We’re cutting what’s left of it,she signed.
I swallowed. “The bond?”
She nodded.
Bonds were dangerous things to mess with. And no one in this house even knew Violet was bonded to anyone other than Serena.
This whole thing seemed stupid. But she wasn’t being dramatic. She just wanted something to make her feel safe.
And I would’ve been a massive asshole if I told her no.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Tell me what to do.”
Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
We moved to the little nook by the window, the one Benji liked to read in during the afternoons. Violet sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled a collection of treasures out of her pocket: a spool of red ribbon, a candle stub, a tiny glass jar no bigger than my thumb, salt, a lighter, dried rosemary, lavender, and a folded scrap of paper already covered in her neat, looping handwriting.
“This feels like the beginning of a horror movie,” I muttered.
She shot me a look.
“Sorry,” I said. “You’re right. Focus.”
She placed the red thread between us and mimed wrapping it around her finger, over the ring, then mimed setting it on fire.
“I’m not catching your hand on fire,” I deadpanned.
She gave me a look before picking up the lighter and calmly pressing it to the ribbon.
The ribbon curled and blackened, but didn’t burst into flame. She pulled it back, unharmed, and gave me an expression that saidsee? Like I’m the unreasonable one here.
She gestured again for me to wrap the ribbon around her finger and the candle.
“You’re lucky I love you,” I muttered.
I took the ribbon and followed her instructions, winding it carefully over the ring and looping it once around the candle’s base.
She nodded in approval, closed her eyes, and tapped the ribbon once.
I struck the lighter and held the flame beneath it. The ribbon caught, and I tensed—fully prepared to drive Violet to the hospital when she inevitably gave herself a third-degree burn. But nothing of the sort happened.
Instead, the ribbon burned closer to the candle than to her. The thread never snapped. The flame traveled outward, licking around the wax cylinder, softening it—melting it down until the candle slumped and collapsed, hot wax pooling across the hardwood floor.
I stared.
Vinny was going to beat her ass if she didn’t clean this up.
Cracking one eye open, Violet looked at the mess and a small smile tugged at her lips. The ribbon finally burned itself out, leaving nothing but a blackened line and a puddle of wax.
Violet exhaled like she could finally breathe. Whatever peace she’d earned, she wasn’t wasting it.
She wiped her hands on her nightgown, then pulled out the jar and started layering ingredients into it.
Salt first. Then dried rosemary, crumbled carefully between her fingers, then lavender. She dusted off her hands before tearing up the paper, never showing me what it said, and shoved it into the jar.
When it was nearly full, she paused—then slid her ring off, just long enough to press it against the mouth of the bottle. Not inside, but like she wanted the energy of the ring to pour into the glass.
Once she was done, the ring went back on. She replaced the lid, dipped the base of the jar in the still-warm wax, then tied the unburned length of ribbon around its neck in a neat little bow.
