“When the first report came in about the victim of the freak tornado, I thought it was you. I thought something awful had happened to you,” he admitted, his voice gruff.
“The only thing that happened to me was a trip to the police station.” She avoided his eyes. “As you can probably imagine, the cops wanted to talk to me. About a lot of things.”
Jackson looked around to be sure that no one else was listening. “So what really happened? We found Gwen two days ago, and now . . .” He frowned, confused. “The police are saying she died from a gas leak.”
“That’s thanks to me.” Scarlett caught herself picking a nail and flattened her palms against her thighs. Well. Thanks to her and Jess, the best Swords witch in Kappa now that Tiffany was gone. It had been easy enough for her to plant a few suggestions in the cops’ minds to help them close the case. It didn’t sit well with her, covering for what Tiffany did, but it had to be done. The Ravens’ secret had to be protected. “I might’ve helped them come to some conclusions about things.”
“And?” Jackson tilted forward, elbows propped on his knees. “Scarlett, do you have any idea how crazy this has all been driving me? And then to hear the news about the tornado, I mean . . . that kind of coincidence doesn’t just happen.”
“No,” she admitted. “It doesn’t.”
“Was it . . . you know, witchcraft?” he whispered.
When she nodded, Jackson looked at her intently. “Will you tell me what happened?” he asked. “What really happened?”
Scarlett had known he’d ask and she knew she owed him the truth. He listened and reacted to every detail with eerie calm: How Tiffany glamoured herself and killed Dahlia and Gwen and kidnapped Vivi too. How the Ravens had fought her off with their magic. How Tiffany had fallen. How they’d covered their tracks.
When she finished, Jackson took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “Scar, I’m so sorry. And I understand why you needed to cover it all up, but I have to ask: Where does Kappa go from here? I mean, the call came from inside the house. What if another one of your sisters decides a different talisman is worth killing for? Or just loses it on her roommate one day? What if—”
“There will be no more what-ifs. I can handle my sisters. This will never happen again,” she said firmly.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked.
“I’m a witch,” she said with a smile. “We know stuff.”
He laughed. He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t press her. “Well, I’m just glad you’re okay. I was so worried. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
His warm brown eyes caught hers and held them. And then he leaned forward. He brushed his lips against hers just once, lightly. “I forgot to ask: Are witches allowed to kiss mere mortals?” he asked. “Or is one of us about to melt?”
In response, Scarlett cupped the back of his neck with her other hand and drew him against her. “If we’re going to find out, we’d better do it right,” she whispered. Then he kissed her for real. Soft and slow, the kind of kiss you could drown in if you let yourself.
But she couldn’t. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
She’d broken the first rule of being a Raven. Of being a witch. Don’t ever tell. Telling Jackson about witchcraft was a cardinal sin. She’d done it because he deserved to know about Harper. And because, somewhere, in the mess of all this, she’d developed feelings for him. Because he’d helped her when nobody else would’ve. But she couldn’t risk making things worse.
The crisis was supposed to be over. They were supposed to be safe. But to use Jackson’s analogy, the call had come from inside the house. Gwen. Tiffany. Even Evelyn, all those years ago. They had all been Ravens. Who knew how he’d react if he found out how powerful witches really were? Or that Kappa had trained murderers among its ranks? Jackson was already asking questions, and when he inevitably learned the entire truth of their history, who was to say that he wouldn’t want to bring the whole house down? He cared about her; she could feel it. But his moral compass pointed more north than hers did. And why would he want to save the house that killed his stepsister?
She couldn’t put her sisters at risk again, not like that. Her sisters were what mattered most in the world. At least, that was what she’d always believed—and she couldn’t stop now.
With a heavy sigh, Scarlett pulled away. She scooped her tea off the bench and lifted it to Jackson in a cheers gesture. “Drink up,” she said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
He flashed her a smile over the rim of the paper cup. It was the most open smile he’d ever given her. Easy. Trusting. He swallowed a large gulp of the tea, then another.
She forced a smile and sipped hers more slowly. Hers was just herbal tea, after all. Chamomile to calm her nerves.
His, however, was a concoction Etta had spent years perfecting. One more sip, and Scarlett could tell she had him by the way his eyelids drooped and his breathing slowed. He wasn’t asleep, not exactly. More just so relaxed, his mind so wide open, that anybody could easily influence him now.
Even a not-too-talented-at-Swords witch like Scarlett. She focused, drawing on the well of power her sisters shared with her. She reached into his mind with a whisper, a nudge.
In the end, it was even easier than it had been with the police. A few smoothed edges, and she made him forget it all. Gwen’s wicked-magic spell, finding her body, the existence of witches . . .
Even their kiss. It would’ve felt wrong, somehow, to let him remember the kiss without any of the context that surrounded it. Whatever they were was based on him knowing the real her. Giving him any memory of their connection without magic would be a lie. She’d lost Mason because she’d never been honest with him. She couldn’t go through that again with Jackson.
Her chest throbbed. Somehow, this felt harder than any of the other duties that had come before. Scarlett knew she was making the right decision. This wasn’t Jackson’s world. To protect him, he needed to remain oblivious.
Still, looking into his eyes, she couldn’t help but wish for a few more minutes of this. The banter between them. The trust that they’d built up by running full tilt into danger together. She even wanted him to keep calling her the Final Girl, even though it brought to mind all the real-life horror that they had been through.
When Scarlett was growing up, Minnie had often explained the history of witches and the special power the Ravens had to share their magic with others. “It’s a sacrifice to be a witch, to give yourself wholly to your coven.” Scarlett had always taken that to mean that witches gave up a little of their autonomy to be protected and to be stronger, to do greater things as a whole. That was what it meant to be a part of a coven, to be a Raven. And it had never truly felt like a sacrifice; being a witch was the greatest gift she’d ever received.
But Scarlett realized she hadn’t understood what Minnie meant. She’d never known what it felt like to sacrifice something she might really want to remain true to her coven. Until now. Magic doesn’t just give, it takes, Minnie had said. It was her turn to pay.
She looked up as the rain began to fall. It wasn’t just any rain; it was her rain, and every drop that touched Jackson was imbued with her magic.