THORNWOOD ACADEMY: LIVE AND LEARN

BOOK SIX

LJ SWALLOW

Copyright © 2025 by L J Swallow

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A Free Gift For You

Nightworld Academy: Origins

I saw the future and saved someone’s life. Mine changed forever. 

Nightworld Academy: Origins is a prequel to the Amazon best-selling Nightworld Academy series and introduces the characters, their world and the secrets at the academy.

Download your free copy of Nightworld Academy: Origins here

1

GRAYSON

What do I do with both the heart and the situation I created?

Without Viktor’s heart intact, Eloise can’t use necromancy on the witch and reanimate him. Sure, Eloise would have control over Viktor, but the spell on Holly wouldn’t break and he’d keep the same threat hanging over her.

I’ve watched the shitshow Viktor’s actions have caused—the effect on Violet as well as Holly—and he had to die. Every one of us knew the man couldn’t walk away this morning.

Dashiell killed him. I made a split-second decision to act and stop any chance he could return. Leif stopped Eloise from pursuing me; I guess the last one of us finally made it into the Blackwood bad books.

Dashiell. That was the move of a crazy person, or someone with a bond to another. Dash swore there’s no spell connecting him to Holly, but he literally signed his death warrant with his actions. Another death warrant? Because there must be several now, and all due to saving Holly’s life.

But what would’ve happened if Dash hadn’t acted? Would I have watched Holly die and known I’d brought the person responsible to the scene? If he had, Viktor’s triumph over Holly’s death would’ve led to me wanting to rip the guy’s face off too.

Viktor knew that whatever happened he’d win because his secrets would live or die with him.

I shove the heart into a jacket pocket.

Worse, what will happen to the others? Crap. No way can I turn back to the clearing in the woods to help them and face Eloise; all I can do is trust that Violet will solve or at least calm the situation.

Eloise wouldn’t have traveled to the woods if I’d kept my mouth shut, but I contacted her this morning. Right from the first time Viktor asked to meet Violet, I decided she wouldn't face Viktor alone. The idea was insane, even for Violet. This morning, I fully expected him to bring the backup that worried me, but the witch was cockier than I thought. He believed the threat of Holly’s death would be enough to defeat Violet.

Eloise seemed the safest of Violet’s parents to contact and ask for help. She’s calmer. Level-headed. Cares about the world. But that’s the problem—she cares about her world created by the hybrids’ victory over a corrupt regime. Protecting that world ranks above a random human’s life.

I made a huge mistake by expecting Eloise would help Violet kill Viktor. I had no idea Dorian demanded that Viktor shouldn’t die.

My own heart beats loudly in my ears, as if the one in my pocket still does. Do I bury the heart? Destroy it further? Take it back? Ha. No way.

Where’s Dash? He ran a few moments before I did, but there’s no sight or scent of him. Although, I’m struggling to attune myself to anything apart from the smell of the witch’s blood on my hands. Nothing would top that.

The speed at which I travel blurs the world, blinding me to where I’m running, and I pull myself to a stop, shocked at how far I’ve moved. I’m almost at the edge of the lake, ironically close to where Violet found the duckling that now ‘lives’ in Scotland.

Across the water, the dark wood lodge stands out against the lake bank, the designer home’s exterior covering up the secrets and damage inside. How apt for the Sawyers. The boat moored outside on that day we confronted the witch and shifter is missing. In the boat shed where we hid Kai after the magical drugging?

I half consider running to the place to search for clues, once I’ve disposed of the heart in the lake. If I found Sarah Sawyer’s suitcases, I’d soothe Violet’s fury at me for involving Eloise. As if. Although that tactic works with Rowan, I doubt presenting Violet with much-needed evidence would help me against betraying her trust.

Again, I tune my senses into the surroundings, checking whether anybody followed or if Dash is nearby. My pounding heart doesn’t rest, even though there isn’t a trace of Eloise’s presence. Instead, my mind fills with images of how she reacted back there. That woman was not the Eloise I’ve met in the past. Like the rest of the world, I’ve only seen the sweet and acceptable face of Eloise Blackwood.

Eloise was my ally against Dorian, willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, but I’ve helped kill somebody Dorian wanted alive. I won’t survive Dorian’s Petrescu hatred now.

Moving to the pebbled bank, I hurl the heart into the lake, the force sending the organ some twenty meters where it hits the water like a stone. Maybe the heart is already useless, but I can't take the risk Eloise will find me and take it. Crouching, I rinse my bloodied hands in the water and gaze back at the lodge.

When Eloise or Dorian, or both, pursue me, they’ll look everywhere I might hide, and the Sawyers’ partially burned retreat would be on the list. I can’t stay visible in the world, and there’s only one place I can go in the area where almost nobody knows the location.

Dorian’s power-based tendrils weave through the world, touching on everything, human and supernatural. Dorian claims he has full knowledge of both, but although that’s almost true, it’s the parts of the world his tendrils don’t reach that threaten him.

My uncle included. Dorian encountered the man through Sawyer, but no doubt watched and assessed Josef Petrescu for years. Unfortunately, the Petrescu behaved and, like so many supes, played his part in the new world. Dorian had no justification for touching a man he’d gleefully kill.

Dorian isn’t aware of every corner of Josef’s life, otherwise he would’ve found my uncle by now, and I know one of these corners all too well. I haven’t visited the cottage since Dorian started tracking Josef. Few know the place exists and is owned by a powerful vampire, but somebody sold the place to him. How much else does Josef manage to hide due to the influence he has in the world? How far does that influence spread? Or maybe he kills anybody who assists him before they can accidentally reveal anything.

Josef doesn’t visit the empty cottage unless he’s arranged a meeting with me. Despite the memories the building holds, walking into those will be less painful than when I’m caught by the Blackwoods. I could run farther, but the longer I’m out in the open, the easier someone could find me and the sooner I could die.

I need time to think.

Navigating the denser woods toward the cottage takes time, but within an hour, I’m staring at the hidden place of my nightmares. The old stone building where I died and then spent days in the twilight between life and death, locked in that damn cellar. How ironic that I choose to come here to consider my options before facing another possible death.

Would Dorian Blackwood kill me now that I’ve handed him the excuse he needs? I interfered by tearing out a potential witness’s heart and prevented Viktor from giving up his secrets. Dorian could easily twist that story: Grayson Petrescu works for his uncle, he’s a spy amongst a rebel group, he’s fooling Violet and betraying my government.

I haven’t got a chance in hell.

Rubbing an eye, I stealth around the cottage’s perimeter. Nobody. My uncle disappeared after Kai’s party but stays in touch with the Sawyers. I’d considered whether Josef might be hiding here, prepared to bolt if he is, but Josef wouldn’t. The place needs more than a clean; it needs gutting. My uncle wouldn’t lurk in squalor for long, if at all. He’ll own much more luxurious, private bolt holes.

I sneak through the overgrown gardens to find a way inside the place. The lock on the back door is broken, and the moment I step into the small kitchen, nausea surges as memories flood like my blood did on this floor. More than once. What the hell am I thinking? Is this a mistake?

No. Because this could be one of the only places Dorian might not find me. Whatever. I can’t stay long.

I make my way through the house then drop onto the threadbare brown sofa, pulling my phone from a pocket as I do. Fuck. Blank screen. I stare as if the phone might miraculously charge the battery if I do.

How was I to know that Violet would drag us from the academy to the rental house to stay with Dash and Holly all night? Then skip off to kill Viktor the next morning? I snort to myself. Some warning would’ve been nice. Y’know, since I could’ve charged my phone, because keeping in touch is pretty bloody important.

I take a ragged breath. What happened to the others? Where did they go? Has Eloise taken them? The questions move in a never-ending circle along with the biggest one of all. When, if ever, can I safely find Violet again?

I toss the phone onto the sofa beside me and rest my head back, staring at the flaking ceiling. Now what?

2

ROWAN

Nearby voices wake me, filtering into dreams of magic and death. Reality hits the moment my eyes open. I’m in the Sawyers’ lodge. My neck hurts from where I slept awkwardly and, through bleary eyes, I see Leif sitting in a recliner opposite, snoring softly.

Violet insisted we follow the blood trail left by Grayson in order to catch him, but the guy moved fast so she shot off alone. Leif faintly picked up Dash’s scent too, but as he traveled in the opposite direction to Grayson’s, Violet chose to ignore him.

Dash is better off going alone from now on. I can’t figure out whether Violet would’ve killed him or not, or whether she’d hand him over to her parents.

Holly stumbled along beside me in a daze, refusing Leif’s offer to carry her, and we tramped through the patches of dewy grass in the cool morning until the trees thinned to where Violet paused long enough for us to catch up.

The lake.

Violet stood at the edge, the toes of her boots in the water, and she gazed across the lake, arms crossed, face stony. Vamps hate water, so it’s unlikely Grayson swam anywhere. Grayson’s scent had completely faded at this point, and we had no clue where to search.

We settled on somewhere to regroup and figure out our next move—somewhere close enough for a fading Holly to trudge to.

Kai told us his family never visits the lodge during the week, and although there’s a slight risk his mother might return, she rarely leaves the house before lunchtime, and it was barely seven a.m. 

Once inside, I half-collapsed on the cool black leather sofa in the lodge’s open-plan family room and dropped into sleep, unable to keep going.

The last twelve hours of my life have been some of the worst and exhausting ever.

Now, I gaze around the lodge’s lounge area, expecting Violet to be nearby poring over the contents of the located suitcases, but her voice travels from in the kitchen along with Holly’s. What have I missed since I dozed off?

Violet stands stiffly, resting against the granite counter, hands behind her back, while Holly sits at a rustic pine table and stares across the gleaming kitchen, expression blank.

Oh, no. “Is she—” I begin.

“Holly isn’t affected by a spell,” interrupts Violet. “I’ve told her to sleep, but she won't.”

“I’m not tired,” she says weakly.

“That is a lie.” Violet looks at me. “I’ve explained to Holly that Viktor is dead, and she’s safe because his demise broke the spell, but Holly refuses to lie down and rest.”

“I’m safe?” Holly laughs. “How’s that possible?”

Violet’s jaw tightens, and I cross to hug her, but she remains rigid. Every action Violet chose today came from a deep need to keep Holly safe from Viktor, and although the witch died, Holly will always need protecting.

“How are you feeling?” I ask Holly, pulling out a heavy dining chair to sit opposite her.

Dull eyes meet mine. “Sick. Headache. My chest hurts again.” Holly rubs at a cheek. “My eyes bled.”

“Yeah.” I rub my lips. “But Violet’s right. Viktor died. The spell broke.”

“Violet won’t tell me where Dash is, or what happened to him. You tell me.” 

Holly’s hardening look meets mine, but I glance at Violet in confusion. Is Holly still obsessed with Dash? Because if she is, another spell remains in her mind. But how? From a different witch?

“I felt it prudent not to explain to Holly the final events of this morning.”

I can’t help giving a short laugh. “You make it sound as if we attended a show.”

“Is Dash dead?” demands Holly. “Is that why you won't tell me? And where’s Grayson? Did he kill Dash? Or has Violet murdered him?”

“What? No. Dash shifted and ran,” I say in horror. “Why would Violet kill Dash?”

“Because Viktor told her she had to.” Holly glares at Violet. “I know you were planning to.”

Violet’s expression betrays nothing. 

“Is that true?” I ask Violet.

“I’m attempting to ascertain whether a spell maintains Holly’s concern for Dashiell.”

Holly stares at me, eyes wide and brimming, as Violet swerves the question. “Dash is alive, Rowan?”

“Uh. I presume so.”

She swallows and tips her chin up as she regards Violet again. “I’m not under a spell. Perhaps the way I behaved around Dash was a little strong, and that was a spell, but I care about him and his situation. I know exactly how it feels to get mixed up in things I didn’t want to. Situations that threaten my life.”

“A little strong?” Violet crosses her arms. “Tell me, if you saw Dashiell again, would you attempt to abscond with him? You informed me that he’s your only mate.”

“Mate?” I balk. “What? Does Holly have shifter blood?”

“Her sole mate—the only one. I’m confused as humans don’t have mates, unless you count their propensity to call each other ‘mate.’”

“Oh… soul mate, Violet. S.O.U.L. It’s a human concept that people are destined to meet because their souls match. Like a witch bond. Shifters. Kind of.”

Normally, Holly would chuckle at Violet’s mistake but she’s as flat as the day in the hospital bed. “I said some dumb things, but I do know that Dash helped as much as he could. He risked a lot for me and doesn’t deserve this fate. Rowan, please tell me what happened after Eloise arrived. Violet won’t.”

“Then I won’t either.” I offer Holly an apologetic smile, but she glares. “Sometimes it’s best if you don’t remember events.”

“Why? In case Dorian Blackwood messes with my mind?” she asks. “I am part of this now. Stop lying to me.”

Silence drops for a few moments before Violet speaks. “Dashiell killed Viktor. Grayson took his heart. Both of them ran. Eloise isn’t happy.”

Isn’t happy? Violet, the queen of understatements, strikes again.

“Because Eloise wanted Viktor to live?” There’s caution in Holly’s tone, and Violet nods curtly. “I’m confused.”

I’m not. Dash chose to save Holly’s life by risking his. Whatever the link is between the pair, Violet just pulled it tighter.

“Why confused?” asks Violet.

“Why are we here? Why didn’t Eloise take us? Where’s Viktor’s body?” She sighs as Violet clamps up. “Rowan?”

At least Holly doesn’t stand and run in a sudden, desperate need to find Dash, but her eyes glisten.

“I’m attempting to process what happened in a logical manner,” says Violet. “And to decide on an equally logical next step.”

Like finding Dash and Grayson as Eloise asked? I look at Violet pointedly. “Where’s Grayson? Is he here yet?”

“No communication or response to my attempts to contact him.” Curiously, she turns away to the sink, grabbing a glass from the drainer, which she fills with water before turning back. “Here.”

I frown at the glass she holds out. “What?”

“Don’t you want water?”

“Uh. No?”

“Coffee?”

“No.”

“How’s Leif?”

Talk about subject change… “Sleeping. Holly, listen to Violet and rest too. The upstairs rooms are damaged, but you could use the sofa.”

“Is that why the lodge smells weird?” she asks. “I came here once before, to a party, and the place smelled like roses, not burned wood and plastic.”

“There was a fire,” says Violet. “Obviously.”

Holly’s glare intensifies. “I will not let you speak to me like this anymore, Violet! I am not stupid, and you are not superior to me.”

I arch my brows but keep out of their exchange. “Are you hungry, Holly? I bet there’re snacks in a cupboard somewhere.”

“Good idea. Feed Holly,” Violet says and pulls herself away from the counter.

“I’m not a dog,” she retorts.

“Where are you going?” I ask as she stalks toward the door.

“Now that somebody else is conscious and can stay with Holly, I’ll look for the suitcases.”

Holly watches Violet leave, mouth parted. “Suitcases? Does that mean we’re leaving?” Her voice lowers. “Are we fugitives now?”

If only I knew the answer.

Although, I am amazed that Violet didn’t leave everyone and search for the suitcases the moment we arrived. Holly doesn't understand how important to Violet she is.

3

LEIF

A change in energy infiltrates my semi-consciousness, and I startle awake as somebody passes the chair I’m dozing in. On alert, I twist my head toward the door behind me and catch sight of Violet disappearing through it.

Rowan and Holly are speaking in the kitchen, and there’s no sign of Grayson. Where’s Violet going? I spring from the recliner and pursue Violet, catching up as she passes through the hallway mirrors and opens the entrance door.

“Don’t you think we should stay inside?” I gesture at the overcast world outside. “Someone could be watching.”

She regards me unblinkingly. “Hence the need to locate the suitcases and evidence they contain.”

Oh. I’d forgotten about them. Everything connected to Kai. In fact, anything outside of the shitshow I miraculously walked away from unhurt.

“Where do you think Kai’s mum put the suitcases?”

“If I knew that, I would possess them and their contents by now.” She stalks through the door, and I stride to keep up. “I’m presuming she didn't enter the damaged part of the building as the stairs aren’t usable, and Mrs. Sawyer hasn’t randomly left the luggage in any of the rooms downstairs. I will check hidden locations outside, and then we shall scour the lodge further.”

But how much time do we have? Will somebody come to the lodge? Not Eloise, please. I swallow. What the hell was I thinking when I chose to jump in front of Eloise? Nothing, that’s the problem. I haven’t reacted that instinctively since I grabbed Violet at the memorial barbecue to stop her from casting dangerous magic.

The shock of Violet, disarmed and lying on the ground, and the real possibility that Holly would die, shoved me into my insane move. If I hadn’t acted, Eloise would’ve got a hold of Grayson and the heart. And if that happened, Eloise would have control over a reanimated Viktor, but the spells he’d cast on people would remain.

Everything had taken on a sharp and surreal appearance, and a flash of what Eloise might do to Grayson had prompted me. And Dash? Dash’s attack on Viktor came from nowhere, and when I ran at Eloise, I hadn’t fully registered his actions.

Honestly, I’m surprised I’m here and uninjured. Eloise once spent time in my mind helping me, and I had a migraine from hell for the rest of the day. Imagine what she could do to my mind if she weren’t helping. I drag a hand through my hair, as fear punches me in the chest. And when Dorian discovers…?

“I sense you’re anxious, Leif,” says Violet as we tread across the pebbles between the lodge and boat shed.

“Uh. Yeah. I’m in a shit load of trouble with your parents. Your powerful, pissed off parents.” I reach out to pull a stick from her tangled hair. “What next? After searching for the suitcases, I mean.”

She pauses and turns back. “I must find Grayson.”

My jaw slackens. “You’d hand him to your father?”

For the first time ever, anger toward me flashes in Violet’s eyes and I edge backward. “You believe I would do that?”

“No. I— I’m panicked. Confused.”

Her lips go thin. “I must find Grayson to protect him. Dorian now has an excuse to remove a member of the Petrescu line—the one who threatens my father because he desires my hybrid blood.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Have an excuse? Yes. Grayson prevented Eloise’s attempt to reanimate Viktor, which is enough of an excuse in Dorian’s mind.”

“No. Grayson doesn’t want your blood.”

Violet remains silent for a moment. “Then you understand little about hemia, Petrescus, and the nature of mine and Grayson’s relationship.”

“Oh, I know about that.” I half-smile. “But the blood, no.”

Violet’s expression doesn’t change. “Grayson has not touched my blood.”

Their relationship? She remains silent on Grayson’s decision to alert somebody about her meeting with Viktor. Or that Grayson included Eloise in the situation. How will Violet react when she sees Grayson again? He betrayed what we agreed, but also made the move we all wanted: protect Violet from Viktor.

In the end, we backed Grayson on a decision that love drove us all to. We joined Grayson rather than stop him following.

Violet hasn’t reacted as I thought, apart from one response shortly after Eloise left: “I should’ve expected you to do this.”

Beneath the betrayal, does she understand we made the right move in following her?

At least she’s talking about protecting Grayson.

We approach the boat shed, a flat-roofed steel structure at the edge of the trees, and Violet takes hold of the large padlock attached to a rusted chain looped through the door handles. The metal breaks as easily as a delicate necklace as Violet tugs. Without any effort or help from me, Violet pushes one of the two doors to one side.

“Don’t be concerned. I shall protect you too. All of you.”

“Against your family? How can we hide from them?”

“You can hide. The shifters want you.”

Did I hear her correctly? “What did you just say?”

“That the shifter elders want you. Therefore, you can safely stay there if the need arises. Dorian is careful not to interfere in shifter business.”

As Violet clambers onto the small white boat we once hid Kai in, I gawk at her, betrayal and anger threatening to escape.

“How the fuck can you say that when you know how frightened I am of that society swallowing me? I might never leave again—or worse.”

Violet pauses and watches me inscrutably before climbing back out of the boat. Even the girl who struggles to read body language must notice I’m upset.

She places a soft hand on my cheek. “Then we find another plan. Leif. I will not allow any harm to come to you. I understand you’re emotional after this morning's events, but please do not jump to conclusions.”

“Sometimes I struggle to know when you’re serious.” I curl my fingers around hers. “Or when you’ve made a rash decision.”

“Rash decisions? Like yours?” she comments.

I look away. Yeah, like mine to shove Eloise.

The fishing boat is a decent size, but the blue and white paint faded and not as fancy as I’d expect from the Sawyers. Maybe they have a better one elsewhere, since the yacht I picture would never fit inside the shed. At a place overseas? People like the Sawyers always have vacation homes more prestigious than this ‘little’ weekend place.

“Why hasn’t Sawyer repaired the lodge?” I ask Violet.

“I presume he doesn’t want anybody to ask questions about the damage. Now. Suitcases.”

Sarah couldn’t hide a travel bag in the boat’s cramped seating area, never mind a suitcase, which Violet confirms with a grumble. I turn full circle to examine the rest of the boat shed. Fishing rods and equipment hang from a bronze rack nailed to one wall, and there’s a small metal cupboard at the opposite end, on top of the concrete floor. Violet opens that as effortlessly as she did when she broke the padlock and finds nothing but half-empty paint tins and various brushes and tools.

A beige tarpaulin covers items toward the rear of the shed, beneath the rack. A bicycle wheel pokes from the lefthand side, but the outline shows more hidden beneath. I pull at one corner and the tarpaulin falls away revealing three bicycles—two adults and one child stacked together.

And suitcases.

“Vi—”

But she’s kneeling in front of them before I can finish. Wiping her hands on her legs, she stares before grabbing the nearest. I stand over Violet’s shoulder as she not-so-gently unzips the leopard-print, wheeled case and opens it.

Clothes. Violet wrinkles her nose and dives into them, pulling out pants and shirts. I kneel beside her and grab them before they land on the dirty floor. “Be careful.”

“Nothing here.”

Violet take the clothes from my lap and stuffs them back inside the case before pushing that one away and taking hold of a matching, larger case. Again, clothes fly from the case as Violet roots through.

“We’ll need to put the clothes back neatly,” I tell her. “Sarah might come back for the suitcases.”

She stares at me, a black tote bag from the case in her hand. “We don’t have time.”

With a sigh, I fold a pair of pants and begin re-organizing the first rifled case. Violet dumps the tote bag on the ground. “Anything in there?”

“No. Bottles of human potions.” She holds up a face cream, face pissed.

“Anything in the pocket inside the suitcase?”

Violet unzips the compartment and pushes her hand inside, and her taciturn expression doesn’t change. “Empty. Where did Sarah hide everything?”

“Here?” I suggest.

“Leif. The suitcases are empty of evidence.” She snatches a third case, this one packed with hair styling implements, another make-up tote, and underwear. I take a sharp breath as Violet shakes the suitcase upside down, sending everything across the floor.

“Violet!”

“There’s nothing here!” she half-shouts, standing and folding her hands beneath her arms. “Kai told us Sarah snuck away with suitcases and returned empty-handed. These suitcases.”

I watch Violet warily as I gather the discarded belongings. “Nobody knows what Sarah packed. Maybe she planned a vacation.”

“A vacation? To the lodge? And why hide the cases if they only contain clothes?” Violet spins around. “Kai told us the mysterious box in Sarah’s wardrobe went missing the same day.”

Do I touch Violet, or will her anger fly out and hit me? Because her self-control is loosening as something else in her day isn’t what she expected. The lodge was the closest and most logical place to bunker down and decide on our next move, but Violet had an ulterior motive.

She brought us here to look for the suitcases and evidence.

“Sarah could’ve removed things from the cases and hidden them elsewhere?” I suggest.

“Then why would she need to hide the cases if they no longer contain important items?” Violet huffs. “This makes no sense. I dislike when things make no sense.”

“Still, we could take a good look around the lodge at a different time?” I suggest. “We can’t hang around here for long. It’s great that we’re isolated at the lodge, but also not great.”

“Why?”

“What if Viktor’s accomplices hid nearby and saw everything? They might look for us.”

Violet throws the tarpaulin back over the bicycles and suitcases. “If these accomplices exist and witnessed Viktor die at our hands, they’d lack sense if they followed us.”

I don’t want to tell her the other theory—if these people exist and didn’t pursue us, they could’ve followed Dash or Grayson.

4

VIOLET

Why? Why is today such a disaster? I had everything in hand and would’ve ended Viktor swiftly and discreetly if Holly hadn’t inserted herself into the situation. I’ve repeated this to the guys several times, and Rowan bravely suggested that I’d deluded myself that I’d succeed alone.

I’m unsure what would’ve happened to Dashiell if the shifter and I had met Viktor alone. Holly saved Dashiell’s life by joining us, and then he saved hers, because I was prepared to hand him over. At the time, I blamed him for Holly’s deteriorating state as much as I did Viktor, but now I see Dashiell for the pawn he is.

Dashiell fortunately survived, and his unknown past tells me he’s someone who’s accustomed to escaping from people. The shifter isn’t my concern. He can go. Viktor died. Holly survived. Problem solved.

Who am I fooling? We’re now faced with an unsurmountable problem.

Admittedly, I’ve waited at the lodge for Grayson. He never replied to my message, but I informed him we’re all here and safe. No reply, but I received a welcome message from my mother confirming she’s attended to the body problem. Fortunately, nothing from my father, which means Eloise kept her word and didn’t tell Dorian immediately.

Nobody knows where we are, but Leif is correct—the four of us can’t stay here for long.

Decisions must be made, including how long to wait for Grayson. I’ve left ample time for him to join us and the unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach grows with the passing hours.

No. Grayson is fine. He’s hiding, that’s all.

One saving grace from today’s disasters would’ve been locating Sarah Sawyer’s hidden evidence, but that now appears non-existent. Why hide suitcases filled with mundane human items? The suitcases in the boat shed match the number and description Kai gave me.

Either Sarah never took the box or documents to the lodge, or she’s adept at hiding things. If she’s the person who hid the tiara and other items inside the factory warehouse, the latter is a possibility. If I discover evidence that could aid Dorian, he may react better to news of Viktor’s demise. Instead, I have empty hands.

I haven’t searched every inch of the place, but I shall at the first opportunity. My current focus must be Holly.

Mind whirling with possibilities, I return to the lodge with Leif. Holly and Rowan discovered food in the cupboards and sit in the lounge with cookies and chips. When Leif walks in behind me, he wastes no time in acquiring his own share.

As I pass the armchair that Holly sits in, she offers me a cookie, and I shake my head.

“Rowan explained more about what’s happening. What do you plan to do, Violet?” 

“Avoid Dorian and find information that may appease him. Hence, I’m searching for evidence.”

“The suitcases that Mrs. Sawyer brought to the lodge? Did you find them?”

I narrow my eyes at Rowan. Exactly how much did he tell Holly? “Have your parents contacted you?” I ask her.

“No. Too soon. It’s only eight, and I’m supposedly still in Scotland.”

“Which means Dorian hasn’t told them anything,” says Leif through a mouthful of chips.

“My father was never forthcoming when speaking to the pair.”

“You mean he hasn’t told Mum and Dad that I’m missing for the second time?” Holly bites her cookie.

“If it’s early, Dorian might not have noticed you’re missing yet,” Leif suggests.

“Doesn’t matter what Dorian does or what my parents think. I’m not going home, Violet.”

I suck my lips together and glance at Rowan who shrugs. I must remove Holly from any more involvement in this… everything, but that’s impossible. Somebody targeted Holly once, and that could occur again—especially when those connected to Viktor discover his demise.

“Violet’s definitely not going home,” says Leif with a half-laugh, and I am not the only one who glares at his words.

“Holly does have a point. Where do we go?” asks Rowan.

“Go? Back to Thornwood, of course.”

Silence hits the room as they gawk at me.

“You’re kidding right?” asks Leif eventually.

“Am I one to ‘kid?’ We will return to the academy and continue as normal while we pursue investigations locally.” I flourish a hand. “Including investigations within the academy.”

“Dorian will find you!” protests Rowan. “Us. Once Eloise tells your father what happened, he’ll… hell, I don’t want to think about what would happen.”

“And do you believe Dorian won’t find us if we become fugitives?” I retort. “And how useless would we be if we left the area? I must find answers, and some could still exist inside this lodge! I’ve looked, but not everywhere yet, and⁠—”

“Bloody hell, Violet,” says Rowan. “Is that the whole reason we came here? Not to hide?”

“Partially. But also because Dorian never once visited the lodge therefore can’t use blood runes. He would take time to arrive.” I pat my pocket. “Eloise contacted me to explain a human came across Viktor’s body, but that nobody knows who he is apart from us. That includes Dorian. However, you’re correct that Dorian will search for Holly and Dashiell. The academy is our best option to avoid an unpleasant and painful meeting with him.”

“Wow,” mutters Rowan.

“If you don’t agree with my decision, where do you propose that we go?” I ask him, and he looks at me blankly. “Precisely. I’d like whoever is causing issues at the academy to witness our normal behavior, including Holly returning unharmed. The individual may slip up and show the wrong reaction to that. A telling one.”

“When?” asks Leif wearily.

“This afternoon?” I suggest. Again, they stare at me. “Don’t forget that we must also reside at the academy during the full moon.”

This time Rowan mutters something beneath his breath.

I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “Our fate is unavoidable; therefore, we control as much of that future as we can.”

“What fate are you talking about?” asks Leif. “The one at Dorian’s hands?”

“Nobody will die by Dorian’s hand,” I inform them. Holly squeaks in that odd way she does when something distresses her. “Not one of you, anyway.”

But Grayson? What does his future hold? Acid fills my mouth. Does he have one?

5

VIOLET

Although we’re not wearing bloodied clothes, we’re shabby and dirty as we sneak back into the academy early afternoon. Most students and teachers are in lessons, but we can’t avoid informing Mrs. Lorcan about our return and must do so before others see us. Holly’s reappearance will certainly cause some waves through the student masses, and I’m concerned whether Holly is physically and mentally well enough to face the social melee.

Therefore, Holly and I must face Mrs. Lorcan in our current state before we encounter students, while Rowan and Leif sneak back to their rooms to clean up. People may’ve missed their short absence, but if all four of us descend on Mrs. Lorcan’s office, she’ll ask questions.

Not that we’ll avoid them now.

One positive aspect? Mrs. Lorcan dislikes Dorian’s involvement in the academy and is unlikely to contact him straightaway.

I hope.

Exhaustion rims Holly’s eyes with dark circles, but it’s the dullness that’s returned to them that concerns me. 

“How are your injuries?” I ask as we make our way along the hallway toward Mrs. Lorcan’s office.

“Physical or mental?” She side-glances at me.

“Physical. Must I prevent people from touching you now?”

Holly wrinkles her nose as we wander into the quiet administration area. “I’m sore and my head hurts from… earlier. Such a shame you don't have healing abilities.”

“To go along with the death-dealing ones?” I ask.

She pulls a face. “What if Mrs. Lorcan calls my parents straightaway?”

“That is a risk we must take. If you don’t want to leave the academy, your mother and father would be unwise to forcibly remove you.”

“Mmm.” Holly chews on a fingernail revealed by a missing artificial one.

The first day I saw one of Holly’s nails fall off, I panicked, positive she’d bleed and pass out—until Holly explained the human desire to wear fake nails.

Humans spend a lot of time faking. 

Holly suggested I ‘try them out,’ as she often does when attempting to embrace me into her world, but I explained the false attachments would fall off if something triggered my vampire half, when my real nails become claw-like.

Holly never asked again.

I’d held concern that Mrs. Lorcan might not be in her office, but as we round the corner toward the administration area, she’s standing in her open doorway, watching a man and woman walk away. Teachers? They’re out of sight before I catch a closer look.

Is the headmistress, in her houndstooth skirt suit and pinned-up hair, part of a plot to destabilize the academy? Or is the witch with the warmth she bestows on almost all but me merely a victim of outside forces? She dislikes my father, but she is at pains to maintain the harmony that’s rapidly evaporating from the student houses and academy.

Mrs. Lorcan stares as we approach, for once fixated on my friend more than me. “Holly?”

“We would like to speak with you, Mrs. Lorcan,” I say, and pointedly look at the retreating couple. “If you’re free now.”

We exchange one of our unwavering, equally inscrutable looks before the headmistress’s attention returns to Holly.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you at the academy this morning, Holly. Or at all.”

“Holly and I made a snap decision to return from Scotland,” I say, gesturing into her office. “Shall we?”

As I walk into the room, Mrs. Lorcan hurries past me, toward her messy desk. She sweeps papers into a pile and places a small, burgundy bound book into a desk drawer. I catch a glimpse of a silver object inside before she hastily closes it. No key, although her fingers rest against the bronze handle for a few moments.

Sealing spell?

Intriguing.

I turn my attention to the intricate gray gargoyles above her unlit fireplace rather than risk her noticing my scrutiny. Holly sidles in beside me, and Mrs. Lorcan closes the door.

“A student informed me that you were in Scotland with Violet's family for recuperation, Holly. Although I’ve no idea how that place and its horrific past could recuperate anybody.”

“Correct. But we had an altercation with my father and left,” I say.

“An altercation?” She studies me. “One that involved lying in the dirt? The pair of you are covered in muck.”

“A misguided blood rune spell,” I reply with a tight smile. “We emerged in the woods and not Thornwood campus.”

Mrs. Lorcan scoffs. “A mistake? By you? Surely not.”

“We can all make errors of judgement, Mrs. Lorcan.”

She glares. “Your three male companions missed class today. A coincidence?”

“Grayson often misses class.” I swallow down the panic at the thought of him. “As for Leif and Rowan, I am not responsible for their whereabouts. None of them joined us in Scotland; Dorian doesn’t like my male associates.”

“Hmm.” She pivots to face Holly. “Do your parents know where you are now?”

“No,” she says softly. “But I expect Dorian will tell them that I left his estate.”

“And inform your parents that you’re missing from his promised protection? Unlikely. That would involve admitting weakness and failure.” Mrs. Lorcan shakes her head. “Sorry, Holly, but I can’t afford to cause issues between the academy and humans; we have too many students leaving. I must communicate to your parents where you are.”

“No!” Holly clears her throat. “Please. I want to stay at the academy with my friends and have my life return to normal.”

“I don't want more attention on Thornwood than there already is,” she replies. 

“Such as the full moon rumors?” I ask and the headmistress looks at me sharply. “What steps are you taking?”

For a moment, Mrs. Lorcan doesn’t reply, our gazes locked. “I believe your father plans extra security measures around the academy on that night. Should I expect his arrival soon, especially considering Holly’s return?”

“I hope not,” I say with honesty. “Dorian might remove me from Thornwood. He’s of the opinion that the academy isn’t the right environment for me. I hold grave concerns that I may be forced into another human high school.”

“A normal school may be the best place for you, Holly,” says Mrs. Lorcan.

“Not until we uncover those responsible for the attack,” I say.

“But wasn’t the shifter involved in the attack on Holly caught?” Mrs. Lorcan frowns. “Therefore, Holly would be safe.”

I suck my lips together and will Holly not to mention Dashiell. “Yes, but there’s the possible connection between the attack on Holly, and Wesley Willis’s death. Whatever the humans say, I don’t believe we’ve located all the culprits.”

The room takes on an eerie silence, and Mrs. Lorcan glances at the seat Mr. Willis once occupied. I itch to creep into her mind and uncover her thoughts on the matter. The woman shares my skill in pulling on a neutral face when needed, but wouldn’t a sorrowful look be more appropriate?

“Can I stay at the academy for one night?” interrupts Holly. “Don’t tell my parents that I’m here until tomorrow. Dad would leave straightaway to collect me, and we live six hours away. He can’t drive in the dark.”

“Does his car not have headlights?” I ask.

“No. In the dark. What if something happens on a lonely road? A supernatural attack?” I fight a smile at Holly’s borderline theatrics. “And I haven’t seen my friends for days. Let me spend one evening with them? Please.” She pauses. “I’d cause suspicion if I disappeared from campus straightaway.”

“Why? Do other students know you're back?” asks Mrs. Lorcan.

“Nothing remains a secret at this academy for long. Well. Apart from well concealed ones,” I say to her. Another withering look at my pointed comment. “And I agree that Holly should remain for a night rather than call her parents straightaway.”

“Please,” urges Holly.

“Unless there’s a reason you’d rather she didn’t?” I suggest. “I personally don’t think it’s correct for you to send Holly unprotected into the human world. If anything were to happen⁠—”

Mrs. Lorcan inhales and walks stiffly to the door. “One night. But if Violet's father discovers⁠—”

“Unlikely,” I interrupt. “He has more important things to worry about than an insignificant human.”

“Insignificant?” Mrs. Lorcan straightens. “There’s nothing insignificant about Holly.”

Aha. “What do you mean?”

“That every human at this academy is significant, Violet.” She turns the door handle. “And I’m sure that Holly is especially significant to you considering the help she’s given you.”

“Help?”

“Her assistance with integrating with your peers.” She pauses. “Or attempts to. Holly, please return to my room at nine a.m. tomorrow, and we shall contact your parents together.”

“And Dorian?” I ask as Mrs. Lorcan opens the door. “Will you speak to him today?”

“For once, we’re in agreement, Violet.” She waves a hand to usher us out. “I don’t require or desire Dorian Blackwood’s interference in the academy and my decisions. He’ll arrive in his own time, and soon, but not due to my contacting him.”

I nod as I pass Mrs. Lorcan, Holly breathing her thanks to the headmistress as she follows. The door clicks closed behind us, and I pause. “Mrs. Lorcan is hiding something,” I say quietly.

“Yes. She definitely has secrets.” Holly pulls at my hand. “I need a shower and clean clothes. Come on.”

My eyes remain fixed on the door. “No. Mrs. Lorcan is hiding something. In that room.”

6

VIOLET

Holly naps in preparation for revealing her presence to the wider academy, lying silently on the bed, hugging a round, squishy pig cushion to her chest. After checking with Leif and Rowan about whether anybody has contacted or questioned them—they haven’t—I sit in silence and stare at my phone, willing a message to appear from Grayson.

He still hasn't replied, and I’ve sent several. Does Grayson believe Dorian may be monitoring my phone? I explained in my last message that we’ve returned to the academy and what’s happening, but the longer without a reply, the tighter the knot in my stomach pulls.

Grayson is safe. He’s hiding. He’ll contact me soon.

At least focusing on Holly distracts me.

We’ve barely set foot outside of Darwin House before a group of human girls crossing from the academy pause then rush toward us.

“Holly!”

Oh, how wonderful: Isabella, Sarah, and Annie.

I back off, as much to remove myself from the shrieking as to allow their reunion, and Isabella eyes me with suspicion. Their secret enterprise may be over, but Isabella remains friendly with Marci, so the witch will soon know about Holly’s return. Although, judging by the volume of the girls’ voices, the whole academy will be aware in minutes.

Holly resists hugs due to her chest injury, which causes gasps and whispers, the girls asking what happened, sending scathing looks my way as they do. Annie loudly fills Holly in on mysterious and dangerous supernatural events at the academy—rumors Holly already knows about from me and the guys. Annie promises to find Holly a brooch talisman, and Isabella side-glances me before apologizing that she’s unable to locate anymore.

The trio surround Holly and sweep her away, back toward the academy as if carrying her away from me on a wave. Not happening. Holly will not leave my sight. Not today. I follow, carefully noting each girl’s behavior and subtly picking up thoughts. None have any that would arouse suspicion, merely a combination of excitement that they found Holly first and can share everything their friend told them with others, and less pleasant ones about me. As usual.

I stalk them until we’re inside the building, where Rowan waits outside the cafe, using his phone to avoid looking at people, who mostly pay no attention to him anyway. The girls continue carrying Holly on their wave of enthusiasm as they enter the cafeteria.

I approach Rowan, and he straightens, eyes going wide as soon as he sees me. “Alright?”

“Since you texted me five minutes ago? Yes. Where’s Leif?”

Rowan pulls a face at my comment. “With Dane and Logan. Gaming.”

“I’ve noticed Leif enters an imaginary world when he can’t deal with this one.” I glance around at said world. “We should check in on him later.”

“And Holly?” Rowan gestures at the cafeteria. “Is she okay?”

“Holly claims that she’s fine following her short rest, but that’s highly unlikely considering this morning’s experiences, and her injuries.” 

“But she’s okay currently?”

“Holly thrives on the company of others and secretly enjoys the attention.” I look to the cafeteria too, where more humans crowd around the dark wooden tables, some holding coffee cups. “The girl is an honorary pneuma vamp—she draws people to her.”

“Or a shifter.”

I slant my head. “Although I theorized that Holly could be a golden retriever shifter on my first day, that proved untrue. Why do you say she is?”

“Dashiell. Their weird bond.”

“Incorrect. I’d be aware if Holly contained shifter blood.”

Rowan shrugs. “Just saying. There’re families with diluted shifter blood, like there’re humans who’ve inherited weak magic. Not all supes avoided humans. Look at Leif. He’s half-shifter.”

Holly? A shifter? The curly-haired girl carries no shifter traits compared to Leif whose size and amber eyes are a giveaway. Rowan’s theory is incorrect; Viktor’s spell created the connection between the pair. But a sliver of doubt remains—Viktor hinted that no spell of his influenced Dashiell’s attachment to Holly, yet the shifter risked his life for the girl.

Was Dashiell’s action prompted by a spell created by a different witch, or by guilt? I know myself that this particular emotion causes unsafe choices.

Marci approaches Holly but stays at the edge of the group. Isabella and Annie don’t pay attention to the witch, either distracted by Holly or deliberately ignoring her. Hmm. Perhaps not as friendly as I presumed. I scrutinize Marci’s face. Is she surprised to see Holly? Happy? Impossible to tell; the girl can be as sullen as me when inclined.

Lowering my voice, I explain to Rowan what occurred at our meeting with the headmistress.

“I’m surprised Mrs. Lorcan didn’t call Dorian straightaway.”

“I’m not.”

“Or her parents.”

“Like I said, she has the persuasive skills of a pneuma vamp, and the headmistress has a soft spot for Holly.” I glance at the girls again. “I’ve an inkling the headmistress won’t want to tell Dorian that she let Holly out of supernatural supervision by returning the girl to the human world. Or Mrs. Lorcan wants to keep an eye on me, so doesn’t want me to leave if Holly does.”

“And I suppose you want to spend tonight breaking into Mrs. Lorcan's office?” he says quietly, an air of defeat around him.

“Tonight? Much as I wish to, it’s imperative that I watch Holly and her friends this evening. This requires partaking in her social activities. I’ve lost one person I care about today, and the one over there can’t defend herself. What if Holly attempts to leave the academy to search for Dashiell and her asking to stay here is a ruse?”

“And what social activities must you partake in?” mimics Rowan. “A girl’s night?”

“No. An impromptu celebration for her return.” I gesture. “The group are discussing this now.”

“A party?” Rowan snorts a laugh. “Fun.”

I tune in to the girls’ continued conversation. “Darwin students only. Leif shall accompany me.”

“Watch him if there’s alcohol. He’s likely to drink a lot in his current state of mind.” Rowan pauses, raking a hand through his hair.

“I recognize that gesture. Are you concerned about my attendance at the party or Leif’s upcoming intoxication? Disappointed you can’t attend?”

“No.” Another pause before he cautiously asks, “Any message or call from Grayson?”

“Grayson will contact us as soon as he can.”

I tighten my mouth. While Holly slept, I concocted a series of plans to prevent anybody from discovering the identity of the town’s latest murder victim.

I’ve settled on an option, and not one I’d like to share just yet.

7

VIOLET

I strive to switch Holly’s plans to a peaceful evening following the appalling things she suffered today, going so far as to suggest that we watch a movie of her choice. Instead, I’m forced to attend the impromptu celebration for Holly’s return. I suppose there’ll be benefits. As with the last party, I attended, this event is an ideal excuse for surveillance of the humans. What are the current rumors? Plans? Status of relationships between human and supernatural students?

If the humans restricted their invitations to Darwin students, something remains amiss amongst student houses, and specifics would help me. My residence at Darwin House allows me entry, but a begrudging one. Fortunately, Leif remains classified as human, despite recent questions over his loyalties, and leaves his gaming behind once he hears about the party.

So, I accept my fate.

The celebration takes place in the common room, a rather brave move since alcohol isn’t allowed on academy grounds. Still, at least the night doesn’t involve a trip into town, which would make watching Holly harder. As usual, I’m ignored, or glared at, by humans—something I reciprocate.

I rarely visit the common room, presumably named so because humans are unexceptional. Those who normally sit on the broken sofas or create bad-tasting coffee and bland food in the attached kitchen are particularly ordinary. Tonight, the room fills with popular students, and the common ones are missing.

I skulk in the corner of the room, positioned to watch those who arrive and depart, ensuring Holly is always in full view. As there’re no witches present, Chase isn’t here, a name Holly hasn’t mentioned since we returned. Is she aware of his infidelity or does she simply no longer care due to Dashiell?

The students disguised the alcohol they bought by mixing liquor with sodas and juices. They can’t hide the growing inebriation not normally caused by Coca-Cola or orange juice. Leif, beside me, is no exception. He nudges me as I note the names of all attendees on my phone.

“Put that away, Violet.”

I purse my lips at him, and he proffers his red plastic cup. “No, thank you.”

“What are you doing?” He gestures at the phone.

“Surveillance. Note taking. You won’t be helpful tonight if you drink too much alcohol, Leif.”

Leif shrugs and gulps the remains of his drink. “You sure you don’t want one?” He waves the cup at me.

“I don’t drink alcohol.” Another shrug. “What is wrong with you?”

Leif laughs loudly enough to attract attention from the group circled on the floor nearby. “Is that a serious question?”

“Granted, there are several answers, but what specifically prompted the decision not to monitor your alcohol consumption.”

Leif looks down at me, his figure blocking my view of Holly. Earlier, he stood with his gaming friends, but noticeably on the edge and not speaking. Only after drinking several full red cups did his stance relax and he stopped looking around the room, paying more attention to the conversation.

I watched the group too, struck once more at how out of place Leif looks due to his height and build, despite sharing their age. Logan is athletic and enjoys the added attention due to his physique, but the other guys are boys compared to Leif. In my early days at the academy, girls spent more time around Leif than in recent weeks, no doubt due to the physical attractiveness it took me some time to register.

Yet there’s something about Leif that causes him to blend in when he shouldn’t—apart from when wearing the ill-fitting academy uniform. He doesn’t hold himself as tall and confident as some of his peers, his quiet and gentle nature pushing him into the background. A discomfort in his own skin and quiet introspectiveness adds to this, and that’s more apparent these days.

My fault for separating him from his human life and drawing him further into the supernatural?

Leif smells of alcohol, his eyes unfocused, and he doesn’t stand close to me. Unusual. He’s tactile, often touching my face or hair, or wishing to hug.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks. “It freaks me out when you stare and don’t blink.”

“I’m concerned about you. We should speak about today’s events. You should also cease drinking.”

“Nope. It’s a party, Violet,” he says and wanders away before I can reply.

I frown after him, throw a warning look at the nearby group eavesdropping, then refocus on Holly. She may be my priority, but Leif is struggling. He needs me too, and my heart twinges as I watch him pour another drink and not return to me. Apparently alcohol can help him more right now.

Holly also consumed several cups of the potent mix. Fortunately, no males have approached her, and she’s wedged between Sara and Annie on a brown, threadbare sofa.

Careful listening to attendees’ conversations reveals there’re no rumors about new murders in town. Nobody reported Viktor’s death yet—not to anybody in contact with the academy, anyway.

A common room full of common people and not a clue in sight—or sound.

Eloise messaged again earlier that although she “dealt with the situation,” I should “prepare for questioning,” and I’m unsure if she means by Dorian or by my frequent visitors, the detectives. At least her updates reassure me that we have time to find a solution to the mess we’ve caused.

If I were loyal to my family, I’d search for Dashiell and Grayson, not attend a human party. I’d like to look for Grayson, but without any contact, I haven’t the faintest idea where to start. If he were close, I’d pick up Grayson’s presence, but I highly doubt he’ll approach the academy. Not yet.

Each time he flickers into my mind, my heart speeds and images of the time Grayson and Dorian stood face to face intrude. The hatred in my father’s eyes was directed at Grayson when he’d helped me; goodness knows what he’d do to him now. I must find Grayson before my father does.

Holly ends my distraction by unsteadily standing, gripping her phone. Annie rises too and supports Holly, fussing over my friend who attempts to walk in a straight line. Holly shakes her head and waves the phone at Annie before stumbling away. My brow pinches as she walks to a corner beneath a notice board, and furiously types at the impressive speed with which she composes messages on her phone.

I’m niggled by the thought that she’s communicating with Dashiell. No. He wouldn't be stupid enough to contact Holly straightaway. But then his behavior around the girl hasn’t involved wise decisions today.

“What really happened to Holly?” asks Annie, intercepting me from crossing to Holly.

I blink. “The facts were established by human and supernatural authorities, and widely reported.”

“Holly isn’t alright,” Annie replies.

“No, she’s half left, or she’d fall over.” A grinning Leif stands beside me, and he slurps from his cup. Annie responds with a haughty look.

Good grief. Now Leif is speaking in riddles.

“I wish to speak to Holly. Excuse me,” I say.

“You should stay away from her,” says Annie. “Both of you.”

“Holly chooses who to interact with.” I attempt to pass, and Isabella steps up to Annie’s side. Oh, joy. Another drunken, human obstacle. “Excuse me.”

She should marvel at my politeness but does not; neither does she move.

“What do you know about the full moon?” asks Isabella.

“The phenomenon occurs when our planet is positioned between the moon and the sun, causing the moon to appear fully illuminated from the Earth's perspective.”

“You know what I mean,” Isabella snaps. “What is your father doing to stop the shifter attack?”

Leif scoffs. “Shifters wouldn't attack campus. They keep away.”

“Apart from that werewolf!”

Good grief. “Dorian will ensure the tightest security.”

“But what if the attack comes from inside the academy?” Annie retorts. “From the ghosts.”

“The ghosts that aren’t ghosts,” adds Isabella.

“Oh?” I’m temporarily halted in my desire to see Holly. “You once seemed certain you’d seen ghosts. What is your new theory?”

“People plotting an attack! Annie saw them⁠—”

“Saw them?” I interrupt. “Where? When? What did these individuals look like?”

“They’re a secret coven.” Annie darts a look around her, voice barely a whisper. 

“They walk through the academy, into the attics, then disappear.”

I straighten. “And when was the last time you witnessed this occurrence?”

“Why should we tell you anything?” asks Isabella. “You could be involved and warn them.”

“Them? Yet you’ve just told me about sightings of this mysterious coven.” Isabella nudges Annie and mouths ‘dumbass’ to her. Alcohol does aid in my investigations, after all. “I shall pass the information to my father.”

Once I’m brave enough to speak with him.

For now, I shall inform Eloise, and ensure I investigate the academy more thoroughly. Once I’ve attended to my other, more pressing issue.

“Excuse me,” I say again. Neither girl responds. Why do the guys and Holly insist that politeness is the way to gain cooperation when clearly it is not? Baring my teeth, I add, “Move.”

The girls immediately back off at my half-snarled word, and Leif chuckles.

Holly no longer stands beneath the noticeboard.

I survey the room, turning full circle to re-count the attendees and inspect the groups for any other missing partygoers. There’re two more males in the room, but one less person. Female. My friend.

“Where’s Holly?” I ask sharply. “Leif. Did you see her leave?”

His alcohol-awash eyes meet mine. “Wasn’t watching.”

I bite back replying, “why not?” but I’ve already concluded why Leif’s psychological and physical state confirm his uselessness to my investigations. “Help me find Holly, Leif.”

8

VIOLET

I barge through the common room, not using ‘excuse me,’ and ignore the individuals who swear at me as I knock them hard when I pass. The hallway between the stairs to the building exit and the rooms is empty apart from a couple sitting on the floor. I’d ask if they’ve seen anybody but since their mouths are locked together, the question would be futile.

I took my potion as soon as I returned, and wish I’d waited. Without the concoction in my blood, I would’ve sensed Holly’s own blood. Annoyed at Holly absconding, I pull out my phone and text her.

Where did you go?

Holly answers immediately.

I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.

Don’t worry. Don’t worry? Air hisses through my teeth. ‘Back soon’ means Holly didn’t return to her room. If she left the building, firstly, Holly is stupider than I thought, and, secondly, forgets that I move several times faster than she does.

“What if the spell affected Holly and she’s unwell?” I ask Leif beside me. “What if Viktor’s death changed nothing?”

“Are you saying I might still be cursed too?” asks Leif.

“A witch never cursed you,” I say. “He or she merely cast a spell well-rooted in your brain.”

Leif snorts. “Thanks for the concern.”

His manner becomes odder. I’ve witnessed the guys drinking alcohol in the past, but never in such quantities. Whatever mixture Leif drank tonight forces him to rest his back against the wall to remain upright.

