“Of course I care, but you’re not looking at the big picture. Do you really want the kidnapper to have one of the most powerful magical objects in the world? You have no idea how many lives you’ll be risking.”
“So I’m just supposed to let my friend die?”
“This is the reality of magic, Vivi. It’s not all charms and parties and magical facemasks with your sorority sisters. This is what I was trying to protect you from.”
The anger that’d been simmering in Vivi’s chest began to boil over. “Well, you might’ve been able to play games with my life, but I’m not going to let you do the same to Tiffany’s.” Her magic came rushing to her. She was a Pentacles, the suit connected to earth magic, health, and material value, so locating a highly coveted object required hardly any effort. Find the talisman, she thought.
Her magic responded eagerly, almost like it had been waiting for this. Her fingertips hummed; tingles raced along her palms and up her arms. Agitated as she was, the magic felt like a breath of fresh air to starving lungs. A relief. Finally, something she could control. Find it, she commanded, and the magic flowed easily to her fingertips.
“Stop, Vivian,” her mother ordered, and Vivi felt the snap of competing magic in the air. Her mother was casting her own spell.
“Show me the Henosis talisman,” Vivi commanded. A wind gusted—papers fluttered off the nearby table, photographs shivered on the walls, and the whole bungalow seemed to shudder.
“Stop,” Daphne said again. The papers stilled; the photos slammed back into place so hard, the glass panes cracked. “You won’t be able to find it this way—I’ve made sure of that.”
Vivi racked her brain, trying to figure out what safeguards her mother would’ve used. She looked around the room, and her gaze settled on a pair of gardening gloves by the door, similar to the ones Etta had used to plant the hogweed. Without saying a word to Daphne, Vivi spun around, wrenched open the locks on the door, and ran outside. Sure enough, at the edge of the lawn was a shrub with white flowers. The soil underneath looked fresh, as if the bush had been recently planted. This was why Vivi’s spell hadn’t worked—the hogweed had blocked her magic from finding the talisman. But now that she knew where to focus her powers, the plant would no longer stand in her way, not when she had the earth magic of a Pentacles witch at her disposal.
As Vivi raised her arms, the dirt began to shift slightly.
“Vivi, stop it,” Daphne snapped, hurrying toward her.
The dirt continued to churn, revealing roots and rocks and a few wriggling earthworms.
Daphne placed her hand on Vivi’s shoulder, then withdrew it with a yelp. Her palm had turned red, Vivi saw, as if she’d been scalded by the energy coursing through her daughter.
Vivi felt a twinge of guilt and started to lower her arms, but then she thought of all the people counting on her: Dahlia, Scarlett, and, most of all, Tiffany. She clenched her jaw and lifted her arms higher, straining against an invisible pressure. The ground started to rumble and then a glass oval rose up out of the muck. The glass was bluer than in the photo, the evil eye starker.
“You’re in danger at Westerly,” Daphne whispered, clutching her hand. “I’ve seen it in your cards. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Here’s a suggestion, then.” Vivi snatched the talisman out of the air and stuffed it into her pocket. “If you want to protect me? Stay out of my way.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Scarlett
Scarlett’s phone buzzed in her pocket: Vivi. She hit Ignore. Take a hint, Little Sis. She was kind of busy here. Too busy to deal with Vivi’s guilt about Mason. Not to mention that just seeing her name on the screen reopened the wound. Mason leaving her. Mason and Vivi together. Mason and Vivi kissing.
Scarlett closed her eyes, driving the pain of their betrayal from her mind with effort. She was a Winter. She was a witch. She was stronger than her broken heart. And she had more important matters to deal with. She stole a glance across the street at Jackson, who was hunched inside the pay-phone booth they’d finally found after half an hour of hunting for one.
A sense of unreality hung over the whole night, like this was just another of Scarlett’s nightmares. She kept waiting to wake up . . . but this was real. The cars passing by, their wheels bumping over the potholed street, were real. The bar at the end of the block, with its flickering neon sign, was real. The goose bumps on her arms were real. The mounting dread in her gut was real. And it was real that Gwen was dead and Tiffany was . . .
Stop, Scarlett commanded herself, not letting herself go there.
The sky above was deathly dark. The night of the new moon, when the earth, sun, and moon were aligned in such a way that left the moon completely invisible to the human eye. Minnie had told her that it used to be called the old moon. Whatever you called it, the symbolism was the same. It was a time for destructive magic, a time to cast powerful curses, a time to embrace your own wickedness.
It wasn’t surprising that Tiffany’s kidnapper had picked this night to perform a dangerous ritual. And now Scarlett had only a few hours left to stop it—only a few hours left to save her sister.
Movement caught her eye, and she tensed on instinct. But it was only Jackson hanging up the phone. He hurried across the empty street toward her, hands stuffed in his jean pockets.
“Did you do it?” Scarlett leaned against the roof of the car, watching him, worried.
“Used my best Batman voice, just in case.”
She offered up a small smile. She knew what he was doing—trying to keep things just light enough to prevent her from sinking into despair over Tiffany.
They’d decided it wasn’t safe to call the police from their cell phones. If they did, they’d have to explain what they were doing on the scene—and what could they possibly say? We were breaking into this girl’s apartment to find out if she’s an evil witch who stole my sorority sister—sorry, Officers.
Better to leave an anonymous tip. Jackson had just told them he’d smelled gas coming from Gwen’s apartment. It’d be enough to get someone in the door. To let them find . . . what they needed to find. Scarlett had cleaned up all traces of magic and all traces of her and Jackson—anything that could lead the police to wonder, to ask too many questions. Then they’d turned on the oven and left.
Scarlett forced down the memory of Gwen’s glazed eyes, her sagging mouth. All she could think about was Tiffany. She can’t be dead; she can’t. Scarlett couldn’t imagine finding her best friend in that same state, lifeless and empty.
Jackson touched Scarlett’s shoulder gently. She startled. She hadn’t noticed him coming around to her side of the car. “Why don’t I drive?” he asked, and she handed him the keys, too tired to argue. “You can stay at my place if you need to.” She shot him a look as she circled to the passenger side and got in the car. He misunderstood it. “Not like that. I mean, you can have the bed. I’ll take the couch,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.
She looked at him a beat. She hadn’t imagined it; he felt it too. In the middle of all this awfulness, something had shifted between them. Seeing Jackson Carter flustered by her was something Scarlett couldn’t have imagined before tonight. And even though she felt completely scraped raw inside, his sheepish smile broke her despair for a split second before it descended around her again.