Page 19 of Hallowed Bones

The fourth Son of Salem stands slightly behind the rest. Whereas they are all darkness and shadow, he has a wild array of sandy hair hovering over his shoulders, the length of it longer than is fashionable. He’s watching them instead of me, with an amused expression on his face. When he notices my attention, he merely lifts a hand and waves at me. I blink rapidly and then lift a palm in answer. His grin widens.

Elodie tugs me away. “We can leave if you want,” she offers. “But if you want to stay, Jonah’s townie friends are hanging out by the speakers, and the Sons of Salem would never approach them.”

“Okay,” I mumble distractedly.

“Jonah went to grab us some beers after he dropped off the first aid kit,” Elodie tells me with a grimace. “Sorry—even if he comes to parties like this, he still doesn’t really like being around them.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine,” I say. “It was barely a cut.”

Elodie breathes a sigh of relief. “I’ll text him and tell him where to meet us. I don’t normally lie, but man—that was uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable is an understatement. I sigh and peer over my shoulder to see if they’re still watching us walk away when I freeze, dragging Elodie to a stop as well.

“What—Haven?”

Elodie’s voice fades as I scan the shoreline, but there’s nothing—no sign of them. All four of the Sons of Salem are just … gone.

CHAPTER 7EZRA

His power is growing, Kane. You see it too—I know you do. But your cruelty will break him long before his magic ever could. He needs control, yes, but not this way. If you keep pushing him, the power you’re trying to contain might destroy all of us.

—LETTER FROM DIMITRI BISHOP TO HIS BROTHER, KANE BISHOP, DATE UNKNOWN

“So?” Cameron’s voice is smooth and even, not betraying a single hint to his inner thoughts. “What do you think?”

I take a second to respond, watching the girl where she stands with several others next to one of the bonfires. The flames spark into the night, embers flickering like dying stars as laughter slices through the dark. It grates, sweet and high and fucking human. It’s hers.

Haven Wardwell.

She’s long since kicked off the sneakers she was wearing, despite her friend’s lie that the two were leaving an hour ago. Now she stands barefoot near the edge of the lake, moonlight painting her hair in soft streaks of silver, arms curled around herself like she doesn’t quite belong. Still, her lips are quirked up and her eyes are focused on the group she’s a part of. They’re laughing, the others—drunk on cheap beer and a good time—and she’s pretending, Godsdamn pretending, that she’s just like they are.

She isn’t.

“We frighten her,” I finally say. It’s not a difficult observation to make.

Cameron makes a sound of disgruntlement. “But is she who we think she is?” Cameron demands. “Her last name is the same as the one I found in the old records. She could be related to—”

“We won’t know until she reveals herself,” I say, cutting him off. “Wardwell isn’t as common as Smith, but it’s frequent enough that it could be a coincidence.”

It could be, but I know it’s not. Cameron’s right. Haven isn’t like those around her. She’s different. Other. I see it in the way the shadows curl around her, soft as a lover’s touch. I see it in the way the wind listens when she moves, in the shiver of the treetops like they know what she is too.

Witch.

The word sears through me, no longer a whisper of hope but a warning bell with a noose tied to it.

Haven Wardwell might be one of us.

The idea should thrill me. Should make the centuries of solitude for our coven seem like a fading wound now that the one who is supposed to lead us from the darkness has come.

Instead, all I feel is dread.

You know what your purpose is, Ezra. My father’s insidious voice grates across every nerve ending, annoyingly calm even though when I picture him, he’s holding a cane above his head, ready to bring it down on my back. Again and again and again, until the lessons carve deeper into me than any superficial scar ever could.

“You felt it, didn’t you?” Cameron asks. “The pulse of her magic. You had to have felt it—it was so strong.”

Yes, I had. Unlike Cam, I didn’t even have to touch her to sense the buzz of invisible energy around her. She’s practically soaked in magical energy.

Cameron huffs when I don’t respond right away. “She’s one of us,” he says. “You know what that means—”