“Stay here in case Holly returns.” I sigh at him. “And don’t fall over; you may injure yourself. Send a message to Rowan in case she heads to Pendle House to find Marci or Chase.”

Without awaiting a response, I take off at speed, almost flying down the wide flight of stairs to the exit. The door slams closed behind me, and I pause focusing everything on the surroundings.

Perhaps Holly needed air? That happened once before when Holly drank too much.

Voices from across the campus reach my ears, one female. Holly? I blur in the direction of the sounds: the greenhouse. Rowan teased me the night he returned Holly’s pink coat—at risk to his personal safety—and I’ve since become aware what he hinted at. Couples visit the space between the sheds and greenhouse for intimate rendezvous.

Is Holly meeting Chase? Perhaps he exchanged the messages with her and requested a reunion? If true, that tempers my annoyance with Holly for sneaking from the party, as it would indicate her obsession with Dashiell broke with Viktor’s death.

Yet that does not excuse her stupidity in walking onto campus at night when we’re perfectly aware danger may lurk in any direction.

My stomach flips as I pick up a different, familiar scent to Holly.

No.

Rounding the corner to the space where couples meet, I halt and stare at my friend. She is indeed with somebody, but not Chase. This area may be shrouded in too much darkness for witches’ and humans’ weaker night vision, but I can clearly see the guy who’s as large as Leif holding both of Holly’s hands as they speak.

“Good grief! Are you insane?” I ask Dashiell.

“Violet!” Holly turns and stands between us, her figure barely obscuring any of him.

“Holly.” I press my lips together. “Did the pair of you not consider that I would follow Holly’s every move tonight? Are you not concerned that I may take Dashiell again?”

“You wouldn’t.” Holly’s words don’t come with a shocked tone but are instead firm and filled with certainty. “Violet, you have to agree that Dash is a good person now. Dash saved my life!” Her cheeks glisten from streaked tears.

“Then why are you crying? Good people don’t make others cry. I can sense your distress.”

Holly sucks in a breath and shakes her head.

“I only came here tonight to say goodbye to Holly,” says Dashiell softly. “I won’t be back again, and I might not get another chance to see her.” Another strangled noise from my friend. “I can’t hide forever; someone will find and kill me. I just don’t know which side.”

“Side?” I frown.

“Either your father or Viktor’s friends,” says Holly. “Violet, can’t you help Dash?”

“In what manner? I can’t hide him, nor can I put a protective spell on the shifter.”

“Good, because I don’t want any more bloody magic involved in my life.” Dashiell turns Holly to face him. “You understand why I need to leave?”

“I’ll help you,” says Holly desperately and clings to his hands. “There must be somewhere you can go. Someone who’d protect you. Shifters always protect their own.”

Dashiell strokes Holly’s damp cheek with the back of his fingers. “Not when the shifter leaves the pack. I’ve looked after myself for a couple of years. There’re places I can go.”

“I want to come.”

“No!” I shout and grab Holly’s arm, this scene increasingly familiar and ridiculous.

“Don’t stress. I wouldn’t allow Holly to leave with me,” says Dashiell, eyes glinting in the dark. “Why would I save Holly from Viktor then drag her into more trouble? Risk Holly’s life again? No.”

“Dash.” Holly drags in a ragged breath. “Please. Don’t leave forever.”

I cross my arms, despair washing over me at her words. This isn’t one of her movies. “I don’t think Dashiell will leave you forever,” I mutter. “This ludicrous connection between you already brought Dashiell to the academy. A decision as nonsensical as when he approached the hospital the day after the attack that half-killed you.”

Dashiell says nothing, holding my look rather than Holly’s who stares up at him. “He evidently has your phone number, since you arranged this clandestine meeting. Stay in touch that way.” Phone. Messages. “Dashiell. Do you know where Grayson went?”

“No. Sorry. Is he missing?”

“Yes. Along with Viktor’s heart.” My mouth parches. Even though Dashiell’s scent diverged from Grayson’s in the woods, they could’ve met up. Helped each other.

“Fuck. Why did Grayson involve himself?” Dashiell drags a hand across the top of his head.

“Because if Grayson hadn't taken Viktor’s heart, Eloise would’ve used necromancy and reanimated Viktor,” says Holly in a small voice. “Then the spell on me wouldn’t break. Violet wanted Viktor to die, and Eloise didn’t agree.”

“Then where’s Viktor now? Did Eloise take him?”

“He’s on a slab in a human mortuary.” I wave a hand. “Dorian isn’t aware of Viktor’s death—don’t ask for details, Dashiell, I don’t have time to explain—but you have two days to get far away from us.”

Holly takes another sharp breath but doesn’t speak.

“Right. Nobody is looking for me yet?” he asks. “Well, nobody new.”

“Others commonly pursue you? Actually. Don’t answer. I’ve no need to hear your life history at present.”

“I know everything about Dash,” says Holly. “We spent a whole day together.”

“So, I heard. Dashiell. Leave. You once expressed the fear someone might see you in your unshifted form at the academy. Therefore, revisiting Thornwood in human form is absurd on many levels.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t say goodbye as a wolf or walk on campus and have dumb humans spot me again.” He huffs. “Violet. Can you leave us a minute so I can say goodbye to Holly?”

“Dashiell!” Holly’s voice rises. “Stay longer.”

“As Violet says, I’m not safe.”

I rest against the shed wall. “I am not leaving the pair of you alone. At this point, I’m inclined to believe that Holly will chase you, if you don’t take her.”

“I am not taking Holly,” he half-shouts. “But how difficult do you think it is to leave the girl I want to protect? The one I’d give my life for? I probably will die for what I did!”

“Please do not speak like that in front of Holly!” I retort. “Suggesting your imminent demise will not assist her in coping with you leaving.”

“You will come back for me one day?” whispers Holly.

I bite my lip, as eager for Dashiell’s response as Holly is.

But instead of replying, he kisses her.

I lift my eyes to the stars. Good grief.

I can only hope that Dashiell told the truth and that he’ll stay away from Holly. But can he? Which also begs the question… can she?

9

GRAYSON

I remain in the same spot on the sofa until night falls over my fucked up life, and I stare into the blackening world outside the window. Should I leave? But I have no clue what’s happening or what could be waiting for me away from this isolation.

I’d toyed with the idea of heading back to the academy, if only to check if Violet returned or not. Maybe I’ll ‘do a Dashiell’ and sneak onto campus at night to find her. Yeah, I’m not that dumb—as if Grayson Petrescu caught roaming the academy at night would be any better than this situation.

Fucking useless phone. I toss the thing into the empty fireplace then startle at a chuckle behind me.

“Useful contraptions, until they don’t work.”

An invisible icy finger runs down my spine.

Josef.

I spring to my feet and turn to him. He isn’t dressed in his usual bespoke suit, and he’s alone, but the sight of his angular face and Petrescu green eyes trigger my mingled fear and hatred for this bastard.

He taps his lips and then gestures. “Whose blood is on your hands? Have you slipped up again, Grayson? Knew that I’d find you and decided not to play hide and seek?”

“No,” I say sharply. “I don’t have blood on my hands.”

“Mmm. Did nobody teach you to clean beneath your nails?”

He’s blocking the door. I take a steady breath and look to the window: that could be an escape route. “How did you know I was here?”

“Grayson, Grayson.” He steps around the sofa to swallow the space between us, and I brace myself for an assault. “I have eyes everywhere.” He pulls his phone from a pocket. “And ears. I received a call from Mr. Sawyer a few hours ago.”

“Shit. Is Kai okay? I didn't do anything to him,” I say quickly.

Josef’s lips tip at one corner as he slides his thumb across the phone screen. “Kai is unharmed. However, authorities keep his father up to date on… goings-on in town, and, in turn, Christopher informs me.”

Crap. “I bet he does.”

“Apparently, police found another body in the woods today. Male.” His unblinking gaze remains on me. “Attacked in a similar manner to the human girl from your academy, only this time the attacker took his heart.”

I suppress the images of this morning before Josef can drag them from my mind. “A human victim?”

“I’m unsure. Christopher doesn’t have all the information. Yet. There’s an issue with identifying the man since the killer lacerated his face too.” Josef slants his head, waiting for my reaction. “Would you know anything about this murder, Grayson?”

Lacerated face? Dash didn’t stick around long enough to injure him in that way, and Viktor’s features were intact when I slammed a hand through his ribs. Eloise?

“If the attack matched Holly’s, that’s a shifter’s handiwork. I don't spend time with shifters.”

“We shall wait for DNA results. Such useful progress the humans made over the years.” Josef slides his phone away. “Is the victim the witch from the warehouse?”

“Huh?” I blink at the sudden question.

“The one who survived on the night you made a mistake by betraying me. Did Adam Woodlake escape Dorian’s custody? I've certainly not heard from him since the night Viggo died. Such tragic events.” He waves a hand. “Not that I’m close with the witches any longer.”

Any longer? “I don't know who died, Josef.”

I back up as Josef steps closer, his nose almost touching mine. “I don’t like when you lie to me, Grayson.”

“I’m not.”

Josef strikes, fingers curling around my throat as he slams me against the wall, my head singing as it hits the drywall. I’ve avoided him longer than I expected but never thought he’d come to the cottage without a reason. Isn’t the bastard hiding from Dorian?

“And I never thought you’d come here, Grayson,” he spits, immediately in my face. “To risk returning to this place, you must fear someone else far more than you fear me. Dorian Blackwood?” His nose wrinkles. “I can’t smell his daughter’s blood mingled with yours. So, what upset the man?”

“I was born?” I suggest.

Josef sneers and yanks my head back by the hair. “Tell me who died, Grayson. That’s witch blood on your hands.”

“I don't know who the victim is,” I say, eyes watering as he pulls harder.

“How badly do you want me to hurt you?” he whispers in my ear, words he’s used before, many times. The phrase pulls me back through time, the automatic terror flooding my veins. “How badly do you want my protection from Dorian Blackwood?”

I suppress my derision. Josef still thinks he can take on Dorian and win? Even after the pair’s confrontation at Kai’s party, when Dorian easily subdued him?

Josef drops his hold on my hair, then he shoves me away from the wall. I stagger but manage to catch myself against the sofa. Before I can straighten, he’s in my face, gripping my jaw in a bruising hold, forcing my head back.

“I hear your thoughts, Grayson. How dare you look down on me.” His fingers dig into my skin. “You forget who you’re dealing with.”

He releases my jaw, only to deliver a sharp backhand across my face. Pain explodes along my cheekbone, and I taste blood. I barely have time to register the numbness before he grabs me again, his thumb pressing into the hollow of my throat, testing my pulse beneath his grip.

“Who is the dead witch, who killed him, and why is his blood on you? Did somebody threaten the Blackwood girl, and you lost your temper again?” I open my mouth, and he interrupts. “Yes, I know that you killed at witch at Sawyer’s lodge.”

How?

Josef’s behavior is heading in a direction that will end with me badly injured. I lunge, nails tearing into his face in a desperate attempt to knock him off guard and escape. A normal vampire might have flinched. Josef doesn’t. I may have Petrescu strength against others, but with Josef I may as well be a weak child fighting an adult. He slams his knee into my gut, knocking the wind from me. I stagger, choking, and Josef shoves me against the wall, fisting my collar, twisting the fabric, and cutting off oxygen. My vision wavers, dark dots creeping in as I struggle to stay upright.

Josef snatches my arm, fingers digging into my wrist, eyes meeting mine as he clicks his tongue. “You’re such a disappointment, Grayson Petrescu.”

Pain screams along my skin as his nails rake across the vein, deep enough that a sudden, slickness coats my skin. Blood surges from the wound, spilling over his hands, but he will not hear me cry in pain.

Josef is practiced at this, acting with speed, inflicting a cruel, shallow slice along the inside of my forearm. Just enough to keep the blood flowing but not enough to end things quickly. His technique. Allow me to bleed out, not die immediately.

“Anything to tell your uncle?” he asks.

I’m dizzy, weaker than ever, terrified he’ll slash at my throat next, but he takes my other arm and swiftly repeats the attack. I gasp for air as he lifts me by the neck, black eyes on mine. Last time he killed me, Josef ended by holding me still and watching as my veins emptied, his face the last thing I saw as I left the world. Blood runs along my arms to the floor, and the subservient terror ingrained in me rises.

Josef’s response is insane. He doesn’t care about witches. What the fuck is happening here?

“Happening? You know what I’m doing,” he says softly.

Killing me.

“Viktor,” I mumble. “Whitegrove.” 

Josef drops his hold, and I sink to the floor. He stares at me. “What did you say?”

“Viktor Whitegrove.” I hold fingers against the open vein on my wrist, concentrating on slowing my heart.

His mouth parts. “Ah. If Dorian is aware Viktor exists, that explains a recent mystery. I did wonder what would cause Dorian to redirect his men from their search for me.”

“You know Viktor?” I cough.

“Oh, yes. I knew Viktor. He earned me a lot of money over the years.” Josef takes a folded blue handkerchief from his pants pocket and wipes my blood from his hands. “How unfortunate that this income stream ended with his life.”

“Viktor worked for you?” I lick at my fingers and hold them over the deep gashes, healing saliva mingling with blood. The wound knits and blood loss slows, but my mind stays fuzzy. I’ve lost too much blood. Too quickly.

“No. I’ve never met the man. I suppose I never will now,” replies Josef.

“I don’t understand.”

Josef crouches down. “That’s your problem, Grayson. You don’t think.” I flinch as he jabs his forefinger into the center of my temples and holds it there. “You don't do as you're told.”

My jaw clenches. Like I’m a naughty little kid. 

Sighing, Josef stands, then wanders to the window, hands behind his back.

“I didn’t realize Viktor had involved himself with the rebel witch clique, even though I knew somebody with his level of skill must be involved. But murdered? Somebody wanted Viktor eliminated before he revealed too much to the Blackwood bastard.” Josef turns back. “Yet this is all very confusing. Who leaked the truth about Viktor Whitegrove’s identity? Who killed him? Dorian wouldn’t. Not yet.”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

He scoffs. “I suggest you tell me everything so that I know you're useful enough to me to keep you alive. I’ll protect you from Dorian, but only if you help me. I’ve asked you before to bring information. Let’s say you’ve a life or death choice now. A permanent one.”

“I—” The words won’t come as my voice chokes.

“I need to know who killed Viktor and why, and I need updating on what happens next. I have suspicions that if true will help me immensely.” He looms over me. “I’ll find the answers inside your head myself. Your choice. But you will remain here until you understand and agree to what I’m asking.”

I’m weaker, no longer able to block Josef from my mind. I slump back in a pool of my own blood. How can I hide the truth now?

10

VIOLET

Holly returned to our room after her prolonged farewell with Dashiell. She had no choice because I waited close by ready to intervene if she tried to abscond. I’d already explained in detail the pain that I’d inflict on Dashiell if he took my friend and endangered her life. Thus, I ensured he’d prevent Holly leaving with him.

I now have one extra reason why Holly must not leave the academy and why I’ll keep her under closer surveillance. If she’s unsupervised, Holly is likely to follow her obsession, Dashiell, and the pair will disappear into danger. Holly’s parents won’t be able to protect her from that or any supernatural intervention, and I simply can’t risk her life.

Fortunately, Holly wakes with the same determination to remain at Thornwood, and similarly I’ve no desire to return to Scotland until I bring Dorian some of the secrets that Viktor died with. Whether he knows about Viktor or not, he woke yesterday morning with three people missing from the estate, and he’ll track me down.

Oh, how things have changed since our argument about forced enrollment at Thornwood. But that’s precisely the point—if we take everything back step by step, I’d identify the root of the problem as my arrival here.

That exercise by Dorian in asserting paternal superiority over his daughter backfired spectacularly. I did not fit into the academy. Neither did I intend on planning anything but to leave. Yet, I learned that mixing with other supes, however inferior, revealed a commonality I never found at the human schools.

If I’ve changed, he started the process. The original murders were designed to implicate me and thus reveal ’what I am’ to the world—to expose their leader and his family for the vicious, out-of-control people we are. I’ve learned that I am not.

My reprieve from Dorian ends with a message from Eloise.

I stopped him yesterday but couldn't stop your father any longer. He's coming to the academy this morning to look for you

I blink at the message. I’m impressed she held him back until now.

Eloise adds to her message

he's unhappy that you took Dashiell and Holly. Is she safe?

we came straight to the academy after leaving Scotland

If I refer to any part of the murder in this message, and Dorian sees, his wrath will equal what Eloise described

good

My shoulders relax. Eloise kept her word and hasn't told Dorian. Yet.

Rowan and Leif were happy at my return

Grayson?

I haven't seen him

A pause that sends a prickle across my scalp.

That's unfortunate. I do hope you find him soon

As do I. Are you not accompanying Dorian to the academy?

Another pause.

I'm spending time with Ethan. We're away from Scotland for a couple of days

I breathe out relief. She’s away from Dorian along with the one of my fathers who doesn’t have the skills to read her state of mind.

I hope you enjoy your vacation

I will see you in two days. I hope you complete your assignments in time and good luck in explaining to your father why you allowed Dashiell to escape

Eloise isn’t talking about an academy assignment.

How long do I have before Eloise informs Dorian about everything? Or will the human authorities beat her to it by discovering Viktor is a witch? Because if his DNA isn’t human, authorities will head straight to my father.

Holly walks from the bathroom, towel drying her hair, and nods at my phone. “Who's the message from?”

“Eloise.”

Her body goes rigid. “What did she want?”

“Don't squeak. It irritates my ears.” Holly looks at me expectantly, face drained of color again. “Dorian is coming to the academy today.”

“Omigod.”

I cringe at the high pitch. “Eloise hasn’t told Dorian about the death. However, my father will want to know why we left Scotland and what happened to Dashiell. We should've expected this.”

“Please don’t leave me alone with him!”

“Oh, I imagine I’m the only person Dorian will want to see alone.”

“Or Grayson. Has he contacted you yet?” I shake my head, ignoring how tight my heart squeezes. “Do you think something happened to Grayson?”

I fix Holly with a steely glare. “No. He's hiding. That's all.”

Holly wanders across the room and takes her uniform from the wardrobe. “Grayson is sensible. When Dorian discovers that⁠—“

Another slicing look from me cuts her dead. “Why are you dressing in your uniform?”

“Because I'm staying, and my parents will need to drag me from this place if they want me to leave.” Her lips press together, determination in her eyes.

“As long as that isn't Dorian's plan.” I stand and tuck my phone into a blazer pocket. Or worse—a plan to invade Holly’s mind for answers.

Rowan and Leif's response to the news about Dorian’s imminent arrival matches Holly's, but in a less high-pitched way. I reassure them that Dorian believes that they never left the academy the night Holly and I absconded from Scotland, and that Eloise is allowing me time to fix the problem before Dorian discovers the truth. I've considered carefully and firmed up the direction that we will take to deal with the matter, and I’m expecting resistance from the guys once I share these options.

Especially the part involving Cornelius Whitegrove.

I've explained to Holly that if Dorian asks to meet her, and I detect his magic, I’ll use mine on her mind before Dorian has a chance. Holly’s eyes filled with tears, and unable to cope with anymore of my best friend's distress, I hastily marched her to Mrs. Lorcan's door. I will assist in persuading the woman to allow Holly to stay before my father catches me.

I sense two things through that door: my father's dark presence and Mrs. Lorcan's nervousness. The door swings open—no need to knock when my father instantly detects me too. As I give him a rare smile, the blond-haired man's elegant features cover in black anger that spreads to his darkening eyes. Holly hides behind me as, without a word, Dorian pulls the door open farther. I lift my head high to walk past him, Holly still edging along behind me.

Mrs. Lorcan stands behind her desk, face inscrutable, and Holly’s increased heart rate thumps in my ears.

“Ah, there you are, sweetest girl,” he says in a not-so-sweet tone.

“Good morning, Dorian.”

“I’ve finished my meeting with Mrs. Lorcan regarding the upcoming full moon issues, and Holly’s unexpected arrival.” Dorian’s eyes rest on the girl hiding behind me. “One of many concerning events in the last twenty-four hours, but something Mrs. Lorcan and I will cooperate on fixing.” Judging by Mrs. Lorcan’s sour face, cooperation involves following Dorian’s instructions. “Shall we leave Holly to discuss the matter with Mrs. Lorcan?”

“Please,” says Holly breathily. “I definitely want to stay here.”

“Evidently much more than you wanted to stay in the safety of my home in Scotland.” Dorian smiles at Holly, and I look down as she curls fingers around my arm. “Don’t worry, Violet can explain what happened yesterday morning.” He doesn’t have a smile for me. “Shall we leave and discuss certain matters of importance, Violet?”

11

VIOLET

Matters of importance.

Although I’m unable to read my father’s mind, I’m capable of sensing his moods and anger levels from both his presence and how dark the blue in his eyes becomes. Dorian doesn’t know about the death otherwise he would have shifted into hybrid fury the second he’d set eyes on me.

My father doesn't say a word until we reach the meeting room at the opposite end of the administration center. At least if I’m alone with him in the middle of the academy, he may not raise his voice too much in case he inadvertently reveals what he does know. Not that Dorian needs to raise his voice to menace people or keep them at bay.

I've prepared myself for this moment since I left the estate with Holly and more so since Viktor's untimely death. On the walk through the academy, I capably store away thoughts to ensure the only ones available for Dorian to read end the moment I left the estate with Holly and Dashiell.

We enter the room and Dorian slams the door.

“Sit.”

He jabs a finger at the sofa that I sat in the day I told Eloise I'd bitten Grayson. Oh, how the world—and my relationship with a Petrescu—has changed since then. I obey Dorian and smooth my skirt. Remaining standing, Dorian studies me carefully.

“Eloise requested I be lenient with you, but she's as angry as I am.”

Yes, but not about this.

“Where is my mother?” I ask innocently. “Not joining us?”

“With Ethan. Where is Dashiell?” he shoots back. “Why isn’t he in Scotland?”

“He left,” I say, as if Dorian had asked about a random guest.

Dorian's bares his teeth. “Left?” My posture grows straighter, not shrinking back as he leans down to speak to me. “You allowed the shifter to escape?”

“You informed me Dashiell wasn’t any use.” I flash my teeth in a smile. “I merely wanted to talk to Dashiell about Holly, did so, and allowed him to leave. If you’ve changed your mind, I'm sure you can track him down.”

“That was not your decision to make. Where did the shifter intend to go?” I shrug. Dorian moves back and slides hands into his jeans pockets. “Do you understand what you've done, Violet?”

I tense, slamming up a mental barrier as his magic pervades the room. “Aided and abetted Dashiell and Holly in leaving? The shifter and Holly's strange connection prompted an attempt by Holly to free Dashiell herself, and I intervened. The guy will not stay away from Holly forever, so I can watch the academy for him?”

Dorian leans against the door, a subtle indication I’m trapped until I give my father what he wants. “A shifter attacked someone in the woods yesterday, close to the spot where one attacked Holly. The person died. This is not a coincidence.”

“How unfortunate. And the authorities are certain this was a shifter attack?”

“The murder is clearly an assault by a shifter—the injuries are in keeping with a wolf, although more severe than those inflicted on Holly.”

“Clearly, since this victim didn’t survive the attack.”

His jaw clenches. “Do you not understand how severely stupid your decision was? Dashiell killed because you freed him.”

“How can you know Dashiell killed this person? Have you seen the body to confirm this?”

“No. I’m not officially involved yet, but Sawyer informed me since the death increased his concern for Kai’s life.”

“But you’ve asked for access to the deceased?”

“Humans won't let me near the body until they've conducted their own investigations.” His eyes blaze. “This whole incident has caused yet more distrust toward me and my council.”

“So, the victim is human?” I fight to keep my voice even.

“I have to presume so, although there're no local missing persons reports. Therefore, I can't rule out a witch. If he is, the humans will involve me once they’re sure.” He slants his head. “Do you have information, Violet?”

“Me?” I stand. “Are you joining the rest of society in accusing me of murder?”

“No. I am asking if you saw Dashiell attack this man.”

“No. I brought Holly straight to the academy after releasing Dashiell.”

“Is Viktor part of this?”

As he throws the question into the conversation, Dorian invades my mind, a crushing sensation inside my skull. Immediately, I hit back with a lance of focused magic, and he winces.

Winces.

Dorian never expresses pain.

“What aren’t you telling me, Violet?” he snarls. “Do I need to examine your friend?”

“And damage Holly's mind?” I retort. “You're not capable of gentle mind magic. You'll need to wait for Eloise’s skills.”

His eyes grow uncomfortably darker. “Explain, in detail, the reason you chose to free that shifter and take Holly with you.”

“Have you told her parents?”

“No. Explain. Now.”

“Holly informed me she no longer wished to stay in Scotland. The girl bothers about ‘vibes’ and found the estate disturbing.”

“Flimsy excuse, Violet. There’s more to this than you’re telling me.” Dorian jabs a finger against the top of my chest. “If I discover you've had anything to do with this death, I’ll remove you from Thornwood and return you to the family estate. I will ensure you never leave again.”

I slap his hand away. “Don't threaten me with the impossible, Dorian.”

“Excuse me?” The energy in the room thickens with danger, and Dorian's eyes finally blacken fully. At my physical retaliation or words? Both?

“Don't threaten me. I own my life and shall live it as I want. You have no right to lock me away, nor would anybody else in our family allow you,” I say quietly.

“Is that right?” His voice becomes a whisper laced with menace. “Your disloyalty to the family is causing issues. We will not allow you to roam loose in our world if you're out of control.”

“Out of mine? Or yours? You don't control me, Dorian.” I hold his gaze.

“I run the supernatural world. I control everybody,” he snarls.

“That sounds like a line from Oskar Petrescu's playbook.”

Too far. Last time I disparaged Dorian in this way, Eloise stood nearby, and Dorian controlled his temper. This time, I brace myself, but Dorian doesn't strike out at me as expected. His disgust twists into malevolence never aimed at me before.

“If you ever say anything like that to me again, I will take you and subdue you in such a manner that you won’t be able to leave the estate.” I balk at his threat. “You may be my daughter, but you do not disrespect me or go against my wishes.”

“And you forget I'm equally powerful,” I bat back. “If not more.”

“Oh, but you have a weakness, sweetest girl,” he whispers. “A weakness you'll wish I'd trained out of you.”

“I'm half-Eloise, I know,” I retort, “but she's half you. Whatever weakness I have, you both have.”

His brow pinches a moment then he looks at me in the way I hate. If I dismiss that this man is an immortal who’s over twenty years older than me, I'm looking at a young guy with a mocking smile and more secrets in his shining eyes than I could ever hope to discover.

“How are your… boys?” He smiles tightly. “Do they ever worry about associating with you?”

My heart skips a beat. “Why do you ask?”

“The three need to consider the consequences. Legal trouble, injury…” He pauses. “Death.”

“Are you threatening them?” I ask through gritted teeth. “You're not allowed to harm anybody. How long do you think you'd keep your position as leader if you killed another human or supe?”

The unblinking stare continues. “Do you honestly believe I haven't killed anybody in the last fifteen years, Violet?”

“Not someone that anybody would miss, maybe. But this is different.” I step up to him. “If you hurt my guys, you'll be sorry.”

He barks a laugh. “Sorry?”

Is Dorian’s threat against Rowan, Leif, and Grayson serious or is he attempting to rile me? Exert his power?

“Eloise, Ethan, and Zeke wouldn’t allow you to,” I reply.

“So, you think there's a chance I might?” He arches a brow. “You claim that I can't control you, but I can control what happens to others. Please bear that in mind, Violet.”

“I can't believe you’re saying this,” I say hoarsely. “That you'd go this far to⁠—“

“Protect myself?” he interrupts. “My family? There are plans against me that I need to quash, and a reputation to uphold. If I discover that you have any involvement in this mysterious death, there’ll be consequences for you all.”

I pull the black veil further across my thoughts as he tries to sneak in rather than hit my mind this time.

“There’re far, far too many coincidences, Violet. I will discover the truth.” He pauses. “If that body is a witch who I’d demanded stayed alive, and there’s even a hint of your involvement, the consequences will be deadly.”

In typical Dorian style, he turns away, confident he's silenced his opponent with the last word. He shoves the door handle down hard as he pushes it open.

“The night you fought Josef at Kai’s birthday, and Josef told you that even immortals can be killed, you said ‘you'll never kill my daughter,’” I call out. Dorian pauses, hand on door. “Was that fatherly protectiveness or the truth?”

Although I'd prefer an answer, it would seem I get the last word as Dorian walks away, his imposing figure striding along the hallway.

If Dorian’s reacts to the possibility Viktor died due to my involvement, Dorian can never, ever know that the dead man in the human morgue is Viktor Whitegrove.

I have to act. Today.

12

VIOLET

“Is he dying?” I ask Rowan.

The thought sends a bolt of panic through me as Leif’s face continues to turn an alarming shade of red, his loud choking drawing the attention of nearby students lounging across the academy lawns. Rowan thumps Leif hard on the back several times—a rather unkind gesture, considering Leif is already struggling.

Leif manages to draw in a rattling breath. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were dying.” I smile in relief. “Fortunately, you’re not.”

“No. Before that,” he wheezes.

“Oh. I said we need to retrieve Viktor's body from the human morgue, and we should do so tonight.” Leif stares at me through watering eyes. “Are you alright?” I place a hand on his wide thigh. “What happened?”

“You said you want to steal a dead body. Next time you drop something like that, at least wait until I’m not eating so I don't choke to death.”

Rowan finally breaks his silence. “Violet, this plan involves more than when you took a toe from We—“ He looks around at and lowers his voice. “A cadaver.”

I purse my lips. Wesley. “Yes. But if Dorian discovers that the corpse is Viktor—and that we had a hand in his death—things will become… difficult.”

“And if we're caught carting around a dead body, things will become more than difficult,” Rowan retorts.

“What do you intend to do with the… Viktor?” asks Leif then lifts a hand, palm outwards. “Actually, don’t tell me.”

“Bury him? Incinerate him?” asks Rowan. “The answer is no. Find another plan.”

“I plan to return Viktor to his family.”

Rowan blinks slowly. “What did you say?”

“What is wrong with your hearing today?” I ask them both.

“We can hear, but we want confirmation on your insane words.”

I retrieve my water bottle from Leif and drink. “Cornelius should be informed that his son died.”

“Cornelius already told everybody Viktor died!” says Leif.

“Therefore, Cornelius shares our necessity that nobody learns of his real death.” I frown. “Isn't that obvious?”

“Right. You're going to rock up at Cornelius's house with Viktor's body? And say what? ‘Hello Mr. Whitegrove, I have a gift for you’?” snarks Rowan.

“Viktor's unrecognizable body,” Leif reminds me. “Eloise tore his face off.”

“Excuse me, no, she did not. Eloise merely inflicted major lacerations.”

“Disfiguring ones! The guy might not recognize his son—especially after almost two decades. Bloody hell, Violet.” Rowan sighs and sinks back onto the grass, staring at the cloudy sky instead.

“I don’t believe for a moment that Cornelius hasn’t seen his son since his fake death. The situation is an ideal way to gain Cornelius's cooperation in investigations into Madison’s murder.”

“How so? Do you plan to hold Viktor’s body to ransom?” asks Leif.

“Oh.” I straighten. “That might be a good⁠—“

“I was kidding!”

“Humans searching for a body's identity take samples, Violet,” Rowan says to the clouds. “Every witch's DNA is recorded.”

“If Cornelius wiped all trace of his son from the world, ensuring nobody identifies his DNA shouldn't be a problem.” I tap the edge of the water bottle. “However, if somebody exposes that Viktor never died, Cornelius has a lot to lose.”

Not as much as us if Dorian discovers his more recent, true death, but it would be pertinent not to mention that.

Rowan props himself up on his elbows. “How exactly do you intend on transporting Viktor's body? We've never visited the Whitegrove estate so blood runes won’t work, and I doubt an Uber driver would happily help move a corpse.”

I withdraw from the conversation, re-entering my thoughts as I consider their opinions. Rowan has a point.

Neither guy speaks, either relieved the conversation is over or wary about what I’ll say next. I detect Rowan’s jittery energy—in the past I would’ve carried out my plan alone without their assistance. However, I’ve long since learned that I’m unable to perform certain tasks without help. What’s logical to me isn’t to everybody else, and I’ll home in on a single-minded solution rather than consider the practicalities.

How would I transport Viktor’s body?

Leif resumes his lunch, and Rowan stays focused on the sky. Time to outline my alternative plan? I wait until Leif swallows his mouthful of wrap before speaking.

“If we cannot take Viktor to Cornelius, then we shall take Cornelius to Viktor.”

Rowan props himself up on his elbows again and blows hair from his face. “How is that a plan? Again, Cornelius maintains that Viktor died.”

“We would do Cornelius a favor by alerting him to his son’s reappearance in the supernatural world.” I wrinkle my nose. “Albeit Viktor’s short emergence with an unfortunate end.”

“How would you prove to Cornelius that the humans have Viktor’s body?” asks Leif.

“I expect Viktor has at least one distinguishing mark.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“We can also acquire police records? Photos of the body?”

Leif half-gags, and Rowan shakes his head. “This would all take too long. The humans will widen their net to identify the body within a day, if they haven’t already.”

“And my vote goes to avoiding the police station and morgue entirely,” adds Leif.

I purse my lips. “Then we must rely on a scenario where, in order to avoid problems for himself, Cornelius accepts evidence that we know his son exists.”

Leif and Rowan exchange one of their looks that infuriate me. “And if we do this, there’s no ‘Invasion of the Bodysnatchers?’” asks Rowan.

“Excuse me?”

Leif huffs. “No taking any part of Viktor’s body to send to his father. We’re not the mafia.”

“You’re confusing me.”

“The Circle kind of are, Leif,” Rowan says. “And that’s a problem.”

I huff. “Everything is a problem. We need to decide which one we can solve first. Rowan, can you find a way for me to contact Cornelius? I can’t ask Dorian to help. Obviously.”

Rowan stares. “I don’t know. Visit his business offices for a chat?”

“Excellent idea.”

“That was sarcasm!”

Leif shoves him. “And sarcasm often gives Violet ideas, you idiot.”

“Yes. We let Cornelius know we have information about Madison and Viktor.” I smile. “Cornelius’s response to us connecting the dots could prove very interesting.”

Rowan takes his bag from beside him. “Is this sudden and unhinged plan linked to your chat with Dorian today?”

The water bottle crumples in my hand. “Partially.”

Clearly alarmed by the bottle’s destruction, Rowan bites his lip hard and side-glances at Leif, who nods. Rowan lowers his voice. “You haven’t told us everything. Does Dorian have Grayson?”

Fear bites at me harder than Rowan is chewing on his mouth. “No. But my father is looking for an excuse to harm him, we all know that.”

“And…” Rowan trails off, again looking at Leif and pulling a face.

Leif nods and takes a long breath. “Has Grayson contacted you yet?”

I swallow at the subject that I attempt to keep submerged but that annoyingly buoys up the moment I drift away from my concentration on my plans. “No. But I’m confident that he’s safe. Grayson’s keeping a low profile until we solve the Viktor problem.”

But Rowan’s face tells me what I deny. Grayson would contact me—at least once—to tell me he’s okay. Rowan didn’t react when I told him Grayson will contact me soon, and that maybe his phone ran out of battery life. I know why. Wherever Grayson is, he would find a phone charger or even a new phone.

Unless Grayson is trapped somewhere by Viktor’s accomplices and he’s the one running out of life.

No. That’s a scenario I simply will not allow.

13

ROWAN

Violet is holding back something discussed during her meeting with Dorian. She assures us her father doesn’t know that Viktor died or that humans have the witch’s body, but there’s an odd aura to her. When Dorian and Violet clash, she vents her frustration by relaying the conversation to us. This time, she’s quiet—something unusual in itself.

Has Dorian threatened us all again? I didn’t have a hand in Viktor’s death, Grayson literally did, and Leif’s intervention allowed Grayson to run from the scene with the witch’s heart. So, I have less to worry about, right?

Yeah, right. As if Dorian would let me off the hook.

I’m not confident that we can fix this situation. Violet’s mind runs in crazy directions again, made worse by her worry that Dorian may discover the identity of the body in the morgue at any moment. She accepts her original ‘steal the body’ plan won’t work, but will her ‘telling Cornelius’ scheme have any success? The guy spent two decades convincing the world his son died and keeping his existence a secret.

Thanks to my dumb comment earlier, Violet jumped several steps ahead at speed, and within hours, we’re absent from the academy on another of our unauthorized excursions.

Cornelius Whitegrove’s offices. The building is situated in a town between the city and his family estate, part of a converted mill that stretches along the riverbank—a building once used for industry that didn’t involve fleecing people out of their money.

I’d expected him to operate from the center of the city, amongst the flashy buildings and international companies, but I can detect magic energy in the area that’ll aid in his dodgy dealings.

Violet straightens her blazer sleeves as she silently peruses the double-door entry.

The decision to wear uniforms rather than wander inside in usual clothes adds an authority to our presence, but will that get Violet any farther than the reception desk once she opens her mouth?

She breaks her silent scrutiny of the exterior. “Look at the company logo. The shape contains a magical symbol.”

“Yeah, that’s the Circle’s uh… circle, and the intersecting lines and triangle would focus magic on wealth. Researched earlier when I knew you’d follow through with this crazy idea.”

“The mill generates magic through the water mingling with energy,” says Violet, confirming my thoughts. “Whitegrove Financial Solutions. What are financial solutions?”

Leif shrugs, and I pull a ‘no idea’ face.

“Rowan, You should investigate whether this company has any connection to Sawyer.”

“Already did. None.”

“This is all rather suspicious. Aren’t powerful businessmen always connected in some way? Even as rivals? We must push further into Cornelius and Sawyer’s connection” She watches the water move across the rocks in the river. “Once we have a solution regarding the dead body.”

“Voice down,” I urge, glancing around the car park filled with prestige vehicles but fortunately empty of people.

“Viktor is our priority,” says Violet. “We haven’t much time before somebody identifies him.”

“Whatever happens next, will Eloise tell Dorian?” I ask.

“Eventually.”

Leif takes a sharp breath. “What?”

“But we shall assuage my father’s fury with new leads and concrete evidence.” She gestures at the offices. “Dig deeper into the Circle and present him with new findings. Discover a link between Josef and the Circle. Bring Josef to Dorian.”

“Those are big ambitions,” I say.

Her impossibly blue eyes meet mine. “Either that or we hand over Grayson and Dashiell.”

“We don’t know where either one is,” says Leif.

I gawk at him. “And we wouldn’t betray our friend.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Leif shakes his head. “Let’s do this. You don’t want to leave Holly alone at the academy for long.”

“Marci is watching her closely. Inconvenient, yet currently convenient. But yes, let’s make this a short and succinct visit.”

Violet stalks toward the entry before yanking open the door. Eager to reach the reception desk before she does, I rush inside.

A photo of the mill taken at least a hundred years ago adorns the pale gray-painted walls, and the reception area contains stiff white leather sofas. This could be an ordinary human office, but witch traits fill the room. The mahogany desk a woman sits behind has tiny runes mingled in the pattern on the elegantly carved legs, and a tall sculpture dominates the area. The art piece would appear abstract to most but acts as a beacon for magic.

Violet touches the silver circle created at the top of the sculpture’s long, metal pole. “Interesting.”

The only other feature in the room is an attractive young woman with sleek blonde hair sitting behind the desk in front of a laptop, calculating who we are.

“Is Mr. Whitegrove here?” asks Violet abruptly.

“Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist taps the keyboard.

Violet steps forward. “It is imperative I see him.”

“Do you have an appointment?” she repeats, scarlet red lips forming a professional, friendly smile.

“I need to speak to Mr. Whitegrove about how to solve my finances.”

The woman chuckles. “Is that right? Current or future investments?”

I nod at Leif to watch their exchange and interrupt if necessary before subtly exploring the room for more magical clues. The ceiling’s cornicing matches the pattern on the desk legs, and I’d lay bets there’re runes beneath the hessian doormat.

“Current or future investments?” the woman repeats.

“Very much in the past,” says Violet.

“If you don’t have an appointment, I can organize one for a day Mr. Whitegrove has availability.”

“The solutions I need will not wait.”

Violet wanders across the wood floor covered in a blue rug that no doubt hides runes too. She pauses at the foot of varnished wooden stairs leading upwards toward the offices and raises her voice.

“I have concerns I wish to discuss with Mr. Whitegrove concerning a valuable family heirloom.”

“That isn’t the type of thing our company deals with,” interrupts the receptionist. “You need to visit an appraiser.”

“I’ve asked my lawyer, Josef Petrescu, to assist in my family’s claim over this heirloom, which Mr. Whitegrove possesses,” Violet continues loudly.

The woman stands. “You’re not here to talk about investments. You should leave. Now.”

“Incorrect. I’m very much invested in Mr. Whitegrove.”

Floorboards creak above us and a white-haired man appears at the top of the stairs, his lips pressed tightly together. I’ve never met Cornelius, but he’s recognizable from photos and the potent magic aura surrounding him.

“I do not have your tiara on the premises, Ms. Blackwood, so this ridiculous ruse is a waste of time.” He nods at the woman behind the reception desk. “I don’t have time to meet these youths.”

“Yet you walked from your office to speak to me because you heard what I said,” says Violet and begins to climb the stairs. Cornelius holds his ground, frowning at her. “And I have plenty to say.”

Crap. I edge up the steps behind Violet. Nothing good ever follows those words from her mouth.

“The issue with the tiara is dealt with,” he says coldly. “And I highly doubt you’d work with Mr. Petrescu, Ms. Blackwood.”

“You renovated this building beautifully,” she says and gestures at the sculpture. “I like the personal touches.”

“I also highly doubt you’re here to admire the interior design.”

“Did you employ the electrician Joe Smith?” she continues. “And did you recommend him to the Brightgroves to work on their renovations too? We all know how witches like to help each other.”

Violet emphasizes the family name and a tiny flicker of recognition crosses Cornelius’s face.

“I don’t know. I’m not involved with organizing tradespeople.”

“Too busy making money from unsuspecting humans?”

Cornelius sighs. “You’re making no sense. Is this about the tiara or not?”

“Did you hear that one of Joe’s close colleagues had an unfortunate accident?”

I glance at Leif. Typical Violet. Lure Cornelius out with a valid reason she’d visit then jump on him with questions.

“His name was Viktor.”

Not a glimmer of a reaction to Violet’s words. No movement. Nor expression change.

“Veronica, would you please make coffee for my clients.” He shakes his suit jacket sleeve to look at his gold watch. “My actual clients, who are due in five minutes.”

“Are you sure I can’t help?” she asks.

“You’re human. Do you find working with a witch unusual?” Violet asks the woman.

She stares. “I’ve no prejudice against witches and enjoy my job.”

Violet pulls on her lip. “Do you have any issues with your memories? Migraines that began since you commenced employment here?”

“What a ridiculous question,” she replies.

“And do you remember every client who passes through?” pushes Violet.

“A pot of coffee and the pastries. Meeting room,” Cornelius interrupts.

Accustomed to his hard tone, the woman nods before moving quickly up the stairs.

Cornelius steps back to allow her to pass and stares at her ass in the tight black skirt as she does. “I’ll watch reception in case there’re any more unusual and unwanted visitors lurking outside.”

Yeah, that’s totally what he’s watching. Creep.

“Visitors such as Joe?” suggests Violet. “I assure you he hasn’t joined us.”

Cornelius slowly descends the stairs and looks down at Violet, his face sour. “What is this pantomime for? Unless the man’s accident happened here, there’s no reason to bring the issue to me.”

“Viktor is dead.”

Omigod, Violet. I hadn’t considered what Violet intended to do, or how she’d get Cornelius’s attention, but should’ve expected zero subtlety.

“A random man’s death does not concern me. Leave.”

“Violet. I think we should leave,” I whisper.

“What’s your family name, witch?”

I don’t look away from his inscrutable gaze. Cornelius knows exactly who I am if I’m with Violet. “Willowbrook.”

“Interesting. We extended an invitation to you from the Circle, and your family never responded. That’s unorthodox.”

I mentally curse Violet. How could I expect to avoid the Circle after an invite—especially if Cornelius mentioned the invite to my parents? They’ll shove me through the door into the Circle’s arms whilst gushing about the honor.

“I’ve been busy. Sorry.”

“I voted against inviting you, Rowan, due to your… associations.” He flicks a look to Violet. “But we don’t operate as a dictatorship, unlike some organizations.”

“My father does not dictate. He merely advises strongly.”

Yes, but who knows what happens to those who don’t agree with Dorian Blackwood’s ‘advice’? His control over the supernatural government may not be openly coercive, but it definitely leans far away from democratic.

Cornelius’s lips press together. “You’re testing my patience. I do not have your tiara, and neither do I know this man. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“You sent Veronica away,” adds Leif.

“Because I need her to arrange refreshments for my clients. Didn’t you hear?” Cornelius makes a derisive noise. “Leave. I don’t have security but do have the abilities to remove you from the premises.”

“Magic?” Violet scoffs. “Not against me.”

Placing hands behind his back, Cornelius leans down until his face is closer to Violet’s than most people dare. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re hoping to achieve. The tiara is not in my office, so if you’re planning to take it, you’re wasting your time. Go.”

Violet takes a step back. “Then I shall cut to the chase, now your mind-influenced human has left.”

“I do not influence minds.”

I suppress a scoff at the biggest lie that I’ve heard in my entire life. Apart from the monumental mind-wiping about his son’s death, Cornelius Whitegrove is the most powerful witch in business society—and, coincidentally, the wealthiest.

“We visited today because we have reason to believe you’re related to Viktor,” says Violet. “And wanted to let you know about the death.”

“Related how? I’ve grandsons and great-grandsons, but none called Viktor.”

“And sons?” I can’t see Cornelius’s response to Violet’s question but sense an energy spike.

“I have one son. Benedict.”

“And a secret son?” She doesn’t move her eyes from his face.

“Are you suggesting I have an illegitimate child?” Cornelius glances at the stairs. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”

Violet steps back. “Viktor’s body is in the morgue at Little Wittering police station. They’ve yet to identify who the area’s latest murder victim is. I expect by tomorrow samples will indicate he is a witch with DNA that matches the Whitegrove family, and the human detectives will refer this to my father.”

“Fascinating,” he says stiffly.

“I don’t think my father should find Viktor’s body. There would be… complications.”

“Leave.” Cornelius’s cheeks tinge pink, and he’s staring at Violet as if she’s insane.

The girl walks a thin line between sanity and insanity at the best of times.

“Very well.” Violet turns on her heel and walks to the door. She pauses, holding the handle, but doesn’t look back. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“What loss?” he snaps at her. “I haven’t lost anybody.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Your future losses once the world discovers the truth, Mr. Whitegrove.”

14

ROWAN

I’ve questioned my wisdom in joining Violet’s latest deranged scheme countless times since arriving tonight, yet here I am in the middle of the night sitting in town. Oh yeah, that’s right—the bond to Violet interferes with my sense because she doesn’t have any.

“I promised that I wouldn’t remove Viktor’s body from the morgue, and so I won’t,” says Violet.

“Yet here we are, lurking across the road from the rear of the police station.” Leif pulls his black hood farther down his face.

We’re perched on a low, uncomfortable red-brick wall, our dark figures halfway between two streetlights in the hope that nobody spots us. What if the detectives hang around the police station at night in case of suspicious activity?

Since the body arrived at their station, we’ve waited for Harding and Wagner to call us in for questioning, but nothing. For once, we’re not suspects or there’s no evidence that allows them to point fingers our way.

“You could’ve both stayed at the academy,” says Violet. “I wouldn’t need your assistance with my plan.”

“But you do need watching,” I say. “Your plans might change into god knows what direction.”

“Yes, but our group are hardly inconspicuous when we’re all together.”

Not all. I look to Leif again. Where the hell is Grayson? Is he convinced Dorian will kill him, and he’s chosen to hide permanently? That’s a crappy move if he hasn’t told Violet. She avoids any mention of him, so Leif and I keep things that way.

After Dashiell’s shock arrival on campus last night, Violet informed me that the shifter genuinely doesn’t know what happened to Grayson, which I agree with. They ran in opposite directions. My opinion? Viktor had buddies nearby who caught Grayson.

But I’m not telling Violet my theory.

Due to the size of the population, the police station isn’t manned twenty-four hours a day; instead the one in the larger town nearby stays open 24/7 instead. Recently, residents questioned whether opening hours should change due to the spate of murders, and the police force added in extra foot and car patrols as a compromise. Those ended when the humans solved the murders by implicating the shifter, Grant, but a loud minority demanded the patrols stay.

A select few know the truth about the necromancers’ involvement, but authorities kept it quiet in order to save the town from panicking. Nobody targeted humans, unless you count Kai, but the locals believe he’s a target for murder, not necromancy.

How can anybody be sure about that? If a human construct did appear, the town would act, and the dividing line between supes and humans would widen.

“I still can’t get over your unhinged conversation at the Whitegrove offices,” mutters Leif.

I laugh. “You don’t believe Violet’s unhinged? Do you not know the girl?”

“Droll,” she says, gaze still locked onto the police station’s rear door. “We had limited time, and I needed to communicate to Cornelius that Viktor has actually died now, and that we know. There’s a risk to the man if somebody identifies a Whitegrove connection and Dorian gets involved.”

“And a risk to us if Cornelius wants to shut us up,” Leif adds.

“I will ensure that justice is served, and that he’s the one ‘shut up.’ The man covered up a murder.”

I don’t share her certainty. I also don’t share Violet’s confidence that Cornelius or his associates will visit the police station tonight. Earlier, I questioned Violet as to what she’ll do if Cornelius doesn’t interfere in the process of identifying his son. Viktor’s body can’t remain here. She’s adamant that passing on information to Cornelius will prompt him to take the body tonight.

However, she’s silent on what her plan B entails.

No way will I help Violet remove the body ourselves.

“Do you think Cornelius can use blood runes?” asks Leif.

“No. He isn’t a Blackwood, so he can’t practice their magic,” I say. “The Whitegroves also couldn’t hide whether their family line contained Blackwood blood; everything is on record.”

“Witch families confuse me,” he admits. “There’re a lot of connections. Intermarrying.”

“I don’t have Blackwood blood if that’s what you’re implying,” I reply.

“Yet.” Leif looks to the sky.

“What?” I shove him so he looks at me, unable to believe his words.

“Dorian and Eloise—you and Violet are the same. Dorian saved Eloise; Violet won’t let you die.”

“Wow. Are we really having this conversation?” I ask.

“If anybody’s likely to ingest my blood, that would be Grayson,” says Violet, her focus back on the police station.

“What?” I ask again. “Are you planning on that?”

Violet doesn’t reply. Whoa. Would the pair risk her poisoning him?

“This conversation is crazy. What’s gotten into you, Leif?” I ask.

“Wait! Shush.” Violet points at a vehicle moving slowly along one of the back lanes toward the rear of the place station. Few cars or people have passed us since we arrived here, and none would notice activity away from the main street.

A white transit van in the model favored by tradespeople pulls up. The vehicle reverses until it’s as close to the building as possible but doesn’t enter the small parking lot. A small dumpster takes up the majority of the left of the building’s exit, and on the other side there’s a high wall, where a gap allows cars to pass through. If a police car were parked in the parking bays before we arrived, I would’ve insisted we leave.

Violet stands and edges along the shadowed part of the sidewalk, and I whisper at her not to cross the street toward the station. Silently, she points at the closest security cameras positioned above the dumpster that face toward the parking lot.

We watch for a couple of minutes. The driver cuts the engine, but nobody leaves the van.

I approach Violet, leaving Leif sitting on the wall. The vehicle can’t belong to a tradesman—there’s no business name painted anywhere on the van. “This might not have a connection to Cornelius.”

“A van randomly parking outside the police station at one a.m.? One big enough to transport a body?” She shakes her head. “These people are here for Viktor.”

I’m about to repeat my opinion when the door to the police station opens inwards, and a yellow light glows from inside and across the tarmac.

“Can you see who’s there?” I ask, straining my eyes.

“No. The individual chose to stay out of view.” Violet presses her lips together. “Of course—Cornelius has someone on the inside.”

“Of the building?”

She flashes me a look. “Within the police. The Circle witches integrate into all areas of society. Cornelius doesn’t need to break and enter.”

“Like we once did?” I mutter.

The van’s passenger door opens, and a thickset man with a dark beanie pulled low on his head steps out, closing the door as quietly as he can. He walks to the open station door, enters, and then leaves again within a minute. Violet fidgets and I hold her arm—just in case.

Leif joins us and I nod at him; he has the same concern: stop Violet from rushing in.

