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“Welcome back,” she says to Cecelia.

Her gaze turns to me. She’s got kind eyes, but other than that… I can’t lock down her appearance. As soon as I absorb a detail about her, it slips away.

“Astra Dreamstone?” the woman asks.

My heart skips. There’s the Dreamstone name again.

“Maeve,” Cecelia whispers. It’s not admonishing. Or anything, really. Just a barely audible warning.

The witch waves her off, her smile curling wider. “It’s a pleasure. I’d recognize you anywhere. You look just like your mother.”

I smile tightly. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Maeve is our coven leader,” Cecelia says to me. “I’d like to take a look at your wounds before we get carried away, Astra. Do you mind?”

My stomach knots. I’d prefer not, but my mother trusted Cecelia.

I turn around, and Cecelia helps me pull the sweatshirt over my head from the back. The fabric sticks to the open wound, and I cover my mouth to suppress the urge to yell. I keep Kian’s sweatshirt pressed to my front.

After I retrieved my bag from Kian’s closet, I stole the sweatshirt and a few strips of gauze and tape. The wounds didn’t stop oozing, and the shirt I wore earlier was all but ruined by bloody stains. What was I thinking, taking his sweatshirt?

It may have given him the wrong idea. I saw how he looked at me when he realized. The last thing I should do is goad the wolf shifter. I press my face into the fabric and inhale. His scent is right there. It’s a weird little comfort in a sea of chaos, my body roiling in turbulence.

Cecelia works off the bandages, then gasps. She spins me back around, her hands on my shoulders. I’ve never seen her eyes so wide, her pupils dilating. Her magic sweeps out of her, knocking into me.

The amulet around my neck suddenly goes hot.

“What have you done?” She shakes me slightly.

I gape at her. “What are you talking about?”

Maeve comes up beside me and touches my back.

I let out a hiss of pain and dig my fingers into Kian’s sweatshirt. It’s the only thing keeping me from rushing away.

“Demon blood.” She holds up her finger and shows me a smudge of black, like ink, on the pad.

I crane my neck to see the wounds for myself. No matter how I twist, the movement makes my muscles scream. This morning, they were… well, maybe not fine, but they seemed okay. Red around the edges, the blood oozing out. I assumed infection, but there would be time to deal with it. Kian’s been healing them bit by bit.

Maeve steers me toward a mirror, and I gag.

The jagged rips through my skin are as black as my Mark. They’re leaking black blood that rolls down my spine. I swipe at it, bringing my wet fingers around to examine it.

“This isn’t possible. It was fine earlier. Showing early sign of infection, but it wasn’t black.” I meet Cecelia’s gaze. “How could this have happened?”

“Tell us every encounter with magic since the new moon,” Maeve orders.

I bite my lip.

“There’s evidence that a demon tried to possess you,” Cecelia says carefully, perhaps reading my distrust as indecision. “But I know your mother taught you how to defend yourself against that. She wouldn’t have let you become…”

I search inside myself for any foul, dark magic. There’s my own well of power, and something under my ribs. I remember drawing on that, trying to heal myself with it on the mountain. I tell them about the odd thread-like feeling—leaving out that I transported, mainly because I still don’t know how my mother managed it—and then describe waking up in Kian’s house. How I burned Jessamine’s face when she attacked me, and the amulet, and scrying for my mother…

“Wait.” Cecelia raises her hand. “What did you see when you scried for her?”

“I don’t know. Shadows and stuff.”

Her expression turns furious. “You looked into the shadow realm.”