“It doesn’t, but there might be some, uh, physical impact. So standing farther back is good.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Getting a little distance is a good idea for you, too, Mateo.”
He smiled at her, and it was one of those moments where it hit her all over again—how somehow this wonderful guy had come into her life exactly when she was trying to shut everyone out. Mateo had beaten down the doors. Burned the fences. Picked the lock on the gate. “Distance,” he said. “Got it. You don’t need a Steadfast for this?”
“I always need my Steadfast,” Nadia said softly. “But you’ll be more than close enough.”
Verlaine positioned herself between her parents’ graves, a strange look on her face as she gazed down at the place where her mother lay. Her usual vintage look was less polished today, but she’d put on acid-washed jeans and a poufy white sweater for an eighties vibe. All Nadia could think was how pale and thin she looked. Like a ghost among the graves. “Here?”
“That works.” Nadia lifted her hand and took hold of her wrist—specifically, the quartz charm that dangled from her bracelet. The bracelet wasn’t just a piece of jewelry; it was her way of keeping the primal elements she needed for her witchcraft close at every moment.
But the elements alone weren’t the magic. They only grounded Nadia, made her ready. For magic, she needed the spell.
For revealing magic done long ago:
Fear conquered.
Love betrayed.
Secrets laid bare.
Those were the ingredients. Now, to give them power. Nadia closed her eyes and thought of the deepest, most emotionally resonant memories that fulfilled each—
Standing with Mateo in the Halloween carnival fire, aware the house was about to collapse around them, facing Elizabeth’s magic and fighting back with her own.
“It’s better this way,” Mom said at the doorway, suitcase in hand, not even looking Nadia directly in the face before she left her daughter behind forever.
Meeting Elizabeth’s eyes across the chemistry lab as one of Nadia’s spells went haywire, and Elizabeth’s mocking smile, her utter lack of surprise, revealing that she was another witch—but horribly, undoubtedly, a Sorceress.
Nadia opened her eyes to see a bottle-green mist drifting around them—centered on the graves, and on Verlaine. A soft sound rustled through the air, like silk on silk. Verlaine’s long, silver hair began to drift around her, as though she were underwater.
“It’s cold,” Verlaine whispered.
“Stay very still.” Nadia held up one hand as a warning. Verlaine’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t move.
The mist swirled a little faster, then froze in place—literally. One moment it was vapor; the next moment, greenish crystals of ice sleeted down around them. Verlaine winced and covered her head as the ice rattled on her parents’ gravestones. It instantly melted, running through the carved letters to drip down onto the brownish grass below.
Verlaine peeked through her fingers. “. . . That’s it?”
Nadia nodded. Mateo stepped closer to them, and when she turned toward him, what she already suspected was confirmed in his eyes.
“What did it look like to you?” she asked. Mateo, as her Steadfast, possessed a window into magic that even she could never match.
“Dark red metallic . . . streaks, I guess.” He struggled, obviously trying to find the right words. “Like they were raining down in this greenish mist.”
“We saw the mist, too. That was a freebie.” Verlaine walked toward them, her steps unsteady. Nadia wasn’t sure whether that was from the lingering effects of what Elizabeth had done to her last week or the emotions she had to be feeling. “So. Dark red. That’s old magic, right? What did the spell tell you, Nadia?”
Best to say it as quickly and cleanly as possible, Nadia decided. “It’s not just an echo of an old spell. Whatever spell this was—it was cast a long time ago, but it’s still at work. It’s linked to your parents’ deaths. It’s unquestionably dark magic. And”—the next was just Nadia’s judgment call, but she was certain—“yes, Elizabeth was the one responsible.”
Verlaine didn’t react at first. Her pale face remained almost expressionless, and except for her wind-tossed hair, she didn’t move.
Mateo took a step closer to her. “Verlaine? Are you okay?”
“I could at least have brought some flowers.” With that, Verlaine crossed her arms and let her head droop, drawing into herself.
Verlaine had told them the story of how her parents had died—and even to her it was only a story, one she’d been told, because she was still a baby when it happened. She’d been found wailing in her crib; her parents’ dead bodies lay in their bedroom, both apparently so severely and suddenly ill that they’d been unable even to call for help before they perished. Now they knew Elizabeth was the one responsible. Elizabeth would have been there that day, ignoring baby Verlaine’s cries as she looked down on her two victims.
But why? Had Verlaine’s mother been a witch, too, someone Elizabeth destroyed for opposing her? If Elizabeth had killed the father out of spite, why leave Verlaine alive? Had Elizabeth kept people from caring about Verlaine so that, perhaps, nobody would investigate her parents’ deaths?
None of it made sense. Next Nadia would try spells to find out what had been done—that much, maybe, she could manage. However, she’d never be able to tell Verlaine why Elizabeth did it. That had died with Elizabeth.
She thought again of Mom walking out the door, leaving her family for good. Sometimes Nadia thought the worst part of it all was not knowing why.
Mateo took her hand as they both stepped closer to Verlaine. The touch was still new enough to send a thrill along Nadia’s skin. “Hey,” Mateo said quietly to Verlaine. “Are you okay?”
“Next time I’ll run by Jasmine’s first.” Verlaine brushed back her silvery hair; her hand was still bruised from the hospital IV. “That’s the florist in town, Nadia. I forgot you were new here and you might not know. I can run by there and pick up a dozen roses. Two dozen. Or—how many roses do you think they might have at any one time?”
Nadia wanted to tell Verlaine that everything would be okay, but she didn’t want to give her friend false hope. “Listen. I want to try something.”
“Another spell?”
“Yeah. I want to find out exactly what was done to you, and whether there’s some way to reverse it.”
Verlaine glanced up at that. “Can you reverse it?”
“Maybe. We won’t know until we try.” Nadia gave her an encouraging smile. As long as they remained near the bodies of her parents—the first victims of the spell, and thus the ones who bore the deepest marks of magic—Nadia thought they had a shot.
She raised her hand to her bracelet, ready to begin her next spell—
Verlaine screamed. Mateo grabbed Nadia and pulled her back—only moments before her hair stood on end. It was as if lightning struck, but instead of a second’s flash of lightning, a column of fire swirled up in front of them, twisting and writhing with its heat. The roar of it deafened Nadia, and she staggered into Mateo’s arms.
“My parents!” Verlaine cried. The flames danced on their graves. No, not danced—consumed. As Nadia watched in horror, the graves caved in, as though the coffins and bodies within them had instantly disappeared.
The fire vanished as quickly as it had come. For a few moments they all stood there, staring at the scorched earth, their quickened breathing the only break from the silence.