The man returns to the van and speaks to the driver before wandering toward the wall but remaining outside the station. As the van’s engine rumbles to life, he guides the van to the edge of the narrow opening in the wall. The vehicle’s rear doors flip open, and a second man hops out.

“They’re taking Viktor!” Violet whispers.

“And you want to stop them?” My hold on her arm tightens.

Violet grins at me. “No.”

Grins. “What? Why?”

“Because I’d like Viktor’s body to disappear.”

My jaw drops. “Violet. You can’t allow Cornelius to get away with Viktor ‘never existing’. This is linked to the tiara. The murder.”

“And Cornelius knows that we’re aware. This game must continue for a while longer.”

Game?

“And what if he disposes of the body?” asks Leif in hushed shock.

Violet stares ahead. “He won’t.”

“And how do you know?” demands Leif.

I rub my head. “Ancestral witch families keep their dead preserved. It’s a folk tale that became a tradition—superstition that magic will weaken through the generations if a deceased relative is buried or cremated.”

“And Cornelius went to a lot of trouble to keep Viktor alive and out of trouble. If he wished, Cornelius could’ve killed Viktor years ago,” Violet adds. “Seems odd he’d destroy his son’s body now.”

“All witches do this?” Leif frowns. “What do they do with the bodies?”

“Only the original families do. They place their dead in mausoleums. Unless something unfortunate occurs which results in a burned or decomposed body, since then there’s nothing left to embalm.” She scratches a cheek. “We must locate the Whitegrove’s mausoleum.”

“Right. But wouldn’t an extra body inside look odd if nobody knows Viktor exists?” asks Leif.

“Are you sure nobody else knows?” Violet looks back. “Cornelius would struggle to wipe the memory of a child from absolutely everybody, especially his wife. How could the woman forget birthing offspring? She’s top of my list of people we need to talk to.”

“Yeah, and I doubt the families do a regular head count inside the mausoleum,” I say.

The activities between the van and the police station rear are hidden from view, but Violet doesn’t attempt to move closer.

“Right. So, we’re following the van?” asks Leif wearily. “Is that the plan?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell are we doing here?” I ask.

“Gathering evidence.” She gestures. “These men will take the body to Cornelius who⁠—”

“Then where’s your evidence for Dorian?”

“As you both so adamantly informed me, I can’t take Viktor’s body. Therefore, I need someone else to extract his corpse from the humans. Is there a risk that Cornelius will destroy the body? Yes, but that’s unlikely as Whitegroves are ancestral. Cornelius would likely embalm and then tuck Viktor’s body into an existing tomb,” says Violet blithely.

Tuck. “Right.” I press my lips together. “Then what exactly do we do? Sneak onto the Whitegrove estate? Search for their mausoleum?”

“I’d like to speak to the individual inside the police station who is tasked with allowing the men entry. This person deliberately hid themselves from view. Once the van leaves, we get into that building and question the man or woman before they also leave.”

I swear beneath my breath; I’d wanted to avoid a trip inside the police station. But what else can we do? Following the van won’t be easy with no car. I’d already pictured Violet lying on the vehicle’s roof or hanging onto the back and should be grateful she’s not following that idea.

But how much will the mysterious helper know?

15

ROWAN

The streetlights illuminate the vehicle turning left at the end of the street, and the van blends into the night. Violet watches, and I watch her, convinced she’ll change her mind and sprint away. Have we made the right decision not to pursue them? If Grayson were here, he could’ve easily followed the van. Another unwanted reminder to Violet that Grayson isn’t where he should be—with us.

If these men take the body to the Whitegrove estate, Cornelius has limited time to deal with the body if he plans to embalm and put Viktor in the Whitegrove mausoleum, not destroy his son’s body. Where’s their mausoleum located?

Violet took a huge risk in allowing his people to leave with Viktor, but she’s right—if Cornelius wanted to kill and destroy all evidence of his son, he could’ve done that years ago. Taking Viktor’s body ourselves won’t achieve a lot, but this way we’ve a good chance of finding and revealing a connection between Cornelius and whatever the hell is happening.

Is there a reason Viktor remained alive all those years ago?

“Stay here and watch out in case more individuals or vans appear. Message Rowan should anybody else approach, or if you see someone leave the station via the front doors,” Violet tells Leif, pointing at his pocket. “Rowan and I will accost the individual inside.”

“Mentally, not physically, I hope,” I say.

“Whatever necessary.” Violet tugs at my sleeve. “The security cameras won’t be functioning currently, and if we move now, the person inside won’t have time to restart the security system and leave.”

Leif backs away toward our original position, and I slink through the shadows with Violet, edging around the wall, toward the rear door.

As we walk up the two steps, I point at a metal square on the left wall. “Keypad.”

Violet peers. “Anything you can do?”

“Try a few number combinations?”

“Time is of the essence Rowan.”

“Fine.” I lift a fist and hammer on the door. “We forgot something important. Whitegrove won’t be happy if we don’t retrieve it,” I shout, adopting a gruff tone.

“Well, that was loud and unsubtle.”

“Just using your usual tactics, sweet Violet.” I smirk to myself as I silence Violet, triumphant when the door swings open.

“What the hell? Keep your voice—” A middle-aged man with a paunch straining against his belted black trousers pauses, flicking a look between us. “Who are⁠—”

The balding guy staggers backward as Violet places a palm firmly on his chest and shoves him into the building. Glancing behind me first, and satisfied there’s nobody else around, I follow, quietly closing the door.

A light above us in the narrow hallway shines on the scene, and my eyes go immediately to the camera that blinked down on us the night Violet stole the toe. No red light.

The man slides a hand over his head, sweat already sheening his face. “You’re Violet Blackwood.”

“Recognizably so. And you are?” she replies.

“Screwed,” he mutters. “What do you want?”

I splutter. “We saw what happened and have questions.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The man edges backward along the lit hallway, and we pass the evidence room. This is all too familiar.

“Good grief.” Violet grabs the man’s arm to prevent him moving farther. “The scent of your perspiration almost outdoes the stale carpet smell. We have questions; you have answers.”

Violet doesn’t use her cajoling false sweetness she’s adopted recently, or the monotone she once used. Instead, an aura of the dangerous hybrid runs close to the surface, her voice harsh. She gives the man another shove and then indicates with her fingers that he should turn around.

“Don’t let her hurt me,” he says, his back to us as Violet ‘encourages’ him to walk forward.

“Do as I say, and you will remain intact.” The cool tone borders on icy, and even I shiver. We halt and my heart skips when we reach her destination. “Open the door.”

The morgue.

As a human town resident, the man knows recent rumors and lies. The famous Violet Blackwood dragging him into a morgue terrifies the guy into silence, and he pushes open the door with a trembling hand.

“Violet,” I whisper. “What are you doing?”

I missed the fun of the morgue last time I joined Violet inside the station at night, and I dart a look around the brightly lit, sterile space. No bodies on the slabs, thank god, but am I standing near corpses stored in the metal refrigeration unit?

The man backs up, as far away from us as he can, backside hitting a desk and knocking a pen holder to the tiled floor.

Violet stalks over, and he flinches as she knocks into the desk when walking by to face a whiteboard behind. Blue pen divides the board into rectangles with names and numbers written inside, and Violet points as she counts them.

“A busy week. Three bodies.” She turns to the man. “Any murder victims?”

Wild eyed, he shakes his head.

Violet’s lips purse as she turns to the metal cabinets containing the bodies.

“Liar. John Doe. Number three. Take a look, Rowan.”

My stomach turns over. “What?”

“Look inside number three.”

“Uh.” I swallow hard. “I don’t want to see a dead body.”

She sighs. “That’s the whole point. You won’t.”

“What’s happening?” stammers the man. “Do you know Whitegrove or not?”

“What’s your name?” she shoots back.

He hesitates, until Violet and her disturbing aura step closer. “Peter.”

“Do you work here, Peter?”

“At the police station? Yes.”

“No. Here.” Violet points a finger to the ground. “In the morgue.” Cautiously, he nods. “I’d like all paperwork and samples pertinent to the body removed tonight, and an answer to where the individuals are taking said corpse.”

“There’s no missing corpse or paperwork.”

“Did I not advise you to tell the truth?” she growls. “Three men removed a body from this building, and you were involved.”

Peter visibly swallows, not dumb enough to deny anything.

“Is the computer connected to the station’s network?” I walk to join them and point at the keyboard. “Log in.”

“I-I can’t,” he says. “I don’t know the password.”

“You work in the morgue and don’t know the password?” Violet’s voice and expression darken. “If you value your physical intactness, enter that password.”

Peter turns the keyboard to type with shaking fingers, and file icons appear onscreen. I drag the wheeled black stool to sit, clicking on each one, and studying the contents. Spreadsheets. Scanned forms.

“The computer is linked to the entire local police database. There’s no record of a murder victim in recent crimes. That can’t be right; somebody told Sawyer the police discovered one.”

“Oh?” Violet steps toward Peter. “Did you dispose of those records whilst allowing others to remove the body? Who exactly are you?”

Peter remains quiet but his face contorts as Violet’s magic crawls into his mind. He presses a hand to the side of his head, eyes squeezed closed, and lets out a gargled noise.

“Stop! I’ll tell you,” he whines, and my mouth dries at Violet’s immediate jump into magical violence. “Somebody paid me for the body and to wipe the records.”

“Who?” she demands.

“Don’t know. A guy contacted me. Told me he’d pay if I helped him,” he continues in a weak voice. “When he told me what he wanted, I said no, but the guy sent proof he’d paid half my debts and said he’d wipe the rest.” The man grips the edge of the desk, sweat patches staining his underarms. “I didn’t ask him to pay, but he said I owe him now. I do as the guy asks, or he’ll tell my family about the gambling problem—and ensure I lose my job. He claims he’s influential and can make it look like I’ve stolen funds. I haven’t!”

“You sold this man a body?” I ask, both brows shooting up.

“Apparently so.” I look to where Violet stands with the open, empty metal tray, and I take a relieved breath that she chose the correct one to open. “How much do dead bodies sell for? How much debt?”

“A lot,” he mumbles. “The guy must have contacts. He said if I delete files inside the station, he can erase other records.”

Violet laughs softly. “Oh, yes, the man in question has quite a talent in making people disappear.”

16

ROWAN

“Who do you plan to tell?” He swallows. “If I lose my job, that’ll be worse. How will I look after my family?”

Violet moves to stand close enough for the human to feel the dark edges of her persona.

“Don’t hurt me!” Peter looks past Violet. “Don’t let her kill me.”

“I’m not the one who’ll hurt you. The man you work for will eliminate you.”

A strangled choke comes from him. “I’ve never met the guy! I had to do this. I’m not part of… whatever this is.”

“Who took the body tonight?”

The man vigorously shakes his head. “I don’t know them. I promise.” Violet’s fingers touch his forehead, and he screeches in pain before staggering backward, whimpering.

“Violet, stop.” I snatch her arm in horror. “Peter, tell us if you know who the men are or where they’ve taken him.

“Talk.” Violet’s eyes darken. “Or I can find the truth in your mind. Painfully.”

“Okay, okay.” Peter struggles for breath. “One older guy supervised. He was particular about how they moved the body— said he couldn’t do his job properly if someone damaged the corpse. And that ‘he’d’ be pissed if anything went wrong and couldn’t risk upsetting him.”

Violet looks at me. “As I told you. ‘He’ isn’t about to destroy the body. Whitegrove.”

Couldn’t do his job? Witches embalm their dead. Maybe…

I whip my phone out and locate a website, then flick through until I find the staff page for Elysian Fields Funeral Home. “Either of these men?”

The guy takes the phone and his eyes dart from side to side as he studies three images. The funeral director and owner, Clement Morris, neatly trimmed gray hair and eyes as steel as mine, with a smile for the camera that’s too large to be genuine. William Morris, younger, with neat and professional everything, his gray suit and tie matching Clement’s. Cynthia Morris with curled brown hair that reaches her shoulders wearing a gray blazer and a lot of make-up.

Quite the family affair.

“Do you recognize one?” snaps Violet, and a surge of magic assaults the man again when he doesn’t reply quickly enough. Peter shrieks and drops to his knees, head in hands.

“Him.” Violet snatches the phone back. “He recognizes this man. Clement Morris.”

“Peter would’ve answered you, Violet. Why attack him?”

“I do not have time to waste,” she snaps. “Who is he?”

“Funeral director.” I frown. “Do you think Whitegrove asked the men to take Viktor to the funeral home?”

Violet hands the phone back. “The funeral home offers embalming. Clement stated he can’t work on a damaged body. Whitegrove perhaps ‘employed’ a second person under dubious circumstances. Mr. Morris will embalm the body for Whitegrove, and then return him.”

“Maybe,” I reply.

“Two possibilities: the body thieves will take Viktor to the funeral home to keep Cornelius’s project hidden, or he’ll return to Whitegrove’s estate. I presume the former unless Cornelius possesses embalming equipment,” says Violet to herself.

“Did you not query why this man wanted the body, Peter? Who the body is?” I ask.

“Which men?” He grabs a slab and attempts to stand. “Who are you? Get out of here!”

“You know exactly who we are.”

“I don’t.”

Violet bares her teeth and slams a hand on the man’s head, which snaps back, and he wails.

“What the hell, Violet?” I balk at Violet using the magical strength needed for a supe, not human. What is with her? Violet takes a sharp breath, and the magic drops.

Peter’s legs wobble, and he grips onto the gurney, face bright pink. His eyes are drawn to the tray that Violet opened, jaw moving but unable to speak for a few seconds. “What’s happening? Where’s the body?” he gasps out.

“Oh, good grief. One of the men who took the body was a witch, of course.” Violet touches the side of her head. “A witch who used a delayed memory-wiping spell that’s now affecting Peter.”

“Then we won’t get any more out of him,” I whisper.

“You should’ve let me finish!” she snaps back.

“I know who you are!” Peter half-shrieks, clambering over the desk to put something solid between himself and Violet. “Everybody says you’re innocent of murder, but we know there’s a cover up!”

I prepare to prevent Violet from lunging at him magically or physically, but she crosses her arms. “Are you about to speak ill of me or my family? If you are, reconsider the position you are in.”

“Are- are you replacing his body with mine?” Peter rasps. “Where did you take that man? Why? To cover up your crime?”

Violet darts forward and seizes the man by the shirt, pulling him halfway over the desk, knocking the computer monitor to one side. Whoa. The pair are silent for a moment, the man’s eyes now wider than ever as Violet stares at him.

“If you can’t tell me everything due to a spell, unfortunately I’ll need to break through that spell and extract all your memories.”

A low whimper in his throat grows, becoming an agonized whine. Memories of Leif’s condition after Eloise pulled apart his mind drift in as I watch Violet. Viktor and Cornelius likely knew the same spell—Cornelius more so since his memory altering stretched further through the world than the one Viktor cast on my friends.

Violet clings to Peter’s shirt as his face becomes a mask of pain, with eyes bulging, and she doesn’t break her hold or locked gaze for a single moment. Bloodied tears well in his eyes.

What the fuck? If Violet doesn’t stop, we will be replacing a body. “Violet. You’re damaging him!”

“I have to know everything,” she says through gritted teeth, “and this individual has tangled memories in the center of his mind. I have to get to them.”

“You’ve harmed the guy—his eyes and nose are bleeding!” I protest. “Violet. We’ll take what you’ve discovered, and then wipe his memory of us—before you do serious damage.”

“Catching Whitegrove and revealing the truth is paramount. This situation stretches far beyond Madison and her missing tiara. Josef could be involved. Everything ties back to Whitegrove and his decision to hide Viktor’s identity. I need every single memory of dealings with witches from this man. I need solid evidence for Dorian!”

“Fuck, Violet. This is too much! Peter is as important to others as Holly is to you. Like her, he’s caught up in this against his will. The man has a family.”

I’d pictured us walking in and questioning the man, using subtle magic to find answers and then removing memories of the meeting, but not this. Never this.

“Violet!” I shout as the man’s feet slip from under him. “You can’t wipe his mind if he’s unconscious.”

Or dead.

Violet bows her head and takes a deep breath, hands trembling where she holds the man’s shirt. I edge toward Violet and place my hand over her fingers. “I’ll take care of his memories.”

The magic bolts through me, darker than the shadows, and I stare at her open-mouthed as she wipes blood from her own cheeks, blackened eyes meeting mine. I’m not with my Violet; I’ve spent the last few minutes watching Dorian’s daughter.

Dropping my hold on Violet, my head whirls, and I struggle to focus on lulling the injured, terrified man with a soothing mind spell. “What the hell is happening here, Violet?”

“Holly isn’t safe until this is over. I’m responsible for what happened to her, and she’s suffering. I don’t care what it takes to fix everything,” she says with quiet control. “Or what I need to do keep everybody protected.”

I rake both hands through my hair, fighting the distracting thoughts interrupting my spell. Violet’s plan to tell Cornelius about Viktor wasn’t only because she wanted the body away from Dorian’s interference. This is about Holly. Us. Protecting what’s precious in her world. Can’t Violet see the similarity to her mother’s actions? Violet’s loyalties switched, but she’s still a hybrid prepared to harm people to keep those she loves safe and alive.

I force down the horrible truth. Violet believes we’re battling the witches and Josef for the greater good, but wars aren’t won without sacrifices. The horror freezing me isn’t whether those sacrifices are human or supe, or if they deserve their fate, but what exactly we’re fighting for. Does the greater good even exist?

17

VIOLET

Plans buzz around my mind as I walk back to Darwin House with Leif. Tomorrow, I have a choice between visiting the Whitegrove estate or investigating the funeral home. I’m leaning toward the funeral home—Cornelius is less likely to possess embalming equipment. He requires a human professional to perform a task that witches can’t, and tonight’s meeting points to whom.

Clement Morris.

Rowan, naturally, is wary about visiting the Whitegrove estate, and didn’t want to discuss my plans. Our trip to the police station tonight exhausted him. He grew quieter, and his answers more distant. The weary ‘yes’ and ‘no’ are a tell-tale sign that he’s at his physical and metal limits and so I accept this and leave him to sleep.

I sense a wariness around Rowan after our meeting with the man in the morgue. I didn’t damage the individual as much as I could’ve—I regained control, as the man’s fear surfaced. Did my behavior bother Rowan more than he’s admitting? He informed me afterwards I used ‘unnecessary force’; an odd comment since I left the man physically intact besides a few streaks of blood.

I avoid mentioning Grayson to the others, but tonight starkly reminds me that he’s missing. Grayson’s absence nudges memories of Leif’s missing days. During the time humans kept him in a cell, I struggled with frustration and fear, hating my uselessness, despite all my abilities.

But humans couldn’t damage Leif in the way a potent supernatural creature could gravely injure Grayson.

I glance at Leif beside me and squeeze his fingers tighter until he protests before lifting my hand to kiss the back when I apologize.

At times like these, I’m acutely aware that the old disconnected, self-assured Violet would never understand how much of herself she was missing. Not only the compassionate side I denied, but the three pieces of myself I never knew existed: Rowan, Leif, and Grayson. I can’t explain away their effect on me as supernatural bonds. Not anymore.

The horrors my family survived created love and affection that chain their souls. They protect each other above all else. I once struggled to understand how a man with Dorian’s past and traits could love, but long since attempted to find a logical reason for what the word means.

Yet all my recent decisions come from my love for Holly, not guilt. And if Leif, Rowan, or Grayson face life-threatening situations, I’ll stop at nothing to help them. I’m not disloyal to my family—I’ve a deeper loyalty to others who I love in a more complicated and consuming way.

But tonight I learned the danger that accompanies this emotional complexity. Unleashing the buried feelings about Grayson’s absence and Holly’s predicament created consequences. As I stood in that morgue, fears over what happens when Dorian discovers the truth pulled at the darkness I try to contain.

The pressure in the man's head as I dug into his memories mirrored the pounding in my own. Driven by my intense need for Grayson’s safe return, I instinctively used every ounce of power to uncover clues, without considering the situation,

So, when I found a tightly wound elastic ball of memories, I disregarded the human’s safety while I picked and pulled until they unraveled:

A meeting with Cornelius’s employee concerning the blackmail. Cornelius’s men taking Viktor from the morgue with Clement Morris in attendance.

But also, images of the man’s children and fear for his life.

Rowan didn’t need to stop me. The children’s faces were enough.

I’m accosted by a flashlight shining in my face as Leif and I walk through Darwin’s entry doors.

“Where have you been?”

Oh, wonderful. Logan. “Out. Performing despicable deeds.”

“Ha ha.”

Since the ‘werewolf on campus’ incident, and threat of the full moon chaos, the humans have not only taken to patrolling in the evenings but also set up a roster to guard Darwin’s entrance at night. I’ve held back from informing them the uselessness of such activities against supes. That comment would only lead to trouble for me if anything untoward occurs.

Tonight, I reply with a stony-faced silence and leave the humans to guess where I’ve spent the evening. As I stalk upstairs, Leif hangs back to speak to them. Surely, he won’t inform the pair where we spent the night.

The hallway to Holly’s and my room is quiet and empty, two a.m. a common time for humans to sleep if not socializing. Holly spent time with Marci tonight and must’ve stayed with her because there’s no light filtering beneath the door to our room. Should I check on Holly? No. Holly finds my constant scrutiny of her and anybody she interacts with annoying. Despite my concerns about Marci’s motives, I’ve accepted that Holly is safe with the potent witch if I’m not around.

Holly feels safer at Thornwood currently, but I avoid informing Holly that I’m not as sure about her safety. After all, Holly’s abduction took place on campus. Logically, nobody would attempt a second abduction. Mrs. Lorcan banned all campus visitors without authority, which means the person responsible would reveal themselves as a member of the academy’s student body or staff.

I detect a visitor waiting inside my room before I open the door. Ordinarily, I’d immediately throw the individual through the window, but not this one. The moment I step into the room, a tall figure rises from a chair, and Grayson seizes hold of me, hands on my face as his mouth closes on mine.

Grayson hasn’t kissed me in this desperate manner since the night in his room, after I came across Holly’s broken body then blamed and attacked him. I pull on his long hair, forcing him to break the kiss. He looks back at me, emerald eyes shining but with an unmistakably black edge to them, his breathing shallow.

“That was a risky move considering you hid in my room, in the dark. I may not have known the assault on my lips came from you.”

One of Grayson’s arms remain locked around my waist like I might vanish if he lets go. “No risk. You sense me from a distance, Violet.”

“True. But not at the distance you’ve kept from me in recent days.”

His eyes raise to mine.”Are you upset about my decision to tell Eloise?”

My lips thin. “Yes. But I’m focused on the aftermath of your actions. I can do little about that betrayal of trust. Where were you?”

Grayson winces. “Fair point. Does Dorian know what happened?”

“No, and that does not answer my question.”

“Is he close to discovering Viktor’s dead?”

“No. Are you choosing to be ambiguous? Answer the question.”

Grayson’s throat bobs. “Explain to me what happened after I left you in the woods.”

“Once you explain the same. I’ve awaited contact and received none. I feared the worst, and I am extremely unimpressed.”

He half-smiles and strokes a strand of hair from my face. “I missed you too.”

“Then why stay away? Where are the phone messages assuring me that you’re safe?”

“I don’t have a phone anymore.” He takes a shuddery breath. “Kiss me again.”

I open my mouth to demand he tell me what’s happening, and why he has no phone, but he drags me into another kiss that I struggle to emerge from. The half-created blood bond detects his emotional state and envelops me, as does the desire, but something more reaches me.

Grayson’s blood—and not the blood running in his veins.

Wriggling from his embrace, I step backward, almost hitting the closed door, and run a look down the length of him. The weirdly familiar tug at my chest comes from attraction to Grayson, but physical desire isn’t the reason for my scrutiny.

Grayson hasn’t changed his clothes since the morning that Viktor died, and they’re bloodied, with smears on his dark blue jeans. I’m flung back to that first time I walked into Grayson’s room, disorientated by the scent of his blood and the craving to taste him.

Him. In the early days, I convinced myself that I only longed for Grayson’s blood, nothing more, but that was never true. Every kiss between us reinforces this.

Since Grayson’s blood entered my veins, I’ve a stronger response to the scent, even more so when that blood spills. I cover my mouth and nose with a hand.

“You’re hurt,” I say. “Who?”

“I recovered.”

The dark anger surges. “Who? My father?”

He laughs, but the sound is hollow. “Your father wouldn’t stop at hurting me.”

“Where were you?” I repeat. “If you hid, how could anybody hurt you?”

Grayson drags a hand across the top of his head. “Simple. I chose the wrong place to hide.”

I don’t hear, immediately drawn to the vertical slashes along Grayson’s inner arm where claws or nails slashed through an artery. Darting forward, I grab his wrist and stare before taking his other arm and turning it over.

The injuries match. This wasn’t minor, otherwise Grayson would be fully healed by now.

“Grayson.” I tear my gaze from his arms to his face. “Did Josef kill you again?”

“Not quite. Lost a lot of blood.”

“And now you’re in the same state as the night at the warehouse?” I ask cautiously. “Is that the reason for your mysterious visit to my room? My blood? Please remember how that ended last time.”

But Grayson isn’t the crazed, starved hemia who stupidly attacked a hybrid. He’s controlled, his gaze remaining steady on mine.

“No.” Grayson closes the gap I put between us and runs the back of his fingers along my face, sending a familiar tingle through me. “I stayed away until it was safe.”

My brow tugs for a moment. “You worried you would attack me at first?”

“Not you. I stayed away from the outside world. I couldn’t go near anybody else after Josef’s assault,” he says quietly. “If I attacked someone for their blood, Dorian would have an even better excuse to kill me.”

I pull Grayson close and hold him until he protests that I’m squashing his ribs. All the time, his pulse and mine beat in my ears, the confused swirling emotions taking me away from where I am, intense, as if I were with Grayson and Josef when this happened.

“You could’ve died, Grayson.”

“Nah. Josef wasn’t ready to let me go yet.”

“I meant temporarily died.” My voice muffles into a clean patch on Grayson’s shirt, my nostrils filling with his skin’s scent and detergent rather than his blood. “That would’ve been unpleasant.”

He chuckles. “Dying is never pleasant.”

Dorian’s words. His threats. I can’t lose any of the people I love, and Grayson is the most at risk.

“Nobody will ever kill you permanently.”

Grayson gently pries me away from him. “Because you’ll kill them first? Not smart, Violet.”

“Nobody. Not even my father,” I continue.

He smiles dryly. “That’s impossible, and, if I’m a realist, I’d say inevitable.”

“When I died at the lodge, you wanted to give me blood. Leif told me.” He nods. “I didn’t need blood, and I’m glad you didn’t do such a thing. However, if I see you dying at somebody’s hands, I would.”

“Take my blood? I suppose it would be a shame to waste it,” he says with another smile.

“No. I’d give you mine.”

Grayson goes completely still, arms dropping to his sides as he stares. “What?”

“Which is why I need consent to intervene in your death. In Dorian and Eloise’s situation, he never had the chance to ask her.” Grayson remains stiff and mute. “I need permission to give you my blood, if you lose yours.”

“Blood loss won’t kill me permanently. You don’t need consent for anything.” He turns his head away. “I’d survive.”

“Grayson.” I splay my fingers across his cheek and turn his face back to mine. “Somebody could kill you permanently. Josef is careful. He wants you to suffer but not die. Yet. If you’re attacked in the right way and unable to fight, you could bleed out everything in minutes. You’d die even before an attacker removes your heart and burns your body.”

“Violet, I’d need to lose almost all of my blood to reach that state. And I’d need a lot of yours.”

“Yes, but if you’re in that position, I am prepared to give you blood. If you have hybrid blood you won’t bleed out quickly or completely and fire doesn’t harm us. Nobody could harm you.”

“By hurting yourself?” I don’t reply, and Grayson shakes his head. “No. Violet. Dorian told me your blood could kill me.”

“He’s lying.”

“Is he?”

“Probably. He’s Dorian.”

Grayson sighs and steps away. “Your father would tear me apart if I became a hybrid.”

“With much more difficulty than in your current bodily form. That’s the point.”

“Right.” Grayson stares at me. “You know Dorian would try harder than ever to kill me? A Petrescu hybrid? Oh yeah, I can see my life being real easy then.”

“Josef will not kill you. Dorian will never kill you,” I repeat. “I cannot allow somebody I love to die.”

His hands cradle my face, fingers soft but firm. Grayson’s breath is warm against my skin, his body solid where it presses against mine, but I don’t move. I can’t. The weight of what I just said hangs between us, and not in a good way.

Talking about giving Grayson my blood triggers more than a possible future—it’s with us now. The pulse in his throat beats faster, echoing in my ears as the space between us becomes non-existent.

Grayson shifts just enough to see my face. “I don’t need saving, Violet.”

“Then stop putting yourself in ill-advised positions where you might. I won’t accept anybody taking you from me.”

Grayson’s mouth twitches, but the usual smirk doesn’t come. Instead, something in him breaks, and his lips crash onto mine with a desperation that steals my breath, and I respond instinctively, pressing into him. His fingers tangle in my hair, his touch rough, unsteady, control fraying at the edges.

I hold Grayson and dig my fingers into his taut muscle as I fiercely kiss him back, tongue tangling with his. His taste and scent coil around my senses, but I’m pulled into other desires intensified by his absence.

His blood.

No.

Not tonight.

Not after everything that’s happened to him. I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the heat of his skin, the sharpness of his breath between kisses. I’ve almost lost control once tonight; I can’t again. I wrench my head away, hands braced on his shoulders, breathing hard.

“Stop.”

Grayson drags in a shaky breath. “Do you want me to leave?”

“If I wanted you to leave, I would’ve ejected you after the first kiss.”

“So Violet, and so true.”

I place a hand on his hard chest.

“I want you to stay, Grayson.”

“I won’t leave the academy, don’t worry.”

His heart against my palm beats as hard as mine does. “No. Here. In this room. Tonight.”

His gaze dips to my mouth, his lips parting slightly. “Why?”

“That’s a rather ridiculous question.”

The world shrinks, the question hanging unanswered but understood. His lips brush the edge of my jaw, feather-light at first, then lingering. My fingers curl into his shirt as the touch presses against his restraint too.

“I still need an answer,” he murmurs.

“If you have to ask, you’re not paying attention.” I pause and catch his teasing smile. “Good grief, Grayson. I’ve resisted your blood, but I want you.”

He trails fingers along my face, watching the movement before placing an index finger on my lips. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

Grayson’s mouth touches mine again, and the power he’s fought to contain collides with mine, each touch and kiss pulling us toward a closeness I once never accepted.

And toward a truth.

Although we try to conceal the worst of ourselves from others, we could never fool each other. The darkness in our souls matches, two individuals created by the corrupt parts of our world. The moment we met, this match led to the inevitable. Us. I lied to myself when I swore I could resist what we are, and even more so when I swore I could resist Grayson.

Grayson pauses and grips my face in both hands. “I love you, Violet.”

“I would hope so considering what we’re intending to do.”

“Now who’s being obtuse?”

His glittering eyes search mine.

“I did not cope with your absence because I love you, Grayson. I would like you in my bed.” He arches a brow. “But not to hold hands.”

“And no blood,” he says softly.

“Not this time.” I pause. “I still need an answer, too, and not regarding whether you stay tonight.”

He doesn’t answer, instead engulfing me in his arms again. But instead of losing ourselves in the touch and kiss I’ve ached for he holds on to me as if I’m the only thing keeping him in this world.

One day, I just might be.

18

VIOLET

Holly’s weird smile won’t leave this morning—one she continuously bestows on me as I wait impatiently for her to eat breakfast in the academy cafeteria. She chews on her bacon sandwich and stares at my neck. Again.

“Why do you keep doing that?” I ask.

Again, the smile, but this time she leans across the table and lowers her voice. “Grayson returned to the academy.”

“Yes. I didn’t expect such a joyous reaction from you.”

“He stayed with you last night. In our room.”

Oh. Good grief. “Correct.”

“Did he… you…” She waves a hand. “You know.”

“I do not know.” Her brows both rise. “Are you asking if we partook in sexual activity?”

“I’m not asking that. I’m curious about the blood thing. I heard that’s part of the vamp/witch attraction, and I don’t know any witches who’ve… you know.”

This I do know. “I am not a witch,” I say curtly. “And if you’re asking if Grayson took and enjoyed my blood, he did not.”

“I bet he enjoyed other things,” she says to herself quietly, and gives me an innocent look when I slice her a disparaging one. “How does it work?”

“Have we not had this conversation once before? You are perfectly aware from your own experiences of sexual escapades.”

She splutters a laugh. “Well, you answered one question, but, no, not sex—I mean with you and the other guys.”

“Rowan and Leif weren’t with us.”

Her mouth parts and her voice drops to a whisper, “Are they with you sometimes?”

“We’re often together. Less so with Grayson’s recent absence.” Her jaw slackens further. “Oh, good grief. Not in that way. And in answer to your question, speak to Marci about how witches and consorts work. My relationships may be a source of curiosity to you, but your input and judgement aren’t welcome.”

I sip my coffee, irritated by her banal human reactions to the subject.

Holly snorts in derision. “But you’re allowed input into and judgement of my relationships? Especially the recent one.”

“Your dalliance with Pursuit?” I ask, perfectly aware this isn’t who she means. “He isn’t worth your time or tears. The witch is shallow.”

“Chase.” She huffs. “No. Your interference in my relationship with Dash.”

My fingers grip the coffee cup harder. “Relationship? Has he contacted you again?”

“No, and that’s partly your fault,” she says, taking a bite of her bacon-filled bread, more savagely this time.

“Dashiell made the decision to stay away from you, Holly.”

“And what would you do if Dash returned, Violet?” Her brown eyes challenge me in a way that’s growing more frequent of late.

“I’d ask him if he lacks common sense and possesses a death wish.”

Holly huffs and sinks back. “I know Dash will come back to me. I can feel it.”

“It?”

“Like you and Rowan. Grayson. Leif. That ‘it’.”

With a sigh, I resume my coffee drinking.

“You were beyond weird the whole time Grayson was missing. The same as when the police had Leif. Something different to normal ties you to them.”

“I’m reliably told that ‘weird’ is a natural state for me.” I place the cup down. “Naturally I’d become ‘beyond weird’ if I worried Grayson could be dead. Are you worried that Dashiell may be?”

Holly’s cheeks tinge pink. “No. I’d know if he was.”

“Because of this ‘it’?” Her lips thin at my tone. “Really, Holly?”

“Don’t patronize me!” Holly snaps. “How about you? Did you feel inside that Grayson was alive? I bet you did! What makes you so different?”

I blink at this little bundle of growing anger. “That is an unnecessary question.”

“I don’t mean because you’re a supernatural hybrid. Why should you sense Grayson was alright, but won’t accept that I know Dash is?”

“You’re human.” I shoot back. “There is no ‘knowing.’”

“Maybe I’m not human!” Her voice rises and the group of witches on the adjacent table stare then pretend that they didn’t, focusing on their empty plates and cups.

Empty. My jaw clenches at their decision to remain in the cafeteria and eavesdrop—and Holly’s loud-mouthed decision to make the process easier for them.

“You’re human. There’s no indication otherwise,” I say quietly. “The experience with Viktor, and his interference with your mind, may have a longer lasting effect than we expected. Time will tell.”

“Well, that’s just great!” Holly’s chair scrapes loudly as she stands, causing the whispering at the adjacent table to stop. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I experience any catatonic episodes. See you later.”

“Holly?” She stalks away and I push back my chair to hastily follow. This girl’s mood can shift unbelievably quickly sometimes. It seems supes and humans share some traits.

“Don’t worry! I won’t leave campus!” she calls back, blending into students heading toward us.

“What’s happening?” Rowan stands beside me, several books in his arms, watching Holly.

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“I’m not entirely sure what happened to Holly either, or why she stayed in Scotland with you before mysteriously returning to the academy,” a voice says.

I raise my eyes to the hanging lights above, take a calming breath, and pivot to face Marci. She pulls herself taller as she looks down at me.

“But I do know that whatever happened messed with her head.”

“What?” I ask sharply. Holly promised not to say anything. “How much⁠—”

“Marci means that Holly isn’t herself,” Rowan puts in quickly.

“Mmm.” Marci’s eyes narrow. “Something changed Holly.”

“Yes. Being half-killed by a shifter would cause ongoing mental trauma.”

“No, Violet. Something else.” She glances between me and Rowan. “There’s magic around Holly. Mind wiping to protect somebody? Your father seemed overly interested in Holly’s situation when she stayed in the hospital.”

“Perhaps returning to find her boyfriend in the arms of another girl upset Holly?” I suggest.

“Uh huh.” Marci pushes her tongue against her top teeth. “At least I’m looking out for Holly—and I am because if Holly does remember what you’ve done to her, and confides in me, I won’t keep the information to myself.”

I press my lips together, again meeting her challenge. “Holly can tell you whatever she wishes. I have not touched her mind. Charmed as I am by this conversation, Rowan requires my attention.”

She chokes a laugh. “Like a pet?”

“Marci,” warns Rowan.

I hold her gaze, impressed how Marci rarely backs down from our little tête-à-têtes. “I notice the humans still wear their magical talismans.”

Marci straightens further and lowers her voice. “The brooches are no longer for sale.”

“Uh huh,” I mimic. “And has anybody inspected these talismans for authenticity?”

“Keep your voice down,” she urges.

Rowan tugs on my hand. “Let’s go. Ignore Marci.”

The witch’s floral perfume fills my nostrils as she leans too near to me. “I saw Holly with somebody two nights ago, and he wasn’t a student. A guy important enough that you were speaking to him too, Violet. Perhaps Holly will tell me all about the guy some time soon—they looked close.”

I keep my expression neutral as Marci steps back, smiles sweetly at Rowan, then walks by us. Jaw clenched, I track where she goes, itching to follow and discover who she speaks to next. Has she shared these theories with others?

“Returning to Thornwood with Holly was not the solution I’d hoped,” I say.

“Yeah, but she’s safer here.”

I slide my eyes to his. “But is she?” Rowan doesn’t respond. “Is everything okay? You’ve adopted an expression familiar of late. Disturbed.”

He scratches his cheek before pulling me to one side. “There’re rumors about a murder cover-up and that the body went missing from the morgue.”

“Rumors are common, as are murders of late.”

“Bodies missing from morgues less so. I’d lay bets that the human detectives will want to speak to us.”

“Why? Because if there’s a missing body, the local necromancer took it? I’ve explained to the humans numerous times: a dead body has no use to a necromancer without the internal organs intact. Plus, the witch died too long ago to reanimate, even if he did still have a heart.”

Rowan blows air into his cheeks. “Yeah, but a missing body complicates the situation with humans.”

“Complicates this more than Dorian discovering Viktor’s body?” I shake my head. “We’re safer now, and we have leverage over Cornelius. I believe that’s known as a win-win.”

“That’s a simplistic Violet Blackwood view of the situation.”

“Grayson came back,” I announce to avoid this unwanted discourse.

Rowan’s eyes bug. “When?”

“Last night. He wasn’t in a good state mentally and had injuries. Dorian cannot, and will not, discover his role in Viktor’s death.”

“And where was he? Why didn’t Grayson contact us?” Rowan darts a look around. “Is he still here? Staying?”

I don’t answer immediately, because I don’t have an easy response. The fact that Grayson came back at all means more than I’d admit or allow Rowan to read on my face right now. I’m also certain that Rowan will not react well to my answer.

“Where was he?” repeats Rowan.

I look over his shoulder at the students eagerly—and some not so eagerly—making their way to class. “Josef found him.”

Rowan gawks, and we’re knocked by a hurrying Sheridan student. “What?”

“That’s what I need to speak to you about. I would’ve involved Holly, but she’s upset with me since I disparaged her feelings for Dash, therefore we can meet in the library without her. We’d better convene quickly and decide where to go. There’s a missing body, thus, we need to leave campus before the detectives, or my father, inevitably arrive.” Rowan doesn’t move. “Come along, Rowan.”

“Like a pet?” he mutters darkly as he follows.

19

LEIF

Whispers of murders and missing bodies fill the academy halls this morning, and I’m anxious to hear Violet’s latest plan, especially if it’s one we’ll need to talk her out of. We arrange to meet in the library, and I sit beside Rowan in our space between the musty, shelved books staring at the other reason Violet insisted on a meeting.

Grayson returned.

Vampires heal within hours from severe harm, so examining Grayson for injuries wouldn’t reveal anything about his last couple of days. I welcomed him with a guy hug—clap on the back, not too much contact—but Rowan kept his distance. Not unfriendly, but Rowan didn’t approach Grayson as he arrived.

The tension between Rowan and Grayson dropped in recent weeks, but we’re back to the strain between them from when Rowan believed Grayson killed Rory and Wes. Whatever Grayson told Violet or Rowan before I joined them isn’t good.

And Grayson isn’t great either. The cockiness that follows him everywhere is gone, replaced by something heavier. He sits on a desk with his feet on a chair as usual, his posture hunched. The vamp wears his uniform today to fit into the surroundings, but he’ll never blend in.

Personally, I’m glad he’s back, partly because Violet might choose less crazy and desperate plans in her pursuit of Viktor’s body. Grayson is safe. For now?

“Violet told me what happened, Grayson. Now explain to us why you were with Josef and he managed to force into your mind,” says Rowan abruptly.

I sit taller. “Josef?”

“Yeah. How the hell did that happen?” Rowan sinks back in the chair and crosses his arms. “Tell us everything, including why you never contacted Violet. That was a crappy move.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he snaps back. “I was stuck.”

I pull on my lip, looking between Violet and Rowan as Grayson tells his story. Of course, Violet’s expression remains neutral, apart from the disgust that glimmers in her eyes at any mention of violence. Rowan’s expression remains inscrutable too, but I can guess what’s going through his mind.

“Josef wants you to help against Dorian by spying in exchange for his protection?” I ask, clarifying what sounds insane.

Grayson grips the desk. “Protection from Dorian, sure. But it’s more than that. Josef made it very clear what happens to me if I say no. But obviously, I won’t help him.”

“Which does not bode well for your future, Grayson.” Violet pauses. “Nothing about your future bodes well currently.”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” Grayson says and stares at his shoes.

I can guess what Josef threatened Grayson with. An end of any future at all.

“And there was definitely a connection between Viktor and Josef?” asks Rowan. “He told you that?”

“Not a friendly connection.” He looks up. “After our… chat, Josef hinted that he knows more details about the other necromancers’ attacks and who’s using the shifters.”

“There has to be a connection between Cornelius and Josef too,” says Violet.

“Why would Josef tell you this?” Rowan’s eyes bore into him. “Why tell you information that can help Dorian against him?”

“He’s misdirecting to the witches,” says Violet. “Josef wants Dorian to focus on them and not him.”

“You don’t have names, Grayson,” continues Rowan. “He told you nothing but vague facts.”

“I will get names. I can work with Josef to dig deeper.”

“Work against Dorian?” Rowan chokes. “Oh, yeah, totally the right thing to do.”

“You think?” Violet frowns. “I’d think not. A rather risky decision.”

“No, I don’t think. That was sarcasm. Josef knows Grayson would double-cross him, and then Grayson’s running from death threats from two powerful men. Why would Grayson risk that?”

“Yeah. Last time Grayson betrayed Josef, he impaled him with a rebar into a warehouse wall.”

“Uh. Thanks again for the reminder, Leif,” Grayson mutters.

“Josef knows Grayson is involved in Viktor’s death, and that Dorian is now a threat to his nephew’s life. He believes that Grayson needs to side with his family to survive,” says Violet.

“Or, y’know, Josef might kill Grayson himself.”

“Currently, Josef is less likely to permanently end my life than Dorian, Rowan,” Grayson says stiffly. “He’s given me a chance.”

“How can you know?” I ask. “We’re still not sure how Dorian will react. You might be okay. Dorian might not behave as extremely as we think.”

Rowan scoffs a laugh, and I throw him a dirty look, but Violet’s silence unnerves me.

“I’m a Petrescu. And my relationship with Violet threatens Dorian. We all know he’s looking for an excuse to end the Petrescu bloodline.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Rowan. “You’re admitting that you’re here to spy on us and return to Josef with information.”

“Misinformation,” says Violet when Grayson falls quiet.

“You can’t guarantee Grayson will lie!” Rowan protests. “People do odd things if their lives are threatened. They become loyal only to themselves.”

Grayson’s expression darkens and he opens his mouth, but Violet interrupts again.

“You’re of the opinion that Grayson would betray us? His uncle killed him once, Rowan. This way, Grayson—we—can get information about Josef’s connections. Find the witches who Viktor worked with and the Cornelius connection. Take them all down.”

Okay, I was wrong on the less crazy plans.

“No, Violet. This adds more danger to us all. We choose a different plan. Grayson, please don’t go back to Josef,” I say.

“The time to avoid danger passed long ago,” replies Violet.

Grayson rubs his temples, staring back at his shoes. “I’ve no choice. Josef has a knack for finding me.”

“Mmm. Especially if you go to his place,” Rowan says snidely. “Why go to the cottage if you want to avoid him?”

“Because I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go close by, and I panicked. For all I knew, people were following me that morning after Viktor died! You don’t have the same worries as me; you can’t understand the situation I’m in. How was I to know Eloise wouldn’t go straight to Dorian and tell him what I did?” Violet places a hand over Grayson’s and squeezes. “In hindsight, going to the cottage was a dumb move, but tell me one other place nearby that Dorian might not be aware of.”

Rowan tightens his mouth. “Yeah, okay. But what else have you told Josef apart from Viktor’s death?”

“I’ve told you everything, Rowan. Josef Petrescu passed on information to me too. He knows who Viktor is. Josef’s reason for protecting the Sawyers links has to link to the Whitegroves.”

“Yes. If Josef knew Viktor existed under a different identity, we must presume Josef knows the full story about the murders,” adds Violet.

I frown. “Murders?”

“Sarah Sawyer’s brother. Viktor said he’s ‘in the same place’ as Madison. Madison is dead, ergo so is Sarah’s brother, Robert.”

Rowan waves a hand. “I’m not convinced. Josef wouldn’t tell you all this without a reason, Grayson. The Petrescu is a sneaky bastard.”

Does Violet catch the same undertone as I do—because that’s a Petrescu trait?

“Violet’s theory makes sense,” I hastily interrupt. “Josef wants to misdirect Dorian. Get him to focus on the necromancers.”

“With Grayson’s new information, we’ve a number of leads to follow in order to connect the dots.” Violet smiles. “I’m creating another investigative wall in my room. I’ll make those connections soon.”

Rowan groans. “That the academy spy will see?”

“Nobody will enter the room and leave without my magic marking them. Anybody who walks into that space will leave with the trace of a Blackwood protection spell on their person.”

“And what are your next plans?” I ask cautiously.

She taps the table. “I wish to visit the funeral home straightway—before anybody else gets a hold of us.”

“The detectives or Dorian?” asks Rowan.

“Both. And with luck, we will locate Viktor’s body. He may be embalmed today and Cornelius will move him tonight.”

“Uh. Violet. Didn’t we decide to leave his body alone?”

Her captivating blue eyes meet mine. “I don’t intend to touch Viktor.”

Rowan half-laughs. “Sure you don’t.”

Oh, great. No way am I keen to visit a funeral home. But I also don’t want to be on campus if Dorian or the detectives might show up at any moment. I’m waiting for Dorian to stride in, grab me by the scruff of the neck, and drag me god knows where for god knows what treatment.

Rowan told me what happened last night—what if Violet subjects the funeral director to the same aggression? I bloody hope Grayson’s return calmed her down.

And Josef? The bastard likes to drip feed information. I can’t accept that he believes Grayson would turn away from us and work for him.

But Rowan doubts Grayson, and that’s a problem.

20

VIOLET

Elysian Fields Funeral Services.

Well-trimmed lawns sweep the land surrounding the white building, but hardly enough to classify as fields. A small gold plaque affixed to unobtrusive white metal gates indicates the entrance, where white and pink rose bushes line the driveway and guide us toward the premises.

I stand with the guys outside the single-story white building, taking in the pristine, lifeless surroundings. I can’t sense the dead, just the polished sterility of a place that’s made death a business.

Rowan’s jittery energy is as palpable as the emptiness in the red-eyed couple leaving the building. Leif stands behind him, after fidgeting the entire trip to the funeral home, asking constant questions about what we might find. Grayson lingers, subdued, muttering that the moment the staff see a hemia vampire, they’ll eject him. Judging by the horrified look from the couple on the way by, he might be right.

The reason for Rowan’s unease isn’t the same as Leif’s—Rowan isn’t bothered by the reminders of mortality offered by the funeral home; he’s concerned about my presence here.

“Aren’t you all relieved I’m visiting in the daytime and not breaking in at night?” I ask the silent trio.

“I think I should keep away from this place until things blow over,” says Grayson.

“Blow over?” Leif gawks at him.

“Y’know, like when Eloise doesn’t want Violet to hand me over to Dorian anymore.”

“All eyes and ears are needed,” I say. “Besides, I’m not concerned about a bad reaction to your presence, Grayson.”

“Huh?”

“Distracted staff equals opportunities for Rowan to gain access to the funeral home’s computer.”

“We’re definitely not looking for Viktor?” asks Leif, a question he’s repeated numerous times this morning.

“This afternoon’s aim is collecting information, rather than Viktor’s body. Do you have one of your stick things for the computer?” I ask Rowan.

“Stick things? Oh. USB. Yes.”

I walk between the pale ivory marble pillars, through the open double doors, and into a reception area where the floor gleams with matching stone.

A large vase of peace lilies offers a natural contrast to the starkness, and two plush-cushioned blue sofas are positioned on either side of the supposedly welcoming space.

“Is that awful music necessary?” I ask, my ears assaulted by piped sounds.

“It’s soothing,” says Leif.

“Yet you do not appear soothed.”

“And here we go…” says Rowan as I take a step forward.

I halt. “What does that mean?”

“Violet Blackwood’s first ever visit to a funeral home?” He sighs. “Please watch what you say to people, and also avoid anybody dressed in black.”

“I am sure you’ll interrupt me should I not speak in an acceptable manner. You always do,” I say pointedly.

Grayson chuckles then points to a corner. “I’m staying away.”

He wanders to a square table close to one of the sofas where staff fanned out colorful brochures across the wood.

A small mahogany desk partially hidden behind the lilies resembles the one on the website, as does the woman sitting behind. She’s dressed in a blue suit, although the photograph used must be out of date or cleverly enhanced, because gray streaks her curled brown hair.

Cynthia’s brow creases and distrust immediately enters her eyes. “Are you here due to a recent loss, or would you like information about our pre-plan packages?”

“Pre-plan?” I echo and turn to Rowan. “Who plans their own funeral?”

Rowan sighs. “Lots of people, Violet. Dying is expensive.”

How odd. “We’ve no plans to die soon,” I inform her. “We merely wish to peruse your selection of caskets.”

Rowan clears his throat. “And speak to someone about a sensitive family matter.”

Cynthia holds my gaze and her fake smile remains. “I’m sorry for your bereavement. Have you lost somebody close to you?”

“Yes. I’ve lost a dead man. I wish to find him and believe he may be here.”

Cynthia’s mouth parts. “You’ve what?”

Rowan swears under his breath and nudges me to one side. “Sorry, Violet’s distressed after losing somebody she’s close to. Violet doesn’t always understand how inappropriate she is.”

I bite back a retort.

Cynthia doesn’t look convinced. “Lost a body?”

“What Violet means is, lost someone. There are… complications”

Cynthia’s brows pull together. “Complications?”

Rowan lowers his voice. “Family dispute over who’s arranging the funeral.”

“Are many dead people kept in the building currently?” I interrupt. “Are they all accounted for?”

Cynthia blinks at me. “Your family? If any of this charade were true, you’d be aware that we don’t work with vampire clientele.”

“I am not a vampire.”

“Why would vampire’s ask to use your services?” Leif asks.

“They don’t. That’s the point. An immortal race doesn’t require our services.”

“That surprises me. On occasion, vampires kill each other permanently. Total blood loss would suffice, but the perpetrators need fire to complete the process.” Violet points to the wall behind Cynthia. “ You have furnaces, which offer excellent opportunities to hide their crime.”

“Well, perhaps the vampires visit at night to borrow them for their illegal purposes?” Cynthia says with derision.

“You have a good point. Vampires wouldn’t be good clientele.” I take a business card from the desk. “If you’re complicit in vampire murders, their relatives would retaliate, which would threaten the welfare of those who work here.”

Rowan nudges me again. Harder. “Do you work with witches? Some human funeral homes do.”

“You’re a witch, then?” Cynthia asks me.

“At times.”

