“Then you'll be imprisoned and put under a spell until the others complete the ritual,” Corvin says, like he's telling me we're out of tea in the break room.
“Are youactually kiddingme?” The words burst out before I can stop them, my heart doing the drum solo from that metal band Esme used to blast.
“It will amount to treason. You're a darkblood of Darkbirch, Brynn. You may have had your nose stuck in the books for most of your life, but your coven needs you now. It's your blood-bound duty.”
And there goes my stomach, dropping straight through the floor. I shoot Chad a “help me out here” look, but he suddenly finds theceiling super fascinating. Typical. They're soldiers down to their bones—coven first, no matter what.
Esme would probably be all “let's summon ancient spirits, what could possibly go wrong?” about this whole thing.
If I say no, I'm basically signing up for magical prison. My whole life is here at Darkbirch, even if this Ides ritual is sketchy as hell. But maybe I can wiggle out sideways if I dangle something shiny enough...
I take a deep breath. “Sir, I have a proposition, if you'll just hear me out.”
“Brynn, don't—” Chad hisses, but Corvin holds up a hand.
“Go on.”
I clear my throat. “Look, I get it. All hands on deck, especially us Salems. And yeah, things are totally FUBAR right now, but this Ides ritual is sketch city.” I rush on before Corvin's scowl can fully form. “But hey, I actually stumbled onto something that might help us find my sister. Let me chase that down instead. Esme would crush this ritual—girl's been spirit-whispering since she was like, three.”
Corvin shakes his head. “We've sent three parties after her. I led the last one myself. Nothing.”
“She's my sister,” I say, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel. “I've got tricks up my sleeve that your teams don't. Chad can vouch.” I shoot him a glance. “If I strike out, I'll come back and do your tombstone ritual, scout's honor. But if I find her? Two Salem sisters for the price of one.”
“That's... actually not terrible logic,” Chad says, and I’m glad I’m not forced to glare him into submission. “Sir, I can babysit—I mean, accompany Brynn. I’ll make sure she stays safe. Best case, we bring back Esme, who could perhaps even summon Esther for the ritual. Worst case, we're back in three days for Plan A.”
“It would make reaching Merlin easier,” Corvin mutters, scratching his stubble as he turns away.
“Just give me a shot,” I press. “Two birds, one stone. Efficiency!”
His eyes narrow. “And this lead is...?”
“Just a hunch from some old journals,” I admit. “Nothing solid enough to waste your time on, but the coven can spare Chad and me for a hot minute while you prep everything else.”
He turns back, eyes dark as a new moon. “Three days, Salem. That's it… And Chad: you’d better make sure she returns.”
Chad exhales like he's been holding his breath since we left the crypt. “That was insane.”
We're back on the less corpse-y side of Darkbirch, thank gods, but Dominic Merlin's tomb clings to my thoughts. It wasn’t just creepy. It was wrong. Loaded with an unnatural silence that seemed to eat away at the room…
“It’s as if his tombstone was… telling us to keep clear,” I murmur to Chad. “Didn’t you feel it?”
“I did. And so did Corvin.”
“But they’re going ahead with this madness,” I say. “Why?”
We duck into the library—perfect for avoiding eavesdroppers this late. My research mess is right where I left it, but Ezekiel has disappeared. Typical Salem ancestor: drop the breadcrumbs and vanish. But I'd probably be an idiot to ignore their cryptic guidance. They didn't bring me to these dusty journals for no reason.
“Desperate times,” Chad mutters with his new permanent frown.
The guy looks like he's aged five years since the crypt. His usual stick-up-the-butt expression has been replaced with something genuinely worried. It's weirding me out.
“What's your damage?” I ask, stuffing notes into my bag.
“What do you mean?”
“You've been acting like someone swapped your protein shake with sour milk ever since we saw that tombstone. In the crypt, you were all 'yes sir, no sir' with Corvin, but your face was screaming 'bad idea.' So spill it, Valgrave. What's your actual take on this mess?”
Chad perches on the edge of the table, twisting his cufflinks like they’re some kind of stress beads. “I don't like it,” he mutters. “TheIdes? Come on. Every story about them is basically 'and then everyone died horribly.'”
