I was certain he was behind the Bay’s recent string of witch murders and kidnappings. But what was his ultimate plan? Why had he left some alive? Why had he leftmealive?
Swallowing the bile that rose in my throat, I turned the next two cards—Seven of Pentacles and Eight of Swords.
In the eight, a sinister moon lured a nude woman to an open window, impelling her to lean out. A garden of eight sharp swords bloomed beneath her. One more inch, and she’d fall to a brutal death.
The seven—a young witch drawing blood from a tree blooming with silver pentacles—was the card that had clued me in a few weeks ago about Sophie practicing witchcraft in secret with the Bay Coven.
Showing up here with the Eight of Swords, it was clearly a warning.
“He’s forcing them to do his bidding,” I said, letting the messages wash over me. “He needs them alive, but scared—too scared to run. He needs them to work their magic.”
The fire popped and sparked, as if confirming my hypothesis.
I turned it over in my mind. If it were true, it meant that Haley and the others were still alive—that they still had a chance at surviving this thing. But between the options of death and survival, a thousand more possibilities lived… and most of them weren’t good.
Hastily I turned the bottom two cards—Queen of Swords and Nine of Wands.
Dressed in robes of gold and red, the fierce queen held two swords, one tipped with blood. It dripped onto the ground before her. Sometimes this card spoke to me of a badass, take-no-prisoners woman getting shit done.
Tonight? She scared the hell out of me. She was out for blood, and she’d do everything in her power to get it.
Like the woman in the Eight of Swords, the figure in the Nine of Wands also suggested imprisonment. She sat on a stone pedestal, her head bowed in apparent defeat, a black mask covering most of her face. A staircase marked by eight wooden wands loomed behind her—a possible escape—but it remained hidden from view. The only glimmer of hope came from the ninth wand, flaming like a torch, ready to light her way home.
I shivered, pulling the blanket tight around my shoulders. The positioning of the bottom two cards worried me. The sword-wielding queen seemed to be threatening the girl on the pedestal, refusing to let her leave.
“Where are you?” I whispered, brushing my fingers over the Nine of Wands. The girl on the steps seemed so scared, so defeated. I wanted to tell her not to give up. That she wasn’t forgotten or alone. That somehow, she’d be found and brought home and made safe once again.
I picked up the card for a closer look, and a gust of warm air blew out from the fireplace, stirring my hair.
A small voice sounded in my head.
Help us…
I sucked in a breath. The fear I was sensing in the card suddenly manifested inside me with a heart-wrenching terror that sent real waves of panic cascading through my limbs. Sweat broke out across my forehead, and my chest heaved, my mouth filling with salty air that tasted like the sea. I gulped it in greedily, as if it were the first chance I’d been given to breathe in days.
Black smoke curled out from behind the flames, reaching for me, drawing me in. The magic inside me stirred in response, and I held out my hands, determined to strengthen the connection despite the discomfort. Smoke twirled and danced around my fingers, caressing me with a warm, inviting touch, calming the dread that had gripped my heart.
It pulled me from the couch, urging me closer, and I knelt at the hearth again, staring into the fire as some unseen force compelled me to look deeper. To see. To know.
Images appeared in the flames, frantic and disjointed at first. I held up my hands, and the fire dimmed at my command, the images slowly coming into focus.
Women and girls. Witches. Dozens of them locked in cold, cramped cells with no windows, no natural light. The glow of magic flickered all around them, throwing eerie shadows on the wall.
The image reminded me of the Magician card.
The vision zoomed in on a single prison cell, and the girl inside turned to face me, her eyes widening as if she could see me, too.
“Help us,” she said, her voice weak, yet determined.
“Where are you?” I shouted, but she was already fading, the flames roaring up once again, taking her away from me.
“Gray! Her frantic call echoed, the sound of my name in her frightened voice like an arrow to my heart. “Gray!”
* * *
“Gray!”
The bark of a man’s voice yanked me out of the trance, and I whipped my head toward the sound just in time to see Asher charging at me from across the smoke-filled room in nothing but a towel.