The woman stares as Grayson sinks into one of the sofas and crosses an ankle over his knee, revealing his features for the first time. “Goodness me. The vampire can’t stay inside the building.”

“I promise he’ll behave.”

I swear Leif suppresses a laugh at my solemn oath.

“He’ll disturb our grieving clientele.” She examines a slender silver watch. “A family is due to arrive at any moment. Some humans are very… touchy about vampires.”

“I don’t turn humans into the undead,” remarks Grayson, and flicks through pages of the booklet. He looks up. “If you knew anything about my society, you’d know that’s illegal.”

“And is this family burning or burying their dead?” I put in.

I’ve promised not to use mind magic, but it’s becoming increasingly necessary due to the length of time this is taking.

“Whether people cremate or bury their loved ones isn’t your business.” Cynthia glances at Rowan. “And yes, minor witch families often use our services for burials.”

“And the important witch families and their traditions?” Violet asks. “Do you assist with embalming? My missing body would need embalming, once I find him. Are you sure there isn’t an extra one lying around?”

“What the hell?” Rowan mutters. “Violet.”

“And as Clement Morris holds the dubious honor of the best embalmer in the area, we’d like to meet with him to discuss the process. Perhaps see examples of his work?” I continue, ignoring him.

The woman’s eyes bug. “Are you honestly requesting to invade people’s privacy and view their deceased?”

“Again, I apologize for Violet’s grief-stricken, inappropriate responses. Is Mr. Morris available today?” Rowan interrupts. Again.

“No.”

“Is he on the premises?” I ask.

“No.” She taps keys and examines a computer screen.

I point. “Do you log the names of all bodies that enter the premises? What information do you keep?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is anybody due to be burned today?” I ask and this time Leif grabs my arm. “Or are you aware of any unauthorized burnings overnight?”

Her jaw slackens. “Excuse me?”

“Are you able to ascertain if somebody burned the body of a corpse who isn’t registered in your system?”

“We have strict procedures, young lady. Our business offers the utmost respect and care for our clients’ relatives. Nobody could ‘mysteriously’ burn a body.”

“But the relatives are dead. The deceased couldn’t communicate a complaint to your clients about how you treat them.”

Cynthia takes the business card from my fingers. “Is this all a joke? Your vampire friend appears amused.”

“No, we’re serious. You come highly recommended and Violet—” begins Rowan.

The woman’s eyes go wide. “Violet. I knew I recognized the name! You’re the Blackwood girl.”

“Well, that took some time,” I say. “Yes. I am she.”

Cynthia stiffens, her fingers curling around the card. “Are you a necromancer?” Her voice rises, the warmth from earlier now faded to nothing.

“Did you not know? I thought that was common knowledge.”

“I know enough to ask you to leave.”

“I’ve no intention to steal a body, if that is your concern. The ones here are too dead for my purposes.”

“Too dead? Whatever does that mean?” She points with vehemence at the door. “Necromancers are evil. Leave.”

“I can think of many things in this world eviler than necromancy.”

Tapping footsteps in the foyer halt and a strangled noise comes from behind me. I pivot. A woman in black with tulle from a small hat covering her face stands with an angry-faced man who hugs the woman to him by the shoulders.

Cynthia raises her voice. “William! Could you come here, please?”

William. “Mr. Morris junior? Is he available? We could discuss caskets and embalming packages with him.”

Grayson wanders over to us, and the man who entered the funeral home pulls the woman halfway across the room to the sofa farthest from the vampire as he passes.

The younger, well-groomed man, dressed in the suit he modeled on the website, steps through a door to the left of the reception desk. “Is there a problem, Cynthia?”

“Yes.” I walk toward him. “We require assistance, and so far your customer service is severely lacking. Your colleague believes I’m performing a practical joke. I have lost someone, and it’s extremely distressing.” Rowan mumbles another warning. “However, as I am behaving inappropriately due to my grief, Rowan will speak with you.”

“About?” William’s local accent is affected by a more refined tone, although that tone is currently an unimpressed one.

“A family matter,” says Rowan hastily. “A bereavement.”

William pauses before he holds out a hand to shake Rowan’s. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I more commonly deal with adult family members.”

“Because they possess the money required?” The man shoots me a look. “We’re touring local funeral homes and wish to discuss embalming. Now, please, as I’m rather busy.”

As is a regular effect of mine, I render the man in the stiff suit speechless as I pass him with my friends.

“Touring funeral homes?” Rowan whispers. “I think you should let me take over before we’re kicked out.”

21

VIOLET

William Morris hurriedly follows the four of us as we enter the room, Leif hovering in the doorway and eyes going wide. Before us, the funeral home has arranged a range of caskets somewhat artfully around the room, many open for inspection, and nearby a laptop rests on a mahogany desk matching Cynthia’s. I wander to the first and look into the white, silk-lined casket. Empty, naturally, but what about the others?

Some caskets have closed lids, and I move to the dark wood one, a shining example of high quality complete with an un-engraved silver plaque. Is Wesley currently residing in one of these?

“What are you doing, young lady?” asks William in horror as I open the casket and peruse the interior.

“Looking for a missing body.” Empty. I replace the lid and turn.

“Violet! I apologize for her inappropriate joke, Mr. Morris.” Rowan says, then turns and says through clenched teeth, “We’ll need mind magic if you don’t stop this.”

“Witches normally keep their death rites business within the community. Why would you want my father to assist?” William asks, stepping between me and the closed casket I’m eyeing up next.

“As explained, Clement Morris is an eminent embalmer and comes highly recommended. We’d like to look at the equipment and room you perform embalming in, in order to assess suitability.”

“This is not appropriate.” His face twists with disgust. “I suggest you leave.”

Mind magic? That’s my only option now. I’m wasting time and breath with this talk of the human ritual of disposing of their dead, and, however fascinating the process is, I’ve a body to locate.

We’d no opportunity to inspect Cynthia’s computer, but William’s presents an opportunity. Mr. Morris must be the one to leave.

“You’ll show us the place we would like to see.”

His growing opinion that we’re despicable supernaturals invading his business allows me easy entry to his mind. He isn’t specifically concerned that we’re here, therefore he isn’t connected to his father and Cornelius’s plot.

“How long does embalming take? Is there a queue?”

“Queue for what?”

I blink at him. “A list stating the order in which the bodies are embalmed.”

He glances at the door and frowns at himself as he forcibly answers. “Embalming isn’t common, and we’ve only human clients right now.” His jaw clenches. Is there something he’s holding back?

“Who’s on the list?”

“My father deals with that side of the business. I…” William rubs his temples as confusion sets in.

“Have important duties in the reception area,” I finish for him. “Prospective clients to speak to. Funerals to arrange.”

Under Rowan’s furious gaze, I take the man’s thoughts and sever them from his plans to escort us from the premises.

“You haven’t met anybody strange in the building today,” I press. “And if Cynthia mentions us, you’ll assure her we’re genuine clients.” I lower my voice. “Rowan. There’s an open laptop. Check out the records.”

He eyes the stupefied man. “How many times do I have to remind you that mind magic is illegal, Violet? And after last night⁠—”

“As many times as I remind you that in some cases the magic is necessary.” I point at the open doorway. “If this business is meticulous, all records will be on the laptop. Hurry. I need to perform a head count.”

“A what?” Leif chokes out.

“Of bodies. Check if there’s one extra.”

“Omigod,” mutters Rowan. “If I’d known you were going that far, I would’ve suggested we came here tonight. We don’t even know where they keep the bodies.”

“A head count in their records. Names. Then, yes, we’ll return here tonight.”

“What?” repeats Leif.

“We’re running out of time.” I look to the man who’s torn whether to leave or stay, pushed along by my mental influence.

“Can I watch William?” whispers Leif, as the man returns to Cynthia. “Y’know. Stay on the lookout for the guy coming back before Rowan finishes up? Or I could wait outside in case I spot a witch?”

“Are you uncomfortable here?” I ask him.

Grayson smiles. “You’re not a fan of death, and you’re dating a necromancer?”

“We rarely date,” I say. “I don’t have time currently.”

“And I wouldn’t choose places like this. It’s creepy, and I feel invasive.” Leif rubs the back of his neck.

“Wait outside, Leif. You can look out in case anybody suspicious is watching the building,” I say.

Grayson claps him on the back. “And I can take a good look at the caskets too. I might want a new one.”

“Do vampires still use them?” asks Leif. “You have a bed. Why do you need to hide from the dark now that you don’t explode in daylight?”

Grayson’s surprise turns to amusement. “I forget you’re half-human. Leif, I’m kidding. The only time hemia vamps used caskets was for journeys that involved traveling in the daytime. Nobody would dare open one.”

“Like the famous Tepes relative,” says Rowan. “And Petrescus, I presume? You traveled by boat from Eastern Europe.”

“Can we not give Leif a vampire history lesson?” I ask. “We don’t have time for that either.”

“Didn’t you learn anything in history class?” asks Grayson.

“Human history class doesn’t include supe history.”

“Can you stop this!” The guys fall quiet. “There must be a record somewhere of their procedures. Clement would struggle to bring an extra body to the premises and not inform his staff. Find that name on the system.”

Residue of a witch’s magic energy lingers for a few days after death, and a witch of Viktor’s caliber would emit his more strongly. Now that I’m in this room, closer to the funeral home’s operations center, I sense magic.

This building contains a dead witch. I’m not close enough to be sure the witch is Viktor, but I’m counting on this for when I return later. Clement brought the body to embalm here and disguised his crime. How?

22

GRAYSON

“How long do we have before someone finds us?” asks Leif as we huddle together in the library.

We’ve selected the desks in the area that has become ‘our spot.’ I stand nearby with Violet as Rowan sorts through the files he copied from the funeral home’s computer, with Leif beside him.

I brush the back of my fingers along Violet’s face, barely hearing what she’s saying. I’m struggling to focus on anything but our night together, switching off from the memories as much as possible because the desire for her blood went into overdrive ever since. Keeping physically distant helps me keep my hands off, but if we’re close, touching Violet becomes something out of my control.

I try to keep my mind anywhere but on Violet, but every time she moves, speaks, breathes, it’s like my body remembers exactly what I want—and her vow last night. Neither of us mentioned the conversation this morning. Was the vehement insistence that she’d turn me into a hybrid prompted by her emotional vulnerability at my safe return or something more?

We can’t go down that route. I want a future away from scrutiny in the supernatural world. She’d lock me into a state that’s the opposite to the quieter life I’ve craved. But there’s a problem? I crave Violet even more.

Violet pauses in whatever she’s saying to me but doesn’t remove my fingers. Man, how different she is to the girl who arrived at Thornwood with a wall around her as tall and solid as the ones around the academy.

I once jokingly thanked Rowan for triggering Violet’s gentler half, which pissed him off. He had a lot of personal shit to deal with after learning about her rejecting their bond. Violet only recently admitted these changes came from within herself.

“Violet,” I whisper, and take her hand before tugging her into a hidden place between the bookshelves.

Instantly, Violet pulls her fingers from mine and crosses her arms tightly against her chest in an all too familiar way. “Do not drag me out of sight in the expectation that I will return your ardor.”

I splutter a laugh at her archaic words. “Interesting that’s the first image that comes to your mind, Violet, and very presumptuous. Do you often imagine kissing me?”

Her lips part, the girl silent for a few seconds. “No.”

I’d accuse Violet of lying but don’t want to waste time arguing. I’d waste that time making out with her but, knowing the chances of that are less than zero, I merely smile.

“I wanted to talk to you alone about Leif.”

“Leif?”

“Violet, I understand you’re focused on Holly because you blame yourself and want to make sure she’s ‘fixed’, but Leif isn’t coping with anything that’s happening.” I nod in his direction. “I haven’t spent much time around Leif since I returned to the academy, but he’s quieter than before.”

“Leif isn’t a conversationalist, and I imagine he distrusts you considering the situation with your uncle.”

I close my eyes and take a calming breath. “Maybe, but today at the funeral home, he was freaked out. He’s mortal and the place confronted him with death. He’s terrified about what might happen to him once Dorian discovers the truth about Viktor’s death. And there’s the issue with the spell. Is he really free from the influence on his mind?”

Violet falls silent again and gazes at me, but through me, the way she does when disappearing into her own mind and reality.

“I am aware of Leif’s struggles.”

“But are you?” I ask gently.

“His decision to inebriate himself at a party. His reluctance to join us at the police station, and his behavior at the funeral home.” She blinks with each thought running through her mind. “I do intend to speak to and reassure Leif, but you must understand how and why I’m focused on the forty-eight hours that Eloise gave us.”

“Laser-focused on your plans, yeah.” I push her hair behind an ear. “Don’t force Leif to join us tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Violet. Once Rowan discovers something from those files, you’ll act. If information confirm Viktor is still in the funeral home, I know exactly where you’re headed.” I can’t help but love how much I’m silencing Violet. “And if not, you’ll head to the Whitegroves.”

“I am ‘laser-focused’ to help him. To help you. The more evidence I have for Dorian before we admit our mistake, the easier he’ll be on us.”

This time the guys must hear my laugh. “You’ll need a bloody huge pile of evidence, Violet.”

“Which I shall find.”

“Yeah. Well. Give Leif a break from this shit. Even though he doesn’t want to go, Leif has a pull to be with you in dangerous situations. Ask him to stay at the academy tonight and check out what the human kids are up to instead.”

“You’re suggesting I give him a different task?”

“Not unusual behavior for you, Detective Blackwood.”

Violet’s bright blue eyes hold mine, and I swallow against the scent of her blood. Talk. Concentrate on something else.

“You’re astute when you wish to be, Grayson.”

“I spent weeks watching and listening before you arrived at Thornwood. I helped the witches escape Wes and his gang’s nighttime bullying. I’m clued up on people, and I know Leif well enough to see the obvious.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Your uncle.”

I avert my eyes. “I can’t stay away forever.”

“Do you expect him to harm you again?”

“I’d expected your question to be ‘what will you tell him?’”

“I’m not concerned about that. As I said last night, my concern is about you.”

I can’t stand here and not touch Violet—it’s fucking impossible. Encircling Violet in my arms, I lean in to brush my lips against hers

“Seriously?” asks Leif. “We’re in the middle of this crap, and you decide to start making out?”

Violet springs from my arms and turns to where he stands at the edge of the shelves, face thunderous. “We were talking.”

Leif snorts. “I’m not blind.”

“No, but you’re not yourself.” She glances at me. “Are you worrying about the effects of the spell?”

“You do think the spell still exists!” Leif’s voice rises, and Violet moves closer in alarm. She wraps her arms as far around his waist as she can and his breath huffs from him as she squeezes him.

Leif’s eyes focus on the top of Violet’s head as he hugs her back, the two silent. After a few moments, she tiptoes and whispers something before withdrawing and heading back toward Rowan.

Taking advantage of Leif’s distraction, I edge past him to reach the other two before he directs any anger or annoyance at me.

Rowan rests back in his chair, eyes narrowed. “What’s happening?”

“Did you find something?” asks Violet.

“That’s what Leif headed over to tell you.” His eyes narrow further. “Again, what’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Leif mutters.

Shaking his head, Rowan turns a notepad toward us. “I’ve looked through all this year’s files and spreadsheets. Wesley Willis is listed along with the date he arrived, date and time of funeral, names of who traveled in what car for the cortege, etcetera.”

“Anybody unusual on Wesley’s records?” asks Violet.

“No. Only the people we saw at the church on the day.” Rowan taps the pad. “There’re four people in the funeral home currently, and their burial or cremation plans are noted in the same way as Wes’s. The deceased’s name, contact names, and other acronyms that I can’t figure out. No witches currently.”

“Wrong.” Violet takes the notepad. “I sensed a witch.”

“Well, there’s a pauper’s funeral.” She opens her mouth. “A pauper’s funeral means nobody claimed the body, Violet. The body arrived a couple of days ago. No family stepped forward, so the council will bury them cheaply. That means the only names attached to this deceased’s records are a government organization.”

“That’s sad,” says Leif flatly. “Imagine dying and nobody knows or cares.”

“Yes, but this is where it gets interesting. The planned cremation switched to an embalming. Records were updated this morning.”

“Viktor?” asks Violet. “They swapped the body?”

“Highly probable,” Rowan replies.

“And burned him already, I suppose,” says Violet blithely.

Rowan points at his screen. “There was a cremation this morning—we saw a couple of the family when we were with Cynthia. Violet might be right.”

“Perhaps Clement snuck the other man inside the coffin with today’s cremation?” I suggest.

“That’s disgusting behavior,” Leif retorts. “Disrespectful.”

Violet hands Rowan the notepad. “The change to embalming for a pauper’s funeral must look suspicious to William Morris.”

“I’m sure his father had an explanation,” I say.

“Or a threat,” says Rowan.

“Or money. That appears to motivate many individuals.” Violet’s delight isn’t appropriate, and Leif’s horrified look doesn’t leave. “Any note about what will happen to the embalmed body?”

“No, but you can bet the government department gets half the ashes from the cremation, and today’s mourners receive the other half,” says Rowan.

Leif stands. “I can’t deal with this. Give relatives the wrong ashes with somebody else mixed in them? How could anyone do such a disgusting thing? Clement Morris is supposedly a respected member of the community!”

“I wonder how they fit two people in one casket?” I ask. “Must’ve been a tight squeeze.”

Leif’s jaw slackens. “You’re as bad as Violet! This isn’t right.”

“Any information where the body will go after the embalming?” Violet asks.

“No. Blank entry under ‘address’.”

“And you think Viktor’s body is still at the funeral home?” asks Leif stiffly. “He hasn’t checked out?”

I chuckle. “The place isn’t a hotel, Leif.”

“Very funny,” he snaps. “You know what I’m asking.”

“There’s one way to find out,” says Violet with an all too familiar smile.

“Oh, crap, no.” Leif sits heavily on a seat. “This isn’t a game of hunt the body. What do you plan to do?”

“Wait discreetly. Again.” She taps the pad. “Although Cornelius won’t want Viktor’s body loose in the world for long, he’s unlikely to cause suspicion by arriving to take him in the daytime. The funeral director won’t want to risk a missing corpse on his premises for long, either. Viktor is there. This time, we’ll intercept whoever arrives and discover Viktor’s planned final destination.”

Violet flicks a look to Leif’s paling face.

“Leif. You’re disturbed by this.”

“I’ll cope,” he says flatly.

“I’d like you to stay at the academy and join the humans on one of their pointless hunts. Discover more about mysterious so-called ghosts and the full moon hysteria.”

“Oh. Okay.” His shoulders relax. “Yeah. Good idea.”

“And keep an eye on Holly,” she adds. “The girl is spending too much time with Marci, who’s threatened to persuade Holly to ‘reveal all’.”

I watch them all, questioning whether I should join Violet and Rowan or stay hidden on campus. Let’s just hope tonight doesn’t end with another body to deal with.

23

VIOLET

I’m not doing anything else today until I’ve spoken to Leif.

Grayson didn’t need to share his suspicions because I’m already aware. He knows full well that I’m conscious of other people’s wants and needs nowadays. Or do the three guys still think my investigations take more room in my head than the important people around me?

If anything, Grayson distracted me from everything last night.

Besides, I did speak to Leif on the morning after the Darwin House party. He wasn’t keen on talking to me at the time, due to the self-inflicted headache, and asked me to leave him alone to recover. When I pressed him to share his thoughts and feelings with me, at first Leif asked who’d replaced the real Violet overnight. Once we established this was a weak joke, he repeated his request to leave him to recover. Something niggled, the way it did when he pushed me away the day we visited the elders, but Leif wasn’t himself. When I offered food, he turned paler and refused. Definitely not himself.

Leif’s avoidant behavior continued after our earlier library meeting, but that means he’s easier to track down. His bolt hole. Leif answers his door within seconds of my knocking, and anxiety flickers in his eyes.

“What’s happened? Detectives?” He darts a look behind me. “Dorian?”

“No. Are you alone?”

He nods, and I walk by him into the chaotic room strewn with clothes and empty drinks cans, where an open laptop glows with bright colors, and voices yell through the speakers.

“I apologize. I interrupted your game. Please finish.”

Leif pushes the laptop lid closed. “I’m uh… dead now. In the game.”

He’s avoiding my eyes, and so I walk to face him. “I am concerned for your welfare in reality.”

Leif sits on the bed, hands dangling between his legs—the same Leif as earlier: guarded and on edge. “I’m okay. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

“Because I wish to spend time with you alone?”

“Another walk?”

“You’d like to go for a walk?” I frown. “Very well.”

He drags hair from his pale face. “No. Last time you spoke to me about ‘concerns,’ we took a walk.”

“Oh.” I sit beside Leif on the bed and curl my legs beneath myself, facing him sideways. “I wish to speak about your concerns regarding Viktor’s death and your worries about the spell weighing on you. Grayson also thinks⁠—”

“Grayson? Does he know something?” Leif straightens. “Is Josef involved in what I am?”

“What you are?” I place a hand on his wide thigh. “No, Leif. I want to reassure you that I will protect you from my mother and father. I’ll keep you safe from the shifter elders. And I will always love and care for you.”

Instead of the smile and soft touch I expected, Leif looks at the carpet. “Yeah. I know.”

“That’s a confusing response to my words. Don’t you want to kiss me, and then allow me to offer you reassurance?”

“I’d rather be on my own, Violet.” He strokes the back of his fingers along my cheek. “Sorry.”

“Do you have a headache again?” I point at the laptop. “That activity would give me one.”

Leif finally smiles. “No. Gaming relaxes me. I’d hoped for some down time, but you’re here to ask for help, aren’t you?”

“I’m not here to ask if you’ll join us tonight.”

“I wouldn’t go if you did ask.”

“That isn’t a problem. I never want you to think that you must do what I ask. Rowan once explained clearly—and slightly aggressively—that’s incorrect behavior.”

“But he usually does what you ask him to.” Leif takes a half-empty can from beside the laptop and drinks. “Rowan is safe to join you in… whatever.”

“And you’re not safe?” Is he swerving the discussion again? “This conversation isn’t about Rowan.”

He makes a soft sound before looking up. “Violet, even without Viktor’s spell in my mind, I’m the weak link.”

“Weak is not a word I associate with you. Mentally, you’re stronger than you think too, Leif. Talk to me. Tell me what worries you, and I shall attempt to fix the problem. Have I upset you?”

“I’m a liability, Violet.” He pulls on his bottom lip. “You can all protect yourselves against powerful supes. Grayson’s a killer. Rowan’s magic could kill. You obviously could.”

“And you want the ability to kill?”

“I want the ability to protect myself and not be killed.”

Am I hearing him correctly? “You’re stronger than an average human, and we’ll always protect each other.”

Or was I mistaken in assuming Leif would always be content as the one without claws or magic?

“You don’t get it. Dash shifted and killed Viktor to save Holly. He could’ve fought back if someone attacked him.” Leif averts his eyes. “I want to find my shifter side.”

My head reels. “Excuse me?”

“I want to discover if I have enough shifter blood to connect with my father’s bloodline.” He looks back at me and his amber eyes shine—the tell-tale sign of the heritage he ignores. “How can I be part of your life unless I do?”

Heart speeding, I stand and look down. “Good grief. You are already part of my life and always will be, Leif.”

“Because I’m your consort?” he asks quietly.

“Don’t use the word you hate.” I swallow, unprepared. I never expected to hear these words from the guy who shuns this part of himself. “And don’t crave a state that you don’t want.”

“But that’s the whole point. I want this. Being a half-shifter has caused a lot of shit in my life, and now I’m with you, my human weaknesses⁠—”

“No!” I interrupt. “Leif. You do not change who or what you are merely because you’re part of my life.”

He stands too, his imposing figure looking down on me. “Dorian thinks I’m dispensable. Easy to kill. Not worth much.”

“That’s Dorian’s opinion of most people. You’re not unique in that respect.”

“None of your parents believe you seriously want me to be your cons—partner. Everybody knows that you only told the elders I am in order to protect me.”

My chest goes tight. “That’s what you believe? Quite frankly, I’m insulted when I’ve expressed how much I care for you.”

“But I’m too human!” Leif’s voice rises.

I’m rarely aware of the difference in height and build between us when we’re face to face. Leif’s nature masks the strength that I’ve experienced once at the memorial and when we’ve kissed, but never in his manner. Not like this.

“I’m not worth the same as the others. I’m a liability.”

“A what?” I choke out.

“If I could shift, I’d protect myself more than I can as a human. I’d become fully part of the supernatural world, and anybody who wanted to hurt me would know to back off.”

“This isn’t a desire. Your thoughts come from fear.”

Leif’s jaw tightens. “This is about a lot of things. You’ve opened my eyes to dangers inside the human world, and I’m now fully in the other world I’ve separated myself from. I’m in Darwin House, but I’m a fucking supe, Violet!”

Leif’s breathing speeds, and his eyes glisten with frustrated determination. Weeks ago, I would never have understood or responded in the way I do, as I place both hands on his rough cheeks.

“Leif. Think about what you’re saying.”

His fingers curl around mine. “I’ve thought about nothing else for days. Everything sharpened into focus the night Viktor almost used me to kill Trent. The witch took away my control. I don’t ever want someone to do that to me again!”

“Viktor held control over a lot of people, including shifters. That’s an insane conclusion.”

Leif pulls my hands away and steps back. “Ask Rowan about how hard my life is at Thornwood because humans don’t accept me. The constant whispers about Mids, at how one day I’ll lose my shit and hurt somebody. That I don’t belong. Well, they’re right and always have been.”

“That you’ll lose control and hurt somebody?”

“I don’t know!” he shouts. “I don’t fucking know who or what I am, and now I’ve got a witch’s spell in my head as if I’m a construct.”

“The spell isn’t there anymore!” I reply loudly. “You are Leif. Incomparably gentle and kind and somebody incredibly important to me. A Leif I would never want to change.”

Leif always fought against his shifter side, convinced it made him something he didn’t want to be. And now he’s questioning everything because of me? No. I refuse to be the reason he lets go of the life he planned.

Something that never crossed my mind before hits me. I’ve changed but look at how I’ve altered the people who’ve become part of my life.

“You talk about killing? When Grayson did, he lost himself to a part he doesn’t want. If Rowan killed, that would change him too. Now you’re telling me you want to make it easier for you to kill people too?”

His pupils dilate. “Yes, Violet.”

I take a sharp breath, less and less able to comprehend this conversation. This isn’t my Leif. The Leif before me is the guy he secretly craves to be, filling the room with a primal energy he suppresses that I’ve only glimpsed in him in the past.

“I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

Leif strokes my hair. “I love you, Violet, but I can never be enough.”

More realization hits. “You can never be enough for me because you’re not a supe?” I ask hoarsely. “Is that what you’re saying?”

He lifts a hand up, his fingers outstretched. “Rowan.” Leif pushes his index finger down. “Bonded witch. A closeness knitted into your souls.” His lips thin and he pushes down another finger. “Grayson. A vampire you have half a blood bond with—one you’ll complete because some weird fate brought you together.” Leif pauses and drops his hand to his side. “And me. Some guy you like.”

“’Some guy I like?’’” I balk. “Because we don’t have a supernatural bond? That doesn’t make you a lesser person compared to Grayson or Rowan. I care deeply.” I jab Leif in the chest. “Not everything in my life has to be decided by magic or fate. You’re proof of that. If bonds inevitably cause me to attach myself to people, does that not make our relationship more of an emotional bond? One that has nothing to do with the shifter inside you?”

“No, I⁠—”

“I will not listen to these nonsensical assumptions any longer,” I interrupt, teeth gritted. How can he believe that this foolish desire would give him more worth? “If you wish to connect to your shifter side, that is your decision, but by doing so you create more problems for yourself, not fewer.”

“But would you help?” he asks, barely audible.

“And how in the star’s name do you think I can help apart from to taking you to the shifter elders and seeing what they can do?” I snap, heart banging in my chest. “What happened to the fear you’d lose yourself to them?”

“I don’t know!” Leif links his fingers behind his head, elbows at right angles as he looks at the ceiling, breaths sawing in and out of him. “This isn’t only you. Every day is a fight between my halves. Every day.”

Cautiously, I touch his back, where the expansive muscles stretch tighter against his T-shirt. “I didn’t know. How could I? You’ve never spoken about your struggles. Leif, you barely speak about how you feel at all.”

His arms drop back to his side, but he doesn’t turn. “That’s why you were the perfect girl to fall in love with. You didn’t want to talk about ‘feelings’ or dig deeper.”

“I’ve changed, Leif, and you’re part of the reason why.”

The room drops into a welcome but loaded silence, Leif dropping his head forward momentarily before taking a shuddering breath. He turns back to me and his fingers slide into my hair, one large thumb against my cheek.

“Then understand and accept when I tell you that I need to change, and you’re part of the reason why.”

And, for once, I have no answer to what I’m painfully aware is his logic.

Leif’s fingers slide deeper into my hair as his lips press to mine and hold them, reminding me he’s the gentle Leif before kissing me slowly. There’s no desperate hunger like with Grayson last night, or intensity from the meeting of magic and shadows with Rowan. Just the solid, steady guy and his love. I hold him to me. Why won’t he listen? I don’t want to be the one who might end this Leif for another unknown one.

He stops, but his lips remain close, as if still touching. “I need your support, Violet. Your understanding. Your help.”

I pull back and search his face, pulse racing from the kiss and the certainty in his voice. Leif believes becoming a shifter would make him whole and end a life of confusion.

And maybe that’s true, but I can’t agree with him.

“Leif. I’m frightened what the decision might mean and who you’ll become.”

“I’ll become myself.”

I don’t understand the true root of his decision but do understand one thing—Leif needs me. Supernatural or human, I’ve protected him, and if my support continues that protection, I must step back from my opinions and step in.

But I refuse to let Leif destroy himself.

24

ROWAN

I should’ve insisted that Violet and I visited the funeral home alone earlier today, which would’ve made our story more convincing than a bunch of us arriving at once. But realistically, I wouldn’t have been able to deal with Violet alone in a place like that because we had no clue how the environment might affect her. Sure, Violet can’t use necromancy, but her blithe responses and morbid fascination with death would have taken more than one of us to keep an eye on her behavior.

Not only was Violet worse than predicted, but Leif freaked out, and Grayson treated the place like a joke.

I’m also of two minds whether I wanted Grayson to join us tonight. I don’t not trust him, but I can’t a hundred percent shake my worries about him. Grayson’s life is at stake, and he’s in a worse position than any of us. If I weren’t certain that Grayson would give that life for Violet, I would’ve insisted he step back.

Grayson can exchange false information with Josef and dig for more connections, which will help us. But even that worries me—Josef’s power over Grayson allows him to threaten and extract information from him.

I voiced my concerns to Violet, who fixed me with an unblinking stare and said, “Josef would never let Grayson go. Whether he’d crossed paths after Viktor’s death or not, Josef would’ve threatened Grayson again.”

Yeah, the guy’s life is screwed either way.

Elysian Fields Funeral Home, with its pristine gardens and welcoming atmosphere is eerier at night, stark white in the dark. Leif wouldn’t be able cope with the premises at this time, since the place spooked him even in the brightness of day.

Violet has one target location: the embalming room.

I’m not bothered by the fact that I’m facing the reality of mortal death, but I am concerned as to who the hell might lurk nearby or arrive before we find Viktor. Cornelius isn’t dumb; he’ll expect us to track Viktor’s body and will send strong witches.

No way will Cornelius leave Viktor unsupervised overnight, which means I’m glad Grayson joined us, whatever the risk. He’s one extra of us against them.

Having ruled out the front part of the building earlier today, we head around the rear where graveled driveways lead to a discreet entrance for deliveries. There’s no van parked matching the one we saw last night, and Grayson and Violet’s vamp senses don’t detect anybody else.

Are we early or too late?

“In case you’re worried that I’ll take the body, I won’t. We will locate Viktor and return outside to wait,” Violet informs us.

“Grayson needs to wait elsewhere,” I reply as Violet scouts around the outside of the building for the weakest entry point. “If somebody ambushes us, I’d rather we weren’t all together.”

Grayson’s expression cools as our eyes meet and he catches my undertone: and because the less he sees tonight, the better.

“Have you replaced your phone, Grayson? Can you contact us?” asks Violet, oblivious to the tension.

“If I see something, I’m not wasting time on texting. I’ll sit on the roof and watch.”

“The roof?”

“A hidden part of the roof, Rowan. The higher I am, the more advantage I have, and there’s no other vantage point close enough.” Grayson looks to Violet. “But I’m worried about Rowan. His psycho witchbond behavior triggers if you’re threatened.”

Violet sighs. “If anybody needs protecting, Rowan will, and I’ll have the situation in hand.”

My lips thin. He’s out of line. Violet and I are the best combination, and however much Violet hates it, I have the shadows to help.

Violet breaks the lock on a high window, and we clamber into a darkened storeroom where shelves hold piles of brochures and archive boxes. The heavy scent of lilies and mood music filled the public part of the building earlier, but back here there’s a pungent mix of death and chemicals.

As Violet forgets my issue with night vision, she forges ahead, and I stumble over a single step that leads down into a cool, windowless room.

I make out the shape of several caskets on tables, and Violet wastes no time in peeking inside every coffin. She’s expressionless, and I shift from foot to foot. Her actions don’t feel right.

“Why are you looking inside coffins?” I whisper. “We’re searching for the embalming room.”

“In case somebody hid Viktor in one.”

I splutter. “There isn’t enough room in a coffin for two people!”

Violet’s lips purse before she wanders away. “How do you know? Have you ever tried?”

“Ha ha.”

But that wasn’t a joke.

I take a wide berth around the caskets and follow Violet to a second, smooth wooden door. My stomach churns. What will I see next?

There’s little difference between the police morgue yesterday and the size of the area we walk into, apart from the lack of light. The blackened surroundings increase the macabre feel of the metal slabs, and along with the pipes and machines, the place reminds me of horror movies. I don’t want to imagine the embalming process or how the embalmers use the contraptions. How can anybody work in this job?

No bodies. Violet immediately inspects the silver refrigerator nearby, another unpleasant reminder of the police morgue.

“He’s here!” Violet’s voice fills with triumph, and she slides the tray fully out of the refrigerator.

In a reflex move, I look away then cautiously look back. Clement covered a body in a weird white suit like a bee keeper’s leaving only the corpse’s head visible.

The face looks like Viktor… mostly.

I can see why Clement is an in-demand embalmer because if Eloise did lacerate Viktor’s face beyond recognition, Clement has some skill in reconstruction. The resemblance suggests the embalmer used a photograph, which means somebody gave Clement Morris a photograph. Cornelius either saw his son recently or is connected to someone else who saw Viktor shortly before he died.

“And he doesn’t smell.”

I swallow, having missed most of what Violet said to me. “Uh. Good?”

“Doesn’t smell of death, but embalming fluids. Clement’s role in Cornelius’s plan is complete.”

“Fast work.” I unwillingly edge closer to examine a name band fastened to his leg. “Alan Renfield. Matches the record of the pauper guy that somebody changed in Elysian’s computer system.”

Violet touches the label. “This witch really does have a collection of names.”

“Could this be enough information for Eloise?” I ask, vainly hopeful.

“No. I am not contacting her until I’m positive Whitegrove has the body and therefore implicates himself.”

“But he hasn’t, Violet. If somebody takes Viktor away tonight, how will we know where they’re taking him?”

She slants her head. “Because when the body collectors arrive, I’ll intercept and examine their minds this time.”

The door opens behind me, and I turn. “Is someone here, Grayson⁠—?”

I’m knocked backward by a bolt of magic to the head and sprawl across Viktor’s body. A woman with short brown hair stands in the doorway, hand raised, and fingers outstretched as she points her palm toward me. I choke and attempt to clamber away from the cold body, too shocked to summon magic at first.

“Come to pay your respects?” asks the dark-clothed witch.

Does anything ever shock Violet into inaction? Because she has the woman in a chokehold in a heartbeat. “No, I was waiting for you,” she says.

25

LEIF

My admission to Violet about connecting to my shifter side constantly circles in my mind. I’ve suppressed the thoughts for weeks. Did I make a mistake in putting those ideas into words rather than leaving them buried?

The certainty I had when I shouted at Violet already slips, but I’ve spoken the desire into existence now. Do I genuinely want to chase a part of me that I once ran from? And how do I explain the situation to the others, especially Rowan, who’s gone out of his way to support my human self? Grayson might not react at all because he’s deep in his own problems, and Holly... obviously she accepts shifters.

Violet? How long until she accepts and understands my compulsion to pursue the hidden shifter? After speaking to Violet, I understand I don’t need to be more than human to stand beside her, but she can’t appreciate the whole picture. This isn’t only about meeting her. My relationship with Violet added a new element to the confusing pull between shifter and human that’s grown in recent years.

Violet never cared that she doesn’t fit anywhere because she’s sure of her identity as a hybrid. I’m not fully sure of myself, and that’s the issue. Still, Violet’s worries mirror ones my own, which have stopped me from pursuing the idea until now. Becoming less human could change the core of who I am. And if it did, would that change what I mean to Violet?

Maybe the question isn’t whether I can do this, but that once I do, whether I’ll be the Leif she recognizes.

Who I recognize.

Since my support of Violet after Wes’s murder, I’m less popular amongst Darwin students than ever before. If my friends knew what I wanted to do, would they push me out altogether?

The academy placed humans on lockdown until after the so-called ‘Full Moon’ event, but they’re aware I’ve snuck away with Violet a couple of times. My roommate agreed not to tell others about how I’ve broken curfew—if I help Darwin’s investigations and report back on anything suspicious.

This includes Violet’s behavior.

Impossible. Telling Dane that I lurked outside a police station and watched a witch take a dead body—one I also watched die—isn’t an option. Neither is informing him that Violet’s currently at a funeral home searching for that body.

Hell, a lot of what I do in Violet’s company would land me square in the middle of trouble with the Darwin kids.

Violet, Rowan, and Grayson left an hour ago to visit the funeral home—in the dark. Even the thought of that churns my stomach. I can’t admit to my friends that I believe in ghosts, even though witches and vamps—and Violet—scoff at the idea. I also can’t cope with another run in with supes, especially witches.

Logan rostered me to take part in tonight’s patrols. I’d rather stay in my room and relax: to lose myself in a game of Fortnite, along with snacks and an energy drink or two; then I won’t have to think about shit. But watching the humans is my investigative task for the evening. At least joining their poorly disguised hunting trips keeps the peace with the other Darwin kids.

I keep quiet about this, but I’m dubious about the full moon rumors and whether they link to the sale of the fake talisman brooches. Did the witches start the rumors for profit, and now Marci can’t erase the results? Violet agrees but also thinks that there’s a chance this could go deeper, and tonight I’ll dig.

My patrol group consists of me, two guys and two girls—coincidentally those who saw Dashiell the evening Violet chased him unsuccessfully. Has the group included me because I might attract something supernatural—or sneak off to help the ‘werewolf and lead them to it?’ Whatever, I’m sure the humans included the half-shifter tonight because they want to watch me.

Dressed in the same clothes as when we watched Viktor’s body smuggled from the police morgue, I wander through the Darwin halls after receiving a message from Cassie asking why I’m late. Seriously? It’s only eleven p.m., and we’ve hours before sunrise.

Holly approaches from the direction of the Darwin House entry, focused on her phone as she heads along the hallway. I wasn’t close with her before Violet’s involvement, but we’ve more in common than we once did, both affected by spells in the past—and possibly still.

If Viktor is the witch who used a tracking spell on me and he’s dead, I’m free of mine. If Viktor also cast a spell on Holly, she should be fine too. But Violet says Holly isn’t fine and became more volatile recently, including claiming she has a supernatural connection to Dash.

I understand that the trauma Holly suffered would affect her behavior, but if her responses to Dash are because the spell never broke, the spell with control over me could still exist too.

Holly almost bumps into me, and I steady her with a hand. “Hey, Holly. How’s things?”

She blinks and shoves the phone into her blazer pocket. “Leif. Hey. Good, thanks.” Holly sweeps a gaze over me. “Dressed in black. Meeting Violet?”

“No.”

“Oh. Does that mean she’ll be around campus this evening?” Holly’s brow pinches. “Is she with Rowan or Grayson?”

“Why? Were you hoping that Violet would spend some girl time with you?” I smile, but Holly doesn’t. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes. Just wondering if my roommate will be back tonight.” She scratches a cheek and adds, “Violet disturbs me when she returns in the early hours, and I’m not sleeping well after… you know.”

“Right.”

“If Violet’s staying with Rowan or Grayson, I’ll go to Marci’s,” she continues. “I prefer not to be alone at night.”

Yet Holly looked disappointed when she thought Violet might be around. “I don’t think you’re in immediate danger, Holly.”

“Immediate?” She snorts a laugh. “I know, I’m safer at Thornwood, as you keep telling me. My parents agreed, so that’s one less issue, although I’m suspicious whether Dorian helped them agree.”

“And you don’t want to be at the academy? Have you changed your mind?”

“No!” She clears her throat. “No, I want to be at Thornwood.”

“Right.” But I see what Violet means—Holly isn’t her easygoing self.

“Have Logan and Cassie persuaded you to go on patrol?” she asks. “Is that why you’re incognito?”

“Mmm. Persuaded isn’t quite the right word. Although, I’m surprised. What with me being the traitor and everything.”

“Nobody thinks that, Leif.” She squeezes my arm. “Do you know where you’re searching tonight?”

I shrug. “Walking around campus in circles, probably. There’re still rumors about the ‘werewolf,’ even though nobody has seen one since... y’know.”

Holly sucks her lips together, and nods. “Yes. Well. I’ve homework to finish. I’ll stay in my room tonight and hope Violet isn’t back as late as the other night.” She pauses. “Do you think Violet will be back at Darwin soon?”

“No idea. She might stay with Rowan. I’m sure she’ll let you know and demand you spend the night with Marci or something. Keep you under supervision.”

“Okay, good.” Another Holly smile but forced. “Enjoy your walk around campus, Leif.”

“Thanks.” I pull a face. “I won’t.”

I’ve no chance to say anymore as Holly strides away toward the hallway with the girls’ rooms. The usual bounce isn’t in Holly’s step, and my heart goes out to her. She doesn’t like Violet following her every move and, like the rest of us, worries about Dorian, but Holly insists she takes things day to day and won’t worry about the future.

That’s the old Holly, living in the moment, but however much she enjoys her return to the academy, does she feel unsafe without Violet around?

As I wander away, something strikes me. Holly first said she’d stay with Marci, and then that she’d stay in her room. A change of mind or something more?

Or me reading too much into the situation?

26

LEIF

The human group wait for me by Darwin House’s steps, where Dane tests his flashlight, and Logan chats with Simon, who’s on guard tonight. The girls bundled themselves in thick jackets, with hoods and scarves across their faces. I sigh inwardly at the spectacle.

“How long are we on patrol for?” I ask.

Dane looks up. “As long as it takes.”

“To do what?”

“Check places out—sports hall, greenhouse, that type of thing.”

“And inside the academy.” Cassie hops down the steps, Sara at her side.

“No,” Dale says to her firmly. “We’ve agreed not to go inside the place at night. It could be dangerous.”

“Ghosts can’t hurt us,” she replies.

“They might be able to,” whispers Sara. “Poltergeists throw things.”

I roll my eyes to the cloud-covered sky.

“You haven’t seen ghosts; they’re people sneaking around the academy,” says Logan. “Witches, I’ll bet.”

“Ones who might want to shut you up,” adds Dale.

“Isn’t this all getting a little paranoid?” I ask.

Cassie looks me up and down. “You know more than you’re telling us, Leif.”

“Don’t you think that if something threatened the academy, and I knew, I’d tell you?” My jaw clenches. “I’m here to help.”

“Mmm. I guess shifters can run faster and hear better than a human,” says Sara.

“I’m not a shifter.” The group falls silent, and I push down the intrusive thoughts that spilled out earlier. “Shut up and let’s get on with this.”

As we wander into the shadows, Cassie takes Logan’s hand, and she walks close to him. Thankfully Sara and Dane don’t, far enough apart that they’re definitely not a couple. I do not want to be the odd one out if they all start making out.

The flashlight beams ahead of us, highlighting the way around the edge of Darwin House.

“If a supe is hanging around campus, flashing a light around would scare them away,” I say. “Or is that the plan?”

“As if we can scare a supe who’s determined to hurt us,” retorts Dane.

Cassie looks over her shoulder. “We did frighten the werewolf.”

“Violet scared the werewolf,” I reply, as Logan changes our route and heads toward the academy perimeter.

“Not the other night. Violet wasn’t with us.”

“What?” I freeze in place. “Where? The same guy?”

“How do you know it’s a guy?” Sara asks. “Females shift too.”

“Nah, was a guy before he shifted,” says Dale. “Saw him.”

What the fuck? Was Dash dumb enough to shift the night he met up with Holly? Nice one, Dash—perpetuating the rumors.

“Where did you see him or her?” I ask in exasperation.

“Coming from the sports hall. I looked inside with Sara but couldn’t see anything weird.”

“Cassie!” Logan draws her closer. “We promised—no investigations alone! What if witches hid inside the sports hall practicing spells for the Blood Moon?”

“Blood moon?” I stare between them. “Full moon. Blood moons are natural and not magic related, and don’t happen often. This isn’t one.”

Dale steps up to me. “That’s our new name for the planned attack because supes intend to spill our blood.”

“For fuck’s sake, Dale. There won’t be an attack. Cassie, explain to me again where you saw and heard people planning one.” I wave a hand at her in frustration. “What did they look like?”

Tellingly, she touches the brooch pinned to her black jacket. “I didn’t see their faces.”

“Convenient.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Any other details?”

“I’ve told people again and again, including Mrs. Lorcan. I’m not an idiot; everybody is checking if my story changes because they think I’m lying.” She folds her arms. “I am not. I was in a classroom finishing up the dumb Chemistry experiment notes. Why do we have to grow blue crystals on string while witches make something useful?”

“Useful against humans,” adds Logan.

I ignore his comment, but it niggles. “And where were the voices, Cassie?”

“Outside the door. A man and a woman. I couldn’t hear a lot but did hear ‘academy attack’ and ‘full moon.’” Cassie clutches the brooch. “I was too scared to open the door in case the witches knew I’d heard their plot.”

Okay, I’m less concerned now that she’s told the vague story to my face. This girl totally loves drama. “How far from the door were you?”

She stares at me. “Near enough.”

To a solid classroom door that blocks out noise? And she only heard selective parts? Muttering beneath my breath, I take the flashlight from Logan and continue walking. Someone planted the rumors, I swear.

The group doesn’t only circle the academy’s perimeter once, but three times, as if they think supes are sneaking from place to place in a game of hide and seek. Witches and vamps don’t walk campus at night currently, instead heading to town if they’re bored, which causes more issues than it solves since humans aren’t allowed off campus without a parent.

Annoyed humans now complain about the academy treating them like little kids and, as this is a boarding school, most parents don’t live nearby to accompany them. Several human students left Thornwood permanently, and there’re rumors that more might follow. If somebody is trying to force the academy into ‘supes only,’ they’re succeeding.

At one point, Logan rushes triumphantly toward the edge of the sports hall, claiming he hears voices, and reappears moments later mumbling something about scrubbing his eyes with bleach.

“Witches?” asks Sara.

“Yeah, but they weren’t casting spells, that’s for sure. Come on.”

“What were they doing?” asks Cassie.

Dane snickers. “Really? You need to ask?”

After yet another tour around the academy grounds, Cassie insists that we return to the sports hall to look inside. The witches Logan saw aren’t around, and Cassie is now convinced the pair are inside. If that’s true, I’m not keen on invading their privacy.

As we enter, the only sound comes from our soft-soled shoes on the tiles as we walk through the locker rooms, checking each one. Surprise, surprise—the lockers only contain smelly shoes and gym clothes.

“What are you expecting to find?” I ask.

“Anything weird,” says Dale. “Cassie and Sara saw witches leaving the other night, remember?”

“Uh. Yeah. After doing what Logan saw probably. And who’s to say they’re witches? Could be humans or vamps?” I suggest.

“Marci told me a secret coven once met here,” whispers Cassie. “That means there’s magic energy around this area.”

“Let me see.” I tap my lips. “Humans believe witches are plotting something against them. What an excellent idea by the witches to return to a place once used for secret spellcasting.”

“You sound like your girlfriend,” retorts Cassie.

“Supes from outside the academy might hide out in here,” Sara suggests. “If the attackers aren’t part of the academy, this might be their operations center.”

In my mind, I hear a Violet ‘good grief.’

“We saw clothes,” says Cassie.

“Clothes? In a locker room where people change?” I gasp sarcastically. “How worrying.”

Sara slices me a filthy look and walks toward the door to the cellars. “Down there!”

Sighing, I follow as the girls grip the metal stair rail and descend into an unlit room with breeze-block walls.

Scratching my head, I turn full circle. Mops. Buckets. Bottles of bleach and disinfectants. Bags of balls and netting stored until the next soccer season.

“Someone’s hiding here.” Logan shines the flashlight to where Sara points, and she picks up a discarded jacket.

“A caretaker’s jacket is evidence? Your imagination is going too far.”

“And food wrappers.” Sara gestures at something discarded on the concrete floor.

“An energy bar wrapper? Empty drinks can?” I yank open a steel cupboard door where spare blue overalls hang above packets of chips and unopened drinks cans. “The caretaker has snacks.”

Cassie places hands on her hips. “Why do you deny obvious clues, Leif? Do you know who’s hiding? Is Violet behind this?”

Sara searches too, shoving items in the locker to one side, and Logan wanders around the room, pointing his flashlight in every direction.

“Look!” he says.

Within seconds everybody crowds around Logan, and the beam of light shines onto a circle of symbols.

Runes. Great.

“See!” says Sara triumphantly.

“Secret academy covens once met here,” I say in defeat. “Inform Mrs. Lorcan, but don’t overreact and tell the whole academy. The headmistress can question the witches, and the witches can explain what the runes are for. Maybe past students painted them as a spell to improve their skills. Like, used them to cheat in games played in the sports hall above?”

“Again, with the defenses, Leif,” says Logan.

“Again, with the jumping to conclusions,” I retort. “If you want, I’ll give the jacket to Rowan, and he can use his psychometry.”

Cassie sneers. “Ha! Sure. Hide evidence, you mean.”

But I take the jacket anyway. Is this mass hysteria in Darwin House? I’ve read about this kind of thing—if enough humans come across an unexplained phenomenon, the belief spreads like wildfire through a community. Werewolves. Ghosts. Plots by witches.

“Right. Research everything available about witches and the ingredients needed for dangerous spells. In our next Chemistry class, pay close attention to what the witches brew,” Logan says.

“And we focus patrols on this building,” adds Dale.

A door upstairs bangs and the four jump to attention. Logan shoves everybody to one side and rushes up the stairs, urging the others to wait. I ignore his demand and follow, pushing in front of him as I do.

“Check the locker rooms and showers,” I say.

I have sharper senses than a full-blooded human, and, although I can’t sense anybody in the building, I need to follow a theory alone. Logan hesitates before calling the others to join him, but I don’t wait. I’m at the emergency exit doors in a heartbeat. Pulling down on the bar, I shove my way outside and scan the night-shrouded surroundings.

Not only did I sense the faint supe presence from the cellar and kept quiet about it, but there’s a scent on the jacket gripped in my hand. Dash’s.

However, the figure sprinting in the direction of Darwin House isn’t a shifted wolf, or a guy. I stare after a small female figure.

Holly?

Somebody shines a flashlight in the opposite direction, sweeping the beam in a semi-circle. “Anything?” asks Dane from beside Logan. “Anybody?”

I switch the direction of my gaze before Dane notices. “Somebody ran that way.” I point toward the academy. “You could be right. Might be a witch. Take a look?”

“We’re not exploring the academy tonight,” says Logan gruffly.

“We can’t avoid checking out the place out any longer,” Sara urges.

“Not tonight,” repeats Logan “They’ll know we’re on their trail.”

On their trail?

“If you’re serious, and Violet isn’t involved in the plot, your group can explore one night soon,” he adds. “Intercepting witches is dangerous for us.”

I nod, but my mind whirls with questions. Is this why Holly interrogated me about Violet’s plans? Because she wanted to meet Dash tonight? Why the hell is Dash hidden in the sports hall when he promised he’d leave, and where is he now?

“I’ve had enough,” I say. “Come on. Let’s go back to Darwin.”

Before the human vigilantes spot a brainless ‘werewolf’ sprinting through the night.

27

ROWAN

The shadows surge before I summon them, and the darkness snakes along my arms toward my fingers. The cool room chills further as my mind blackens into fury that the witch touched Violet. Sure, the woman only managed to shove Violet for a second because she’s distracted by her delight in finding Viktor, but the witch intends to hurt her.

