“I can't tonight.” She glanced at the fox clock, her shoulders slumping. “Everyone’s meeting at Norah’s before my shift.”
“Of course. Great.”
“I know they’d love to see you there. And maybe they can help you figure out—”
“I don’t need their help.”
“Okay, fine,” Sophie huffed. “You don’t need their help. But maybe I need yours.” Her next words were barely a whisper. “Please, Gray. Something’s going on with them. I can’t put my finger on it, but I—”
“Sophie, it’s not—”
“God, you're so stubborn!” Her multi-colored hair pulsed brighter. “Will you at least think about coming before you shoot me down?”
I didn’thaveto think about it. Any desire I’d had to belong to something bigger, to learn about my origins and my magic, to be a witch… that was taken from me nine years ago, burnt to ash in a house 3,000 miles from here.
My life in Blackmoon Bay was far from perfect. But it was just that—a life. A chance at normalcy—at least at what passed for a witch’s normalcy—and I wasn’t about to wreck it by delving back into the very thing that had nearly destroyed me.
Not even for Sophie.
The girl in the alley was a wake-up call. Didn’t matter how comforting and familiar my magic place had felt, or how much I’d missed the touch of that warm, blue light. I needed to stick to the plan, stay as far away as possible from all things magical.
Permanently.
“Sure, Soph.” The lie left a bitter taste on my tongue, even as it brought a smile to Sophie’s face. “I’ll sleep on it.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!” She stood up from the chair and came around to my side of the table, squishing me in a strawberry-scented hug.
The stack of cards slid across the table, burying Death from view. But I still felt its icy finger trailing down my spine, teasing the darkness inside me to life.
Five
Gray
As far as I was concerned, Death could go to hell.
I’d slept the day away, and now that the moon had risen again, and I had work to do.
Starting with Bean.
My mind kept insisting on the most logical explanation—that it simply hadn’t happened. She’d hit her head, but hadn’t actually died. She passed out, and after my little trip down magical memory lane, she’d woken up and staggered on home.
Not bad as far as theories went. If I couldn’t locate her in the warehouse district or pick up on any murmurings of wandering undead, logic would win out, and I could close the book on the whole ordeal.
And if ithadhappened? If she was out there somewhere in half-resurrected form? I needed to find her. She was the key to unlocking the mystery of this strange, dark power inside me. And unlocking that mystery was the only way to shut it down—preferably before anyone else found out about it.
Before anyone else got hurt.
Back at the scene of the crime, blood stained the alley, a sick reminder that I hadn’t imagined the fight. The sound of her head hitting the pavement echoed in my memory.
Grape jelly grape…
“Miss Desario. I might have guessed you had something to do with this."
I jumped at the voice, though I recognized the delicious British accent immediately.
Slowly, I turned to face him, stake in hand.
Darius Beaumont was beautiful. Elegant, tall, and lean, he was dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit that probably cost more than I made in a year. Wavy, chin-length brown hair and a perfectly stubbled jaw stood out starkly against a crisp white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone.
