From this angle, she could see only a small slice of the room—but it was enough.
The shed was lit by flickering candlelight. There was a pentagram painted on the floorboards in a dried reddish-brown substance—something that looked an awful lot like blood. Taper candles surrounded the pentagram. And kneeling in the center, lifting something small and wriggling over her head . . .
Gwen. Scarlett would have recognized that dark flowing hair anywhere.
The object in Gwen’s hands writhed again, and Scarlett’s stomach lurched. She noticed the long whipping naked tail, caught a glimpse of frightened red eyes. A rat. Then, with a sound like twigs crunching, Gwen broke the animal’s neck.
In that instant, a flood of energy exploded through the shed. It vibrated like a blown-out speaker, bringing with it a loud, angry ring, almost like the molecules in the air were screaming at her.
Magic.
But it was magic as she’d never felt it before, raging and violent and raw and hungry. It sent her stomach into free fall and constricted her lungs. It was so strong, it blew the remaining shards of glass through the window—and knocked Scarlett backwards. She fell into Jackson and they both landed hard against the side of the shed. “Who’s there?” Gwen shouted. Maybe it was because Scarlett hadn’t heard the girl speak since her return, but something about her voice sounded deeper, more ominous than before, almost like she was speaking in two registers at once—her own, and a lower, more gravelly one.
Scarlett didn’t stop to think. She grabbed Jackson, hauled him upright, and sprinted as hard as she could for the road. To his credit, Jackson didn’t waste any time asking questions. He ran right with her, eyes wild, as they raced down the gravel path and through the woods, brambles tearing at their faces and clothes.
Only when they reached the main road did he ask, through panting breaths, “What . . . the hell . . . was that?”
Scarlett couldn’t answer him. She could barely admit the truth to herself.
Her worst nightmare had come true. Gwen had her magic back. Wicked magic.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Vivi
Vivi stared out the window of the West Tower, a campus snack bar that felt like the kind of exclusive country club her mother used to mock during their stint in New England. It stood at the highest point on campus, the top floor of the clock tower, and offered a view of the sprawling quad through massive bay windows. She’d been camped out in one of the leather armchairs for the better part of the afternoon, scrolling through page after page of the digital archives of the Gazette on her laptop, hoping for any mention of the talisman. It’d been nearly twenty-four hours since her discovery in the archives, and Jess, investigative journalist extraordinaire, had taken charge, assigning the younger Ravens a number of periodicals to review while the older sisters continued to work magical leads. They now had less than a day to find the talisman, and apart from discovering that it had been stolen from Westerly, they had learned nothing.
After reading about nearly every jewelry theft in Savannah this century, Vivi was staring out the window, a cup of coffee in her hand. She was starting to feel like she’d hit a wall, and she knew she wasn’t the only one who felt like that. Dahlia had taken to muttering under her breath as she walked the halls of Kappa House, pausing for long moments in front of Tiffany’s room. Mei, who hadn’t glamoured herself in days, had bitten her nails to the quick, and Scarlett seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Vivi had never seen her look so frayed before—she’d left the house that afternoon wearing just a tank top and jeans. Vivi hadn’t even known Scarlett owned jeans.
Scarlett had been horrified when Vivi told her what happened at the library and agreed that it sounded like Gwen’s doing. But she’d also raised a good point: If Gwen wanted them to find the talisman, why was she trying to scare off the people looking for it? Was it because she knew the archives were a dead end?
“Is there a UFO out there or something?” a deep voice said, startling Vivi enough that she spilled the gross cup of cold coffee she’d been absently sipping for hours.
Mason’s face fell as she looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Despite her fatigue and the coffee seeping into her sleeve, Vivi smiled. There was something quaint about his use of the word frighten when most people would’ve said scare or surprise. Every time she and Mason spoke, he revealed some charming, unexpected quirk at odds with his frat-boy exterior. “You’re not exactly frightening,” she said. Especially compared to the shit I’ve seen lately.
He ran his hand through his hair and looked uncharacteristically flustered. “I mean, I want to respect what you said—at least, what you kind of said—the other night about not wanting to make things weird with Scarlett. I don’t want you to think I can’t take no for an answer.”
Vivi tried to ignore the pang in her heart. “It’s fine. I still want to be friends. I mean it.”
“Good.” He smiled. “And in that case, show me that UFO you were looking at, because if I upload a photo to Reddit, they’ll make me their god emperor.”
“No UFO, unfortunately. I was just staring into space.” She shot him a quizzical look. “You’re a Redditor?”
“I like the history threads. I’ve been in a three-year fight with this adjunct professor in Alaska who believes the Confederacy won the Civil War.”
“That sounds like an excellent use of your time.”
He grinned and gestured to the empty chair next to her. “Mind if I join you?”
“I’d be honored. But why are you here instead of out partying?”
“You sound so suspicious!” Mason laughed as he sat down. “Do you think I came here to creep on unsuspecting students?”
“No! I don’t think you’re creepy.” She bit her lip. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”
“No, that’s okay,” Mason said, nodding gravely. “‘I don’t think you’re creepy’ is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He took a sip of his coffee and pulled a laptop out of his messenger bag. “To answer your question, my adviser’s writing a book on women in colonial Savannah. I’ve been reading letters and diaries at different libraries across the city and I need to synthesize my findings for her. It’s due Monday.”
“You’re a history major?”
“I am indeed. Why do you sound so surprised?”
Vivi considered this. She knew he liked history, but she had never imagined that he was majoring in it. Embarrassingly, the real reason was that, in her head, historians wore tweed jackets and muttered to themselves; Mason looked like an off-duty Ralph Lauren model in his snug white T-shirt and preppy green twill shorts. “You seem too outgoing for a history major,” she said, though that hardly sounded convincing. “Shouldn’t you be studying something like public relations or, I don’t know, sports marketing?”
“Sports marketing? That’s not even a major here!”
“Excuse me for not memorizing the course catalog,” Vivi said, raising her hands in surrender.
“Sports marketing,” Mason repeated as he shook his head with mock dismay. “Do you know that Westerly has one of the best history departments in the country? Do yourself a favor and sign up for History of Cemeteries. Every week, there’s a field trip to a different graveyard. I know it sounds morbid, but it’s really fascinating.” He paused. “I’m creeping you out again, aren’t I?”