And nothing inside me would accept that.

How the fuck did these three get inside? Isn’t Grayson supposed to be on lookout? Two other witches block our exit from the embalming room, male, one taller and bulkier than the other, both with fire at their fingertips. Neither steps forward to attack me or to help their friend, both fixated on my hands.

A dark smugness rises inside me as I scare the horrified pair into inaction. I’m a witch wielding shadows with vicious unpredictability.

I have the power I wanted.

With the shadows, fire won’t touch me. Nobody will.

As I funnel the magic at one of the shell-shocked witches, the third turns and bolts away. I step forward and smirk at the white-haired guy as the shadows engulf his arm and extinguish the fire he conjured. The panicked man’s graying face disappears behind the dark cloud, his attempt to recite a spell cut dead as the magic circles his neck.

Kill him.

I dart a look at Violet pinning the witch to the spare gurney by the same magic Eloise used on Viktor. The witch Violet holds in place struggles, face filled with consternation as she shouts out incantations. I’ve experienced how potent Violet’s magical force can be, and how pointless any spell is against that, but the witch’s strength surpasses most. The woman manages to move, forcing Violet to push her into submission with magic stronger than the spell she used against the human.

My bonded witch becomes the hybrid—her expression remains neutral, but Violet’s eyes blacken as she pierces the witch’s mind. The woman’s scream fades to a rasp, and she grapples at Violet’s invisible fingers on her neck, choking for breath.

Blood leaks from Violet’s eyes, triggering a memory of the girl who returned from Kai’s party. The one who admitted she wanted to kill in retaliation for the human guys’ hands on her.

I can’t catch her attention to speak. You want me to kill?

One word enters my mind. Yes.

“But we need information,” I call out, snapping my focus back to the shadow-bound witch.

Kill him.

These witches came here to assault or subdue us, deluded that their combined magic could trap Violet. Instead, the trio met something they never expected. The witches’ attack on Violet triggered the darkness in my soul to rise and take hold of the Blackwood magic that I’ve never fought against.

I’m transfixed by the shadows’ ability to attack as silently as Violet and Eloise can, how icy their presence, and how thick the mist wrapping the witch becomes. I’m a spider winding prey in its web, but I don’t need venom. As the witch’s terror feeds that darkness, an illogical need to protect Violet tangles with the dangerous threads weaving together my abilities and the shadow magic.

For years, I’ve craved and sought magic that can control others in order to protect myself, and I found this in my bond with Violet. But I was unaware how the Blackwood magic pushes and intensifies the powerful desires. I want this. The shadows. The ultimate protection. I’m the hybrid’s bonded witch, prepared to kill for her.

The shadows weaken the witch’s mind and devour his own magic energy; there’s nothing left for him to fight back with. How far have I disconnected this man from his reality? Does the witch sense his heart slowing as he drops to his knees, the consumed man swaying before his face hits the tiles?

I watch with morbid curiosity as the shadows swarm like a thick cloud of silent insects around the witch. I’m dead to reality myself, the guy’s faltering heartbeat sounding in my mind. Momentarily, doubt slips in, but the shadows freeze the thought and pull the last of my magic energy. Dark magic pulses from my body again, and the witch’s heart stops beating in my mind.

Something slams into me, paralyzing every muscle, and I’m spun around, then pinned to the wall. As my head hits the brick, the shadows evaporate as quickly as they appeared, leaving the room like winter. My arms glue either side of me, and I’m unable to move.

“Rowan.”

Violet’s blood-streaked face appears in front of mine, her image swimming into view as the dizziness from the smack to my head fades. Her mouth parts, and she steps back.

“What did you do?” she whispers in disgust. “That man is dead. What the fuck did you do?”

Violet. Swearing? A migraine-like pain assaults my mind, and her spell holds me immobile. I frown, facial muscles the only ones that work.

“You told me to kill the witch.”

“I certainly did not!” Her voice rises. “I was in her head pulling out thoughts and memories hidden behind a spell. I thought you’d restrain the other witch, and Grayson would catch the one who ran.”

“You asked me,” I insist, my pulse picking up. “In my mind. Your voice.”

“What? I said no such thing,” she repeats stiffly. “I’m frequently accused of murder and actively avoid dead people left in public locations. Why would I ask you to kill?”

“I heard you in my mind.”

Her spell on me breaks and I stumble, steadying myself on the gurney that holds Viktor. Violet’s stares at the wisps of gray around my hands, and pales behind the red straining her cheeks.

“The shadows spoke to you, Rowan.” She pulls me toward her by the front of my jacket, and her coal black eyes fix on mine. “The shadows told you to kill!”

“No. The bond must’ve pushed me too far.”

“I wasn’t in danger!” Violet shakes me until my teeth hurt. “I am never weaker than you, Rowan.”

Bile forces itself into my mouth, and I swallow. “Tell the bond that. The need to protect took over.”

She releases my jacket and shoves me. “You could’ve subdued him with your magic. Why did you summon shadows when we agreed not to use them? Look at what you’ve done!”

She jabs a finger at the dead witch.

Fuck. I can’t look at the man on the floor, as reality seeps through the numbness.

“I didn’t summon the shadows,” I say hoarsely, dragging both hands through my hair. “The magic came to me.”

Violet takes on a deadly stillness that reminds me of Dorian, and I desperately try to pick up her thoughts or emotions. Nothing. I slide a look at the female witch unconscious on the slab—alive.

“Violet, I⁠—”

I hit the wall and fall again as Violet shoves me to one side. Shouting and shoes dragging across the carpet outside the room interrupt me, and Violet pushes at somebody else about to enter before she walks out.

“I tried to stop them. They’re bloody strong.”

Grayson.

Violet speaks—too quietly for me to hear—and I tremble as I haul myself back to my feet. Violet and Grayson hold a quiet conversation outside, occasionally interrupted by a muffled protest. The third witch?

“Rowan. Out here,” Violet demands, and I edge around the newly dead body into the other room.

Grayson gawks at me but says nothing. One of his arms bands around the waist of the witch who attempted to run, his other hand around the guy’s throat with sharp nails extended.

“Is Viktor in there?” Grayson asks.

“Yes. I now have the body I came to find, but also one that I did not expect,” replies Violet.

“And who the fuck are the witches? I didn’t see any walk into the building,” he continues. “Sorry if I missed them.”

Violet gestures behind me. “Potent witches. Neither of us pierced their cloaking spell.”

“You say that like you expected them,” I say.

“We all expected this,” replies Violet. “I needed to know who would come for Viktor—and where they planned to take him. The woman in that room won’t remember anything about us. Neither witch in the embalming room will.” A pointed look at me. “This man needs to forget we were here too.”

“I can do that,” I offer.

“I think you’ve done enough, Rowan,” says Violet, not looking at me. “I’ll deal with this witch’s mind.”

“Will that work?” Grayson asks cautiously. “I’m not questioning your ability, but Whitegrove⁠—”

“Yes. He’ll detect the residue from my magic and question for the truth about the third party member. The man will suspect one of us killed the third witch.” Her lips thin. “And now, we have a second body I didn’t want, which is unhelpful to say the least.”

The witch in Grayson’s chokehold makes a strangled noise.

‘What did you do?’ Grayson mouths at me, and I look away.

Violet seizes the witch’s chin, forcing the guy to look at her. “You and Corey fought. You’ve disagreed the entire trip about how to handle Viktor’s body. You’re often in conflict, and he mocked you. You retaliated, and Penelope joined in. He hurt her and ran. Now you and Penelope will take Viktor as ordered.” She nods at Grayson. “Let this witch go. We need to leave.”

“What do we do with the other witch’s body?” I mumble.

“Yeah. We can’t leave him here,” says Grayson.

Violet pivots to face me. “The funeral home’s furnace. How long will that take to reach the required temperature to burn a body?”

Violet closed my actions out, and she’s back to practicality. Because Violet understands or because she’s deciding what to do with me? The weight of what I’ve done presses on my chest, suffocating me the same as I did the witch. The shadows left, but they linger around me. Is this it? They’ll aways take over now?

I wanted power. I wanted protection. But not this. Not murder.

As the chaos continues around, something worse sneaks in. For a moment back there, I didn’t care what the shadows were doing to the witch.

I didn’t care if he died.

28

LEIF

Logan releases me from my patrol duties, and I calmly walk back to Darwin House, even though my urge is to run. The fleeing figure must be Holly. Is she still here? Is Dash around? Are the pair now leaving? After all, Holly’s plans always involved running away with Dash.

The girl’s jittery questions about Violet’s whereabouts should’ve alerted me that Holly was planning something that she didn’t want Violet around to witness, but surely, she isn’t dumb enough to follow Dash?

Some students remain awake, and the sound of a car chase drifts from the common room TV. Holly isn’t with the small group fixated on a movie, or making a drink in the kitchen area, so I hesitantly head to the hallway that leads to the girls’ rooms. Plenty of us sneak between rooms, but if Holly mysteriously disappears, and somebody sees me approach hers tonight, pointing fingers will push me straight back into police custody.

Light filters beneath Holly and Violet’s door, and I rap.

Nothing.

I knock again.

No answer.

Is Holly ignoring me or wearing headphones? I quickly send a text.

open the door I saw you outside the sports hall we need to talk

No response.

or I will go straight to Violet

A threat does the trick, and Holly opens the door far enough to peep out, curled hair pulled back from her face. “What do you want, Leif? I’m trying to sleep. Why would I be at the sports hall? I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. Let me in.” Her eyes grow bigger as I lift up Dash’s jacket. “Please.”

The door widens, and I step inside quietly closing it behind me. Holly sits on her bed, wearing unusually dark clothes with no resemblance to pajamas.

“Obviously I didn’t wake you, since you’re dressed to go out. Or did you come back from somewhere?” I say.

Holly avoids looking at the jacket in my hand. “No. You met me walking to the room before you went on patrol, remember?”

“You mentioned staying with Marci tonight.”

“She’s out.”

I narrow my eyes. “I found this jacket, Holly. Logan and his buddies discovered evidence that somebody’s using the sports hall basement to hide activities. They think it’s witches since there’re runes painted, but I know who this belongs to.”

“Oh?” Holly asks innocently. “Black hoodies are common.”

“Can we stop playing games?” I sit on Violet’s desk chair. “How long has Dash hidden inside the academy? Did he ever leave?”

“That isn’t Dash’s jacket.” She takes a pink pig plushie and picks at the ear.

“Holly…” I huff.

“I saw a girl running from the direction of the sports hall, Holly. Were you with Dash and is he living in there?”

Holly lifts her eyes to mine. “Dash isn’t hiding in the academy. We meet in the sports hall at night.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” I mutter. “Are you both stupid?”

“I told Dash that if he left, I’d look for him.” Holly’s lips press together.

“And risk what might happen if witches find you both? What the hell is wrong with you? That scenario should worry you because it fucking terrifies me!”

“Dash can protect me,” she mumbles. “He killed Viktor.”

“Because Eloise had Viktor trapped!” I push fingers through my hair. “Isn’t Dash worried what might happen to him?”

“Don’t tell Violet.”

I soften my voice when Holly’s eyes glisten. “Holly. How can I keep this from her?”

“Um. By not saying the words? What if Violet takes Dash to Dorian? That’s what Eloise wants!”

My shoulders drop. She has a point. Violet may’ve changed, but she’s unpredictable. Every time I think I understand Violet, she does something that shows me I don’t.

“Why are you both risking your lives?”

I’m aware how bonds work. Look at Violet and Rowan’s: something inevitable brought the pair together. Even if Violet hadn’t enrolled at Thornwood, Rowan would’ve caught Dorian’s attention eventually due to his prowess and hunger for power. Violet and Rowan would’ve met through fate that way.

Is there something between Holly and Dash? Holly claims she might have supe blood, but there’s not the smallest amount of supernatural energy around her.

“I worry the spell on my mind still exists,” I tell her. “Do you think the one linking you to Dash does?”

Her lips purse. “No. We have a bond.”

“Or is that what you want to believe? Sometimes, it’s easier to pretend none of this shit happened to us, right?” Holly blinks at me. “And to hold onto the idea that somebody out there can protect you.”

“Exactly. You have Violet to protect you.”

“And she’ll protect you. Holly, you know how hard it hit Violet when someone hurt you. Look at everything that happened as a result. Violet is determined to find evidence that may’ve died with Viktor so Dorian can take down the real leaders.”

Holly examines her hands now clasped in her lap. “Where is Violet tonight? You never answered.”

How much has Violet told Holly? “At the funeral home.”

“What?”

Not much, obviously.

“Cornelius took Viktor’s body, and Violet’s attempting to discover where…” I rub my forehead. “It’s complicated.”

“Why don’t I know this?” she retorts. “I heard Viktor’s body went missing but presumed it was Violet or Dorian!”

“Like I said, Violet wants to protect you. She has her plans and her reasons.”

Footsteps echo in the hallway, one loud pair and the others softer. Only one person wouldn’t sneak quietly back through Darwin House at this time of night. The door flies open, and the handle bounces off the wall as Violet stomps into the room. She halts, darts a look between me and Holly, then steps aside to allow Grayson and Rowan inside.

Rowan.

I’ve held back the guy’s magic enough times to sense when he’s misused spells. There’s never anything visible, but something always tangible to me, including the strong emotions that prompt Rowan’s outbursts. This time, that aura is weird. Darker. He rests against the wall and slumps to the floor.

“What’s happening?” Violet asks as Grayson wanders over to sit on her bed. “Why are you here, Leif? And Holly—Leif told me you planned to stay at Marci’s tonight.”

Holly shoots me a look. “Are you my watchdog now?”

“Don’t be rude, Holly,” says Violet.

Grayson can’t suppress his laugh.

Violet steps further into the light thrown out by the single lamp on Holly’s nightstand, and Holly shrinks back. “Your face! Like Kai’s party… What happened at the funeral home?” she asks.

This time Violet sends me a slicing look. “How do you know where we were, Holly?”

Grayson rests his palms on Violet’s bed, arms outstretched behind him. “You’ll be glad you didn’t join us, Leif.”

“Incorrect. If I’d known the outcome of tonight in advance, I would never have listened to you, Grayson. I would’ve asked Leif to join us.”

Why? I don’t know where to start with the questions, but whatever happened concerns Rowan and his silence.

“Should I leave?” asks Holly pointedly. “So, you can discuss things without me again?”

The odd energy in the corner of the room isn’t fading, and I glance over at the witch resting his head against the wall. “Rowan. What’s wrong with you?”

“Rowan killed someone.”

Matter-of-fact Violet strikes again but the three words punch all the air from my lungs. “Is that true?”

Rowan nods at me, his expression blank. No. I swallow. But Rowan’s capable; I’ve stepped in before and seen how magic changes him sometimes.

“Something I could’ve stopped?” I ask hoarsely. “I should’ve been with you.”

“Yes,” says Violet stiffly.

Holly darts a look at the door, then at Rowan. She’s unsure of him at the best of times. Rowan murdered someone.

“What spell?” I ask. “Self-defense or…”

“The bond,” says Grayson.

The witch sits on his hands; a tell-tale move Rowan uses when he’s worried that the manifested magic still clings to him. The first time he did this was when he’d used fire magic, and I panicked, unable to understand how Rowan didn’t scorch himself.

Other times I intervened rush into my mind.

The night he fought the shifters at the town park. The time he stopped Violet’s heart at the Brightgroves’ reno house.

That’s the aura around Rowan now. Shadows. Ever since the magic found him and he welcomed them, Rowan killing someone became a possibility. But inevitable? I crouch down and pull at Rowan’s hands, taking them in mine and squeezing until he yelps back to reality.

When I interrupted Rowan’s fight with the shifters in the park, I’d detected a darker tinge to his magical aura. Like then, this isn’t the usual elemental energy that erupts from Rowan when he’s pissed off.

Definitely shadows.

I yank my hands away, shocked at their coldness, but more so by how shrouded he still is. Is this what Violet means about the shadow magic taking hold of Rowan?

Holly senses his malevolent edge too, as humans can with supes but never understand why, and she babbles how Rowan always felt wrong, and she always knew he’d kill.

Violet ignores her—all of us—and takes a thick black pen from the desk beside me, then approaches the latest paper pages stuck to the bedroom wall. Viktor’s death, connections, and major players.

Rowan watches every move she makes through panicked eyes.

How can she detach herself and remain calm? Oh, yeah. Because she’s Violet.

The world I’m in is often surreal recently, but tonight I’ve left my own world completely. What the hell have you done, Rowan?

“Who are they?” asks Holly wearily as Violet writes three partial names on the board:

Woman: Penelope

Man 1: Edward

Man 2: Corey

She then draws a thick line through Corey at a force that almost tears the paper.

“You gonna add Rowan to the list with me and Dash on?” asks Grayson, tapping his sneaker toes together. “Under Leif’s”

“Why?” Rowan lifts his head.

Violet holds her pen in front of the paper.

“I shouldn’t be on any lists; I haven’t killed anybody,” I protest.

“Something that now adds you to a minority.” Violet scrawls Rowan’s name. “How ironic that I’m the dark, evil child of Dorian Blackwood, yet I’ve controlled myself enough not to kill anybody.”

“Yet.”

I suck air through my teeth at Rowan’s bold comment. Violet turns and takes slow steps to look down at him.

“Unless it’s for self-preservation, when I kill, the act will be calculated, and the death deserved. I have other skills I use that leave the assailant in a non-life-threatening state. For instance, tonight, against Penelope. I required a mental pickaxe to chip through the spell, and I found answers. I did not kill. I left her with the same memories as I planted in Edward’s mind.”

“Where are the witches?” asks Holly. “Will they look for us?”

“No. The pair’s task tonight was to take Viktor’s body for Cornelius.”

“You let them go?” I ask in shock. “The woman saw Rowan kill.”

“Why? Do you hold the opinion we should’ve killed and placed her in the furnaces too? Both of the remaining witches?”

“In the what?” shrieks Holly. “Omigod.”

“Albeit that would’ve been the easiest solution, we need them to deliver Viktor’s body to the location that Cornelius instructed.”

“Violet,” whispers Holly. “This all gets worse.”

“Killing and death aren’t shocking occurrences in my life, but at times inconvenient. This situation worries me for many reasons.”

Rowan doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just sits and stares at nothing. I wait for Violet to say something harsher and snap him out of it, but she doesn’t.

A tight band wraps around my chest, squeezing. Rowan isn’t just in shock; he’s somewhere else, mind still trapped by whatever happened back there

“Where are the witches taking the body?” I ask.

“The Whitegrove mausoleum, as predicted. The problem is, we’re unsure exactly where that is,” says Grayson.

“Penelope’s mind revealed a graveyard location but not an address,” adds Violet. “But we’ll discover where, using Rowan’s less murderous abilities.”

“Time to tell Eloise?” I suggest.

Violet doesn’t answer. Instead, she frowns. “Leif. Why are you with Holly? Did she join your patrol and you have information to impart? What occurred?”

“I’d like to go to Marci’s now.” Holly stands, and Violet peruses her, then me. “I don’t want to listen to more about Viktor and death and spells. I’m trying to forget about all that.”

“How is spending time with Leif helpful if you suffered at the hands of the same man?”

“Mutual support?” suggests Grayson.

Holly looks at me pleadingly.

“I’m waiting to speak to you about my evening’s discoveries,” I say, and Holly’s face fills with panic. “Which sound less eventful than yours.”

“I’d really like to go to Marci’s now,” presses Holly. “Like you said, it’s better that I don’t know everything in case… something happens to me again.”

“But you expressed dissatisfaction with us excluding you.” Violet blows air into her cheeks. “However, if you prefer the company of Marci while we discuss the Viktor situation, Rowan can accompany you to Pendle House.”

“Me?” He looks up.

“Rowan just killed somebody. He might be unstable,” Holly protests.

“Rowan won’t kill you.” She nods at me. “I’d like to speak to Leif.”

“You want me to leave too?” Grayson asks and sits forward. “Shouldn’t we discuss this together?”

“I’ve already disclosed the information that I gathered to you and Rowan. Now I wish to impart that knowledge to Leif.” Her eyes hold mine. “And he can share his evening’s discoveries with me.”

Humans tracking supes, discoveries in the sports hall, and Holly meeting Dash are part of that old world, not this new one where my best friend commits murder.

Murder.

Well, I guess Rowan added himself to the Blackwood blacklist.

29

VIOLET

Apart from his horrified response to my explanation about Rowan’s actions, Leif has little to share about the night’s events. Leif maintains that he visited Holly because the girl wanted one of us around for safety, but I struggle to fully believe him. Holly is more amicable with Leif than the others, since the two are casual friends for years, but he isn’t someone she’d choose to confide in.

Yet, Leif is correct that he and Holly have a link through their experiences with dangerous spells, but Leif isn’t one to enjoy speaking about himself. Hence, a weird decision to speak with Holly. Leif’s report about his patrol activities is vague too, but the lead on the sports hall and academy ‘ghosts’ may be of interest.

If I wasn’t facing the issue of Rowan’s death-inducing magic, I would’ve pressed for more information despite Leif not wanting to hang around. Was Leif uncomfortable that I’d resume our conversation about his desire to shift?

That’s an essential discussion, but not for tonight.

Leif offered to stay with Rowan, as he often does following what he calls Rowan’s ‘episodes,’ but this is beyond an episode. The issue with Rowan’s shadows spreads further than anything Leif could deal with and also requires more than a conversation.

I can’t remove the images of Rowan and the dead witch from my head.

I’m terrified what this might mean for him.

As soon as I sensed death in the room that wasn’t Viktor, I hit Penelope with a spell to stun her and looked around. I have never seen shadows as dense, not even at the warehouse to bind Josef or when he used them against me. Those times, Rowan controlled them—tonight, Rowan appeared in complete control of his actions, but instead he brought my greatest fear to fruition.

The shadows fed on Rowan’s reaction to the attack on me, seizing hold of the intense anger, and tricking him. My bonded witch lost his mind in more ways than one as the shadows took over.

How can I fix what I’ve gifted Rowan with? Gift. Someone used that word before and predicted Rowan’s change. He mocked me, even though I denied Rowan could possibly succumb.

Viktor.

Rowan lapsed into quiet shock at his actions, and the shadows’ influence, barely speaking once we left the remaining, mind-wiped witches to their task. Has Rowan yet comprehended that he took a life tonight?

My specific darkness almost emerged in my utter panic at the sight of the dead witch—necromancy. I could’ve tried, and then we’d have a construct who could report back about Whitegrove’s moves. The old Violet’s logic to that idea pulled me closer to attempting necromancy on something more than an animal for the first time. If Grayson hadn’t arrived with the third witch, would I have attempted the spell?

If I had, the amount of trouble I’m already in would multiply exponentially, especially if the spell backfired. Not only would Whitegrove notice, but adding necromancy to the list of acts against Dorian’s wishes wouldn’t aid us right now.

Rowan is lucky we had another method of body disposal on hand.

I gaze at my murder wall and then to Holly’s bed. I’m confident the shadows won’t manifest in Rowan again tonight, but however I feel about his actions, Rowan needs me. I’ll take the risk of what might happen if my presence escalates the shadow magic again.

I clean the blood from my face, recapture my hair in a ponytail and box up my emotions before leaving the room. Darwin House’s sentries spot me, but they don’t acknowledge me passing by or ask questions.

Rowan doesn’t answer his door, although I only knock as a formality before opening. I step into a familiar room to an unfamiliar person.

The imprint of magic always lingers in Pendle House, and strongly in Rowan’s room where the residue from his extra-curricular magic clings to objects, herbal scents mingled in an unidentifiable mix. The single lamp on his desk casts uneven light, across the walls, and there’re faint runes on the wooden floor where I’ve sat with him and practiced spells many times.

Rowan sits in the exact position as when we first connected, our hands held to perform his psychometry on Wesley’s stolen belongings. The day Rowan first recognized what I refused to: our witch bond.

That singular moment when our magic touched, and our souls began to knit led to everything that happened tonight.

He’s holding bent knees to his chest, gazing at the floor, his messy hair obscuring his profile. Rowan remains still, quiet, as he has since we left the funeral home. I understand why he’s disconnected, but is he with the shadows? Not physically—even though the shadows could remove him from the world—but under their influence still?

“Hello, Violet.”

Such simple words but vacant, with no hint of Rowan’s frame of mind. He doesn’t look at me, fixated on the faded chalked outline of a rune.

I close the door. “Rowan.”

“What are you going to do?” He turns his head, and I swallow in relief that his steel blue eyes aren’t grayed by magic again.

“What do you expect me to do?”

He shrugs. Such a Rowan thing. “I thought a lot about that since I came back to my room. Funny thing. We’re close, but I still can’t predict your response.”

“To you murdering somebody?” His jaw tenses. “I can’t change what you did, and neither can you.”

“Well, you could’ve…” He trails off and laughs softly to himself, looking away. “Although, we’d have a complicated relationship if I murder people, and you have to clean up by creating a bunch of constructs.”

I blink. “You think this is a joke?”

“No, Violet. I don’t.” His arms clasp tighter around his knees. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

“But inevitable.” I sit beside him, far enough away that we don’t touch, but closer than I’d like to the darkness that lingers around Rowan. “The shadows would eventually overcome you.”

“Why? Because I’m weak?” he retorts.

“No. Because the ability to kill is within you.” His head snaps around, about to protest. “Haven’t you come one step away from killing in the past?”

He shifts and stares at the floor again. “Maybe. But the Rowan who stood on the edge wasn’t the person I am tonight.”

“You think the shadows changed you?” I ask.

His eyes fix on mine again. “No, Violet. You did.”

“You blame me?” I ask in horror. “I’m not responsible for your actions.”

Anger surges, and Rowan hastily reaches out and touches my leg. “No. Listen. Yes, you’re responsible for the shadows, but how can I blame you? I’ve always argued that we’re stronger together, that we have a power created by darkness. I just didn’t think that darkness would control me.”

“You welcomed the shadows, Rowan. You’ve called on them in the past, and that’s given the shadows a crack in your soul to move through.” I swallow. “I warned you not to acknowledge the magic.”

Silence settles around us, and Rowan rubs his lips.

“Do you know what worries me the most, Rowan? That you believed I’d ask you to kill.”

Again, a pause, then uncertainty in his words. “Or maybe that’s what a hidden part of me wanted to hear from you—something within me that’s murderous. Otherwise, why would my soul bond to a Blackwood?”

Murderous. Blackwood. Who were these witches that created Dorian and, through him, me? The family no longer exists, although there’s one pure-blooded Blackwood witch in the world. He exiled himself from the family and their practices as a teen, and years before their downfall. How has he survived the shadows?

I have only a small amount of Blackwood magic energy, but is that too much for Rowan to cope with, even partially through a bond? He’s the son of an original witch family, but not one as strong as the Blackwoods or Winterfalls.

“I hated the bond for selfish reasons at first, Rowan, but the day I saw you attack the shifters in the park, everything changed. I became aware that our bond not only altered my life but put others at risk. I’d inadvertently shared something that I shouldn’t with a power-hungry witch.”

“Power-hungry?” He repeats the words and shakes his head, but he’s never denied those desires. “But you stopped pushing me away, Violet. Or is that why you’re here now? To tell me we should stay away from each other?”

“What?” Hurt coils tight in my chest. Does Rowan think that I’m only here due to our magic? Have I not transparently communicated what he means to me? I stand. “Do you think I’d easily end this?”

“Not easily, no. The bond can’t be broken.”

“How can you reduce everything to the bond? I can’t. Don’t you see? You expected me to walk in here furious and accusing, to tell you to stay away, and that I’d refuse to accept your actions. I didn’t, because what underpins everything isn’t the fear for what you did but fear for you. Because I love you.” I stare at him, my throat tight. “Or do you want to walk away from us?”

“How could I? You’re the center of my world.” He stands but doesn’t touch me, like he’s afraid one wrong move will push me out of that place. “I love you and that is the only thing that makes sense anymore. I don’t know how to stop the shadows; I don’t know how to fight the part of me that likes the power, but I will fight for us. I can’t lose you, Violet.”

Accepting that more than the witch bond held us together took a lot and, even then, I fooled myself by thinking I’d stay in control of the situation. But emotions became involved. Emotions. That’s the problem here. The shadows feed on the negative ones.

“You won’t lose me or yourself.”

Even so, the distance I once maintained has returned, and Rowan won’t break that, even though his whole demeanor shouts out that he wants to break through. Is he frightened I’ll bring the shadows back if we touch?

“I don’t know what to do. I’m fucking scared, Violet. I’m too frightened to sleep tonight.”

“The shadows won’t come if you’re magically weak,” I assure him.

His eyes are dark and unreadable. “I know.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“When I sleep, I won’t wake up the same person as the one who woke this morning.” I shake my head, confused still. “I’m a killer now.”

“We can work on stopping this.” He looks away. “We will, because we need to.”

Rowan holds a fist against his mouth, pushing back his words.

No. Oh, no.

“You don’t agree?” I step back. “Is this what you want? For the shadows to consume you? To twist you into someone they control?”

His lips part, but no sound comes.

“Rowan. Tell me you don’t want this.”

His eyes meet mine, and they don’t hold the answer I hoped for. I grew up with four parents who’ve ended lives, and always saw the killers behind their masks. The same frightening truth lives in Rowan’s worried gaze. Rowan doesn’t want the power to kill—yet he does, and that’s what terrifies him. Terrifies me.

Rowan’s breath shudders as he drags his hands through his hair again, and grips. “I don’t⁠—”

“Lying to me is pointless, Rowan. Lying to yourself is worse.”

He hesitates, then winds his arms around himself too as if to hold his disappearing self together.

“It was so easy, Violet. That’s what petrifies me. The shadows waited, and I didn’t resist them.”

His voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I wanted to kill,” he says finally, voice raw. “For a second, I wanted to. Not the shadows. Me.”

Hearing aloud what I’ve known since the moment I dragged him away from the shadows at the funeral home hits. Not because I’ve changed somebody else through their association with me, but because I understand.

“The same happens to you, doesn’t it? Not the shadows’ influence, but the hybrid,” he says cautiously. “You struggle to control her.”

“Yes, but I fight my darker desires.”

“You intended to kill Viktor.”

“Again, yes. I can’t deny I have inherent deadly traits and disregard for life. Neither can Grayson, but you’re different. He and I were created that way. Witches rarely are.”

“Rarely.” He takes a slow steady breath. “But we’re not incapable.”

“But these desires only come through magical corruption, and only a powerful witch could use them,” I say quietly. “None can control that.”

“Corruption like this, Violet?”

I take a sharp breath. Mine.

“Yes. We don’t need to end what we are, Rowan, but tonight will happen again if we don’t work on ending what has a hold of you,” I whisper. “This isn’t the bond; this is what we’ve created.”

Rowan finally reaches out, one palm cupping my cheek. I brace myself against sensing the magic I’ve come to fight, but the shadows aren’t at the surface.

Am I right? Is ending their influence possible?

“So, you’re not here to tell me to keep away from you or you’ll break my legs?” he asks, smiling weakly.

No, I’m here to solve an unsolvable problem.

“You wouldn’t make a good right-hand man if you can’t walk.”

“Yeah.” He’s silent for a moment then lowers his voice. “You don’t look at me as if I’m a monster now.”

“How can I? You’re still Rowan. We must accept what you did, however uncomfortably, and ensure that it never, ever happens again.”

Our eyes lock in a silent understanding. How can we be sure?

Rowan draws me to him, hesitant, as if my magic might harm him instead. “I honestly expected you to lose your shit with me.”

“And prompt unpleasant responses in you? When we fight, the darkness converges. I am upset more than angry, because I wish you’d listened to me.”

Rowan’s fingers dig into my back. The greatest source of our conflict—Rowan hates others telling him what to do. But he nods, gaze dropping to my lips before he moves closer, not quite touching, but near enough that I can feel the heart of him.

Tonight, I should distance myself from the bond, from the shadows, from everything that ties us together. But he’s right. The urges in Rowan aren’t foreign to me and have the same hold. I don’t draw on the shadows, but I belong to the dark. We both do.

The bond pulled us together, but Rowan’s become something else. Rowan is as much a part of me as the magic that binds us. The space between us disappears, Rowan’s fingers slide into my hair, and his lips brush mine, pausing like he’s giving me a chance to stop this. I don’t. I can’t.

The kiss crashes between us, raw and desperate, the weight of his magic pressing against mine in our need to hold onto each other. The shadows haven’t settled in Rowan’s soul, and the bond tugs, urging me closer. Then I sense them licking at the edges of my mind, calling on the Blackwood to respond to what’s inside him. Are they using Rowan to get to me?

Dorian refuses to utilize the shadows, never taught me to either use or resist the magic, yet he never succumbed when they were within him. What if I’m the same? What if I can take away my dark gift to Rowan, pull them from him, and veer Rowan off this path?

With that thought, a shock of energy bursts, magic surging and twisting into mine. The shadows surge but I can’t allow them. They’re a legacy I don’t want, and one denied to me for a reason.

I break away from the kiss.

Rowan staggers, breath ragged. “I know what you’re doing. You can’t take the shadows away. Not anymore.”

I want to tell Rowan that he’s wrong. To do something, anything, to fix this.

But I can’t.

“The more we talk about the shadows, the closer they’ll be.” Rowan’s erratic heart sounds in my ears. “You should sleep. Nothing will happen.”

“Are you staying?” His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“How can I not stay with you tonight?”

“But you said nothing will happen.”

“Good grief, Rowan.” He chuckles at me, but I welcome the break in tension and retreat from the magic. “Get some sleep. You’re not going to lose yourself to dark desires overnight.”

“You sure about that?” Something flickers in his expression that makes my stomach twist in response.

He traces fingers along my jaw before settling at the back of my neck, then his lips brush mine once more, softer now.

“Stay,” he says again, voice raw almost desperate, and his forehead rests against mine.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

This time our kiss is steadier, like we’re anchoring to each other as the Violet and Rowan who can lose themselves in more than their magic. The gentleness holds back the magic storming around us, and the shadows don’t stir inside the bond.

The shadows may still be there, curling at the edges of us, but tonight, they stay quiet.

Tonight, I stay.

And in the warmth of Rowan’s arms and the steady beat of his heart against mine, I can lie to myself that nothing has changed.

30

VIOLET

I prepared myself for this morning’s summons yesterday, when I’d fully expected someone to call our group to the police station or into Mrs. Lorcan’s office. A missing body along with police records wiped in a town where supes are connected to murder? Humans would immediately target Dorian for answers, which would bring him and the detectives to me.

Why the delay?

As expected, Dorian waits inside Mrs. Lorcan’s all-too-familiar room. He rests against the fireplace, dressed in jeans and a pale blue shirt, his arms crossed, face hard.

However, the two people sitting in chairs behind the desk are not the detectives.

I pause and stare at the white-haired man, my heart jolting with adrenaline. Cornelius Whitegrove.

I did not prepare myself for this.

My first thought—thank the stars the guys aren’t with me. The moment Grayson heard that Dorian arrived at Thornwood, he disappeared. Has he left campus altogether? Rowan and Leif fled to class, grateful they weren’t summoned—yet. The detectives often interview each of us one by one, so a call to a meeting on my own didn’t surprise me.

But my meticulously planned words don’t emerge. Not even a hello. There’s tension in the room, but again no energy around my father that would suggest he’s aware about Viktor’s death.

Small mercies.

I lock gazes with Cornelius, whose air of superiority remains despite who he’s with. Whitegrove must’ve guarded his mind well because if Dorian had already succeeded in finding his way into the witch’s mind, we wouldn’t be in this room.

What does Dorian know?

And what is Cornelius’s game? Because if he had any sense, the witch wouldn’t deliberately insert himself into the missing body scenario.

I flick a look at Mrs. Lorcan who sits stiffly beside him. Why is she here? The woman in her brown houndstooth skirt suit maintains her official poise as academy head, but the way she fidgets with the pen on the desk speaks volumes. She has the weakest authority of the three of them, even in her own territory.

Nobody speaks, but Dorian reaches out for my thoughts. I blink at him and throw up the mental barrier. He doesn’t attempt any stronger magic, which I’d have no qualms in throwing back at him. Dorian won’t risk signs of weakness in front of others.

Without invitation, I lower myself into the single seat across the desk from Mrs. Lorcan and Cornelius.

“What a lovely surprise,” I say lightly.

Dorian’s silence presses into me. What’s happening here? I don’t have the control over the situation that I’d planned, and this doesn’t sit well with me.

“Mr. Whitegrove informs us you met him recently,” says Mrs. Lorcan.

“Oh?”

“You took unauthorized leave from the academy to bother him with your obsession about his family heirloom,” she continues.

Cornelius’s jaw tightens. “Yes, and after ascertaining the tiara wasn’t on my business premises, you broke into my home and stole the item.”

I balk and look at Dorian, willing him to say something. “I most certainly did not.”

“You deny causing a scene at my offices?” asks Cornelius, and I press my lips together not meeting his challenging look.

“I don’t deny visiting your offices. I attended to tell you…” I pause. I’m stuck. With others in the room, especially Dorian, I can’t explain fully.

“Tell Mr. Whitegrove what, Violet?” Dorian speaks in a smooth, even tone, and I bristle at the increasing smugness from Cornelius.

The pair want me to say this in front of Mrs. Lorcan? “Very well. I asked Mr. Whitegrove about the tiara’s whereabouts. My obsession comes from concern that there’s a connection between the item and a murder.”

Cornelius scoffs. “Your daughter’s ridiculous behavior has strayed into the illegal. She stole from me. I want her dealt with, Dorian.”

“That isn’t true!” I stand and glare. “I’ve never visited the Whitegrove estate.”

“Yes, you have.” I snap my head around at Dorian’s words. “Due to the delicate relationship that I have with the Circle, I was forced to waste time by visiting Mr. Whitegrove’s estate to question people.”

No. Surely Dorian can’t be this stupid. “I would’ve thought your time might be taken up with the issue of the missing body, Dorian.”

“Do you know anything, Violet?” he asks.

“Specifically? I have superior intelligence and a stellar memory.”

My father flashes me a look. “About the missing body.”

“Which one?”

“There’re multiple?” chokes out Mrs. Lorcan.

“I wasted all yesterday on this incident, gathering evidence that Mr. Whitegrove swore he had at his home. I informed you not to interfere in the Whitegroves’ business again and to leave the issue with the tiara alone.”

My head spins. The last thing I expected was for Whitegrove to set foot anywhere near Dorian, especially if he’s aware I know about Viktor. How can Dorian be this fooled?

“I did not steal the tiara!” I repeat. “Dorian, you know that I’m following other lines of investigation regarding the murder and my suspicions.”

“Suspicions about the Circle?” retorts Cornelius and turns to Mrs. Lorcan. “I am at my limit with these constant accusations against a respected organization and myself as its leader. I faced repeated questioning from Mr. Blackwood about a connection to necromancers, and now his daughter has walked onto my estate and thieved.”

“I did not!” My voice and heart rate rise.

“Cornelius’s receptionist backed up the story about the incident at his office,” says Dorian. “I’ve personally spoken to those who saw you at Mr. Whitegrove’s home. If you took the tiara as part of your ‘investigations,’ I suggest you return it immediately.”

No.

No.

Dorian would see past the memories Cornelius planted in his staff. “Dorian. I didn’t visit Mr. Whitegrove’s office looking for the tiara.”

“Then why did you go there?”

A muscle twitches in Cornelius’s jaw, the self-satisfied air intensifying. He knows I can’t answer Dorian. But how could Cornelius be sure I’ve told Dorian nothing?

Josef.

Grayson’s uncle explained the circumstances around Viktor’s death to Cornelius, and my hidden involvement. They are linked. By approaching Dorian about an issue that already exists, Cornelius misdirected Dorian.

If Cornelius ensures that my father gets ahold of me by accusing me of a crime that Dorian is forced to investigate, he slows my planned trip to the mausoleum.

“Where is my tiara, Violet?” asks Cornelius. “Theft is a serious offense.”

“As is murder.”

Cornelius looks at me with disgust. “Mr. Blackwood. You can’t seem to control your daughter. Your interrogations about necromancy, and this witch you’re searching for were enough, but am I now accused of murder?”

“Not you,” I say. “But the tiara has evidence. A magical imprint. You’re hiding something.”

“And apparently so are you,” he says smoothly.

His smile tells me everything I need to know—Cornelius doesn’t mean the tiara.

I spin to look pleadingly at my father. “Dorian. I haven’t taken anything.”

“Yes, you have. You’ve taken my precious time in an attempt to avoid a diplomatic incident with important witches,” he snaps back. “I’ve more important things to investigate than petty theft, as you well know. Sit back down.”

I lower myself into the chair again. What do I do? I can’t drop the truth here and now. Not without the world imploding.

“You’re not as clever as you think, Ms. Blackwood,” says Cornelius and that smile grows. “However hard you pursue me, the less you will find.”

31

VIOLET

My heart jolts again. The mausoleum. I have to get to the mausoleum.

“Dorian, please. Listen to me. I’ve found a connection between Cornelius and all the murders, not just Madison’s.”

Mrs. Lorcan sucks in a breath, and Dorian’s expression blackens. “That is not helpful, Violet,” he says.

I want to shout that Cornelius knows something about the missing body, but Dorian would press me for more. I’d fall into a hole I couldn’t climb out of and lose all my chances to find evidence that might help.

And ‘a diplomatic incident?’ Dorian ceased his investigation into Cornelius Whitegrove and the Circle in order to watch and wait, so why cooperate with him? My father must know something isn’t right about accusations against me regarding this so-called theft.

I take a slow, steady breath.

“I’ve already shared my concerns with your father about your attitude and poor attendance to class,” says Mrs. Lorcan. “There’s no reason for you to attend Thornwood any longer, especially as you’re dragging previously model students into this behavior.”

“Correct. Violet brought two male companions to my offices that afternoon, Mrs. Lorcan. One was that Willowbrook boy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he helped break the wards around my estate later that day.” Cornelius fixes his eyes on my father. “The Willowbrook boy is too powerful for his own good, Dorian. I sense trouble for you if he isn’t controlled.”

“Was the other student the Petrescu?” asks Mrs. Lorcan. “He’s been a problem for some time.”

“I wouldn’t have allowed the boy or any of his family members into my premises.”

“You don’t like Josef?” I ask.

Cornelius rubs beneath his chin. “The man is a shark. He fleeces his clients.”

I splutter. The astounding audacity from Cornelius demonstrates exactly how he climbed to the position he holds in society. In my desperation to help my friends and myself, I’ve misjudged my opponent, and the consequences could be deadly.

“I avoid business dealings with Mr. Petrescu, as I explained last time you stood in this room, Ms. Blackwood. Mrs. Lorcan will remember the entire conversation.”

“Violet. Admit what you’ve done, and we can close this down,” says Dorian in exasperation.

“Nothing is ‘closed down’ until your daughter returns the tiara, and I receive a formal apology for the recent slander against my name. I want the girl removed from the academy and returned to your estate in Scotland. That’s what you promised me yesterday.”

“Dorian, did you really waste time on this?” I ask. “You know Cornelius is lying.”

“Sweetest girl,” he says through clenched teeth. “Let me repeat: I’ve previously asked you to shut down your obsession with this other girl’s disappearance.”

I eye Mrs. Lorcan. I no longer care who hears.

“Mr. Whitegrove. You have a son called Viktor who murdered a girl eighteen years ago. You covered up the crime by erasing him from existence, but he exists, and you hid him. The Circle are corrupt, and the truth shall be revealed.”

“Violet!” Dorian’s raised voice covers the room in a heavy silence.

Mrs. Lorcan gapes at me but doesn’t look at Cornelius.

Cornelius rests his forearms on the desk and leans across. “If this son exists, Violet, where is he?”

Again, I side-glance Dorian. “I don’t know. But I have evidence that he’s your son.”

“Evidence? Such as DNA?” His mouth twitches. “Whitegrove magic residue? Your father presumably investigated the known past whereabouts of this individual.”

“As if somebody like Viktor would be careless enough to leave evidence of that variety anywhere,” I retort.

With a sigh, Cornelius rests back in his seat. “And I suppose you’re accusing my non-existent son of an historical murder to cover up something your father did, Ms. Blackwood? Is that the true reason behind your family’s attempts to besmirch my name?”

“Excuse me?” asks Dorian sharply. “This meeting and the charade yesterday concern Violet’s theft, not our past dealings.”

“Come now, Dorian. Your track record from before you snatched your chance to govern our world is hardly exemplary.”

“I have never killed a woman.” His voice is deadly. “I’ve never harmed a woman and certainly not a teenage girl.”

“What on earth is happening here?” asks Mrs. Lorcan.

“Why is she here?” I ask, and Mrs. Lorcan’s mouth parts at my impertinent tone. “In order for somebody to share what’s spoken about in this room? To spread rumors?”

“I’m here as you are one of my pupils, and in order to facilitate your removal from the academy. I am not a rumormonger.”

“I am not leaving Thornwood.”

“You will return to Scotland with me.”

Every muscle in my body stiffens.

No.

Is this Cornelius’s plan? Plant evidence of a false crime so that I don’t reveal his?

“That isn’t all you will do,” says Cornelius. “Last time you interrogated me, Mr. Blackwood, I was on the verge of demanding a public apology. If fanciful allegations of murders and coverups reach our world, I will do more than that. I will sue you and share the details of your past crimes.”

“My what?”

Cornelius slowly rests back in his seat. “Dorian. I lived in the Confederacy days. You’re a vicious killer, and nobody knows the half of what you’ve done. Other members of the Circle also lived in the Confederacy past and are… wary of you.”

“Confederacy supporters?” asks Dorian evenly. “Oskar Petrescu supporters? How interesting.”

“All Circle members supported the Confederacy before we discovered their crimes. Respected witches never supported the Dominion.”

Again, I don’t believe that for a second.

“Should we return to the issue of Violet’s petty crimes?” Mrs. Lorcan’s eyes dart around, the woman pointlessly trying to steer us back to Cornelius’s ploy. “Complete the paperwork for her expulsion?”

“Ms. Blackwood changed the subject with her fresh allegations.” Cornelius shakes his head. “Mrs. Lorcan. I also wanted you to be present because I suspected Mr. Blackwood might threaten me today.”

“I have not threatened you.”

“If anything untoward should happen to me in the upcoming days, the culprit is in this room,” continues Cornelius with complete disregard for my father’s protest.

“Violet. Wait outside,” says Dorian tersely.

“But I⁠—”

“I think you’ve said and done enough,” Dorian says, his look as sharp as glass.

“Yes, so do I.” Cornelius meets my gaze, and his voice edges with something close to amusement.

“I will prove what I’m saying,” I say calmly. “You’ve covered up murders, used illegal magic, and are involved in something bigger.”

“Not without proof this man exists and is alive.” Cornelius sighs. “Little girls and their silly games.”

Fury spikes darkness in my blood, and I struggle not to reach across the table and seize hold of the man. I messed up. Took a risk too big. All because my fear for four other people’s lives fogged my judgement.

“Are you involved in a plot against me, Dorian?” Cornelius asks. “What reason do you have to interfere with the Circle?”

“There is no plot against you,” he says tersely. “And if there were, you know me well enough. I don’t reveal my hand too soon, Mr. Whitegrove.”

Dorian stares at me as he says the words. He knows Viktor and Cornelius are connected. He intended to keep Viktor alive to build a bigger case against Cornelius or Josef. Possibly both. Not only have I killed Viktor, but I’ve interfered with Dorian’s intention to watch Cornelius and wait.

I’m in a pit created by my own naivety, and I’ve dragged the people I want to protect into it with me.

Cornelius predicted my next move. He created this fictitious crime and meeting to delay us. If Dorian takes me to Scotland, who knows how long before he lets me go?

Act. Now.

“Fine. I’ll leave.” I stand. “Seems you have deeper things to discuss than my petty theft.”

“You admit the crime?” asks Cornelius.

“Wait outside this room, Violet,” says Dorian. “I’ll speak to you once I’ve discussed this matter with Cornelius. I particularly want to ask you about the missing body before we meet the detectives.”

“Meet them? When?”

“Later today. Again, a distraction I could do without when I’m investigating serious crimes of necromancy and shifter deaths.”

My mouth goes completely dry.

“Should I accompany Violet?” Mrs. Lorcan asks.

“No. If Cornelius wants you in this room as a future witness to his paranoia, stay.”

Uncertainty flickers across Cornelius’s face. “You believe your daughter would sit outside and wait? I’ve already wasted time. You should’ve taken her last night, once you established the truth about the theft. The girl might abscond.”

“Not if she knows what’s good for her.” Dorian rubs his cheek. “I will deal with the situation once I’ve listened to your grievances, Cornelius. I’m keen to discover the whole truth, and act.”

Something passes in the look between them. Who is calling whose bluff?

“And you’ll return your daughter to Scotland? Retrieve my tiara from her?”

“I don’t have your tiara!” The words burst from me. “He’s planted memories in people’s heads. You know Cornelius does this.”

“Mr. Whitegrove,” Dorian corrects.

Taking a steadying breath, I turn to face Cornelius. “You’re a fool if you think you’re able to deceive my father.”

“I do hope you’ll feel more settled in Scotland,” he replies.

“I’ll wait outside, Dorian.” I focus on poised calm as I leave, even though my heart pounds in fury with myself and Cornelius.

There’s only one place I’m going, and it is not Scotland.

I’ve no time to waste because I don’t know how much I have. Ignoring the long bench positioned outside the office, I stride through the building at a speed that’s against academy rules, phone immediately in hand.

Rowan located the cemetery containing the mausoleum, now I will find the building.

we’re leaving now

Where do I go? How long do I have? I keep moving toward the edge of the campus perimeter as I wait for replies in the group chat.

Grayson

I already left before Dorian got hold of me

Leif

what happened?

Cornelius is here. He’s misdirecting D. Need to get to mausoleum. Will explain

Rowan

V that’s hours away

Which is why we leave now

I tuck my phone away again, and stare up at the cloudy sky, dragging both hands down my face. If Viktor’s body isn’t inside that mausoleum, my gamble failed, and all my efforts will crumble.

As I walk to meet Leif and Rowan, Cornelius’s words bounce around my mind. Little girls and their silly games.

Very well. You made a calculated move, Cornelius, but a risky one if you’re inserting yourself into Dorian’s past. The game isn’t over yet, and even if you beat the little girl, you will never triumph over my father.

If anybody could defeat Dorian Blackwood, the hybrid wouldn’t be in the superior position he is now. Stronger witches than Cornelius have tried and failed.

Cornelius Whitegrove disagrees with Dorian’s governance. That and his connection to Viktor squarely places him in the middle of a movement against my father that we intend to quash.

If Cornelius holds the names and information that we lost with Viktor’s death, he’ll give them up or we’ll force them from him.

You think you’ve made a clever move? No. You’ve set yourself up for defeat, Mr. Whitegrove.

32

VIOLET

I never imagined today’s outcome. When I took the risk of allowing Cornelius to take Viktor’s body, and then visited the funeral home to make my next move, I held my usual confidence that I’d stay in control.

But then Rowan snatched away that certainty by killing, and today Cornelius seized the reins.

But has he?

Cornelius attempted to arrest my investigations with spurious accusations and insistence that my father reprimand me. Once Dorian informs Cornelius that I’ve absconded, Whitegrove must expect my next move would be a visit to the mausoleum.

Cornelius failed because Dorian allowed me a chance to leave for a reason.

But he won’t know where I am. If Cornelius wants Dorian to locate my whereabouts, he wouldn’t risk telling him about the mausoleum without explaining why I’d visit.

But someone will look for me.

I’ve answered the guys’ questions regarding my encounter with Dorian and Cornelius repeatedly on our journey. Rowan especially required I tell the story several times, and each time grew quieter. Whitegrove mentioned him—what if the witch elaborates to Dorian why Rowan’s power needs squashing?

Witches camouflage their mausoleums between the human ones to keep the locations secret. There’s a chance Penelope’s head contained false memories, or that Rowan’s skills would take us to the wrong location. The possibility we’re at the incorrect cemetery evaporates the moment I climb the iron fence and detect the magic.

A row of mausoleums lines the back of the cemetery, dense trees casting shadows over the structures. Nearby gravestones from hundreds of years ago are overgrown and long forgotten, but the moss doesn’t spread to the mausoleums, and no weeds dare poke through the old pavers surrounding each one.

Some families chipped their names into the stone, but not the Whitegroves. Cracked steps lead down to the entrance of the one emitting magic, but I halt at a stone slab. Where’s the door? There’re no visible gaps as if I’ve encountered another wall.

We stand together and stare at the seemingly doorless building.

“Whitegrove wanted us to come here,” urges Grayson “He’s setting you up.”

