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She frowns. “There’s nothing here to use to cast a spell.”
“What about blood?” I ask, thinking about the patch of it where that girl died.
“Blood magic is too close to Dark Arts,” she tells me. “I don’t know any spells, and if I did, I would think twice about using them. It can be addictive. Not to mention the fact I’m in an earth magic worshipping coven with your mate. Freya could reject us as her instruments if we use blood magic.”
“But someone else could use it?” I ask, determined to think of something useful.
She nods. “If you can find a witch who isn’t in a coven, then yeah. You might find one who’s willing to cast a spell in exchange for money. There’s not much it would tell you that Mabel’s spell didn’t. I’m not sure it would be worth it.”
I hear what she’s saying, and I wonder if this is the denial stage of grief.
I still can’t make myself believe Oscar killed someone.
It doesn’t feel right. It can’t be real.
Yet, the witch’s vision of the past showed us it was Oscar. A witch who’s been entrusted by The Fates to deliver justice. She’s legit, and the projection was the truth.
Having some random witch test the blood won’t change any of that.
I’m reaching, desperate to find something to cling to. It isn’t the answer.
Cheryl’s right. We need to find out who the fuck this pack are, and what they want.
It’s the only way we can help Oscar now.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Oscar
Ahshit.Ifellasleep. All I’d really intended to do was get comfy and maybe make Everett moderately annoyed so he’d quit focusing on his urge to murder the other pack and calm down a bit.
And now I’m sitting in the damned classroom again, with a bunch of frozen in place students.
At least Bianca’s not around this time. That’s one thing to be thankful for.
I don’t get up, because I don’t have a reason to rush out of the room.
I sit there and stare at the whiteboard, wondering why the words up there are too blurry to read. I guess when I was in class, I never paid attention to the board, so why should I remember anything the teacher ever put up there?
I rest my head on the desk, wondering if falling asleep here will wake me up, or push me into another dream. I’m not sure which is worse.
“You should have helped me,” Bianca says, making me groan.
She is here, she was just making a late entrance to the party like the diva she always was.
“Go away, Bianca,” I mutter, closing my eyes.
“I can’t do that.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“You can still help me,” she goes on, ignoring my question. “I can tell you everything you need to know about that pack. Everything, Oscar. I’ve been watching them. I know.”
The glee in her voice makes my blood run cold. I sit up and turn to her.
She’s wearing a superior smile and a high ponytail.
“You can’t possibly know anything about this.”
