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“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I tell them.
“Really?” Aurora asks, her voice tinged with concern.
A somber mood settles over the room as I shake my head, trying my best to appease them.
“No, not really. I was just kidding.”
“So, you’re okay then?” Winter presses. “They haven’t been… terrible?”
“No,” I admit. “They haven’t.”
I’m not going to tell them about Salomé. I don’t want them to worry. So instead, I launch into a conversation about Bec and mention that I’d like to get her in to see our family doctor, although I’m not quite sure how I’ll manage such a feat under Salomé’s watchful gaze. Bec doesn’t leave the house other than to go to church, I suspect.
My sisters tell me they’ll help me figure something out, and the conversation seems to flow easily from one topic to the next. Cordelia gives me the shirt she made me, and Winter gives me a new crystal necklace she wrapped. Before I realize it, hours have passed, and it’s almost time for dinner.
I don’t want them to go, but they seem to be aware that staying isn’t an option. I can only imagine the hell that would break loose if Salomé had to sit down to dinner with all of us.
“Will you come to visit Mom and Dad soon?” Aurora asks. “They want to see you.”
I suspect our parents aren’t aware of their visit here today. If they knew, they’d be sick with worry.
“As soon as I can,” I assure them.
They all give me more hugs, preparing themselves for a goodbye none of us want. But when they linger, faces drawn, I know there’s something else they came to tell me. It isn’t until Raven removes a handful of letters from her bag reluctantly that I realize what it is.
“They’re increasing,” she tells me quietly, handing them over. “These are all just from the last few days. They’ve been watching the house. They know you’re gone but don’t know where.”
“They’re threatening us,” Aurora adds. “All of us.”
I glance up at her in horror, helplessness settling over me.
“Don’t worry.” Raven tosses Aurora a chastising look. “We’ll be okay. We’re being careful.”
Guilt sinks into the pit of my stomach, making me feel sick. “This is all my fault.”
“It’s not,” Raven argues. “You know they would have come for us regardless. They’re demented.”
“No,” I whisper. “If I hadn’t been so naive—”
“This isn’t your fault,” Winter reiterates Raven’s sentiment. “We’re a sisterhood, remember? They fuck with one of us, they fuck with all of us.”
I know they’re trying to make me feel better, but it doesn’t. The Disciples might have come for us either way merely for the fact that we were rumored to be witches, but it was me who put a target on our backs. The group is just a reborn version of the same bloodthirsty Puritans who committed murder under the guise of religion. I didn’t know they were watching us. I’d had no idea that the boy who’d seemed so interested in me at sixteen was one of them. I’d ignored my intuition, and I allowed myself to be swayed by his charms, only to discover he was the devil in disguise.
Now, that man is pacing his prison cell like an animal, waiting for the day he can take his revenge. The horrific truth is, I don’t know how to stop him.
“Don’t go anywhere alone,” I plead with my sisters. “And take protection with you. Even if it’s just in the yard.”
“We will,” they promise me. “Same goes for you.”
20
AZRAEL
While the Wildblood sisters visit in the sitting room, Emmanuel and I meet in the library.
“Five witches in the house. Is Gran twitchy?” Emmanuel asks.
I grin and close my laptop. “See the papers this morning?” I ask and watch the casual look on his face darken. He nods once. Two women have been found murdered over the last week in the New Orleans area. “Both are from families who have been known to dabble in witchcraft.”
“Or pretend to,” Emmanuel says. “It makes for good business in New Orleans. Didn’t one have some sort of shop in the French Quarter reading cards or some nonsense?”
“You already looked into it then?”
He shrugs a shoulder and slides into one of the armchairs. “I was bored.”
“Is that so?”
“What else would it be?”
My brother doesn’t get bored, and he doesn’t do anything that doesn’t somehow serve him—unless it comes to Bec. For his sister, he’ll do anything. I drop the question for now.
“You’re right about the shop,” I start. “Girl was young. The second woman was over sixty and lived alone in a small, decrepit house outside of the city. Doesn’t sound like the police are linking the murders.”
“Are you worried for your witch?” he asks.
“She’s safe here. But her family may not be, if it’s what we’re thinking.”
Emmanuel’s jaw tenses. I’m not sure he’s aware of the movement. “The Disciples have been off the radar for years. You think they’re back?” The Disciples are basically witch hunters who gave themselves that title centuries ago, as if they act in the name of some god. They’d been around since before the time of Elizabeth Wildblood, having originated in Europe and spread, like a disease, to North America and beyond.