“Cornelius’s set up involved slowing me down in the hope that Dorian arrests my movements altogether. Whether or not Cornelius expects me to visit, we shall speed up our exploration of the mausoleum.”

“We don’t know what’s inside. Viktor won’t be,” Grayson continues.

“But we investigate anyway.”

My lips pull tight as Grayson walks around to take me by the shoulders. “You’re not thinking straight anymore, Violet. What’s happened to you?”

“I’m trying to save your life, Grayson! Everybody’s!”

Grayson’s eyes go wide at my outburst. “Violet. Cornelius is taking advantage of your weaknesses. He’s smarter than you allow yourself to accept.”

Rowan and Leif hang back, not saying a word and certainly not stupid enough to agree with Grayson.

“If Viktor’s body isn’t inside the mausoleum, something will be.”

“Other dead Whitegrove bodies,” Grayson says.

“Clues!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have come here,” mumbles Leif. “What if we’re watched? Dorian will know you’re missing by now.”

“Cornelius implied that he hasn’t placed the body here. Therefore, the man will not expect me to look here.”

“You can’t be sure about that.” Grayson turns my face back to him when I look away.

Rowan lowers his voice. “If Cornelius did expect us to come here, there’d be witches nearby, Grayson.”

“You didn’t detect the witches at the funeral home last night,” Leif says cautiously. “And look how that ended.”

“Nice one, Leif,” says Grayson as the conversation deadens.

“Cornelius didn’t need to post anybody nearby and risk more of his followers’ lives,” Leif says eventually. “There’s no way in.”

“We could break through?” I suggest. “Grayson and I.”

“But how thick is the stone?” asks Grayson. “We’re strong, but we can’t kick in solid walls.”

My jaw clenches tight. “Well, then. Proof. Here’s another reason Cornelius is assured I won’t walk into the mausoleum tonight.”

“Exactly. We won’t be able to get inside. Let’s go,” Leif presses.

“Incorrect.” I run my fingers along the edges, reaching out with my magic. “The Whitegroves need to enter the mausoleum to add bodies; otherwise, what is the point of owning one?”

“If you mean there’s a magical seal, that’ll connect to Whitegrove magic,” says Rowan.

Leif grunts to himself and mutters, “Witches. Not like they’d have padlocks.”

“Yeah. What if we need Whitegrove blood to break a seal?” asks Grayson.

“Your collective optimism astounds me.”

“And your belief that you can outsmart Whitegrove astounds me.”

My frayed temper snaps, and I whirl around to grab Grayson by the shirt, slamming him into the slab. Grayson hits hard, but the stone doesn’t crack, reinforcing his theory.

“Is this you or Josef talking?” I hiss. “Don’t you want me to walk in there?”

“Wow.” He glares back. “That’s what you think of me?”

I tighten my grip. “I think your doubts aren’t helpful. What has Josef told you about Cornelius’s plans?”

His mouth pulls tight. “My uncle doesn’t need to tell me anything. Cornelius’s power is obvious. Like Viktor’s was.”

Leif shifts, glancing between us.

“You’re questioning everything due to Viktor’s abilities and subsequent death? This whole issue is partially due to your decision to tell Eloise about my rendezvous with Viktor.”

Grayson shoves my hands away. “Whoa. Unfair. I’m not a future-sighted witch. How the fuck was I to know what Eloise would do? I couldn’t let you face Viktor alone.”

Silence thickens between us, the air heavy as if we were inside the mausoleum already.

“You continue to think you’re invincible, Violet.” Grayson taps the side of his head. “You haven’t lived in the real world long enough to accept that you’re not.”

“Stop. This isn’t helpful.” Rowan tugs on my arm as I reach out for Grayson again. “The Whitegroves aren’t blood magic users. We’ll take a closer look around the building and find exactly what the family uses to disguise a door.”

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms as I calm myself, refusing to look at Grayson again. Accusing Grayson of his uncle’s influence takes away the other possibility—that he’s right.

Rowan climbs the steps, then crouches to take a photo of one corner of the stone with his phone, before pacing behind the mausoleum. “Runes,” he says, reappearing after circling the perimeter. “Each corner. All different.”

“Recognizable?” I ask. “Locking, I presume?”

“No. They’re too simple. I’ve researched Whitegrove runes, and these are similar, but the shapes aren’t fully formed.” He flicks through the four photos he took: two circles intersected with broken lines, a triangle inside a half-formed spiral, and diamond shapes with their points misaligned.

I frown at the picture. “What do you suggest?”

“Draw them in the corners of the ‘door.’”

I stroke a finger down the gray stone. “In what configuration and with what? We need an implement to mark the stone.”

“I’ll burn wood.” Grayson chuckles at Rowan’s suggestion, who narrows his eyes at him. “For charcoal. I am capable of lighting fire without causing the woods to burn down.”

“As am I.” I pause. “Now that I’ve mastered the ability.”

Rowan hops up the steps and disappears again. Before I can climb the steps to assist, he returns with a long stick in his hand. A flame emerges from his fingertips and blackens the tip, arching a brow at Grayson.

“Right.” Rejoining me, Rowan then crouches in front of the slab and places the phone on the ground as he examines the first photo.

I cross my arms as he carefully draws a circle at the base of the slab on the righthand side and then flicks back and forth through the images, before drawing the triangular rune on the left. He scratches his cheek as he scrolls between the remaining pictures, then etches one on the top left.

“What if it’s a trap?” asks Leif. “If Rowan draws the wrong rune in the wrong place, the magic might explode and injure us.”

Rowan pulls on his bottom lip and stands. He holds the stick and phone out to me. “Draw the fourth rune in the right upper corner.”

“Why me?”

“Because Leif has a point.” He indicates the fence line. “We’ll wait over there.”

“Are you not concerned I might die?” I ask.

“That concerns me every time we do shit like this, Violet,” he says wearily.

“Can we not talk about Violet dying?” asks Leif. “You’re giving me flashbacks.”

I study Rowan’s phone. “I hope you’re wrong and that I don’t die. Last time the resulting headache annoyed me immensely.”

The others retreat to the tall metal fence, Grayson hesitating before he does. I hold the point of the stick against the place that Rowan indicated and etch the diamond in the correct spot.

Magic fires—fortunately not in the blazing sense—as a faint glow moves from the base of the stone, upward, forming the beginning of an outline.

I stand, surging with delight, which dissipates as quickly as the illumination does. My teeth clench. “Wrong combination, Rowan.”

“Try again.” Rowan approaches and rubs at the black marks with a sleeve. “We have the answer; now we need the full solution.”

“There are twenty-four different combinations. That would take too long.” I seize Rowan’s phone and flick back and forth through the images. “This is a warding rune, but I bet it’s in pieces. The shapes must align in the right way.”

“What?” asks Leif.

“We must draw the runes together to make a new one in such a way that every line intersects”

“Worth a try,” says Leif.

“I do not try.”

As always, Leif finds the phrase amusing, chuckling to himself.

Shaking away distractions, I draw the circular rune, hesitantly adding in the lines to include the triangular one, then the others, creating a multi-sided shape. The edges of the slab glow again, but don’t fully create a doorway. With a small smile, I add the Circle’s symbol to the center.

The illusion breaks, and I’m thrown backward by pulsing magic, slamming my back on the sharp edge of the steps. “Ugh.”

“Are you okay?” Leif asks in alarm.

I stand and brush away dirt. “Well done on the theory the magic might trigger a protective spell. The force would’ve broken Rowan’s back.”

“Yeah. I’m unsure whether to be happy about that or not,” he replies. “But we have a door.”

“As I said, I never try.” Not waiting for the guys, I slip my fingertips inside the edge and slide open the heavy stone.

As I walk inside, adjusting my eyesight, Leif calls after me, “We can’t risk more traps.”

“The only smell and aura in this place is arrested decomposition. Traces of magic, but not enough to worry about,” I call back.

The family built the room with precision, each stone tomb positioned in a deliberate pattern. Their lids are worn, names etched in archaic lettering, some eroded beyond recognition. Faint runes mark the walls, and several rusted candelabras overlook the tombs.

Quiet footsteps follow me into the tight space, and I look down in surprise as Leif holds my hand. “This place is creepy.”

I smile. “Yes. Wonderfully so.”

Breaking Leif’s grip on me, I walk to the center of the circle created by the five tombs pointing inward and stand on the Whitegrove rune. How many are occupied? I slide the lid from one, and Rowan’s sharp breath comes as stone grinds against stone.

I peep inside. “Not Viktor. Too long dead.” Effortlessly re-positioning the lid, I move to the next. “Are all the names on the tombs recorded in your research, Rowan?”

He nods and points at the fifth. “Cornelius’s is waiting.”

Leif makes a strangled sound. “This is too weird. I might wait outside. On watch.”

“They’re not vampires, Leif. The bodies won’t return to life,” says Grayson.

“Vampires? Violet said they uh… incinerate when they die. Permanently.”

Incinerate. Die. My hand trembles and I tuck it into a pocket before either guy sees. Why can’t I deal with what Rowan did?

“Bad comment, Leif,” whispers Grayson.

“What will you do if Viktor is here after all?” asks Leif.

“Take evidence.”

“And that evidence will be photos, right?” says Rowan.

“Is this another recollection about Wesley’s toe? I removed that to aid in identifying a killer who intended to frame me.”

“And you’ll leave Viktor’s body parts attached?” Leif glances at the tomb, his wary face wan in the glimmering light Rowan conjured.

“I don’t want anybody to know that we’ve visited this location. Not yet. If I wandered off with a piece of Viktor, that would alert Cornelius.”

“Out of interest, which piece would you choose?” asks Grayson, smirking when Leif’s jaw slackens. “Just asking.”

“I don’t know, maybe⁠—”

“Stop!” Leif holds a palm up. “I’ll wait outside.”

“Again?” asks Grayson.

“Yeah, again. In case somebody followed us.” He steps closer to Grayson, fixing him with a look. “Like, Dorian, for instance.”

Grayson’s smirk drops and he bites his lip as he looks at the dank, claustrophobic space. “Actually, I might prefer to wait outside.”

“Dorian won’t follow. He’s suspicious and is likely to investigate Cornelius’s activities, Grayson. He’ll need to listen before he acts, and Cornelius would never mention Viktor and the mausoleum,” I say.

“Uh. Sure he will. Leif. Come on.”

As the pair leave, I kick open Cornelius’s unoccupied stone tomb with one thick-soled boot. “If I don’t find anything, I’ll be extremely upset.”

33

VIOLET

I’d doubted Viktor would be here, so I’m not looking at an embalmed witch who deserved to die much more horribly than he did.

I’ve found something better. The tomb doesn’t have space to hold a body, instead the structure is positioned over a gap in the mausoleum floor to hide an entry. Something more than death emanates from below, and the convergence of magical energy runs stronger below us.

I look over a shoulder at Rowan and gesture at the steep, narrow stairway. “Steps.”

“Oh god, no.” Rowan drags a hand down his face. “Please don’t go down there.”

“Are you serious? A witch’s mausoleum with a hidden chamber in a seemingly random cemetery?”

Without waiting for another protest from Rowan, I slowly descend the roughhewn steps and halt at the base. The air is heavier, the magic I sensed now pressing against my skin, as tangible as the dampness above. I can’t sense Viktor, but there’s death around that’s linked to more than the embalmed relatives above us.

Rowan’s witchlight shines. This isn’t an empty chamber, but a space used for rituals—a place that somebody recently cleared out. The three stone alcoves aren’t an unusual touch, but although they’re empty, there are faint imprints around where jars or books once sat.

The solid, uncracked stone floor is also too clean for a disused chamber.

“I guess Cornelius was expecting us,” says Rowan, stepping in behind me.

“Yes. But he wasn’t worried about us discovering Viktor. Somebody performed darker magic here until very recently.” I scan the room, taking in the details.

“Yeah, the residue is strong. A lot happened inside this mausoleum. More than storing dead bodies.”

“I know exactly what.”

“Necromancy?” Rowan darts a look around.

I nod. “The death magic hasn’t fully faded, even if it’s mingled with something else.”

I crouch at the center of the chamber, brushing my fingers across a faint circle on the stone, and Rowan kneels beside me. My pulse quickens as a faint rune appears beneath my hand. “Runic magic takes a while to fade; the place was used until recently. Days ago.”

Rowan peers. “That’s a caging rune that held someone—or something—in here.”

I nod, already placing the pieces together. “Or someones. Cornelius knew I’d visit, even if he never intended to bring Viktor somewhere so obvious. He delayed me to clear the place out in case I succeeded in entering.”

“Cornelius is practicing necromancy?” Rowan whispers as if he might be around to hear.

“Witches with knowledge of, and access to, this place are necromancers, which rather narrows down the number. Cornelius? I’m unsure.” Standing again, I focus on the room, sharp eyesight checking out every inch. “If this was an impromptu clear out that happened quickly, those responsible must’ve left something. Not an obvious item like a book or magical tools, but something.”

Rowan turns his light, and our tall shadows appear against the stone.

As does something else. A glint in the corner. Glass. “Here!”

“What is it?” Rowan asks, voice wary.

I pick up the fragment carefully and examine the barely inch long, jagged piece. “Broken vial?”

A pale powdery residue clings to the surface, but not enough for me to wipe away. I sniff and them smile, even though the unmistakable scent supports Rowan’s awful theory.

“Wolfsbane,” I whisper.

Rowan tenses. “You’re sure? That’s not grown anymore. Anything that harms a shifter isn’t legal.”

“As if that’d stop witches who regularly kill and reanimate them.” I frown. “But nobody found wolfsbane on the bodies of the constructs we’ve come across.”

“Which means…Oh, crap.”

“That there’re more constructs in the world. Ones created in here. Cornelius is involved with the witches and murders! With Viktor. Do you think father and son worked together?”

“That’d be weird. If Cornelius severed connections with his son, why risk his rediscovery?” replies Rowan.

I bite my bottom lip as I survey my surroundings with utter glee. “Maybe Cornelius had no choice but to help.”

“Because he has skeletons in his closet?”

“What? Whose? Is that where you think Madison and her brother are? On his estate?” I gawk at him. “When did you deduce this information, Rowan?”

“Calm down.” Rowan lifts his hands up, palms out. “It’s just a phrase that means somebody has secrets that, if exposed, can cause problems.”

“Secret skeletons? Whose?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Forget I said that. There’s something we haven’t considered, besides Viktor’s erasure from history.”

“I highly doubt that. I consider everything and draw conclusions long before other people.”

“Oh? Then tell me this: have you considered that Viktor might not have wanted to live the life that his father gave him?”

“Of course I have,” I say crossly. “Viktor lost a prestigious and luxurious lifestyle to become an electrician.”

“And whose fault is that?”

I blink at his inane question. “Viktor’s. He murdered somebody. Two somebodies.”

“And Cornelius could’ve covered that up without performing magic as insurmountable as he used. Hell, if Cornelius can totally wipe Viktor from people’s minds, he could’ve helped him out of a murder conviction.” Rowan smiles at the tug to my brow. “Instead, Cornelius chose to send his son into exile and deny him everything he’d be entitled to. Punished him. But the man never considered how ungrateful and powerful his son is.”

“Or vengeful,” I murmur, eyes widening. “Either Cornelius is involved in the witches’ plot against Dorian, or Viktor forced him to help. Cornelius allowed necromancers to use his space. Nobody would go after someone as respected and untouchable as Cornelius Whitegrove without evidence. So, nobody would investigate his properties without cause. I bet Viktor knows things about Cornelius that he doesn’t want revealing—apart from this.”

“Then why hasn’t Cornelius destroyed his son’s body?” asks Rowan. “Viktor is a link.”

“Whitegrove’s family were never on the radar before the tiara came to light, and Cornelius might need to hand over the culprits. There’ll be a lot of energy imprinted on these walls that implicates Cornelius and he can pin that on Viktor.” I look at Rowan. “Anything on the glass besides the shifter-killing substance?”

Rowan leans in closer, hesitating before brushing his fingertips over the glass. His eyes flutter shut, and his breath stalls as the psychometry spell reaches for imprints left behind. He recoils.

“Anything?” I repeat.

“The energy is too fragmented.” He wrinkles his nose. “I’d need to use a focused spell to pick up something, but the emotions… fear and then… nothing.”

I’ve nothing to wrap the shard in, instead carefully tucking it into my sweater pocket. “This is enough.”

“For what?”

“Evidence for Dorian. He can attend the mausoleum and confirm everything—Cornelius may’ve emptied the chamber, but he can’t demolish the mausoleum or what’s below. Whitegrove will reveal everything, including the truth about Madison. I’ll ensure he’s brought to justice and that he gives Dorian the information he needs to bring down his enemies.”

Rowan laughs, but the sound is flat. “You sure about that?”

No. But when I tell him the truth, this lead must help my case. Or am I fooling myself in the way Grayson accuses me of?

With one last glance at the hidden chamber, I turn and stride toward the stairs. “Let’s move. I don’t want to be here if Cornelius decides to check on his little secret. I’ll need to contact Dorian. My father knows something’s happening.”

We creep back up the steps, Rowan climbing from the tomb first, sneaking back outside. Rowan heaves in a breath.

Leif’s bulky figure sits on the ground between the fence and the adjacent mausoleum.

“Where’s Grayson?” I ask.

“My comment about Dorian freaked him out. He left.”

Rowan stomps over. “Left? To tell his uncle what we found?”

“Grayson doesn’t know what we found, only that we came here. There’s no new information for Grayson to impart to his uncle.”

“Yeah, I get why he left. I was tempted to follow.” Leif glances behind us. “Is Viktor in there?”

“No.”

As Rowan explains our findings to Leif, I gaze into the darkness, head filled with Grayson. Left. Will he be back?

What do we do next?” asks Leif.

Rowan steps closer, voice low. “Violet wants to contact Dorian.”

“Now?” Leif’s voice rises.

I shake my head, brushing dust from my sleeves. “When we get back to the academy, I’ll call him.”

I’ll tell Dorian what he needs to hear; if I control the conversation, I control the fallout.

I unsheathe the tiny blade from my pendant. “At least we can get back to the academy quicker than we arrived.”

I choose the edge of campus as our spell location. Holly always reacts badly when I arrive in our room out of nowhere with several guys and, technically, I’m not supposed to use blood magic to leave and enter the academy even though Dorian removed the block. Leif and Rowan appreciate the efficiency of the Blackwood spell, but not the side-effects, and so I leave the pair to compose themselves as I return to my room.

The other reason I chose to leave the pair? Dorian. I don’t know what happened when he, Whitegrove, or both discovered my disappearance, but I’m sure I soon will. If Dorian knew where I went, I would’ve encountered him by now. Cornelius played a different move.

I approach my room but don’t need to enter to sense someone waiting for me.

A figure sits on my bed, the pale moonlight stroking his perfect features, but he isn’t the person I wish waited here as he did once before.

“Hello, sweetest girl.” My stomach flips. “Would you like to tell me where you’ve been and why Cornelius Whitegrove is desperate for me to take you to Scotland?”

“Is Cornelius around?” I ask cautiously.

“I asked you a question, Violet.”

Dorian contains his anger but if I say another word, right or wrong, that’ll unleash. I’ve asked Leif and Rowan to meet me here once they can walk so, for the second time today, I must leave Thornwood quickly.

“I’m ready to return to Scotland where I shall explain everything.”

My father slowly stands, and I hold my ground. “You say that as if you have a choice.”

The unspoken lingers between us. I once informed all the guys that my father would be unlikely to maim or kill them in a public place, which they found little comfort in.

If he takes us all to Scotland tonight, I can’t guarantee Leif and Rowan’s safety.

Time’s up, and I’m not imparting information with the guys close by. I lift my hand, outstretched ready for the magic. “I suppose we’re not driving?”

34

VIOLET

Eloise intercepts our arrival at the Blackwood estate and demands I go to my room, as if I’m a human teen and Dorian caught me somewhere I shouldn’t be. Dorian’s response unnerves me. Is this how a human father would react to such a situation—lethal and silent, but measuring the moments after the mother steps in before the shouting begins?

Eloise is giving me time, but I don’t want that anymore.

Holly’s scent lingers in my room amongst the mingled smells permeating from years of magic, including the scorched carpet. The girl in the mirror looks no different to the day I left for Thornwood. Less annoyed, but expression equally defiant. The red lipstick and eyeliner faded with everything happening today, and although I’m softer in face, I’m harder in determination.

And less hard-hearted than the day I walked away from the estate to Thornwood.

I’d known what and who I was and never believed I’d change. Even the idea I could become like Eloise and find men to share my life with repulsed me. Violet Blackwood took control, even as a toddler when she renamed herself, but unlike many teens, she never questioned her parents. Not until the coercion started: first the high school and then Thornwood—mistakes Dorian now regrets. He’s the one who sliced through our family unity. Not me. Today is the culmination of weeks drifting away from my father’s control over me.

I wipe the remaining lipstick from my mouth with an index finger and Grayson comes to mind. He ran the moment Leif suggested Dorian might catch us. Will I see him again? Our night together may not have solidified the blood bond, but the physical closeness we created sealed our fate toward a shared future.

Nobody will take Grayson from me. Or Rowan. Or Leif.

My mother orchestrated this moment—she must’ve been aware of Cornelius’s actions over the last days and didn’t inform me. And what about Ethan and Zeke? Has she also planned that they stay away and ensure I’ll face Dorian with only her?

I can’t predict their reaction. Is it time my family lets me go?

Weirdly, my heart jumps out of rhythm at the thought this could lead to exile from the people who embraced and nurtured me for eighteen years. Surely none of this would change Ethan and Zeke’s minds.

I expect Dorian to arrive in my room once Eloise can’t appease him any longer. Dorian will demand I follow him to his office, the territory he always drags me to where I’m trapped and he can dictate the terms.

But no one comes to my room.

Not wanting to delay this any longer, I go to him instead. But the door is open, and Dorian isn’t waiting behind his desk. Confused, I walk the slate floors toward the kitchen, another hub in the house. The lights are on, but again the room empty.

The longer Dorian stays away from me, the deeper the fear about the outcome for us all buries into my heart.

I spy a note on the table, written in Eloise’s handwriting. Garden.

The moon watches over me as I walk outside, both a beacon to light my night, and a reminder of the academy and people I love. I have a week until this moon becomes full.

Eloise sits on a wooden garden seat where bushes of herbs surround the uneven pavers. I’ll always associate lavender with my mother, as the scent overpowers other herbs in her favorite gardens. Rarer plants nestle amongst the culinary herbs, including those used in dangerous spells.

The deadly nightshade berries bring Rowan to mind—the day he invaded my room and privacy hoping to steal ingredients from the Trinity witch’s daughter. I never thought we’d end up here.

Eloise remains still as I pass by to sit on another cushioned seat where the small yellow chamomile flowers touch my arms. Such a shame the calming herb won’t help with this meeting.

Where is Dorian?

My mother’s green eyes meet mine, searching my blank expression, and her magic brushes against my mental barrier. She takes a tall glass from the marble table and sips the clear liquid.

“I’m curious to know how you’ll deal with this,” she says lightly. “I gave you the chance to take an easy way out, yet you made ludicrous choices.”

“You mean by not sacrificing Grayson in order to deny my involvement?” I shake my head as she offers to pour me a drink from the glass jug.

“And Dashiell? You never found the shifter boy?” She sets down the jug. “Unusual, as I thought he’d return for Holly. After all, she’s responsible for his decision. Handing Dorian at least one of the culprits would’ve helped you.”

Culprits.

“Dashiell saved my friend’s life. I am returning the favor.”

She looks back at me, unblinking. “Tell me. Where is Viktor’s body, Violet? Have you taken and destroyed it?”

“I have not. And if I had taken him, would you have preferred if I brought him here?”

She says nothing, and I pull a chamomile flower from the bush and rub the petals between my fingers. “Where’s my father?”

“Inside. I persuaded him to take time before speaking to you. After the pantomime with Cornelius today, and your disappearance, he’s on the edge of reason. He’ll join us soon.”

Join us soon, as if we’re about to share a late-night family drink: ordinary behavior from the extraordinary people, relaxing away from the troubles in their lives.

“Does he know? Have you told him?”

Eloise arches a brow. “If I’d shared the full details, nothing I did would’ve persuaded Dorian to keep away from you. You made the mistake. You deal with the consequences.”

I suck my lips together. And the consequences for Eloise? She’s the one person in the world who has sway over Dorian, but will he see her decision to keep Viktor’s death under wraps as a betrayal too?

“How is Grayson?” she asks, sipping from her glass again.

“Hiding.”

My mother laughs, but I glare back. There’s nothing amusing here.

I don’t hear Dorian pass through the open doors to the house but sense his presence before he rounds the corner to the herb gardens. He halts, sweeping an impassive gaze over me but doesn’t sit. The darkness edges his powerful aura, but the anger is still controlled.

I’ve never feared my father. The man never once raised a hand to me, often allowing me more leniency over mistakes—or deliberately dangerous acts—than the rest of my family. As I look back to him now, our last conversation tumbles through my mind. I’m not scared of Dorian. I’m frightened for others.

“Still here, Violet?” he asks evenly. “You didn’t take the opportunity to sneak away and fuck things up even more?”

I side-glance at Eloise.

“As I told you, Violet wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave the estate tonight,” says Eloise.

“This time.” Dorian crosses his arms. “Now, where should we begin? Cornelius lied about you stealing his tiara, and I played along. I found nothing in his estate staffs’ minds, which confirms he lied. Why the sudden interest in you by Viktor’s father? Answers. Now.”

“I’ve information regarding Viktor, Dorian.”

Dorian scoffs. “That isn’t enough of an answer. I’m perfectly aware this charade all links to Viktor and his whereabouts. Where is he?”

“With Cornelius Whitegrove. On his estate.”

Dorian’s lips thin. “Don’t be an imbecile. I just visited the place, and if a witch emanating magic of Viktor’s magnitude was there, we would know.”

“That’s where I believe he is,” I correct.

“Impossible. Cornelius would not risk revealing a connection to ‘Joe Smith’ after all this time. And Cornelius Whitegrove certainly would not step into my life or take me to the location where his son is hiding.” Dorian’s blue eyes glint. “Truth. Now.”

Eloise continues to observe quietly.

“Viktor Whitegrove is dead.”

35

VIOLET

The words come from my mouth before I’ve considered them further, as the desperation to release the truth since the moment I saw Dorian takes over. My father doesn’t move or speak but stills in that unnerving way of his. He’s either the quiet before a storm that will break and consume everything, or the kind that turns and walks away, leaving only silence behind.

Nothing controls Dorian, but the same cold presence as shadows swallows the evening’s warmth. For a fraction of a second, something unreadable flickers across his face—shock, immediately replaced with something deeper and more dangerous

“How?” he asks eventually, voice like the cut glass in my pocket.

“The usual way mortals die. His heart stopped beating.”

Eloise half-chokes a laugh.

“How?” repeats Dorian, his blue eyes darkening to the tempest edging around him. “I’m not in the mood for your facetiousness. Were you there? Responsible?”

“Not directly.”

He steps closer. “Stop your games, or I’ll tear apart your mind for the truth. I’m certain the body that disappeared from the morgue was Viktor. How are you involved? Your little gang? How is Cornelius involved?”

I measure the explanation I’ve carefully created. How much can I give Dorian without immediately dragging the others down with me?

“If you don’t tell your father the truth,” says Eloise softly, “I will.”

Everything. I’ll have to tell Dorian everything.

Dorian pivots to face Eloise. “You knew?”

“That’s a discussion for later.” She stands. “I’ll allow you to speak to your father alone, Violet.”

“What the fuck is happening here?” Dorian snaps, grabbing her wrist.

Eloise looks down at his hold on her arm. “Do not put your hands on me, Dorian Blackwood. Ever. Did you not learn that years ago?” He doesn’t release her. “Dorian. I am warning you.”

His eyes go wide, and his grip on her tightens. “You were there,” he says in whispered horror.

“And I shall explain. There’s no need to take a hold of me and steal my thoughts.”

I’d intervene but this isn’t a threat of violence against Eloise—touching her allows Dorian into Eloise’s mind more easily. If he had attempted physical abuse, Eloise would have retaliated immediately, and my other fathers would also do the worst they could to him.

But my mouth still dries as Dorian yanks Eloise forward until their bodies touch.

She tips her chin, and their gazes lock.

“You hid something from me, Eloise. We never, ever do that.” Dorian makes the mistake of baring his teeth, and my hand covers my mouth as his feet leave the ground and he lands on his back in a bush of lavender.

“And you never, ever behave in this way towards me, Dorian.” Eloise stands over him. “Deal with your daughter; we shall deal with my involvement and explanations later.”

I turn my head from the scene, breath speeding at what triggered between them. This does not bode well for me. Dorian and Eloise don’t fight. They never fight. I’ve heard them argue before, but the angry voices never last long. The pair are true equals—two identical hybrids where one could never overcome the other.

What have I done?

I pull a second chamomile head from the bush and focus on the petals again as my mother retreats into the night, and I don’t dare look back until the bush rustles nearby.

“Get up.”

I slowly stand to where Dorian is in my face, but he doesn’t take a hold of me too. He doesn’t need to because the weight of my father’s gaze pins me in place.

“A Petrescu.” He pushes hair from his face. “I saw him in your mother’s mind.”

“Dashiell killed Viktor,” I say.

“Yes. I saw that too. But Eloise had the chance to take Viktor for necromancy before Grayson tore his heart out.” I stumble and grab the edge of the chair as his magic drills into my thoughts. “Elaborate.”

“Viktor had a hold over Holly, and Grayson wanted to⁠—”

“This isn’t about Holly. You’ve confirmed what you deny. Grayson is working for his fucking uncle, Violet!” Dorian shouts in my face, and I wrap my fingers tighter around the chair. “First, the warehouse where Josef showed up by ‘coincidence,’ and witches died, and then Grayson ensured Viktor died too! Viktor knew something that Josef wants hidden.”

“No. The witch at the warehouse accused Josef of double-crossing him,” I say evenly. “We discussed this: Josef and the witches are rivals.”

For another long moment, Dorian glares at me, before spinning around and walking to the edge of the patio, his back to me. Our isolated estate lies before him, the only light from the night sky, as Dorian blends into the place that created what he is.

“Consider your answer to these next questions carefully,” he says stiffly. “Did you plan to meet Viktor without informing me?”

“Yes.”

“And you intended to kill Viktor?”

“Not at first, but he had a grip on Holly’s and Leif’s minds and⁠—”

“Who the fuck are you now?” Dorian turns back and yells at me, staying distant this time. “How dare you go against what I told you!”

“I can’t let people harm those close to me,” I shout back. “We’ve had this conversation. Viktor⁠—”

Dorian strides over and grabs my upper arms, interrupting, and I freeze in shock. “Who is more important than your family?” he shouts.

“The people I love!” I shout back at him as his fingers bite through my sweater.

“That answer should be ‘nobody.’ I warned you, Violet,” he snarls into my face. “I told you to do what I say.”

“You don’t have power over me, Dorian. I’m your daughter, but I am your equal!”

“Nobody is my equal.”

“Really? I just saw Eloise shove you into a bush of lavender with her magic.” I break free from his grasp and add insult to injury by grabbing a sprig from Dorian’s hair.

Dorian snatches the lavender. “Viktor’s permanent death sets back my search for the truth and increases the threat against us. The witch had important knowledge that I needed. I told you he was not to die.”

I bite my lip hard. Do I apologize? But how can I when I’m not sorry that he’s dead, only that others are still wrapped up in the aftermath?

“A Petrescu killed a witness! Josef’s sole purpose is to bring me down, and you helped.”

“That isn’t why Grayson interfered. Viktor would’ve killed Holly.” I take a calming breath. “Eloise can explain.”

Dorian’s face shadows. “Oh, she will.”

“My mother gave me a chance to fix this. She told me to bring Grayson and Dashiell to you and blame them to save myself. I couldn’t do that. I’ve spent several days searching for evidence to replace that which we’ve lost with Viktor’s death, and I have. I’ve proof that Cornelius Whitegrove is involved. Stop focusing on Josef. Yes, he’s connected, but the real threat right now is the witches killing shifters. Cornelius knows more than he’s revealed because he’s helped with the necromancy! Threaten to expose the truth about Viktor, and Cornelius will be forced to tell us more.”

“You have proof? Viktor’s body’s whereabouts?” He snorts when I produce the broken glass. “Are you serious, Violet? That’s your evidence?”

“I found this in the Whitegrove mausoleum, where⁠—”

“The what?”

“I was looking for Viktor.” His jaw slackens. “Cornelius has him. He’s frightened his secret will come to light and other information along with it. Get a hold of Cornelius. He’s the key to all this.”

“The man has no connections to Josef.”

“That you know of!” I press. “Josef made money from Viktor. We’re not sure how, but that’s a connection.”

“And how did you come by this information? You know Josef is a lying, manipulative bastard.”

“Grayson said⁠—”

“Grayson.” He throws his hands upward. “He. Is. Playing you. His uncle controls him. If you won’t remove the boy from your life, I will.” His eyes hold the familiar hatred but with disgust aimed at me. “I will not rest until there’re no more Petrescus walking this earth. I should’ve ended their line when I had the chance and avoided you ever meeting this boy.”

My jaw slackens. “That’s the problem. You don’t honestly believe Grayson is working for Josef. You’re worried I’ll give him power to match yours.”

“Grayson is a member of a family who wanted to kill you in your mother’s womb. Did you know that? That’s what his kind are.”

I reel but press on. “Grayson is not Oskar. He is not Josef. I love him and will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.”

“I want you to find the traitorous Petrescu and bring him to me.”

“Touch Grayson, and I’ll kill you.”

Laughter from Dorian echoes around the emptiness he wants to trap me in. “Oh, sweetest girl. Do tell me how you’d manage the impossible.”

The condescension. The name.

I fly forward and smack Dorian hard in the chest. He barely stumbles, triumph on his face at the proof I can’t harm him.

But he’s wrong.

“I know something that would kill you,” I spit out.

“Nothing can.”

I step up to my father and lift my chin. “If I turned Grayson into one of us, that would kill you, Dorian.” He opens his mouth, but I press on. “You couldn’t live with my decision. Imagine your daughter creating a Petrescu hybrid.”

Dorian lunges at me, and I dart backward, moving faster than the other unstoppable hybrid until I’m at the opposite end of the gardens.

“I warned you! You’re not leaving this estate again,” he shouts.

“You can’t stop me.”

Although I sound like a belligerent daughter, Eloise’s actions earlier planted something more in my mind. Hybrids are equal. Dorian winced at our last meeting when I retaliated with my magic against his.

Dorian isn’t stronger than I am.

But the fury. The utter rage blinding his blackened eyes. He has one last power to wield. “I’ll end them all, Violet.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. I almost killed Leif once before.”

He knocks the breath from me. At the spring ball, Leif told me Dorian killed Oz to protect my name. I’d assured myself and Leif that Dorian would only kill people who were a direct threat. Back then, I still clung to the hope that my father would never hurt people I loved. Now I know better.

“And don’t think that ‘gifting’ them immortality would help, Violet, if that’s a choice you’re considering. Your blood will kill those individuals.” He moves closer and whispers, “And remember, I can kill immortals too.”

“How can you say this?” I ask and step back. “Everything Rowan, Grayson, and Leif have done was to help me. To help us. They’re not a threat.”

“These people are not part of us and they’re taking you away from your family.”

“I’ve heard of overprotective fathers who don’t like the people his daughter chooses, but this is extreme!”

“I’ve protected you with everything I have, Violet!” he shouts. “I saved your life many times and at risk to myself. I will not have that life end mine.”

“You don’t own me just because I’m your creation that you protected.” My heart thuds louder in my ears. “I’m not a normal child, and you’ve never treated me like one. What father secretly teaches his daughter deadly abilities without telling the rest of the family?”

“One who knows how dangerous you are.” He falters and shakes his head. “One who wanted you to fully accept and control your gifts.”

“Is there something more, Dorian? Another secret? You keep insisting that my blood would poison Grayson. Why?” Dorian’s face remains stony—he’s retreated but not far. There is. “I understand the risk that my blood could kill Rowan and Leif, but not Grayson.”

“He is playing you! His fucking uncle has the boy under control as much as any necromancer could instruct a construct.”

But Dorian swerved my question by repeating the same excuse he’ll use to kill Grayson. Again. There is more. Something locked away in a past that nobody in my family talks about. And one man is obsessed with keeping that past buried.

“You’re wrong. I have Grayson’s blood. I sense his emotions.”

“Those words alone make me want to vomit.” His face becomes a mask of disgust. “But if that “sensing” happens, you will know how much he dreads his uncle. Fear influences people more than any other emotion.”

“Like your fear that you’re not invincible?” I take a step back as his fists clench.

He sneers. “Go ahead. Create your hybrid and watch him die in agony. But I advise that you distance yourself, or I’ll end them all.”

“You can’t!”

“Then remember who you are and start to make the right choices, Violet Blackwood.”

Would Dorian really follow through on his threat to kill the guys just to assert his authority over me? He’s weaponizing the emotional bonds that tie me to them—exactly like someone else did not long ago.

The ground lurches. In this, Dorian Blackwood is no different from Viktor Whitegrove. Even Oskar Petrescu. They’re all the same. Everyone who craves dominion over the supernatural world shares that same ruthless immorality, willing to destroy anything or anyone standing in their way.

This man is the murderous sociopath Dorian Blackwood who existed long before he became my father. They say he’s changed, that the merciless brutality is gone, but Dorian’s twisted core remains untouched. Nothing will ever erase the malevolence bred into this hybrid.

And yet, I stand as his equal, and I’ll wield every ability I inherited from Dorian to protect those I love.

36

GRAYSON

How much influence does Violet have over her father to prevent him from losing his shit in a murderous way? I’m more than hoping our new evidence is enough to balance out the mistake, and I’ll do whatever it takes to help.

Although the others know that I’ve agreed to trade information with my uncle, the thought of a meeting him scares the crap out of me. Violet’s earlier words won’t leave my head—either way, nothing bodes well about my future. Even Violet’s insistence that she won’t let anybody kill me is Russian roulette. Dorian could be telling the truth, and Violet’s blood would end me anyway, just in a more agonizing way. And if he’s lying, and Violet creates a hybrid Petrescu, Dorian would literally hunt me to the ends of the Earth for the rest of my life.

And if anybody can figure out how to kill a hybrid, Dorian will be the one who does.

If I hadn’t met Violet, what would Josef have molded me into? I’ve struggled with the family name and the dark legacy that’s part of my blood and soul for as long as I can remember. Was the so-called desensitization before Violet arrived a starting point for a bigger future Josef planned for me?

My parents must know what Josef did to me in the past even if they’re unaware of what’s happening now. I don’t know what leverage Josef has over my father, but he hasn’t interfered in my uncle’s actions once.

One thing’s sure: my father is Petrescu, and he’ll support Josef’s side against the Blackwood government. But how much does he know? My uncle won’t risk including many in his secret circle aiming to bring down Dorian and the rest of his family.

At first, I couldn’t understand Josef’s motivation behind this trading information situation, because Josef knows I’ll tell my friends everything. If Josef thinks I’ll sell out Violet, he’s crazy, which is the problem: Josef isn’t. He’s meticulous. Clever.

But I’ve figured part of this out. Currently, my relationship with Violet gives Josef an advantage—her connection to the investigations offers a way to track his other opponents’ movements.

Josef wants the witches taken down because they’re rivals, and I’m the key to doing so.

I haven’t worked out the exact connection between Cornelius and Josef. Is Cornelius an opponent because he’s working with the rival necromancer group? Or does Cornelius hold information about my uncle that he wants erasing?

The last time Josef demanded I meet him, we were in the thick of the ‘Viktor’s body’ situation and I put him off—told Josef to wait until I had a full story for him. Now that Dorian has Violet, she’ll admit to my role in Viktor’s death, I’ll lie low until she tells me the outcome. This gives me the perfect opportunity to catch up with my uncle at my favorite place.

Ha.

Josef’s decision to meet at the cottage confuses me—somebody must know about the place. It’s impossible to hide much from Dorian at all, especially as he’s tracking my uncle after their confrontation at Kai’s party. Have Dorian’s people already looked for Josef here? Will they return?

Whatever. I’m not staying at the place once we’ve finished this catch-up. I’m not safe alone for long, whoever I’m with or wherever I am.

In an eerie re-run of the time that I hid here after tossing Viktor’s heart into the lake, I walk into the musty house. Taking a calming breath, I wander from room to room, lost in thoughts of Violet in order to push out the mental re-runs of what happened to me in this place.

I can usually suppress the memories of torture, but every time I’m here they play out in flashes I can’t stop. Even my body remembers, air disappearing from my lungs as I subconsciously rub at my once-sliced arms.

Each room adds more reminders, so I sit in an armchair stained with my blood, facing the doorway into the lounge, but close enough to the window to leave quickly. Josef’s tactics may’ve changed recently, but he’s unpredictable. My mouth parches again. I might hide some secrets, but I won’t need to fake my fear of Josef.

With my feet on the low table covered in stained coffee cup rings from the old human owners, I run through how I’ll steer the meeting. What are my chances with Dorian if I’m successful in proving a link between Josef and Cornelius? Will he finally drop the ‘Josef and Grayson are working together’ rhetoric?

Who are these others?

Josef is a loner, and even his heavies haven’t accompanied him recently. Is their disappearance Dorian’s or Josef’s work? My uncle doesn’t have a significant other that I know about. Again, is that Dorian’s work or Josef’s preference? Hell, I wouldn’t put it past Josef to kill someone he loves if he felt it necessary or they betrayed him.

Someone he loves? Josef would only engage in partnerships for his own benefits, and he’s devoid of any positive emotions.

I don’t hear or sense my uncle before he arrives.

I never do.

Josef wanders casually into the room, dressed in black slacks and a blue polo shirt: a look at odds with the man I know. I guess he doesn’t need the suit required for his role as a lawyer, since he’s unable to work while Dorian watches. But even if Josef isn’t publicly integrating with the world, he’ll use his influence everywhere he can.

Josef pauses at his favorite place, leaning against the stone fireplace above the empty hearth, hands in his pockets. I sit stiffly, my own hands bunched on my lap.

He studies me in his usual expressionless way. “Good afternoon, Grayson. I received your message. You finally have something you’d like to say to me?”

Yeah, plenty that’d earn me a smack in the face.

“You’re no longer ‘waiting’ in order to avoid our meetings?” he continues. “Because I’ve waited long enough.”

Acid builds in my stomach. “Like I said last time you asked, there was no point in meeting with you until I had something to share.”

“And?”

“Now I do.”

Josef slants his head. “About the missing body and the Blackwood’s connection? You generously shared everything you knew about Viktor’s demise at our last meeting, and I’m happy you’re willing to share more without me withdrawing the information.”

By tearing me and my mind apart? I hate this man. Loathe him with every ounce of my being. Josef must sense that deep-seated reaction I have to him every time we’re together, not just my fear.

“Whatever I tell you, I’ll leave the place bloodied.”

“Tk, tsk, Grayson. I thought we had a new understanding?”

“Understanding?” I give a hollow laugh. “I cooperate or you kill me permanently?” Josef responds with a tight smile. “I’ve agreed to help, but if you plan to hurt Violet, I’ll intervene and take the consequences.”

“And I told you, I don’t wish to hurt the girl. I have other plans.”

“Still trying to frame her for murder?”

“Please, Grayson. That is a pathetic technique, and not one I’ve used, nor do I intend to. It should be clear to you by now that the witches oversee that plot.” His smile broadens. “One that will fail very soon.”

Unaware of what the hell that means, I stare at the wall, coiled and ready to run if I need to.

“By the way, if this is an attempt at a trap, you’re certainly lacking in intelligence.”

“A trap?” I scoff. “No. I’m hiding from Dorian.”

“A direct threat?” Josef chuckles. “The man knows about Viktor’s death and your role?”

“If he doesn’t, he soon will since Violet is sharing that information with Dorian today. So, yeah. He’ll use that as an excuse to kill me.”

“And you’re hiding because Dorian’s daughter can’t stop him from harming you? You must be low down on her list of lovers.” Josef sneers.

“Violet is a Blackwood. She looks out for herself first and foremost. I’m causing problems; she’s pushed me away.” I grit my teeth at the lie. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

Disbelief flashes across Josef’s expression before he waves a hand. “You know I can’t stay in one place for long. Let me start—where is Viktor’s body?”

“Cornelius has him.”

“How?” Josef stiffens. “Where?”

“Violet tipped him off.”

“She spoke to Cornelius?” Josef’s eyes go wide.

“Yeah. Violet told Whitegrove that Viktor died and where to find the body. Cornelius took Viktor from the town morgue and then to a human funeral home before the authorities could identify him as a Whitegrove.” I drag a hand through my hair. “Then Cornelius moved the body a second time but we’re not sure to where.”

Josef’s laugh startles me. “How endearing and remarkably stupid that Cornelius didn’t dispose of the evidence of his wrongdoings. The man went to such pains to disguise his son’s past existence, yet left his body lying around a human funeral home?”

“Rowan told us Whitegrove would embalm Viktor’s body and needed someone discreet. Y’know, like a blackmailed or greedy human.” I look up. “You know the witch superstition about embalming.”

“Yes. But you’re telling me that Cornelius now has Viktor’s embalmed body hidden?” Josef’s brow furrows. “Why would Violet instigate such a situation and allow this disappearance to happen? None of this assists her cause.”

I frown too. “You know why. Violet wants evidence that Cornelius worked with Viktor—or at least knows something. Then she’ll give that information to Dorian and hope it helps calm him down. If that’s even possible.”

Josef taps the fireplace mantle. “Then I must presume Cornelius placed Viktor in the Whitegrove mausoleum. Where’s this mausoleum? That must be the first place Violet plans to look.”

“Yeah. Already did. Viktor’s body isn’t in there. There’s evidence of necromancy against Cornelius, though.”

“What ‘evidence?’ In the mausoleum?” he presses. “What did you see?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure. I waited outside. Someone cleared the place out, but Rowan and Violet found signs of necromancy using shifters as constructs.”

“What signs? Are you telling me Cornelius moved his son elsewhere? Where?”

I sink back and drag a hand down my face. “Josef. We don’t know. I’m telling you what I can.”

“What if your friends lied about the contents of the mausoleum?” Josef’s voice rises. “They know about our little arrangement. They may not tell you everything, aware you’ll pass the information to me. Viktor could be inside.”

“It’s the truth. Violet trusts me.”

“But do they all trust you, Grayson? One of the others could influence her.”

I pause. “Rowan doesn’t.”

Josef’s lip curls. “Get rid of him. I’ve told you to do this before.”

He’s so fucking blasé. “Uh. The shadows? You’ve experienced that magic.”

I swiftly push away a memory of the night at the funeral home—Josef can’t see that.

“Grayson. Don’t confront the witch; just kill him. He sleeps.”

I choke. “Violet’s bonded witch? Sure. Smart plan.”

Josef takes a long breath then walks to the window, staring at the afternoon daylight that once would’ve fried him. What did happen to change the situation and allow hemia vampires to walk in daylight? Another of Dorian’s secrets? The hybrid hinted he could reverse the situation, and not everybody believes he’s bluffing.

I tense as Josef moves to place a hand on my shoulder, saying nothing as he looks down at me. The witch’s words the night in Sawyer’s warehouse: “Nice double-cross, Petrescu. But you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Cornelius must plan to place Viktor in a location nobody else knows about. Perhaps alongside the body of the person that caused all these issues for his family?”

My eyes bug. “You know about Madison and where her body is?”

“No. But I know everything about the sordid situation. I inserted myself into the Sawyers’ lives to aid in keeping Cornelius under control.” Josef mouth twitches into a half-smile. “I really should catch up with the man soon, especially now.”

“Wait.” I stand. “You plan to tell Cornelius what I’ve told you? You wanted him caught.”

“Why would I do that?” The innocence in his voice doesn’t match the continuing sly smile.

Fuck.

If Josef informs Cornelius, the man will run.

“You can’t, Josef. Let Dorian piece together the clues to find and take Cornelius. One problem solved.”

“Cornelius isn’t my biggest problem. His necromancer friends are. This could be the opportunity I need.”

“For what?”

“To end the problem.” His eyes shine. “Yes. This is perfect.”

“I don’t understand what you’re planning.”

“Planning? Now why would I share my plans with Violet Blackwood’s lover?” He turns to face me. “Although you bringing this information to me demonstrates your common sense and, to some extent, your commitment.”

“To you?” I laugh harshly. “Or my bullshit family name?”

I instantly regret my words, but at least I haven’t been held against the wall by my neck, or had my wrists slashed. Instead, he places a hand on my shoulder, and I fight the instinctive flinch.

Why the unblinking look from Josef? The calmness?

“Your name.”

“If you interfere and Cornelius disappears, Violet will shut me out of everything! I’ll have nothing more to share, ever again.”

“Share with me or with her? You’ll impart details of today’s discussion with your friends and alert them of my next move. Although I can’t divulge everything due to this double-crossing behavior, I can keep my promise for an exchange of information.”

“Like what?” I ask cautiously.

“Something that could aid you in maintaining Violet’s belief in you.”

And manipulating me.

His fingers dig painfully into my shoulders as he gives a ‘friendly’ squeeze. “My connection to the Sawyers and their trust in me uncovered a recent development. I can’t act on this information myself, if I wish to maintain that trust.”

I suck in a breath. “What exactly do you want me to do, Josef? I’m not close with the Sawyers.”

“I need to know where the bodies are. All of them. Cornelius isn’t the only one who knows the location.”

“How am I supposed to discover that?”

He leans forward and whispers, “Isn’t Violet investigating the murders? Pass on my information about Sarah and watch how the girl reacts. Help her. Then inform me. The outcome will benefit us both.”

Josef’s eyes don’t question; they gloat, already certain I’ll obey. I clench my fists and pretend this is still my choice. But every step I take for him is one I won’t find my way back from. Why am I risking everything? Because I’m a coward—and one day, Violet will see that too.

“Coward? No.” My lips thin at his mind invasion. “A Blackwood is screwing with your life, and you’ve a fanciful idea that you love each other. That never ends well. Ever.” Josef pats my cheek. “And self-preservation isn’t cowardice, Grayson.”

37

VIOLET

Dorian hasn’t spoken to me since the confrontation. Confrontation. The word isn’t big enough for the moment that was inevitable since I entered the outside world. Like it or not, the man has a grip on other people’s lives that he’ll utilize if he can’t control me.

During my childhood, I never questioned my father’s position in the world or had any awareness about his tenuous grip on leadership. I knew how powerful my family is but never considered the magnitude of his past actions, or how he’d repeat them if threatened.

I’m now sharply aware. I’ve reached the turning point where I’m no longer the person Dorian expected me to become. At this point, I have only one choice: back down and keep away. Dorian’s searching for people who would end a leadership founded in fear. Don’t interfere. End my investigative involvement and allow him to takeover with apprehending Whitegrove and the necromancers.

Instead, I can pursue the bigger issue: ensuring others’ safety. I’ve failed to do this with my single-minded actions, and that needs to change.

The decision to meet Viktor alone and everything that happened afterward prove my naivety about the world. I’ve put lives at threat, but not in the way I once expected. What if that outburst at Dorian last night creates a worse situation for Grayson? Dorian could kill him before I get a chance to protect him.

Does my mother now know about the enormity of our encounter in the gardens? Did she remain close by and witness anything? Eloise didn’t speak to me when I returned to the house, but hers and Dorian’s raised voices reached me as I sat in my bedroom afterward.

I never considered the discord it would create between them, and I’m eager to leave before Ethan and Zeke return in case I face the wrath of my whole family. Eloise wouldn’t allow Dorian to trap me on the estate, and neither would my other fathers. The problem is, how far will Dorian go to assert himself over the family?

The argument that the family always make join decisions fell flat after Eloise’s behavior in hiding facts from Dorian, but four people who were once trapped against their will would never do that to me.

And although Dorian rules the supernatural world, all in our household are equal.

This morning, with Eloise in attendance, Dorian listens to the remainder of my findings, but he refuses to accept any information I gleaned as atonement for my actions. Yes, Viktor’s death has led to a major discovery via focus on Cornelius, but due to events beyond Dorian’s wishes.

Out of his control.

Despite his calmer exterior this morning, Dorian’s underlying fury remains, and I must take care that it’s directed against his true aggressors. Although I didn’t find much inside the mausoleum, I have handed enough evidence for Dorian to interrogate Cornelius. I’d expected Dorian to send men last night, but I sense he’s preparing for a larger strike. Dorian often utilizes discretion so as not to alert his opponents. If Dorian’s psychometry specialists find evidence at the mausoleum, Cornelius won’t be able to complain that Dorian Blackwood is victimizing him.

