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It was undeniable that someone was targeting them. The police kept insisting they would find whoever was responsible. But then, one day, not long after Caleb had been sentenced to prison, the murders just… stopped.
Time passed, and people moved on. They forgot about those other women. But I haven’t. I still think about them every day, connected to them in a way I can’t explain. Maybe because I was almost one of them.
After what happened with Caleb, I couldn’t help but believe they were responsible. His group of Disciples was insane, and they didn’t hide the fact that they were targeting witches. But I knew it couldn’t have just been Caleb involved in their murders. He was only nineteen when I met him, which means someone else had been carrying the torch long before he came of age.
When things died down, I suspected it was only a matter of time before it started again. They were under a microscope during Caleb’s trial. They had to lay low. But now, I fear they have chosen to make a return. Sure enough, when I roll over to check my phone, there’s a new message from Raven.
Did you see?
I eye the news article she attached, my stomach somersaulting when I read the headline.
Local voodoo priestess murdered, business torched.
My hand trembles as I click on the link, scanning the details through blurry eyes. I only make it halfway through the article before my phone rings and Raven’s name flashes across the screen.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asks when I answer.
“No,” I murmur.
There’s a long, heavy pause before she speaks again. “I don’t like this, Willow. This has The Disciples written all over it.”
“I know.”
“I think we should do another binding spell,” she suggests. “This week. Do you think you can get here?”
I consider it, deciding it doesn’t really matter what Azrael says. This is important. “I’ll see what I can do.”
More silence fills the line before I ask the question I’ve been dreading. “Have there been more letters?”
Raven’s hesitation confirms it. “Yes, and that’s not all.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“There was a message spray painted on the front door.” She swallows audibly. “It said ‘come out, witch. You can’t hide forever.’”
I squeeze my eyes shut, clutching my stomach as I shake my head, feeling like I’m going to be sick. “Raven.”
It’s all I can manage, but that one word conveys everything my sister needs to know. She understands me. We’re all connected this way.
“We have protection,” she assures me. “Mom and Dad have issued a lockdown on the house. We’re not even going outside unless it’s during the day, and we’re together.”
“I still don’t like it,” I tell her. “We don’t know what they might do.”
“They want you,” she reminds me softly. “We’ll be okay here. And you will too. As strange as I think it is to say, it’s probably good that you’re where you are right now.”
“I’m not worried about me,” I argue. “And we don’t know what they will do. You can’t get complacent. You have to stay vigilant.”
“I know,” she assures me. “We will. I promise.”
“I’ll talk to Azrael,” I tell her. “I’ll let you know what day I can be there this week.”
“Okay,” she agrees. “Try to get some rest.”
I tell her I will before disconnecting the call, but that’s a lie. The last thing I want to do right now is rest.
I set my phone aside, glancing over at Fiona. She blinks back at me with sleepy eyes, shamelessly keeping Azrael’s spot warm for his return.
“Traitor.” I give her a quick pet, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be team Willow.”
She yawns, boops my hand, then goes back to sleep before I slip out of bed and into my room to grab my black silk robe. There’s a draft in the house tonight.
I finish tying the knot at my waist, sneaking a glance at my altar, when I notice Elizabeth’s portrait has been knocked down. As I pick it up to examine the cracked glass, something twists in my gut. This was no accident. It was intentional.
A glance around the room confirms my suspicions when I notice the metal garbage bin full of burned remnants. On closer inspection, I can just make out the faint outline of a letter on the Ouija board I left downstairs. And beneath that are some of my crystals, charred herbs, and the vials of elixirs I planted throughout the house.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this was Salomé’s doing. Azrael didn’t seem to care, or if he did, he hasn’t said anything to me about it yet. But I can’t see him being this petty. This has the old hag written all over it.
I toss the ash back into the bin and wipe my hands. I guess that’s a point for her.
