beer bottles and cigarette butts underfoot. There was one area where a perfect circle had been burned into the grass. It was blackened and charred and devoid of vegetation, almost like the earth itself had been cursed.
The cabin appeared just as lifeless. There were no cars parked in the gravel driveway, no lights on inside.
“And say what?” Scarlett said. “‘Hello there, seen a strange girl around, possibly dragging a kidnapping victim?’” Nothing was going to stop her from finding Tiffany. She had to get inside. Now.
“Do you have a better plan?” Jackson asked. He cast another look at their surroundings. “Maybe we should just go. I have a bad feeling about this, Scarlett.”
So did she, and she had a whole lot more magical senses at her disposal. “If you don’t want to come with me, just wait here,” Scarlett said, and then she took off, striding toward the front door before she could rethink this.
Her scalp itched. Her feet pricked as though from a thousand pins and needles. She’d felt this before. It was a protection spell trying to make her turn around, flee. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, like spiders skittering along the eaves, as she stood on the porch.
It’s not real, she told herself. Just a spell to drive away unwanted visitors. Nothing more. Nothing that could actually hurt her.
The floorboards of the cabin’s porch creaked behind her, and Scarlett gasped, whipping around. But it was only Jackson, climbing the steps. “I can’t let you face a haunted house alone,” he said.
“Trust me, I can take care of myself,” Scarlett replied as she scanned the front door. Simple key lock. Good.
“That’s not in doubt,” Jackson said, leaning against the wall of the cabin with his arms crossed. She pulled a pin from her hair and knelt before the door, careful to obstruct his view of what she was doing. She concentrated hard as she pretended to pick the lock. The lock made a soft click; she glanced up at him to catch the look of appreciation on his face, then tested the handle. It turned in her grasp. She hoped he assumed this was due to her lock-picking skills—skills she did not have. It was pure magic. And a little acting. She took a deep breath and pushed the door inward.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. All the windows had blackout curtains pulled tightly across them. The dim light filtering in through the door illuminated a rickety wood table with two chairs, the only furniture in the room. An unused, cobwebbed kitchen stood off to the side, a gap where presumably the stove used to be. She peeked into a tiny bedroom off the main room that had nothing in it but an overturned crate. There was a small den with a burnt-orange couch that looked like it’d lost some of its stuffing to mice.
Shoved in the corner, between the couch and the wall, was a cardboard box. It looked newer than the rest of the objects, less dusty and decrepit. Scarlett crossed the room quickly and peeked inside. Her heart sped up when she saw the contents: a cheap-looking black polyester robe and witch’s hat, just like the ones the burning scarecrows had been wearing. Nestled below them was a garish set of tarot cards. Scarlett quickly flipped through it. The Queens of Swords, Wands, Pentacles, and Cups were missing. So, ominously, was the Death card.
A whisper of triumph ran through her. She was right. It’d been Gwen all along. But her satisfaction drained away a moment later, replaced by the grim realization that she still didn’t know where Gwen was and that Tiffany was still in danger.
The house was silent. There was no one here.
She lifted a blackout curtain and looked outside. About a hundred yards away and barely visible through the trees was another small building, this one slightly larger than an outhouse.
“Jackson,” she whispered, and he nodded grimly.
Together they walked quietly out of the house, cut through the overgrown grass, and, keeping to the shadows, made their way to the shed. The trees grew haphazardly back here; the ground was covered with a mix of dead leaves and sandy dirt. A squirrel skittered along a branch, and a bird let out a high-pitched cry. Scarlett’s heart beat loudly in her chest as they drew closer to the shed.
It was weather-beaten, made of long, splintered wood planks held together with rusted nails. The door stood crookedly on its hinges, and there was a grimy, half-shattered window set into the left side.
And that was when she heard the muffled thump.
She whirled around, grabbed Jackson’s arm, and pressed her finger to her lips, then tiptoed to the window. Jackson’s breath was hot on the back of her neck as he edged up behind her.