Locating Josef is also part of Dorian’s immediate aims, but Grayson’s name isn’t mentioned today. Is this another example of Grayson’s usefulness delaying Dorian’s ultimate plans for him?

Yes, I will step away, but not from everything. I mentioned Madison and the tiara, and Dorian flew into another rage about how he doesn’t give a shit about a girl who died eighteen years ago when he has issues with Cornelius’s current activities. Plans that need halting immediately.

I dropped the subject, and he returned to demanding information about my recent discoveries.

I’m forced to bargain my way off the estate. This means accepting Dorian’s insistence that Eloise place a tracking spell on me. She’s never done such a thing, and I am mortified at both the invasion of privacy and the distrust. But I have no option if I want to leave.

Allowing me to return to the academy must be Dorian moving the pieces in his deadly game with Cornelius. Before either Eloise or Dorian change their mind, I blood rune myself out of Scotland and return to the academy grounds, threats still ringing in my ears.

How will Cornelius react when he discovers I’m not in Scotland? Dorian needs to move swiftly.

Earlier, Grayson sent a message to assure me of his safety after leaving the mausoleum. I advised him to return to the academy before his uncle locates him, and for us to remain together at all times. Every one of us. He doesn’t reply which triggers a flurry of unwelcome physical reactions. No. Dorian hasn’t touched him—he would’ve told me.

But Josef? Has he?

In an earlier message to Rowan, I kept details about my meeting with Dorian succinct, assuring him of my bodily integrity. But that won’t be enough information for my friends, especially Rowan.

They’re owed an explanation as to why Dorian allowed me to leave, and what happens to us all next.

38

VIOLET

I planned to speak to my friends before class, and alone, but I’m too late. By the time I arrive at Thornwood, lessons have already started. After consulting my infrequently used timetable, I locate Rowan and Leif in Potions/Chemistry class alongside Holly.

Rowan examines every inch of me as I step inside boredom-filled classroom, and black ink from spurts across Leif’s lips as he bites hard on the pen in his mouth. Holly’s face turns as pale as Grayson’s normal color.

“Yes, I am in one piece,” I inform the trio, before sitting in the vacant seat between Rowan and Holly.

Vacant because Holly isn’t keen to sit side by side with Rowan or because they were expecting me?

The door closes behind me as the teacher enters the room. I count the students in attendance, ascertaining which humans chose to attend Mr. Woodside’s class, most notably whether Logan—and his suspicions—joined today. His whole vigilante group sit in a row, glaring at the witches at the tables opposite.

For once, the humans merely glance at me, and the irritating babbling in the classroom quietens when Mr. Woodside claps his hands.

As one of the younger teachers, he struggles with authority in the classroom and adopts an abrupt, sour-faced manner that commands respect for him. Considering he only trained for the job as part of the search for his sister, I doubt he gains much enjoyment from his role.

He never seems to.

I’ve no paraphernalia required for lessons, and Rowan tears a sheet of paper from his notebook then slides the page and a pen toward me.

“What happened?” Rowan whispers, one eye on the teacher.

“I told you; I had a fight with Dorian.”

“Physical?” Leif asks in horror.

“Physical contact was involved.”

“Shit. And you’re okay?” Rowan places a hand over mine, face filled with panic, reflected in the surge that touches me through his magic.

No hint of shadows. Good.

“Did you tell Dorian everything?” whispers Holly.

“I imparted all the details of our recent days, and Dorian, although unimpressed, now possesses new information due to our discovery inside Whitegrove’s mausoleum. As Dorian must act quickly, this will distract him from any immediate repercussions,” I reply quietly.

“What do you mean by ‘repercussions?’” Holly interrupts.

“For my actions.” Our actions. “In the meantime, we are no longer allowed to interfere.”

Leif laughs dryly. “Like that ever stops you.”

My lips thin “I have little choice this time if I want you all to survive.”

Julius Woodside breaks the silence, and, as he addresses the class with today’s lesson plan, he looks between Leif and Rowan then narrows his eyes at me. We’ve successfully evaded both Julius and his questions about our search for his murdered sister recently. This is largely due to us rarely attending lessons as the timer counted down to Eloise’s ultimatum. How much longer can we avoid him?

Dorian isn’t interested in Madison’s death, but I still am. I don’t like unfinished puzzles, and the pieces from this one will surely slot into the current situation. Cornelius knows what Viktor did.

Did Viktor tell his father where he placed the girl’s body? My father may not care about a murder from almost two decades ago, but if he takes down Cornelius, he could force the witch to admit what he knows about Madison

I once informed Julius that I would solve the mystery behind Madison’s disappearance, and I shall. Dorian hasn’t expressly told me to stay away from those investigations since he’s dismissed their importance, even when I told him about Sarah’s mysterious activities.

If I receive information, I’ll follow the leads, but also inform him the moment I encounter anything that pertains to Cornelius. I’ve made enough stupid decisions recently. That must cease. If I’m tracked to somewhere I shouldn’t be, the day would not end well.

Holly does not welcome the practical lesson that Julius announces, understandably due to her ineptitude in science-based tasks, despite her prowess in math. Today, humans and vampires will prepare a solution to grow tiny crystals on a piece of string and pretend it’s educational. To make this dubiously more interesting, they’re permitted to add food coloring for the overnight transformation.

Surely this won’t challenge Holly.

“Why do you never teach magical potions to humans?” Sara asks as Julius instructs select students to hand out equipment. “Otherwise, what’s the point in us attending a magic school?”

“Assimilation,” he says stiffly.

“Ass- what?” Dale frowns.

“Neither humans nor vampires learn potions because they don’t possess the required magic needed to activate them. Joint lessons such as these encourage cooperation between houses,” Julius replies.

“I’m inclined to agree that the lesson is divisive,” I put in.

The humans gawk at me siding with them, but Sara’s question wasn’t my impetus to speak.

“Chemistry is a subject tested for human exams,” says Julius. “Potions are also part of the witches’ end-of-year testing. The two can be taught together.”

“And vamps?” drawls Darian, one of the few Sheridan House vampires in the class, and the only hemia present. “Why waste our time?”

“My class is part of the curriculum for you all, and the vampire elders agree,” says Julius firmly. “Gregory—hurry with distributing the flasks.”

I straighten and take note. How many vampires have I interacted with apart from Grayson? I’ve met a handful when walking through Sheridan house, but that’s all.

Witches outnumber vampires at the academy and have always behaved as if they’re superior among the supernatural races, and the vampires face more intolerance from human students than witches do. The race also faces the greatest prejudice in wider society, thanks to human folk tales and unpleasant movies about vampires.

Rather than stand their ground against humans like the shifters, the vampires have a rather more aloof stance—or, to paraphrase Grayson, a ‘fuck you’ one.

Vampires keep a low profile inside the school too, and few bother to attend lessons. If they do, they always remain quiet in class. Vampires rarely involve themselves in any academy affairs. Few attended Marci’s fateful dance, and the majority refused to attend Wesley’s memorial.

Since the reveal, witches and humans are the only two races who get along, and even that’s on wafer-thin ice.

Nobody implicated vampires in the recent murders, and as the attacks bore no resemblance to vampire-inflicted injuries, neither I nor the authorities paid attention to Sheridan students’ activities. The house never singles me out or bothers interacting with me much at all, and I return the favor.

Is the vampires’ treatment of me acceptance or indifference? Or am I looking in the wrong place for academy subterfuge while they ensure my focus is kept on witches and a single vampire?

I must shift my focus.

Having missed the preparatory lesson for this experiment, I glance over Rowan’s notes. A protective Aegis potion for the witches. Interesting, and as simple as the humans’.

Within less than a minute, Holly knocks over the bottle of colored solution and swears, immediately standing and attempting to mop up the mess with tissues she grabs from her bag.

Her hands tremble, and I retrieve one to assist her.

“You seem unusually jumpy today,” I remark.

“You mentioned something about ‘not surviving,’” mutters Rowan.

“Oh. Dorian isn’t upset with Holly,” I say. “Please don’t worry. Grayson should be concerned, along with Dashiell, if Dorian finds him.”

“Right.” Holly glances at Leif and then continues wiping the table.

“And us? Should we worry?” whispers Leif.

What do I say? I don’t want Rowan and Leif reacting badly and accidentally knocking things over too. Rather than reply, I take the soaked tissues from Holly and place them in the waste basket near Julius’s desk. He tracks me as I cross the classroom and speaks quietly as I stop to deposit the tissues.

“We need to talk, Violet.”

“I haven’t found Madison’s bo—” I catch sight of Sara watching us. “Found any new information.”

“I want to talk to the four of you. After class. You’ve avoided me long enough—I need an update.”

“Very well.” I meet his startling eyes momentarily and nod before returning to the others.

But I won’t. Not yet.

Rowan and Leif watch me as keenly as the rest of the class. As I resume my seat, Rowan pushes the small silver scales toward me. “Explain, Violet.”

“This instrument precisely weighs extremely light substances, although I’ve no need to use one for this potion. Would you like help?”

“Explain what happened with Dorian in more detail. Your text message sucked.”

Leif leans around him and looks expectantly, and Holly now sits again, her dark skirt damp.

“My father isn’t happy about my behavior. If I continue to demonstrate disloyalty to the family, he’ll remove me from Thornwood.”

I smile tightly, happy that one of the social skills I’ve learned includes not bluntly telling people the entire truth. If I added the part about Dorian’s threat to kill people I care about, I can predict the outcome: unpleasant and hysterical.

“Disloyalty?” asks Holly.

“Putting others’ welfare ahead of my family’s.”

“What does that mean?” Her voice rises in pitch.

“I’m not to kill any more suspects in order to protect people.”

“Protect people like me?” she asks.

“You have somebody else who’ll help protect you,” Leif tells her.

Holly’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“Leif will.” I pat Holly’s damp hand. “And Rowan. Grayson. Marci. You have a lot of friends who care for your welfare.”

Her gaze flicks to Rowan. “Rowan and Grayson?” She shakes her head and returns to her failed experiment.

“Are we in immediate danger?” presses Leif.

“No. Dorian aims to apprehend and question Cornelius today. I hope Cornelius and his mausoleum hold the answers that died with Viktor.”

“I’m sure they do,” Rowan says. “But after class, you need to give us a full debrief on your meeting with Dorian. You’re…” He takes my hand and frowns at my fingers. “Odd.”

“Odd? How is that an unusual state for me?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Rowan, I had an argument with a furious Dorian Blackwood. We exchanged words. Anybody would be ‘odd’ in that situation.”

Rowan snorts. “It’s the words that you exchanged which worry me.”

“Have you seen Grayson?” I ask. “He informed me he would return.”

“Wow.” Leif pauses in his measuring. “He’s brave if he does. What if Dorian arrives?”

“Stop changing the subject, Violet,” says Rowan.

“What are you doing?” a male voice snaps.

Across the room, Chase stands over Logan, holding a sheet of paper in the air. “What’s this?”

“None of your business.” Logan stands and snatches the paper back.

“Why is there a list of witches’ names on here? And what does all this other shit you’ve written mean?” asks Chase.

“Chase. Sit down and continue your work,” Julius demands.

“The humans are passing this around and adding names to it!”

“Including yours?” asks Julius.

“No, but⁠—”

“Then sit down.”

“Some are crossed out! And there’re other things written that I haven’t read yet, like⁠—”

Julius slams a hand on his desk a second time, and those watching Logan startle and look to the teacher. “I said, sit down.”

Ignoring him, Chase snatches the paper.

“It’s not what you think! Give it back,” says Logan.

“Taking notes on us now, Logan?” He scans the words. “‘Blood Moon amplifies witch magic.’ ‘Witches seen gathering after dark.’ Locations. Planning something, are you? Or just spying on us?”

Logan stands too and rounds the desk to face the witch. “They’re observation notes. We’re watching for unusual activity since the witches are keeping everything to themselves about the Blood Moon.”

Instead of watching their exchange, I scan the room to ascertain others’ reactions—especially Marci and her friends’. Marci murmurs something to a witch beside her, and Darian sits forward in interest, resting his arms on the desk beside the potion-making equipment he hasn’t touched.

Chase walks across the room and hands the note to another witch.

“What do you reckon, Simon?”

Other Pendle students look over the witch’s shoulder.

“Research? That’s what you’re calling it? Looks more like paranoia,” Simon replies. “Blood Moons don’t amplify witch magic. Who told you that?”

“And this isn’t a Blood Moon, Logan,” says Leif. “I told you.”

“Paranoia? How can we trust you when you’re secretive?” Logan points to Sara’s brooch. “And why create and sell protective talismans for humans unless you know something will happen on campus?”

Marci straightens and whispers to Nita who nods. “The brooches are for more than the full moon,” Marci says. “In case you hadn’t noticed, people are dying.”

“But no witches seem bothered by the Blood… full moon. Suspicious, much?” Dale asks.

“Because we don’t buy into hysteria. If there were something weird happening, we’d sense the magic,” replies Nita.

Interesting. The human girls who sold the brooches say nothing, although a couple of them touch their gold adornments.

“Tell me why you’ve made a list of names. If you start up Wes’s night-time ‘games’ again, you’ll regret it!” snaps Chase. “We’ll get to you first.”

“Ah! Threats, see?” Logan waves a hand.

“You’re just scared because you don’t understand magic,” says Marci. “Humans who spend time with us know we’re here to learn, not threaten you. Right, Holly? Isabella?”

Holly nods but Isabella stares ahead. Not backing up her witch friend?

“We’re scared because you’re hiding things! What are you brewing over there? A defensive potion for when the Blood Moon hits?” asks Sara.

Julius now rests against the table arms crossed. “Defensive potions are part of the curriculum and always have been. As per academy rules, we don’t teach potions that can be used to influence or injure a human.”

Darian clears his throat. “A little curiosity isn’t a crime, Chase.” The vampire smiles. “But if you do have something to hide, be careful.”

“See? Even Darian thinks you’re hiding something.” Dale nods at him.

“No, Dale, I think humans are overreacting. Maybe next time, don’t wave your ‘research’ around in plain sight.”

Chase stalks over to look down at Darian. “Don’t pretend you’re neutral. Your kind are always lurking; now you’re stirring things up.”

“Stirring things up? I’m pointing out that secrecy breeds mistrust. If witches were more forthcoming, this wouldn’t even be a conversation.”

“Yeah. Are you afraid we’ll figure out what you’re really up to?” Logan calls out to Chase.

“You know, they do have a point,” cuts in the vampire beside Darian. “If witches are sneaking around, that does make you look a little... suspicious.”

Murmurs of agreement fill the room. “Bloody hell,” says Rowan. “How dumb are Chase and Logan?”

“I’m more interested in why Darian suddenly involved himself,” I say. “I haven’t heard a word from Sheridan House about the Full Moon.”

“If anyone’s plotting something, it’s probably Sheridan vamps,” Chase says. “You’re the ones who sneak around.”

“Sneak around? Like your merry little human gang sneaks around on campus every night?”

“We’re looking for suspicious activity,” Logan retorts. “Maybe we should check out Sheridan House next time.”

“Shifters don’t live with us. And we’re not dumb enough to believe in full moon drama or so-called Blood Moons,” the other vampire says, and the pair laughs.

“I bet hemia like you are, Darian!” says Sara. “Nobody trusts hemia.”

“Are you serious?” A vampire scoffs. “Sheridan isn’t getting involved in your dumb battle.”

Chase snorts with derision. “No, you sit there and laugh while we get the blame. Seems a bit weird.”

“Such hostility. Maybe that’s why no one trusts witches. Always so quick to blame someone else.” Darian’s flash of his sharp teeth does not help the situation.

“Enough!” Julius’s voice arrests everybody. “Logan, give me the note. I’ll need to report this ridiculous conflict to Mrs. Lorcan. Somebody needs to sit you all down to talk about the imaginary threats and clear the air.”

Logan hesitates but hands over the paper. The teacher glances at the note briefly, his expression tightening before he folds the paper and tucks it away.

“This discussion is over. Get back to your potions and experiments, all of you.”

The class slowly resumes, but the tension lingers as the humans and witches continue attempts to outstare each other. The vampires hold a quiet conversation, smirking to themselves, and at the end of the lesson they slip out before the other students, leaving their work untouched.

Is Josef the only vampire involved in misdirecting blame onto witches? Grayson needs to discover his uncle’s links to the full moon rumors. Dorian has researched Josef’s connections to families of vampires inside the academy and, as with witches, there are too many family interconnections to single out anything specific within Sheridan.

I’ll tell Dorian my suspicions straightaway.

“We need to get out of here quickly,” I whisper. “Julius wants to speak to us; I don’t wish to speak to him.”

A phone alert sounds, and I quickly check the screen. If this is Dorian changing his mind and heading to interrogate my guys or Holly, I have another reason for a swift exit.

Grayson.

I’m back. Need to talk.

39

ROWAN

Grayson rests back in his seat in the bright academy café and twists the glass container filled with sugar around in his hands. We don’t approach the counter for food, and Grayson hasn’t purchased any, both of which earn us a glare from the nearby man wiping tables and collecting discarded coffee cups.

Grayson speaks the moment we reach him.

“Not dead yet.”

“Was that a question for one of us or a statement?” asks Leif.

“Both. I guess. How was class?”

He smiles, but in a way I’ve come to recognize—one that hides something. This sharp, guarded Grayson will be harder to target and question.

Violet met Grayson at the café ahead of us, and my eyes slide to where she already sits beside—but not with—him. She’s in her personal world where questions and answers float around with facts and fiction, the girl lost behind her eyes as she tries to put them together.

There’s a physical distance too. Grayson struggles to keep his hands off Violet when they’re together, especially recently, but his hand rests on the back of Violet’s chair rather than on a shoulder or knee.

“How was your night?” I ask him and sit in a plastic chair opposite. “Interesting to see you’re back again.”

“Saw my uncle. Had a lovely chat.”

He’s deadpan, and Violet a hundred percent must be lost in her mind. Otherwise, she’d ask how a chat with the sadistic vampire could be lovely.

“What did you tell him?” I ask, tone sharp.

He arches a brow. “I’m uninjured, thanks for asking.”

“I can see that. But I need to know what you told Josef.”

Violet blinks back to the here and now. “Everything.”

I choke in shock at Violet’s calm answer. “Grayson told Josef the same information that you told Dorian?”

“Yes. As we all expected. But with Viktor’s body missing, Grayson had little of pertinence to share.”

“Um. The mausoleum? That Cornelius has Viktor. That’s pretty bloody pertinent. Why meet your uncle and tell him?”

“Josef would’ve killed me if I didn’t hand over some info soon. Or did you forget that’s his threat, Rowan?”

Leif places a hand on my shoulder. “Josef would find Grayson whether he went to his uncle or not. Better that Grayson made the decision.”

Grayson relays his time with Josef, and my system fills with frustration bordering on anger. Has the vamp taken apart everything we’ve achieved by passing on our findings?

“Dorian needs to get to that mausoleum ASAP for evidence!” I urge. “Josef knows about Viktor and admitted a close link to Cornelius. He’s about to tip Whitegrove off! The witch will go into hiding, and maybe destroy Viktor’s body.”

“The mausoleum is his biggest issue,” says Violet. “Cornelius can’t escape the magical evidence left behind, even though he attempted to clear the place out.”

“Josef will tell him that Dorian is onto him. Fuck, Grayson!”

“Dorian headed straight to the mausoleum this morning, and he’ll discover the magical evidence within hours. Then my father will apprehend Cornelius and thus locate his immediate associates.”

“But if Josef told Cornelius last night, and he ran, Dorian won’t get a hold of any of them.” I shove a hand into the front of my hair and swear. “We’ve spent days getting to this point, and now we’ll lose the one person we needed to help our situation. Grayson, you’ve fucked up. Wait until Dorian discovers this.”

“Grayson did receive some useful information in exchange,” Violet interrupts. “And without the visit, he would not possess that.”

“Yeah. Sarah Sawyer is leaving this afternoon,” says Grayson.

I blink and swallow down my anger.

“Leaving?” echoes Leif. “Where to? When?”

“Josef wouldn’t say where. He claims not to know.”

I scoff at him. “Are you serious? You believe this, Violet? Josef lied to misdirect us. Sarah can’t leave. Security surrounds her—supe and human. No way can she disappear unnoticed.”

“Sarah visited the lodge alone. She takes part in her mundane social activities without bodyguards,” says Violet. “The woman is not under 24-hour surveillance.”

“And is she taking Kai, Grayson?” asks Leif. “He’s desperate to leave.”

Grayson shakes his head.

“That’s even weirder. She wouldn’t leave her son. None of this adds up.”

“That would depend on where Kai’s mother plans to go,” says Violet. “If Sarah chooses to leave on her own, there must be a risk she doesn’t want to subject her son to.”

“Why would Sarah tell Josef?” asks Leif.

Violet crosses her arms. “Josef has a significant role in her life. Perhaps more than we realized.”

“Josef?” I ask. “Is Sarah going to him for protection? Or he might be taking her! He’d have the opportunity.”

“If he planned that, why tell me? Like I said, Josef won’t explain how he knows and only gave me a smug smile, saying that the Sawyers confide in him.”

“Of course he wouldn’t explain,” I mutter. “No. I swear he’s lying. When is she supposedly leaving? Did he give you a time and date?”

Grayson scowls at my tone. “This afternoon.”

“What?” Leif stands. “We could stop her. Go to the Sawyer house!”

“And do what? Lock her up?” I ask.

“Tell Dorian,” says Leif. “Violet!”

“About Sarah leaving or that Grayson alerted Josef about the mausoleum?”

Grayson’s eyes widen at my words.

“I’ll tell him that Sarah’s leaving.” Violet sighs and taps the table. “I’m inclined to believe Josef might be truthful—and involved. Dorian can intercept.”

How can she be so calm about this?

“More misdirection!” I insist. “Why would she leave now?”

“Sarah realized Kai found something, and whatever is in that box threatens her. Sarah took and left evidence somewhere that connects to Viktor, Cornelius, or the witches.”

“Which you told Dorian about, right?” I ask, and Violet doesn’t speak. “Right?”

“I mentioned the suitcases and missing box, yes.”

“And?”

“And he’ll speak to Sarah.”

“But she’s leaving!” Leif says.

“I want to search the lodge more thoroughly, and if we find anything besides suitcases filled with clothes, I will let Dorian know.”

“Oh!” Leif straightens. “That’s it! If Josef already knows Sarah is leaving, this isn’t a sudden decision. She’s made plans in case someone interferes.”

“Yes. Which is why I’m convinced she hid something at the lodge.”

“No. Yes. I mean, Mrs. Sawyer will go to the lodge first. Before she leaves.”

Violet’s eyes go wide. “Suitcases.”

“Yep.” Leif’s proud smile grows. “Sarah hid suitcases filled with clothes as part of a plan.”

Omigod. “And now she needs them, and, if Josef is telling the truth, Sarah will go to the lodge to collect them.”

Violet disappears. Almost literally as her figure blurs, leaving the chair at the table wobbling as she exits the café at speed.

I look between the others in shock. “Is she going to⁠—”

“I’ll catch her,” says Grayson, his figure streaking after Violet before we can respond.

“—the lodge,” I mutter.

Leif stands. “Come on. Let’s hope she catches Mrs. Sawyer first.”

Fantastic. Let’s all just charge off without thinking—again. Has Violet’s trip to Dorian taught her anything?

40

ROWAN

By the time we catch up to Grayson and Violet, they’re crouched in a dense copse, half-shielded by low branches and undergrowth. I drop beside them, breathing hard after a bus journey and a sprint. Through the trees, a red sports car is parked close to the lodge with familiar plates and muddied wheel hubs. Sarah’s.

“Good. You’re here. We should talk to Sarah.”

Violet stands, and I grab her arm. “Wait. Think this through.”

She glares. “I have done nothing but wait while you and Leif traveled here. At least I did even though the woman is inside the lodge and prime for questioning.”

“And you told Dorian where you are?” asks Leif.

“Yes. Tracking spell.” Her lips thin.

Oh yeah, Violet was really not happy about that one.

“I left a message, but Dorian hasn’t returned my call.”

“Good. Rowan is right. We should watch and wait a little longer.”

“I persuaded Violet not to confront Sarah. We can wait until she leaves the lodge. Then, we decide what to do if Dorian hasn’t arrived.” Grayson pauses. “Although I might leave if he appears.”

“We require a car,” says Violet.

“Now?” I ask.

“Always. Why do none of you possess one?”

“I can drive, but I can’t afford one,” says Leif. “I drove Kai’s car the day of the lodge fire, remember?”

“Don’t look at me,” says Grayson. “Don’t need a car.”

“I can’t drive,” I add.

Violet’s brow furrows. “But Holly’s movies and shows depict all teens possessing cars. Are they difficult to drive? I shall ask Dorian for one.”

“Uh. And learn to drive?”

Hell, images of Violet behind the wheel leap into my mind, and I’m unsure I’d want to travel in a car she’s driving. On the occasions he hasn’t traveled to and from the academy via magic, I’ve seen Dorian speed off after meetings in his black SUV, and I mean speed. Neither he nor his daughter do anything slowly or carefully.

Violet merely shrugs. “Not owning a car hampers our investigations. We can never follow was a group.”

Sarah appears on the lodge doorstep, holding a leopard print suitcase by a long handle. She’s wearing a black puffer jacket with dark denim jeans, her sleek brown hair captured in a ponytail beneath a white and red cap. Sarah darts a look around, before approaching her car and hastily shoving the case into the trunk. As she climbs into the driver’s seat, still holding her purse, I tense, waiting for the engine to start.

Violet moves. “No. She can’t leave.”

This time Grayson grabs her. “No. Wait. Listen.”

Sarah doesn’t turn on the engine, instead spending some minutes on the phone. A huffing Violet continues to watch the immobile woman.

“Now?” she suggests. “Nobody is answering her phone call.”

A black sedan with windows tinted almost black travels along the lane, then parks beside Mrs. Sawyer’s MG. A man climbs out, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit and sunglasses. He wanders toward her car and leans down to the window Sarah opens.

“Witch,” I whisper. “Listen. They’re talking.”

Violet taps her lips, head slanted. “Sarah is upset because they’ve failed her. She’s unspecific as to how or who, and he’s apologizing on behalf of his organization.”

“Organization?” Leif’s lips purse. “The Circle?”

After a minute, the man leaves Sarah and moves to the car trunk. He pulls out the suitcase and transfers it to his.

“No!” says Violet, almost too loudly.

“He might only take the suitcase,” suggests Leif. “That might be why she hid them here?”

“No. He’s taking her.” Violet points as Sarah walks around to the passenger side of the sedan and climbs inside. “Sarah’s leaving. With her evidence! “We came here to talk to Sarah! Stop them. We can’t wait for my father.”

This time, it takes both Grayson and Leif to hold her back. “Violet.”

“Fine.”

But not fine.

Violet shoves the two guys aside and whips out her phone to take photos of Sarah and her companion, but the man’s face isn’t clearly visible.

Nobody else moves until the sedan slowly drives along the track from the lodge.

“Who the hell was that?” asks Leif. “Where is he taking her?”

“Wherever she’s going, Sarah left voluntarily,” I say.

“Maybe coerced?” suggests Grayson.

“We have the license plate to give to Dorian.” I gesture at Violet’s phone.

Violet remains quiet, and I brace myself for a furious outburst.

“I told you we needed a car,” retorts Violet. “We should follow!”

“We could use Sarah’s?” suggests Leif.

I snort. “Sarah’s car is distinctive, Leif. Someone would see us.”

“She wouldn’t leave the keys, anyway,” Grayson adds.

“We can soon discover, Rowan,” Violet yanks the door open. “Leif can drive if Sarah left her keys.”

Grayson climbs into the passenger seat and rifles through the glove box, and Leif squeezes inside to search the back seats.

“I have to say, I’ve never known anybody keep their car so clean,” Leif comments.

“Anything interesting?” I ask as I stand beside Violet by the open passenger door.

Grayson holds up a fancy pink water bottle. “This. A gym membership card, and a hairbrush.”

“Any documents at all?”

“Store receipts.”

He hands them to me, and I lean against the car as I flick through. “Groceries. Restaurant at the golf club. Oh. Wait.”

“What?” Violet grabs the one I’m studying.

I scowl at her. “That’s an ATM cash withdrawal. Five grand. Two days ago. Either someone is blackmailing Sarah, or she’s taken cash for her trip.”

“Especially as she left this.” Leif holds up a small burgundy leather purse with a subtle designer logo. “The one she climbed into the car holding.”

“Car keys?” asks Violet.

Leif tips the contents onto the seat beside him. “Nothing. Just a phone.”

I lean inside and take hold. Sarah left the phone switched on, but the screen shows SOS only. “I think she removed the SIM card.” Violet looks at me blankly. “A phone needs one, Violet.” Her puzzled look doesn’t leave. “I don’t know the code to unlock the phone. I’ll check if she did take the the SIM.”

I prise off the purple cover.

“If she removed the SIM, she’ll have wiped messages and calls too,” adds Leif.

I’ve known people to keep bank cards between the covers and their phones, but inside this one I discover cafe receipt folded into a tiny square.

Violet watches. “Is that the SIM card?”

“No.”

I unfold the paper and read the small, blue-inked handwriting on the back.

Beneath the floor again.

I sleep on the left.

“Again? Sarah must be the person who hid the box in the warehouse,” I say.

Grayson takes the paper from me. “How did Sarah have Madison’s tiara? Didn’t Madison wear the tiara the night she died?”

“Well, somehow it got into her possession and under the warehouse floorboards, because this note means Sarah’s hidden something else in the same way. For a reason.” Violet barely finishes her sentence before the space beside me empties.

And she’s gone again… At least she sprints into the lodge and doesn’t chase a moving car.

41

VIOLET

I may have lost Sarah, but she’s left something, and I know where. The fire only singed the main bedroom, all furniture intact, although smoke damaged. I chew my lip and turn in a circle. Sleeps on the left.

I drop to my knees beside the bed to drag back a rug that stinks of smoke.

Aha. Circular runes that match those I accidentally revealed during my altercation with Grayson in the Sawyers’ main residence. An excitement all too rare recently surges as I pick at the edges of a floorboard with my fingers. The thrill zings through my blood as a board and the one beside it lift easily.

“Will you wait for people instead of running off?” grumbles Leif as the others join me.

Not looking at them, I delve into the dark of the revealed space and pull out my prize—a white cardboard box labeled with a picture of a high-heeled shoe and the number eight.

Grayson sits too and watches as I remove the lid, revealing papers and a notebook. “Do you think this is the box that Kai found?”

“If so, she took the gun.” Leif joins us on the floor.

“Yes. What other shoebox would Sarah take the trouble to hide?” I remove a folded sheet of torn paper from the top of the box, heart thudding as I unfold and read the note. “And she left something new.”

I’m not stupid. I know you’ve followed me recently. I also know that Viktor is back and that he hurt your friend. Viktor will finish what he started, and Josef can’t help me anymore. I have to leave. Kai can’t come with me because he isn’t safe unless Violet’s father watches him. Don’t tell Christopher. He doesn’t know the truth. Let him think I left the marriage. Viktor will follow me. I can’t risk more lives. If you want to help, find Madison and my brother’s bodies. I can’t reach them.

My jaw slackens. “Viktor is dead. Sarah is running for no reason.”

Rowan takes the letter from me. “The Sawyers knew about the body in the morgue, and so will also know someone covered up when it went missing. Sarah must’ve thought it was another human victim, and that Viktor was closing in.”

“Josef could’ve told Sarah that Viktor died, but instead he’s letting her run to god knows where or who. What an evil bastard.”

Grayson makes a derisive sound. “And you only just now came to that conclusion about my uncle, Leif?”

I carefully unpack the contents, and we sit in a circle around our findings. Amongst the papers and envelopes, we find a jewelry item. A silver and blue heart-shaped pendant hangs on a silver chain, two pieces of a heart slotted together: M and S.

“I bet that’s what Grayson and Violet allegedly stole,” says Leif. “Why didn’t Sarah tell her husband that she took the necklace?”

Rowan takes hold. “I don’t think Sawyer knows everything about his wife’s history.”

“Do you think it’s a talisman?” asks Grayson. “Magic?”

“A human item. Hidden magic, maybe.” Rowan clenches his fist around the pendant. “There’s nothing unpleasant in the item’s energy, but I’ll check it out properly later.”

As Rowan pockets the pendant, we delve deeper and discover other hand-written letters and documents, along with old photographs that exactly match the ones Kai showed us.

One letter written on plain white paper rambles with vitriol and vengeance. The letter is filled with jealousy, and threats about how Madison is “gone” and that it’s “your fault” and “you need to watch your back.” The author hasn’t signed the note, but this must be Viktor. Halfway through, the author addresses the recipient as Robert.

Sarah’s brother.

Another letter, not addressed to anybody, and in the same handwriting, taunts Sarah about Robert’s disappearance.

I push the letters to one side and pick up a blue notebook covered in cat stickers. A diary. The content outlines dates and events linked to Madison, Viktor, or Sarah’s brother.

“Do you think Sarah copied runes from the cave walls?” asks Rowan, indicating a page with pencil rubbings of shapes.

“Maybe.” I run a finger around the unfamiliar outlines. Sarah’s Woodside runes? Perhaps Julius can identify if these belong to their family’s magic.

Grayson leans back, arms stretched behind him and palms on the floor. “Did Sarah know Viktor was a witch?”

“Not at first, but her investigations show notes about spell evidence and the nearby academy’s weirdness and rumors.” Rowan flicks over a page in the diary. “The girls in the film footage we found all knew about witches and talked freely about it.”

More notes. How Sarah hated Viktor because he was hurting Madison.

The date Madison went missing.

Sarah’s entries show that she spent time digging into Viktor’s life after Madison disappeared, including suspicions that they were both witches, since Madison drunkenly joked that she was one. She discovered Viktor’s surname, tracked him down, and noted their confrontation which involved denial and a dismissive attitude.

A family trait.

A gap of three months follows. No mention of her parents death apart from “Longdale Bridge.”

More blank pages.

Then the date that Robert disappeared.

No entries until a month later

I will keep this. I will not forget

Beneath the words, she drew an outline of the necklace pendant and colored each side to match the blue.

I tap the book. “Sarah knows who Viktor is and that he is—was—still alive. How does she remember?”

“She’s kept every record and correspondence between her and anybody from around the time.” Rowan chews his bottom lip. “In case she ‘forgets.’”

“Or to remind her not to forget?” suggests Grayson and points at the diary entry.

“Sarah never forgot. That’s the problem.”

Rowan sits upright. “Violet. Cornelius doesn’t have these items—physical memories that a human owned. He couldn’t erase everything.”

I pick up a postcard with a smudged date stamp. No address, just a picture of cartoon rabbits, and a very un-fluffy message.

MY CHILD IS DEAD. I’LL KILL YOURS.

“Whoa. What?” asks Grayson. “Whose child?”

I take Viktor’s letter and compare handwriting. The same? Or similar? “Does Viktor mean his and Madison’s? Nobody told us she had a baby, and I’m sure that small detail would’ve emerged.”

Leif’s brow tugs down. “When did Cornelius remove Viktor from existence?”

“In the month after Madison died,” I say.

“Yeah, around the time Viktor became more unhinged from the looks of things,” adds Grayson. “Viktor refused to hide himself from Sarah. He terrorized her.”

“After he killed Sarah’s brother? One murder too many?” I study the postcard again.

“Violet. One murder is too many, not two.”

“Or four if you include her parents.” Leif waves the postcard. “How long after Madison’s death was Kai born?”

“A year. In the diary, Sarah mentions dating Christopher, but there’s no mention of a baby because Kai wasn’t born yet.”

“Which means somebody sent the postcard later.” Leif smiles and taps the postcard on his hand. “After Kai was born.”

“But Viktor was ‘dead.’ Or was it Cornelius? His child because Viktor ‘died?’”

“There are no dead children.” I remove another paper from the box, this one a thicker cream vellum with typed words.

I understand that you’re marrying into the Sawyer family, and that Christopher is set to inherit their fortune. I wanted to advise you that his family business faces ruin due to recent ill-advised financial ventures. Marriage will not be the escape you think, and you’ll return to the life you wish to escape.

However, to assist, I intend to invest funds into Sawyer Enterprises. I will contact Christopher to arrange a meeting between him, myself, and my board members. In return, you can assist me by returning the items we discussed. I am sure you can see how this will be beneficial to all involved.

I also wanted to pass on my condolences.

I’m sorry to hear about the recent loss of your parents. Tragedy does indeed surround your family, and I hope that your fortune changes soon.

Give my regards to your brother.

42

VIOLET

“Cornelius wrote this!” I say, clutching the paper.

“Sawyer’s wealth is linked to witches. Did Cornelius pay to keep Sarah quiet?” asks Rowan.

Grayson grunts. “No. This is a threat. But my uncle knew about Viktor and said he’d ‘made money’ out of Viktor over the years. I didn’t understand but this makes sense now.”

“Blackmail?” Leif frowns.

“No, Josef didn’t make the money by blackmailing the Whitegroves, but from payment as the Sawyers’ ‘lawyer’. The Sawyers paid Josef, a powerful vampire, for his protection against Cornelius and Viktor.”

“Why didn’t Cornelius or Viktor kill the Sawyers?” I ask. “They’ve had numerous chances.”

Rowan gives me a long look. “Yet. Someone is targeting one of the Sawyers now.”

“You mean Kai? The ‘kill your child’ revenge? Again, eighteen years of chances,” I say.

“Eighteen years of Josef’s protection.”

“Another bargain?” suggests Rowan.

“Who with?”

Leif groans and rubs his head. “Too many missing pieces. Why would Sarah leave Kai in danger?”

“But, Leif, you know I always fit the pieces together. I only need to find them, and I have plenty today.” I smile, but he doesn’t look convinced.

I flip over each of the photographs to read the back. Somebody noted the dates the photos were taken, including names of those featured. However, three words on the reverse of a photo of girls in the caves differs to all the others.

SPRINTING TENT EXTREME

“What does this mean?”

Rowan compares two photos. “This was written recently, Violet, because the ink isn’t as faded. Something for us to find?”

“How cryptic. Do you think Sarah may be going camping? An extreme hiking experience? Seems unlikely but we should check local campsites.”

“That isn’t what the words mean.” Rowan stands and produces his phone. “What3words.”

“Sprinting, tent, extreme,” I repeat.

“No. What3words is a website that uses words to pinpoint every coordinate in the world.”

Good grief. He makes no sense. “Where is the extreme tent sport, Rowan?”

“The what?” Grayson looks between us.

“If I type these three words into the website, it’ll locate a place. I bet the site pinpoints somewhere nearby.”

“Do you think that’s where the guy took Sarah?” asks Leif as Rowan types furiously into his phone.

“Or where the bodies are that Sarah can’t reach.” My voice and spirits rise.

Rowan looks up from his screen. “Longdale caves.”

We all look to Leif as our local guide.

“Yeah. I know where they are, but the caves are massive. There’re different entrances all over the place. Some areas are used by potholers.”

I blink. “Potholders? What are the pots used for? Magic. That could be somewhere to search!”

“Potholers,” says Leif. “People who like to explore parts of caves that are hard to reach. They need special equipment to get into those areas.”

“Then we should pothole. Where is an entrance? How do we perform this activity?”

Rowan visibly shudders. “I’m claustrophobic. No way. Besides, aren’t we looking for the meeting place in Sarah’s photos? I doubt a group of teens took potholing equipment along with their alcohol. The teens’ cave is our starting point. We should search for an easily accessible part of the rocks.”

“Wherever she went today, Sarah left this because she wanted us to find the caves. This indicates another chance to find evidence of Viktor’s crimes.” I pause. “For instance, Madison’s body, and possibly Sarah’s brother’s. Sarah hints at that in her letter: I can’t reach them. Well, we will. Today.”

“Dorian told you to keep out of the case against the Whitegroves,” says Grayson. “Don’t piss him off more.”

“A murder almost two decades ago no longer interests him; he’s tracking down the necromancers. However, I’ll try to call Dorian again and tell him where I’m going,” I say, already digging into a pocket for my phone.

“Ask him, you mean,” warns Rowan.

Despite my earlier attempts to contact Dorian, he never answered or replied to my message. I tap my foot in frustration, listening to Dorian’s phone ring out again.

Nothing.

I sigh and prepare to text him, but the phone buzzes.

“Hello, Dorian. Did you receive my message? I’m at the Sawyer lodge and we⁠—”

“Cornelius Whitegrove has gone.”

“Gone where?”

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be bloody calling you back for ideas!”

I hadn’t placed the phone on loudspeaker in case of direct threats against any of the guys, but anybody in the vicinity would hear his loud, furious voice.

“We’ve found evidence at the mausoleum but can’t find him. Do you have any idea where Whitegrove might be?”

Grayson shuffles backward on the rug as if my father might leap from the phone or blood rune himself into the place.

“No. I do not know Cornelius’s whereabouts, otherwise I would’ve communicated this to you sooner. Cornelius belongs to a large coven. He has numerous places to seek refuge.”

“You’ve had no contact with him at all since our conversation last night?” Dorian’s voice continues to rise.

“No. You were perfectly clear that I was to remove myself from all involvement with Cornelius.”

“Somebody bloody tipped him off!”

I hold the phone away from my ear as Dorian’s fury keeps going. Once he’s descended into rage, Dorian’s diatribes can endure for some time. The guys stare as they listen.

“How else would the witch know that I’m closing in, Violet?”

“I don’t know.”

But we do. I side glance at Grayson who chews hard on a nail and stares at the burned, peeling bedroom wallpaper.

“If you don’t know anything, why the urgent message earlier, and now another phone call?” Dorian snaps.

“As I began to tell you before you yelled at me, Sarah Sawyer has left, and I’m at the lodge where we’ve uncovered evidence.”

“What do you mean ‘left?’ With Kai? Nobody told me. How do you know?”

I cringe as the swearing begins again, patiently waiting for a gap in his speech in order to continue.

“Sarah left alone. We decided to visit the lodge and saw her leave but did not intercept. If you recall my text message, I informed you that I intended to come here.”

“But you didn’t wait for my permission or tell me why you’re visiting.”

An argument about his dismissal of my concerns surrounding Madison does not feel wise at this point.

“But I informed you. Now I have uncovered the evidence I have repeatedly told you that Sarah hid.”

“What evidence? Linked to Cornelius?”

“Possibly. Would you like me to share, or would you like to continue ranting at me about something I had no involvement with?”

“Bloody hell, Violet,” mutters Leif. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

Dorian does indeed cease his ranting as I explain the afternoon’s findings, including suspicions about Cornelius’s involvement with the Sawyers. I’m careful to keep the triumph from my tone; Dorian’s silence is enough to tell me of my small victory.

“You bring me everything you’ve found. Do not let those items out of your sight.”

“Naturally.” I pause. “But I’m glad you returned my call because I can now inform you that I intend to visit the caves.”

A loud scoff echoes down the phone. “Not on your own.”

“With my companions?”

His voice cools. “With all of them?”

“With my current companions. Here is the location.” A hush fills the room and the phone call, as I send him coordinates and the name of the caves. “Dorian?”

“I can’t reach that place for another couple of hours, and I’ve never visited so blood runes won’t take me any closer than town.”

“I shall meet you at the caves. My initial investigations will save us time and perhaps even point to more evidence against Cornelius.” I hold my breath for his response. A pause and not a definitive ‘no.’ “You have my word that I will not interfere with any evidence, and should I discover anything, we’ll retreat from the caves until you arrive.”

“I’ll know if you go anywhere else,” he warns.

“Yes. I’m aware of the invasive spell you placed upon me.” I grit my teeth at the next words. “Dorian, I would like your permission to go to the caves and search for signs of Madison’s body.”

The following quiet is excruciating, particularly as I won’t be able to take my usual course of action: do what I want anyway, whatever my father’s reply.

“Do. Not. Touch. Anything.”

I take a deep breath and smile at the others.

As the call ends, Grayson runs both hands down his face and sinks back against the edge of the bed.

“I’m not going to those caves.”

“Yes, you are,” I inform him. “We stay together.”

“But… Dorian?”

“You’ll be lower on his priority list, and he’s unlikely to harm you in the presence of others.” He eyes me doubtfully. “Or in front of me.”

“Yeah, until Dorian discovers that Grayson is responsible for Cornelius’s disappearance,” says Leif.

“He won’t. Not yet.”

“Yet,” echoes Grayson and stands. He visibly swallows then looks to the others. “Fine. Pack the box to take to Dorian. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Don’t you dare leave the lodge,” I warn.

“Won’t.”

Hmm. “I shall join you.”

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and I stand between Grayson and the exit. He crosses his arms tightly and meets my eyes.

“I said I won’t leave.”

“What have you not told me about your meeting with Josef?”

He blinks away a thought then shrugs. I sigh. Shrugging.

“Is he looking for us?”

“No.” He’s firm, without a hint of anything but the truth.

“Does he know where we are right now?”

“No. Violet, Dorian will discover that I’m responsible for Cornelius disappearing. That’s what’s stressing me out.”

“We’ll find Cornelius.”

“No, we won’t. Josef is going to ‘deal with him.’”

“Deal with? You implied that Josef would warn Cornelius, not…”

“Kill him? What else does ‘deal with’ mean?” Grayson rubs a hand across his forehead. “Look, I’ll come to the caves, but if—when—Dorian arrives, I have to leave. It won’t take him long to get into my head and find the truth.”

“Do you have any idea where Josef might take Cornelius? We could go there instead.”

Grayson shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I screwed up. Rowan’s right. People behave differently if their lives are at risk. But I was always honest with you all about meeting him. What Josef asked me to do. I’ve never lied.”

“And I’ve told you. I’ll protect you.” I take his cool hand in mine. “From anybody.”

His fingers curl around mine, and he holds his other hand around too. “You can’t be by my side 24/7.”

There. Something beneath his dulled emotions. The lurching fear from a memory.

“Did Josef threaten your life again yesterday?”

Grayson scoffs and holds my hand tighter. “He said not to worry because he has bigger plans for me, whatever the fuck that means.”

“You’re his weapon against Dorian,” I murmur. “Through your connection to me.”

“Never.” Grayson moves to hold my cheeks between his long fingers. “I’ll stand by your side, Violet, whatever, because I love you. I will do anything and everything I need to do. For you. Always.”

“Do what you need for you,” I press. “Please stay alive.”

He smiles and taps me on the nose. “I wouldn’t dare die and upset you.”

Then his mouth brushes mine, slow and careful, just once, before he rests his forehead to mine.

“I mean it,” he whispers. “Always.”

“And I love you, Grayson. Always. And if I have to choose between losing you or changing everything, I’ll choose you.”

Changing everything. The words mean so many things and the undertone lingers between us.

Neither of us speak.

Then Grayson nods.

He’s still hiding something, but I don’t press him. Deep down, I think Grayson already made choices I’ll never be able to undo.

43

LEIF

We easily locate the limestone rock, but the scenic feature runs along the slope for meters ahead. The rocks are split by cracks, and the gaps in the network all look the same to me; we’ll struggle to find the entrance to the exact cave Sarah and her friends used.

The temperature drops as the sun slowly sinks behind the horizon, and we’re running out of light. At least Grayson and Violet are fast enough to check out specific areas around the sprawling rocks while I wait with Rowan. They’re guided by Sarah’s pictures, and we’ve pieced together a couple of landmarks that match the images: a separate rock close to the area’s entrance and a solitary tree in walking distance from the place.

I sit on a lump of limestone rock, joining Rowan in watching for Grayson and Violet, and stare at the dust clinging to my boots. I don’t want to be here, mostly because I don’t know how long we’ll spend searching based on a vague clue. But I also don’t want to risk separating from the others. Violet worried about leaving Holly at Thornwood, especially with Cornelius’s disappearance. Violet eventually decided that Holly is safer at the academy with Marci than anywhere else right now. I agree. Everybody’s focus is elsewhere—as is Cornelius’s.

If Violet knew the other reason Holly is safer at the academy, and that I knew, she may not be understanding. I had to fight sharing Holly’s secret, and I’m torn. What if Holly sneaks off somewhere with Dash if Violet overreacts?

Or worse, she takes Dash to Dorian.

Violet wouldn’t. Not now. Would she?

Days with Violet often seem twice as long as they did in the past, and hour after hour today exhausted me. From the morning’s stress about what happened to Violet in Scotland, and now this, it’s like the day won’t end. And, I’d lay bets that when evening becomes night, I’ll spend tonight in caves and not my bed.

I kinda get why Rowan stays suspicious about Grayson and Josef even though Grayson clearly told us what’s happening. Grayson’s uncle killed him once, and he can’t escape the guy, which must influence his loyalties. Now that we’re sure that Josef, Viktor, and Cornelius have a closer link than we originally supposed, trusting Grayson becomes harder.

But Violet has a closer link to him than me or Rowan and trusts him. As long as Violet believes in Grayson, so will I.

“How long now?” I mutter, and Rowan shrugs. “You’re quiet. Worried?”

“You want to become a shifter, huh? I never knew.”

I turn my head, stomach lurching at his comment, but Rowan looks at the rocks, not me. Is he pissed off that I told Violet first? I’m annoyed that she spoke with Rowan before I did.

“Sometimes.” I pause. “Do you reckon that’s possible?”

Rowan picks up a chunk of loose stone from beside his backpack and places it on a pile he’s building. “No clue. Ask the Ursa elders. They could help.”

“Fuck, no. Not them.”

He turns to me. “Then who? Ethan and Zeke?”

I rub my temples. “I’m not sure how the pair will feel about me after… the Viktor thing. There’re other shifters around. Plenty live among humans. Like Marlene, the shifter with the halfway house where I stayed when I left the academy. She knows less, uh, obsessive people.”

“You’re serious?” Rowan’s eyes fill with more than confusion. He’s hurt. “After all the bloody time we’ve spent showing everybody you’re more human than supe?”

I press my lips together. “If Violet shared this information with you, you know why I’m serious. I’m not safe. I’m a liability.”

“Yeah. But why the fuck didn’t you say something to me?”

All I can do is shake my head in apology.

“You really will have the shifter elders on your ass. You can’t avoid them if you take this route. Do you want to be like Dash, running from whatever the hell he escaped from? The guy wasn’t safe even before he got mixed up with us.”

“I won’t need to. I have you guys. And Dash won’t run forever—he has Holly.”

Rowan pauses in piling the rocks. “What do you mean ‘Dash has Holly?’ Did he take her? Fuck, Leif, tell me you’re kidding.”

I never told my best friend that I’d changed my mind about becoming a shifter after years beating off prejudice and bullying. I can’t lie to him now.

“No. He hasn’t taken her, but Dash never left,” I whisper. “He’s around. Holly sees him.”

Rowan’s jaw slackens. “On campus? How long have you known this?”

“Not long. Holly asked me not to tell. Not yet. I agreed because there’re other things we need to deal with.”

“But this is big. Leif!” he protests. “How long have you known?”

I meet his furious eyes. “She told me the night you killed that witch, Rowan.”

He holds my look a moment before gazing ahead, where our long shadows are cast side by side, as silent as we are. Rowan hasn’t spoken to me about that night, and Violet never mentioned the incident again. Are they pretending nothing happened? Because it sure as hell did and could again.

“Right,” he says eventually.

“Your bond to Violet contributed to what you did that night, Rowan. I’m convinced that Dash and Holly have a bond too. Something caused his dumb decision to hang around Thornwood after he killed Viktor.” Rowan grunts in response. “At least Dash hasn’t asked Holly run away with him. Isn’t this better?”

“Asked yet. If Holly goes missing again, and Violet discovers what you knew… well, good luck.”

“Holly wouldn’t go. She’s scared.”

“Holly is scared of what?” asks Violet.

“Fuck, you scare me when you appear from nowhere,” I mutter at the dark silhouette standing beside me.

“What scares Holly?” she repeats.

“Spells. Threats to her life,” Rowan says and side-glances at me.

I keep my face neutral. “Have you found the right cave yet, Violet?”

After one more suspicious look between us, she gestures behind. “Yes, but you won’t like what’s inside, Leif.”

My chest tightens. “Why? Have you found bodies?”

“No.”

I take a relieved breath.

“Grayson and I haven’t searched everywhere yet, but we’ve found the correct cave.”

“Definitely not bodies?” I repeat.

“No, but death clings to that place. I’m sure we’ll find something.”

Oh, great.

44

VIOLET

The death I sensed before isn’t within the area I’m standing, but I’m closer now that we’ve entered the space. I inhale the dankness inside the high-ceilinged cave as I take in the evidence around me. Although created by past erosion, the stone remained intact in recent years, but leaving evidence of the teens’ damage covering the stone walls.

Leif waits at the cave’s entrance, his broad figuring blocking the fading light while Rowan holds his phone against the uneven, rocky wall.

“Definitely the place,” he says, voice echoing faintly.

Rowan’s phone screen displays a copy of one of Sarah’s photos: an image of ‘Nicky’ and ‘Guy’ in the middle of a crudely drawn love heart.

The old photograph is an exact match for the letters carved into the pale stone beside Rowan’s phone.

Other names in jagged letters are chipped into the wall surrounding us, some larger than others. The slab the photo depicts teens sitting on is in the same position too, including remains of a fleece blanket draped across the top.

“Do you think somebody came here recently?” asks Leif cautiously.

“Doubtful. No disturbance to the cave floor,” I reply.

“Blankets?” Leif suggests.

“This variety of material doesn’t decompose quickly.” I take hold of the once-rainbow colored item. “Filthy but intact. Rowan?”

He stares as I hold out the blanket. “You expect me to get psychometry readings from a moldy piece of cloth? Loads of people sat on this over the years, and the blanket wasn’t wrapped around anything suspicious.”

“Try anyway.”

“And Dorian told us not to touch anything, Violet.” I arch a brow, and he sighs before sitting on the slab, grasping the threadbare blanket. Rowan’s eyes close in focus before he shakes his head. “Nothing.”

I grit my teeth when he hands the material back to me.

“Let’s look for more items.”

Please don’t let this be a dead end in more ways than one.

Grayson joins me in scouting the darker areas of the cave, and crouches down to take a hold of a discarded glass item from amongst fallen rock. “Beer bottle. Want to try psychometry on this, Rowan?”

“Unless someone had their skull cracked by this, I, again, doubt there’s anything significant attached.” He takes the bottle, shakes his head, and shoves it back at Grayson. “There isn’t the faintest trace of anything. Can you let me reserve magic energy for later? Just in case someone else is here.”

“Rowan’s correct. If these items are from long ago, we can’t hope to find anything. Check for runes instead, Rowan. Are the ones depicted at the edge of Sarah’s photos still here? I can’t detect any magical energy, but if faded runes exist, we can now see the entire shape and what they were for.”

Rowan shines his phone flashlight along the wall then downward before pausing to check his screen. “There’s the edge of a shape beside this name on Sarah’s photo, but the rune isn’t on the stone anymore. Somebody chipped the rock to remove the runes.”

I join him in examining the spot. A patch below the graffitied word “Donna” is lighter and not naturally weathered. But how recently were the runes removed?

“There’s something else that isn’t on the photos.” Rowan points.

M grey heart R

“Madison and Sarah’s brother?” he suggests.

“Someone scrawled YOU’RE DEAD,” says Grayson from across the cave. “Here.”

I straighten with interest. “Beside Madison’s name? Or near an M? R?”

“No. Under other random insults.” He points to a section covered in scrawled names and unpleasant opinions. “Whoever this was directed at wrote FUCK YOU in black marker underneath.”

“Well, what a harmonious time Sarah and her friends had at their gatherings. Was this an older version of the town’s fire night ritual where teen rivalries overspill?”

Rowan frowns, inclines his head toward Leif, then mouths ‘really?’

Leif mutters as he finally steps into the wide space. “Rivalries leading to murder on fire night?”

Oh.

“Do you think Madison died in here?” Grayson interrupts. “Or Sarah’s brother?”

“Don’t say that,” says Leif.

“Why? It’s a strong possibility, but nobody died in this particular cave.” I stride across the space into the darker area where the ceiling lowers. “This leads deeper into the caverns.” I point to a gap in the cracked stone, narrow but large enough to allow entry. “This is most excellent. Even somebody Leif’s size could fit through.”

Rowan groans. “It’s too late in the day to explore mysterious passages. Let’s wait for Dorian.”

“Agreed,” adds Leif swiftly.

“This isn’t mysterious. The gap occurred due to the acidic conditions that affects limestone in this way.” I slant my head. “Such as the dripping water I can hear beyond this tunnel.”

Leif mumbles expletives as I crawl through the claustrophobic space, my jacket snagging on the top. I emerge into another cavernous area, one darker with no natural light filtering across the layered rock. As I study the wall adorned with more graffiti, Rowan pulls himself out of the tunnel before taking a flashlight from his backpack.

“Always prepared, Rowan,” says Grayson as he appears too.

“Prepared for investigations with Violet? Oh, yeah.” A beam emerges from the flashlight. “I’d rather not use my witch light and waste magic energy. Or my phone battery.”

Leif drags himself through the opening then stands and brushes dust from his knees. “Fun times.”

Rowan shines the flashlight from floor to the higher ceiling along walls slick with water, then lights the way forward.

We follow a side tunnel first, a narrow path patched with moss. But it ends abruptly at a wall of collapsed stone.

“Dead end,” mutters Rowan, sweeping the beam across empty rock. He turns and redirects the beam, catching a narrow opening behind a crumbling slab.

“There,” he says. “The real path through.”

“Oh!” I stride across the cave to another narrow point, and peer through. “How long is this passageway?”

“Not long I hope,” says Leif. “We’re getting farther from the entrance.”

He stumbles as Grayson slaps him on the back. “Don’t stress. There’s nobody else in the caves.”

“Nobody we can detect,” I add. “But the magic energy is stronger the farther in we go.”

“But there could be bodies.” Leif takes a deep breath. “What would Madison’s body look like after all this time?”

“Skeletal. Just bones,” says Rowan.

“Okay.” Leif’s throat bobs.

“Unless Viktor preserved Madison in some way?” suggests Grayson.

“Oh, crap, no.” Leif eyes the tunnel. “Like a mummy?”

Rowan snorts. “This isn’t a movie, Leif.”

“I doubt Viktor would’ve possessed the equipment to perform ancient Egyptian rituals. If Viktor killed somebody and wanted to hide his crime, the man would not preserve a body.”

“Well, he was a psycho, and we presume his dad has embalmed him,” says Leif. “I really don’t want to see something… like that.”

Grayson splutters, and Leif shoots him a look.

“You hang out with Violet Blackwood, investigator of murders, and animal necromancer. How can you expect to avoid bodies, Leif?”

“Animal necromancer? What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

Grayson tramples through the stones until he’s facing me. “Quack.”

Behind him, Rowan snickers, and Leif chuckles too.

I clench my fists by my side. “How droll, Grayson.”

“You haven’t used necromancy on a person yet.”

“Are you deliberately annoying me?” I ask him. “Necromancy—or lack thereof— created this scenario.”

“Well, Grayson created this,” comments Rowan as he joins us. “He took Viktor’s heart.”

“Grayson was helping Holly,” I say.

But he prompted my thoughts again—would I use necromancy if the chance came? If I crossed that line, how could I reconcile my similarity to Viktor... or the ones killing shifters?

“Do you still want to reanimate a person?” Leif asks.

“Are you volunteering?” Grayson smirks.

“What is with your attitude tonight?” he retorts, and shoves Grayson in the shoulder.

“Grayson behaves in this manner when he’s under stress or duress.” I side step a fallen boulder in the widening passageway. “Haven’t you noticed?”

“You once wouldn’t notice.” Grayson steps into the passageway, and Rowan shines the flashlight after his tall figure.

“Duress, huh?”

“I do not wish to hear any comments about Grayson’s trustworthiness, Rowan. He admitted his duplicity and wishes to preserve his life.”

“Here!” calls Grayson.

This tunnel doesn’t require crawling, but fallen rocks make navigation harder until they block our advance, and the faint energy grows.

“I sensed death, though, and now that I’m deeper into the caverns, I’m aware of something else familiar. Traces of magic.”

“And death?” asks Grayson.

“Madison is here.”

“Where?” Leif’s voice rises in alarm, and he grabs Rowan’s torch.

Magic consumes the air as if that’s what sucks away the oxygen deep in the caverns. I reach out for a presence, but the magic is too intense to pick out an individual or group.

“Someone is trying to hide this spot. We’re standing near death, but not directly at the place.”

“Omigod.” Leif drags hair from his face.

“If the bodies were somewhere a human could easily enter, Sarah would’ve acted years ago. Madison and her brother must be hidden elsewhere.”

“If they’re here.” Leif shakes his head. “The cave system is huge, Violet.”

I step up to him. “That will not stop me exploring until I discover the source of the magic.”

“Shouldn’t one or two of us wait outside?” asks Leif. “Show Dorian where to go if he arrives?”

“You’re crazy if you think I’ll wait out there for him,” says Grayson.

Rowan holds up his phone. “There’s no reception here. We’ve no way to contact you.”

“Then we stick together,” I say. “If Dorian’s tracking spell can detect me from a distance, I’m sure the magic can ignore rock.”

Leif’s mouth clamps closed. Clearly that isn’t the answer he wished for.

Every ounce of me wishes to explore each rocky inch of the place so I can find something pertinent that’ll garner favor with Dorian.

“One more place?” I suggest. “Then I promise we will leave.”

Leif and Rowan exchange a look.

“If we do find anything, we go straight to the entrance and wait for Dorian,” says Rowan.

“Agreed. This way.”

A few meters onward, a boulder blocks our route. I hold both palms on the stone. “Grayson?”

The boulder is heavier than it looks, but between us, the stone shifts with a grinding scrape. Dust spills from the walls as we drag it aside, revealing a narrow gap beyond. Piled up stones prevent us from walking ahead.

“These appear deliberately stacked, not accidentally fallen,” I say. “Hiding something. The floor contains too many stones to predict if anybody apart from a witch approached recently and disturbed the area. But the magic residue is fresh. There’s something behind them.”

“But moveable for us?” Grayson asks.

The air thickens, magic resisting as something embedded in the stone pushes back, fogging my thoughts, and I have an urge to turn back.

No.

“There’s a misdirection charm woven through the locking runes,” I murmur. “No wonder nobody found this.”

Rowan’s lips press together. “Well, we have.”

“How can a witch place heavy rocks there?”

“Elemental magic, Leif,” says Rowan as his flashlight beams. “The witch can remove and reform the rock afterward. But it’s locked.”

“How do you lock a pile of stones?” Leif’s eyes widen. “Oh. Runes. I can’t see any.”

“Hold this, Leif.” Rowan passes him the flashlight and steps forward to press his palm into the center. “Hopefully nothing too protective.”

The quiet dripping from the caverns fills the silence as a faint white light flickers in the four corners and hewn runic shapes appear. Incomplete Whitegrove runes.

But a complete match to those used to seal the mausoleum.

“Well then. We know how to break this locking spell, don’t we?” A broad smile creeps across my face.

“Oh hell,” mutters Leif. “I love when you smile, but not like that.”

“If the magic is recent, Cornelius came here,” says Grayson.

“And he moved the rocks for a reason.” I bite my lip. “To remove or add something in the space behind?”

“Do you think Sarah is in there?” Leif whispers. “The guy she left the lodge with might’ve killed her.”

“There’s no freshly deceased human nearby.”

“I didn’t know you could detect quite that specifically; now I wish I didn’t,” he replies.

“But hopefully at least one dead person.”

“That’s too much glee for somebody about to find something unpleasant, Violet.”

“Let’s find out.” Rowan takes his backpack from Leif and looks at Grayson pointedly. “I have chalk in here, since I’m always prepared. We can draw the runes connected correctly again.”

“Let me.” I take the chalk from him. “In case the magic tries to break your back again.”

“Interesting that the Whitegroves mastered both elemental and mind magic,” says Grayson. “Like Rowan. Isn’t that rare?”

I straighten. “And necromancy.”

“Huh? Rowan isn’t a necromancer.”

“No. Not Rowan.” A bolt of truth hits my mind. Why didn’t I consider this days ago? “Viktor was a Trinity witch.”

“A what?” asks Leif.

“My mother was one before Dorian turned her hybrid. Trinity witches are experts in all three types of magic: mind, elemental…” I trail off.

And the type that earned Eloise a place at Ravenhold.

“Necromancy,” finishes Leif. “Does that mean Cornelius is Trinity too?”

“Unlikely. Trinity magic isn’t a hereditary trait, and the witches are rare and identifiable. Cornelius couldn’t hide himself if he was Trinity.”

But my mother gifted me the powers: the witch blood inside my hybrid state mirrors a Trinity witch, only mine is weaker because I have Dorian’s blood too.

“Viktor would’ve been hard to control,” says Rowan. “Hard to kill. Cornelius wouldn’t have power against his son.”

“That explains a lot,” says Leif.

“Oh, very much so.” I hold my hand out to Rowan. “Chalk. Let’s draw this rune and watch the rocks crumble.”

Silence takes over as I carefully repeat the task that aided us in entering the Whitegrove mausoleum.

45

VIOLET

Our experience at the mausoleum saves time, as I correctly draw the four shapes into one rune on the first try. As I chalk the last white line in the center of the barrier, a crack splits the silence, followed by the heavy thud of stone hitting stone, as they collapse forward.

The guys stand farther back this time, in case the magic hits back as it did at the mausoleum, but only the dust thrown up by the broken spell touches them.

We’re facing an uneven arch of limestone above the pile, and I step forward onto the highest part of the fallen rocks, leaving the guys inside their cloud of dust.

I edge across the stones that fell inward, surrounded by the magic filling this hidden place, almost as breathable as the damp air. The slick, eroded walls lead to a higher roof, and water runs slowly into a shallow pool near the far wall.

I halt as the secrets the caves guarded for years reveal themselves. In the stillness, the drops of water echo like a clock marking the seconds passing, but time isn’t relevant to the occupants anymore.

Two skeletons: one lying close to the collapsed rock, the other laid out inside a natural alcove in the wall.

“Stay out there, Leif.”

Leif doesn’t ask me why. He doesn’t need to.

I step onto the uneven floor, beside the nearest skeleton. Decomposed scraps of material cling to some of the bones, but there’s nothing to identify this victim. Madison? No. The girl in the photo with Viktor appeared a similar height and build to me; this skeleton resembles Grayson’s height.

“Sarah’s brother,” says Rowan flatly.

I glance over a shoulder. Only Rowan stands on this side of the fallen stone, pale faced, his flashlight shining at the skeleton before us. Rowan doesn’t move an inch as I walk around the edge of the tiny pool to the alcove containing the second set of bones.

I kneel to examine this one’s clothing fragments but again, little remains. The color has dulled, but the material is thinner than the scraps hanging from the other body.

Only this time there’s something identifying this person.

“Madison?” asks Rowan as he approaches.

“Look at her head,” I whisper and stand.

Rowan’s beam catches the Whitegrove tiara glinting in the light before the flashlight crashes to the stones.

“No,” he says hoarsely.

As he retrieves the flashlight, I remove the tiara to confirm its identity. The purple jewels are intact, the tiara the same weight in my hands, and the silver as untarnished as when I wore it on my head.

“Yes. This is the Whitegrove tiara.”

Rowan balks. “The sick bastard. Cornelius could’ve hidden this anywhere he wanted, even in a corner of the cave or with Viktor’s body but chose to place it on the murdered girl’s skull.”

“Cornelius must’ve brought Viktor here, along with the evidence against him,” I say.

But where is Viktor?

My scan of the cavern lands on a pile of stones close to Madison’s bones. These could’ve fallen from the roof, but I’m not fooled. If an elemental witch blocked the entrance with rock, he could move what’s inside too. I push through the smaller top stones with my boot and Rowan takes a sharp breath as I uncover a hand.

Not a skeletal one.

With the delight Leif found abhorrent, I get onto my hands and knees and deftly remove more of limestone chunks.

“Fuck,” says Grayson behind me. “What is this place?”

“Body disposal area,” I say as I dig, and Rowan retches.

A meter below the jagged rock, I uncover a recently deceased face.

“Viktor.” I stand and wave a hand at the partially revealed, but now squashed, corpse. “I don’t recognize him with a broken nose. What do you think?”

Grayson looks down. “Yeah.”

“What a waste of Clement’s body-reconstruction skills only for Cornelius to crush his son’s features beneath stone.”

My smile broadens. Cornelius’s earlier smugness that I wouldn’t find his missing son was premature, and I’ll welcome the expression on his face when he’s confronted with our findings. Dorian will arrive soon, and I can show him my prize.

Rowan says nothing, frozen, with a piece of cloth clutched tightly in one hand.

Footsteps thud as Leif jumps through the fallen barrier, his eyes wide as he looks at Rowan’s hand. “What’s that?” he asks, “What’s wrong, Rowan?”

The unease and disgust I sensed from Rowan earlier magnifies, and he doesn’t reply.

“A dead person wore that, Leif. Rowan can see their death,” I say.

“Madison?” whispers Leif.

Rowan avoids Leif’s eyes and pushes the evidence into his backpack. “Robert.”

“Cornelius Whitegrove can’t deny involvement any longer. Either he knew about Viktor’s hidden murder victims or he hid them himself. Cornelius is attempting to erase Viktor a second time.” I gesture around the cave. “In here. There’s more than enough evidence for Dorian to arrest and question the man.”

“Add in the mausoleum evidence, and we can bet that Cornelius knows everything about the recent necromancy used on shifters,” says Leif.

“Names that Dorian needed from Viktor,” Grayson adds. “Dorian can get them from Cornelius instead. Reckon that’ll help us?”

“Marginally.”

Rowan takes a tentative step to look at Viktor’s face. “Once we show Cornelius this evidence, he’ll have no choice but to tell us. If the witches involved discover that Cornelius has become a liability rather than an asset, he’s a dead man. I’d take Dorian’s custody as the better option.”

“When we find Whitegrove, we should lock the bastard in here and let him rot,” mutters Leif, as he points at the tiara.

“Whoa.” Grayson stares at him. “That’s extreme.”

“Extreme?” His voice rises. “He covered up a murder. Two. What if Sarah’s brother was alive when Viktor put him in here?”

“What would be the point in that?” asks Grayson.

“Um. Because evil fuckers do things like that?” Leif snaps back. “How and where did Robert die, Rowan? In here?”

Leif’s body goes rigid when Rowan doesn’t answer. I stare at how close the male skeleton lies to the exit and look at Rowan whose expression answers me.

There are people in this world much, much worse than my father.

Taking a sharp breath, Leif moves away from Robert’s bones, his face hardening as he stares at the pool of water.

“If Cornelius hadn’t allowed Viktor to live, Robert might be alive. The spells in mine and Holly’s minds would never exist. And what happened to Holly… the shifters…”

I take his hands, and squeeze, sensing the anger pumping through him.

“Cornelius could’ve killed Sarah’s brother, not Viktor,” says Grayson. “His letter mentioned her parents’ deaths, but not her brother. Almost a threat.”

“Viktor aided the witches, but they would’ve committed the recent atrocities whether Viktor was alive or dead, Leif.” He blinks and looks down at me. “Viktor isn’t the only witch capable of instilling spells inside people’s heads or using necromancy.”

“But who are the other necromancers?” asks Rowan. “Viktor didn’t work alone; we’ve seen that.”

“We should get out of here and wait for Dorian,” says Leif. “Is he at the caves yet?”

“The magic in here’s too strong to tell.” I attempt to focus, but I’m in a chamber engulfed by Whitegrove energy, and it’s like wading through mud. My eyes widen. “And getting stronger.”

“Stronger, how?” asks Rowan.

I move back to the cave entrance, and step onto a rock, slanting my head. Faint movement comes from the tunnel we last walked through, and the Whitegrove magic intensifies.

“He’s here.”

Leif’s whole body stiffens. “What?”

“Cornelius Whitegrove.”

“Here?” asks Grayson. “Are you kidding?”

I slice him a look. “Since when do I ‘kid,’ Grayson?”

“How close?” asks Rowan, and he snatches the tiara before shoving it into his rucksack. “We need to get out.”

A pulse moves through the rock beneath my feet, and I lose my footing, the tilting throwing off my balance. I stumble back a step, as the broken barrier begins to move.

Stones grind as they reshape, obscuring the tunnel behind. Cornelius’s figure comes into view, and I make to attack, ready to subdue him before he can enter, but the rocks move faster, pulling together like magnets as they re-stack.

Magic. I need more magic.

“He’s sealing us in,” I shout. “He’s going to run. Rowan! Help stop the spell!”

The cavern floor shifts as dense magic pulses through the disappearing space at the entrance. Rowan steps forward, his own magic flaring, but a wave of Cornelius’s slams into Rowan. He lets out a shout, flung backward, and crashes into me. I catch Rowan’s arms just enough to slow his fall before he hits the ground.

Cornelius stands in the small gap on top of the tallest boulder, one hand stretched ahead of him. I lunge toward him, boots skidding on loose rock, Grayson with me. Before Grayson reaches the witch, magic lifts the vampire from his feet and he’s thrown, smacking into the wall as he slides to the ground.

“Leif, no!” I shout as he hurtles forward too.

Cornelius doesn’t even look at him and lifts two fingers in his direction.

“Stay there.” Leif’s limbs lock, and his mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. “Not that you’re a problem. Your mind already belongs to the Whitegroves.”

The hybrid coils, vision sharpening at the edges, blood rushing fast through every limb, and my vision narrows on Cornelius’s expressionless face. Before I can strike, a white light sears my vision and severs my link to the present. I lose awareness, confused as to where I am, images of the shifter attack at the lodge projected before me as if I’m there again.

No. My mind slams back hard against his attack, the magic unable to move me or penetrate far into my head. I drag my mind away from the day I died at the lodge, and back to the caverns and scene I’m in the midst of now.

“That was worth a shot. I should’ve known you’d resist.”

Cornelius hasn’t moved, standing in a dark, sharply tailored suit more suited to his business premises than a trip to a cavern, perfectly controlled as he absorbs the energy trapped inside here for years.

The hybrid rage rises and claws beneath my skin, urging me to tear through him, and he runs a casual look the length of me. “Kill me, and you’ll lose them.”

46

VIOLET

Hold back. I take steadying breaths, barely forcing down the girl who would kill.

This can not be a repeat of the last Whitegrove we confronted. We only need to keep the witch here until Dorian arrives.

Rowan’s on the ground, gasping, shaking, trying to speak. I drop to my knees, instinctively pulled to my bonded witch, and hold my fingers against his temple. The connection sparks—Rowan’s magic is present but lost behind panic, his mind scrambled with thoughts I can’t grasp.

“What are you doing?” I ask hoarsely, looking over to Grayson who kneels close to the place he fell, arms wrapped around his head, cowering.

And Leif. He’s immobile. Staring at nothing.

“Everybody in this place leaves alive,” I warn Cornelius.

Cornelius’s expressionless face turns to me. “Not all of you.”

“Kill any of them, and I will end you,” I whisper, and stand.

He scoffs. “I’m referring to the three deceased, not your broken consorts.”

Cornelius strides toward me, the fool approaching the hybrid who would tear into him the way his magic attempted to tear into me. Viktor faltered when he stood face to face with that Violet, but this witch’s arrogant, self-assurance doesn’t drop.

“Go on. Kill me, but you’ll upset Daddy.” I blink at him. “That’s why you lured me here.”

“I didn’t lure you. I never expected to see you.”

He arches a brow and flicks a look to Grayson again. “Oh? Then the Petrescu isn’t here to help me?”

“What do you mean?”

Cornelius turns his full focus to Grayson. The vampire screams out and his terror hits me as hard as the magic did moments ago. I’m by Grayson’s side in a heartbeat, holding his face.

Grayson looks at me. “No. I didn’t touch anybody else.” The fear pumps through his veins, eyes wild. “Josef. Listen to me.”

“Grayson!” I grab his arms and shake him. “It’s Violet.”

He lashes out, and I skid backward across the cave floor as I did the night in the warehouse, Grayson’s strength enough to catch me off guard.

Leaping to my feet, I whirl around. Cornelius chuckles, and I seize him by the suit jacket, crashing him into the limestone. The witch’s feet no longer touch the ground as I hold him up.

“What have you done to them?” I demand, baring my teeth.

“You refuse to grasp how powerful I am, Violet. I once erased my son from every witch’s memory,” he says softly. “Do you understand the magnitude of magic skill needed for that?”

I grip his jacket harder. “You will not erase them.”

He rasps a laugh, stirring the hybrid again and my nails sharpen. Behind me, Rowan’s mumbling continues, his breaths heavy.

“Your bonded isn’t faring well. To be honest, I doubted I’d get to you before he pulled out his oh-so-helpful shadows.” Cornelius sneers. “Now, he’s reliving what he did with when under their influence.”

“What does that mean?” I shout.

“Everybody has memories tangled with trauma, Violet. That’s where these boys are. I find that people locked in their minds can’t retaliate.” His lips press together. “My son may’ve mastered all magic, but nobody surpasses what I can do to minds.”

Cornelius seized my guys’ minds like they were nothing. He tried that on me, and I wouldn’t have held back if he’d touched my thoughts. I’d have ripped his mind apart in return.

Grayson’s scream reverberates, and I turn my head. He’s struggling for breath, holding his fingers around his neck, pushing against the skin.

“Oh. Has Josef killed Grayson in the past?” Cornelius asks in fake surprise. “That would be traumatic.”

Everything that Grayson suppresses, the horror that I once glimpsed inside his mind.

I yell and throw Cornelius aside, and he grunts from the force of the breath leaving his lungs as he lands beside the pool of water.

“If I’d managed to drag your memories to the surface, what would they have been? Or does the little hybrid girl think she’s immune to trauma?”

Maybe I still will.

“Yes? No? I’m confident you’ll experience something soon.” He tips his head toward Rowan. “I can see what’s in their minds. How interesting that Rowan’s biggest trauma wasn’t seeing you die but the day his shadows killed. Well, when he killed.”

I stomp over to Cornelius, a breath away from crushing one of the hands he uses to support himself to sit.

“Stop the spells!”

“Not until I’m safe. Several people in this room have self-control issues.”

“How can you be this calm?” I yell at him.

“How did you expect this to go, Violet?” he asks.

“I didn’t expect this to ‘go’ anywhere. But Dorian will find you, drag out the information he wants, and then⁠—”

“Kill me?” He chuckles. “Now, we both know that’s unlikely.”

I seize hold, lift and slam the man against the wall again, his head hitting the rock this time. The blinding white light returns, snatching the world from me for a moment, and I retaliate, hitting his mental wards. Not enough to break him, but enough to hurt.

Stay calm. Dorian will come. Dorian will take over. And Cornelius knows this is over for him.

But the guys. What if Cornelius’s spell ends my guys before my father arrives. I won’t let that happen.

“How can you do this to them and not expect me to kill you?”

“Because I have plenty of information to bargain with, and you’d never risk losing that and upsetting Daddy again. Something I hadn’t intended to hand over yet, but I should’ve expected this move from Josef Petrescu.”

He slips from my hands to the ground, my mind lurching as I struggle to catch up. Nearby pain and fear destroy these I love, as if they’re collateral damage.

This is more than Cornelius’s game.

“Josef?”

“He informed me that Dorian had taken you all to Scotland, and that if I had evidence to clear in the caves, I should take the opportunity.” He makes a sound low in his throat. “The bastard set me up.”

My tight lips pull into a smile. “And your plan to move evidence failed. You can’t hide what’s down here anymore.”

“I only wanted Viktor.” His eyes flicker, and he blinks away a thought. “The other two could’ve stayed. It would seem inappropriate to move them from their final resting places after such a long time.”

“And Sarah?” I demand. “She’s gone. Is her body nearby, ready to hide?”

“Sarah Sawyer? No clue. Ask Josef. He’s the parasite who weaseled his way in and protects her.”

No. No.

“Years ago, I couldn’t get to her before Josef did. He made me a promise, one he’s broken, and I will take him down with me. All of them.”

“Why risk all this? You could’ve destroyed Viktor for real this time!”

“Viktor is still leverage,” he rasps. “I hid him because I intend to show them his corpse and remind them I’m the powerful one. I’m the man who’s everybody and everywhere. Nothing and nobody is out of my reach.”

“Them? Who’s ‘them’?”

Cornelius attempts to stand, and I kick out at his legs that buckle, and his knees smack the rock. He sucks back the pained cry threatening to escape. “The witches. The names I have for Dorian.”

“I want the names! Now!”

“My, you are a petulant child.”

I’ve suppressed the hybrid, pushed her down for rationality, but I’ve nothing inside apart from the desire to hurt this man. My mind runs through thoughts and scenarios, lining up the logical way forward, as I always do. Murders. Threats. Viktor. Holly. All the people I love.

“You can’t do this!” I shout. 

“Yet I am.”

Cornelius’s focus slides to Grayson again. That one look evokes a yell of anguish from him, and more desperate pleas to an imaginary Josef. I swallow down rising bile, and my vision blurs but not with the mist from the hybrid fury or Cornelius’s magic. Tears.

Everything spins around, as if I’m back out of reality again.

Leif and Rowan. Grayson. Broken.

“You won’t win. Your son didn’t.”

Cornelius flinches at the pitch of my scream as I throw him across the cavern floor again. He lands on the pile of rocks that cover his son, and he scrabbles to sit, but his hands slip on the stone.

“You should’ve spilled Grayson’s blood to catch my hybrid’s attention if you wanted to disable me. Now she’s focused on you.”

“As if you could risk the hybrid killing me,” he scoffs.

“I don’t intend to kill you, but I’m still going to hurt you.”

“No, you won’t.”

I pull Cornelius up. I could hold back my strength enough to slam his head against the wall to hurt him but not crush his skull. If I hit him in the correct places, I could disarm him but not inflict serious internal injuries. And I can assault his mind with magic that will make his spell on my guys the equivalent to a child’s.

Cornelius can suffer the same agony he’s inflicting on Grayson and Rowan.

I don’t need to kill the witch.

Do this carefully, Violet. The shifter I attacked at the lodge survived. Cornelius can too.

I throw Cornelius across the cavern again, and the witch cries out as his arm slams the wall.

“Have I broken you?” I stride over. “Even my father has lines he won’t cross. You and your son are on a different level of depravity. People like you need erasing.”

Finally, Cornelius shows fear, face streaked by blood, arm at an awkward angle.

I crouch and draw him as close to my face as possible. “Do you see an uncontrolled hybrid?” His eyes grow larger. “No? You think my father loses control and kills? Or do you think he calculates every move?”

But Cornelius doesn’t beg, his defiance enduring longer than Viktor’s ever did. “The world will see every mark Dorian Blackwood’s daughter leaves on me.”

“Once I’m done, you won’t be able to speak for a while. There’ll be no injuries left to see by the time you can walk and talk again.”

“Do it,” he whispers. “I dare you.”

With a roar, I fling the witch until he lands on Madison’s skeleton, crushing the bones. I make to move forward but a figure beats me to him, snatching Cornelius and yanking him upward. 

“Did you lock a living man in this room?” Leif shouts.

I reel as Leif punches Cornelius in the face. 

“Did you?” he yells.

Cornelius’s bloodied mouth parts. “Your mind. I had your mind.”

“You had hold of my human mind, arsehole,” growls Leif. “Not this half. Not the shifter.”

I’m arrested in shock as Leif punches Cornelius a second time, knocking back the man’s head with force that almost snaps his neck.

“You fucked with my mind. With Holly’s. I am not weak, and your witch friends will die if they come near me again. Any of us.” 

Cornelius screams as Leif twists his broken arm, and as he falls to the floor, Leif’s boot pins his neck. He chokes for breath, and I break free of my shock.

Leif can’t kill too.

And he definitely can’t kill Cornelius.

“Always the shifters causing the problems.”

I jerk my head around to where Dorian stands in the gap, on the rock, exactly as Cornelius did minutes ago.

“I suggest you remove that boot before you crush his windpipe and make things worse for yourself, Leif.”

Leif withdraws his foot and takes several steps backward. Cornelius pulls in lungfuls of air and looks over.

I never thought I’d see one of Dorian’s enemies smile with relief at the sight of him.

47

VIOLET

Dorian slides hands into his pockets and watches Cornelius struggle to breathe.

“Devious bastard,” he coughs out.

“Is that comment aimed at me?” asks Dorian casually. “Because as devious as I am, I’m surprised to find you in here.”

“Not you,” he mutters.

Dorian’s presence calms my hybrid, but she won’t snap her focus away from Cornelius until the spell on the others breaks. Rowan sucks in a ragged breath, jerking as if someone just yanked him from a nightmare. His wide eyes lock on Cornelius and Dorian, horror and fear mingled in his expression.

Grayson has already attempted to stand and braces himself with one hand on the cave wall. His head lifts slowly. When his eyes land on Dorian, he slumps back down again, defeated.

He can’t escape my father.

Their spells broke, but how much have Grayson and Rowan fallen apart? And Leif? What changed in him?

My father doesn’t move. “Let’s hurry this up. I’m bored with games, but this turn of events was not executed by me. Who sold you out, Whitegrove?”

“Josef Petrescu.”

I gape at how easily Cornelius gave up the information without Dorian wrenching the truth from him. The so-called master manipulator lies broken by someone more powerful—not Dorian; Josef.

Cornelius wipes his mouth with a shaking hand. “I didn’t expect any of you to be here tonight.”

“Evidently. Never trust a Petrescu, my friend.”

“I have a lot of names.” The pathetic witch drags in a breath. “Others involved in the necromancy and murders. Friends of Viktor’s. I’ll give you those. But you protect me.”

Dorian’s lips purse. “But if I act on these names that would eliminate Josef’s rivals.”

“Yes,” Cornelius says hoarsely. “And give you a chance to dismantle the witches’ network. One less problem.”

“Ah. Then we’d best remove you from society before these ‘names’ are aware you’re about to compromise them. If they’re powerful enough to rival Josef, you’d need to remain under my supervision on a permanent basis.”

Dorian sizes up the room, impassively noting the broken skeleton near his feet, and the second in the alcove.

“Although I feel you may face criminal charges and imprisonment. Execution for murder, perhaps?”

“These aren’t my victims!” Cornelius groans, the so-called upstanding, respectable witch turning his head to one side, coughing up blood. “I came for Viktor.”

“Viktor, the man who never existed? Yours is quite a complex case,” muses Dorian. “But you must agree my custody is the safest place for you. I feel a trip to Scotland is in order.” He turns his head. “Return to the academy, Violet. I will speak to you in the morning. You did not behave as promised.”

“What? Cornelius appeared. I haven’t touched anything.”

“I’d rather keep my initial chat with Cornelius private.”

My jaw slackens. “Dorian. We should all come with you. The evidence…”

Dorian flicks a look behind me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”

Grayson.

I say nothing, as Dorian snatches Rowan’s rucksack from the ground.

“Is Sarah’s evidence in here?” he asks Rowan, then huffs when there’s no response. “Violet?”

“Yes,” I mumble.

He nods at Grayson and Rowan. “You take care of them, so I don’t have to.” He pauses long enough to communicate his true meaning, then he looks to Leif. “You’re bloody lucky.”

Leif says nothing as Dorian crouches to meet Cornelius eye to eye.

“Your head appears injured. I apologize that blood rune travel could intensify the headache.”

Dorian doesn’t wait. He lifts Cornelius’s injured arm and drags the shrieking man closer, then slices across both their fingertips with sharp teeth. Blood wells instantly, and Dorian deftly paints the runes with his and Cornelius’s blood.

The cave drops into silence, and Leif sinks down onto the rocks at the entrance and avoids my eyes.

Grayson remains rigid, still resting against the wall, staring toward the spot where Dorian vanished. Rowan braces his forearms against his thighs and lowers his head between his knees, breathing fast.

I kneel beside him. “Rowan?”

He lifts a hand in response but doesn’t speak. A moment later, he twists away from me and vomits before slumping forward again, coughing and wiping his mouth with the back of a trembling hand.

I wrap my arms around him without speaking, holding onto his shaking body in cautious relief. “You’re okay.”

“He isn’t,” says Grayson.

Rowan buries his head beneath his arms, head on his knees, and I push myself upright. As I step toward Grayson, he shuffles to one side when I reach out.

“And you?” I ask.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Rowan’s worse. Look after him. I’m alright now the spell left.” He swallows. “And Dorian too.”

Fine? No. None of them are.

“Welcome to the world of witches who screw with your head,” Leif mutters.

Grayson flicks a look at Leif. “But only half your head. I heard you. Cornelius didn’t touch your shifter mind. How did you manage to separate the two?”

Leif doesn’t answer at first, and his expression darkens. “Because I’ve accepted my shifter side is part of who I am.”

“But not a helpful time to lose your shit with this shifter side you ‘accepted,’ Leif. What if Dorian hadn’t arrived? If you’d killed Cornelius…” Grayson trails off, and I frown. It’s as if Grayson is speaking to himself not Leif.

“I didn’t shift,” Leif snaps. “I had control. I broke from the spell, and I waited.”

“What for?” I ask.

His amber eyes fix on mine. “Until you’d hurt Cornelius enough.”

I’ve seen Zeke and Ethan attack in their shifter forms, but also in their human. Primal instincts drive my shifter fathers, and, matched with their power, they can damage someone, shifted or not.

Leif’s nature never once compared to theirs. Not until today.

At Wesley’s memorial, Leif held me with strength that matched Ethan’s unshifted power, but in every encounter we’ve had with those who’d hurt us, Leif never once acted with ferocity.

“Don’t look at me like that, Violet. I don’t want to talk right now,” he says.

Grayson’s voice is low as he pulls me closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think things would go this far.”

His words punch air at my chest. This far? “You knew Cornelius would come?”

“No! Josef said… I had to… I thought…” He wraps arms around himself and looks at Rowan, then back to the floor. “I didn’t expect this. Him.”

Grayson told Josef.

“You promised to protect me. But why would you if I’m the one making choices that hurt everybody else?” he whispers.

“I can’t stay here,” says Leif from across the cavern.

Grayson’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Don’t say anything. Not yet.”

The conversation at the lodge replays in my mind, how tightly Grayson held my hands, and how I didn’t push. I should’ve.

Instead, I left him alone and went upstairs to check if Rowan had collected all the evidence. Grayson didn’t meet my eyes when we all returned downstairs.

Grayson contacted Josef in those moments alone. He told his uncle we planned to come here.

“I never want to think about this place again,” Leif continues.

I glance around the chamber at the broken skeletons. Cornelius’s blood. At the place that will always be one of violence and horror, even with the Whitegrove magic gone.

And I look to Rowan, Grayson, and Leif. I held back because I needed to. Because letting go of myself meant risking their lives too.

But something altered inside them.

I’m not a witch or a vampire. I’m a hybrid. I’ve spent too long suppressing what I am, deluding myself that’s the way to keep the people I love safe. But suppressing her today meant Cornelius walked away intact, leaving others broken.

Maybe this time I had to hold back in order to protect and bring justice, but that stops now because that no longer matters. The next time someone hurts one of the three other people in this room, I won’t choose control.

I won’t weigh what’s right.

I’ll end anybody who harms them.

Whoever they are. Whatever the consequences.

48

VIOLET

Rowan and Leif sit beside each other on the same rock as earlier, Rowan’s head in his hands again. Neither want to use blood magic to travel, which I accept and understand. Although nobody has physical injuries, the effect of the spell could hurt already damaged minds. I’m content to wait a little longer but we face a longer trip if using traditional methods, but I’m keen to return to the academy soon.

The pair’s figures blend with the night, as does Grayson who stands nearby, hands buried in his jacket pockets. He occasionally glances in the direction we emerged from. Is Grayson worried Dorian will return and ask questions?

I have questions too, and in the silence, I drift away, attempting to make sense of everything that happened. What are Josef’s plans? There’re schemes filled with lies and liars, all playing each other. If Josef set up Cornelius, what’s his next step?

And is Grayson in deeper than he’s admitted?

The worst part about the bonds is that I sense the distress of those I love, or, at worst, I experience their emotions. Currently, I feel nothing but my own anxiety because both Rowan and Grayson have shut themselves down, their mental blocks firmly in place. I’ve no desire to push past their barriers and intrude—I don’t need to. The effects are clear.

Leif holds himself together, protesting earlier that the spell had less effect on him, and that he wasn’t lost in traumatic memories because he shuttered his mind.

What would my trauma be? Cornelius’s question struck me hard. His spell failed against my mind, and he presumed that resistance came from my hybrid. Partially, yes, but there’s a greater truth. I have no trauma for his magic to latch onto. Worrying about my friends’ lives and making stupid decisions, my father threatening to disown me, and dying? These events caused stress and unpleasant emotions, yes. Trauma, no.

The smile Cornelius gave when suggesting that would change soon chilled me. Once, I would’ve dismissed anything could illicit such a strong response. Now the possibility lurks, and I don’t know how close.

“Dorian has Cornelius in custody, and he’s prepared to provide names to help my father’s investigation. This is a most excellent development. The witches involved with Cornelius must be those related to the shifter murders and associated necromancy. We’ve also the opportunity to offer closure to Julius as⁠—”

“Shut up, Violet.”

Rowan’s weary voice is muffled by his hands, and he doesn’t look up.

As I pause in surprise, Leif stares at the side of Rowan’s head. “Whoa.”

“Right now, I don’t give a shit. Let Dorian deal with it.” Rowan finally meets my eyes. The dull, closed-off energy rolling off him warns me not to push. “My head is screwed.”

“I’m aware that Cornelius attacked your mind in an unpleasant manner.”

“Unpleasant manner?” He shakes his head. “I can still see that dying witch’s face at the funeral home. I saw him and myself, as if I was a spectator watching… what I did. Over and over. The shadows didn’t help me tonight when I fucking needed them.”

“Which is a good thing,” I press.

“No, it isn’t. The shadows persuaded me you were in danger once before and triggered the bond. Why not this time?”

Rowan’s agitation grows again, as he picks at the edge of his jacket.

“Perhaps we should focus on returning to the academy. You’re all injured.” I glance over at Grayson. “All three of you.”

“Do you think Cornelius will hand over the correct names?” asks Leif.

“The man has no choice. Although Viktor’s ‘death’ is pre-Dorian, the deaths he aided and abetted in are recent, and it’s in his favor to cooperate.”

Rowan stands and gulps in air as if he’s still inside the damp of the magic-filled cave. “I can’t deal with all this. Can we leave?”

His voice cracks.

Leif nods at me, and I tug on Rowan’s hand, leading him farther into the darkness. When we stop, he looks down at my hand and absentmindedly plays his fingers across my palm. There’s no sign of shadows, but where’s his magic?

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” I say quietly and rest my other palm on his face. “I never intended to face Cornelius alone and would not have placed us in such a position. Not after the Viktor debacle.”

He repeats ‘debacle’ and makes a small sound in his throat. “Cornelius didn’t kill us, nor did he intend to.”

“Correct. He’s aware I’d reciprocate. If I lost the people Dorian has threatened to kill, I wouldn’t care if that witch died. Cornelius looked into my eyes and saw that I’d tear him apart if any one of you died.”

Rowan takes my hand from his face. “Finally, you confirm what Dorian really said when you were in Scotland, Violet.”

I hold his gaze. “Did I ever need to?”

“No.” His voice is soft as he draws me to him. “But you’ll make the right decisions.”

“That’s obtuse.”

This time his laugh holds a genuine edge, and he holds my face to place a gentle kiss on my mouth. “Sorry that I told you to shut up. Everything you said is true. This evening helps.”

“You frequently tell me to cease talking, so when you spoke up, I knew Cornelius didn’t destroy my Rowan.” I touch the side of his head. “I’m happy your mind locked onto the witch’s murder in response to Cornelius’s spell.”

“What?” He steps back. “That’s messed up, Violet. And why wasn’t my trauma your death?”

“Because my death never changed you. This proves the shadows acted the night at the funeral home, not you, and that we can fight them. You don’t genuinely possess an underlying desire to end lives. If you did, your mind wouldn’t latch onto the murder as the most traumatic, disabling moment in your life.”

Rowan rubs a hand across his mouth. “Your death was the most traumatic, disabling moment in my life, Violet.”

“You needn’t worry. My hybrid immortality will always solve that problem.”

“Yeah? But watching you die is a different story.” His voice trembles slightly. “If a hybrid can’t be killed, why is your father worried about losing to these people?”

“Dorian worries about the death of the world that he created and lives in.” I pause. “And the deaths of others he loves, albeit in his Dorian way—Zeke and Ethan aren’t immortal.”

Rowan stares at me as if about to speak but sighs instead. “I don’t have the energy for these kinds of conversations.”

“Understandable.”

He draws me closer and places his chin on the top of my head as we hold each other tight against the night. “How was Cornelius at the caves, Violet?”

“Valid question. There’s no vehicle nearby, and he’s incapable of blood magic. This would suggest somebody assisted. Are you concerned that other witches may be nearby?”

“No, Violet.” He takes me by the shoulders and holds as he looks down. “How was Cornelius at the caves? He came for Viktor, but why? He’d hidden his son’s body in a place nobody else knew about.”

“We’re aware that Josef tipped Cornelius off. Grayson told us this morning.”

“About the mausoleum. Nobody else knew about our planned visit to the caves apart from Dorian, but the missing man we’re desperate to catch conveniently appears.”

“A coincidence? Cornelius wouldn’t choose to come to the caves if he knew we’d be there. That’s completely illogical.”

“You don’t believe in coincidences, Violet.”

“Dorian will find the answer to that puzzle.”

I’m slotting together what happened and say nothing. Grayson was played too. Has Josef threatened to kill Grayson? Or promised him something? Whatever the reason, it prompted Grayson to contact his uncle once we decided to head to the caves.

I should never have left Grayson alone for those few minutes at the lodge.

But Cornelius? Why did we presume Josef would kill him? Grayson genuinely never expected the witch to appear, and neither could he predict Cornelius’s actions. Grayson would’ve expected his uncle, and maybe a head to head between Josef and Dorian,

Instead Josef handed Cornelius to Dorian at a risk to the other guys’ lives.

Grayson didn’t know but he helped.

“Where is Grayson, by the way?”

Rowan jerks his chin at the spot Grayson occupied a few minutes ago.

Empty.

Not again. “I am increasingly irritated by Grayson’s propensity to abscond at random moments.”

“Uh huh. Especially as he has the propensity to tell his uncle everything.”

I tell Rowan what I’m attempting to convince myself. “Grayson won’t approach his uncle. Cornelius’s arrest won’t remain a secret for long, and Josef already knows Sarah’s secrets—possibly that she possessed the items hidden at the lodge. There’s nothing for Grayson to report.”

“Leif?” Rowan calls. “Where’s Grayson?”

He looks up from where he’s scuffing a circle in the stones with a boot. “Over there… oh.”

Rowan glances at me, then back to Leif. “Grayson didn’t tell you he was leaving?”

“He’s worried Dorian might return,” I say.

Leif and Rowan exchange one of their annoying looks of silent communication. I bite back ‘no, he isn’t going to Josef,’ because I can’t be sure.

“Fine. Can we go?” asks Rowan. “If Grayson left, he left, wherever he’s chosen to go. Situation normal. As usual, he’ll come back.”

But after the magic attack he suffered? Reliving the agony and terror of his death on repeat in his mind? Grayson has metal fortitude but total resilience. He broke down in front of me once before, the evening I sensed something happened and eventually found him entering the sports hall. He can’t be alone tonight. None of them can.

Grayson managed to blank his mind while standing with us, but if he’s distressed, he’ll leave for elsewhere rather than reveal his perceived weakness to anybody. Cornelius pulled out every memory that Grayson suppresses about Josef’s vicious treatment, and he relived them in the manner Rowan did his.

Are any of those memories of recent days? Is that what influenced Grayson’s actions?

In the cave. His words. The guilt. My stomach lurches.

“Grayson can’t be far. I’ll find him. Follow.”

I don’t pause for their reply and dash away from the limestone toward the narrow track that leads toward the distant trees. I can’t sense him. Has Grayson moved too far and too fast?

My heart thuds like a human’s would do running at this speed but for other reasons. Grayson does not get to do this again. He does not leave me eaten by worry. Whatever he’s done, I will protect Grayson from Dorian. From Josef. I’ve told him this.

Adrenaline surges as I sense movement in the bushes close by, and a tall figure runs. I’d shout after them, tell Grayson to stop running from me, but that’s pointless. Grayson moves at vampire speed when evading somebody. This person does not.

Whoever Grayson encountered wasn’t Josef either.

The scent hits me first. On the night Wesley died, a faint trail of blood led me to run in the wrong direction because I picked up on the scent. Later, I discovered whose blood caught my attention, and this time I’ve no doubt whose scent this is.

“Grayson!” I shout, feet thudding from the worn pathway and into the trees.

The smell of blood fills the air, the metallic tang overwhelming me to the point where I don’t know which way to go next. Holding myself preternaturally still, I reach out for his presence—heart, thoughts, warmth of his body. Anything.

Grayson’s heart beats faintly, barely audible over blood whooshing through my ears.

“Grayson!”

I veer toward the thick bushes the figure ran from, shoving through the thorny branches. My boot hits something, and I stumble to a halt.

In this moment, the clarity of my supernatural sight is a blessing and a curse. My mind flashes back to Holly on the ground after the shifter attack, but this time I don’t have the breath to scream.

Grayson lies in his pooling blood in dirt between the bushes, and I drop to my knees, hands shaking. My eyes go straight to his chest.

There’s no surge of relief that his attacker left his heart intact, or that the escaping figure left his body behind, because the blood around Grayson spreads into a dark pool flooding from the severed arteries in his neck. Blood slides across my hands as I hold them against his skin, but my healing saliva is pointless for such a huge wound.

A pair of shoes appear beside me. Another sick reminder of the night of the attack that half-killed Holly. “Fuck.”

Leif.

“He’s bleeding out!” As Grayson’s life ebbs, I turn wild eyes to Leif, and to a panting Rowan who staggers into view. “What do I do?” Neither reply. “What do I do?” I scream out.

“He- he’ll be okay,” says Leif. “He has his heart. Somebody could give him some blood?”

I almost laugh at Leif’s comment, but tears blur instead, and I swipe them away. Emotions are not helpful. Not now. So why can’t I hold them in?

“Some blood? Look at how much he’s lost! If Grayson bleeds out completely, he won’t come back.”

“But taking the heart… burning…” stammers Leif. “That’s how vamps… don’t come back.”

“That’s final, to ensure there’s no chance the victim could return.” Rowan pauses. “Violet. Somebody chose to leave Grayson.”

Something inexplicable breaks inside me, shattering and pulling apart everything I am, heart and soul. I stare numbly at Grayson’s broken body, at the blood that won’t stop, and the world I’ve clung to tonight crumbles into nothing. Not from the unbearable truth that Grayson is dying but because someone calculated this.

Grayson’s attacker didn’t leave him.

They left me a choice knowing exactly which one I would make.

The series continues (and concludes) with

Thornwood Academy 7: Dead on Time.

I haven’t placed a preorder for this book as my writing schedule has become erratic over the last few months for personal and health reasons.

I had to cancel a preorder in earlier this year and now Amazon won’t allow me to create any for a year.

I am currently writing Nightworld Academy: Winterfall Secrets and once that delayed book is finished I will write the final Thornwood Academy book. I can’t give a date but hope by the end of 2025.

To keep up with all the latest details, please sign up for my newsletter (you’ll also receive a free novella)

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I’ve also written a short mystery for Violet and her guys to solve. This is a bonus book separate to the series.

Here’s the Amazon link if you like to read the story

Dead and Gone: A Violet Blackwood Mystery

If you haven’t read Violet’s parents’ story yet, Ravenhold Academy is complete and available as individual books and a box set. You will see Dorian at his worst, and how Eloise brought him to his knees…

Witch Born

Magic Forged

Blood Legacy

And the complete series box set

OTHER BOOKS BY LJ SWALLOW

Nightworld Academy

Reverse Harem YA Paranormal series

Term One

Term Two

Term Three

Term Four

Term Five

Term Six

Also available as two box sets

Winterfall Magic

Winterfall Witch

Winterfall Legacy

Blackwood Magic (Connected book)

Ravenhold Supernatural Reform Academy

Reverse Harem Dark Academy (connected series)

Witch Born

Magic Forged

Blood Legacy

Available as a box set

Thornwood Academy

Reverse Harem YA Paranormal (connected series)

Never Say Die

Dead To Me

For Dear Life

Live To Tell

Nightfall University

Reverse Harem Dark Academy (connected series)

Midnight Coven

The Four Horsemen Series

Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy

Legacy

Bound

Hunted

Guardians

Chaos

Descent

Reckoning

or as two box sets

Books 1-3

Books 4-7

The Demons Fae

Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy Romance (connected series)

The Complete Series

Daughter of Shadow series

Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance

Daughter of Shadow

Silvercrest Court

Ebon Queen

Shadow Throne

Beyond The Mists

Fae Fantasy Romance

A Court Beyond The Mists

www.ljswallow.com