I say nothing.
“Getting together with Nate—that was considered treason by the Family. The last witch punished for treason was burned at the stake, and the one before was sent to the most god-awful place full of murderers—just a really bad place.” She shudders. “So when the Family found out what I’d done I thought I was a goner. But I guess because Damien liked me so much he slapped me with an AMO instead.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“An Anti-Magic Order,” she clarifies.
She lifts the hem of her pants to reveal a thin silver bracelet around her ankle. A tiny round charm hangs off the chain. What looks like a family crest is stamped into the delicate metal.
“It’s basically a magic tracker. If you use magic while you’re wearing one of these, the Family will find out. I was ordered to wear one for the rest of my life, and Damien said if they discovered I’d used my magic he’d make me wish I was dead. And you don’t understand—Damien, the Family—they’re not nice people, Indie. If he threatens you, he will follow through.” She lets go of her pant leg. “Anyway, that’s why I didn’t help you. But, Indie, you have no idea how hard it was for me to sit back when I knew something big was going on. I wanted to help. Really, I did. I was just so scared. I know now that’s not good enough. I know I was wrong.”
She lapses into silence. It’s my turn to speak now, if I’m going to.
My brain fires a million miles a minute, trying to process all the new information. I don’t know how to feel. All I know is that I’m still angry.
And so I say nothing. After a while she leaves.
When I’m sure she’s gone, I roll onto my back and think about everything my aunt said. One minute I decide she couldn’t have done anything to help without her magic, that she could have been burned alive if she’d tried, but the next I decide she’s the most selfish person in Los Angeles—nay, the world—for valuing her life over mine. I’m so confused about how to feel that I become resentful of Aunt Penny all over again for making me use this much headspace on her when there’s a bigger issue going on: Paige is missing.
I haven’t admitted it to anyone—not even to myself—but I feel like I’m failing her. Statistics say if you don’t find a missing person within forty-eight hours, they’re likely dead.
It’s been sixteen days.
Bishop and I have searched for her everywhere, done every spell imaginable. I’ve replayed the voice-mail message Leo left me over and over, trying to get a hint, listening for something I might have missed. But nothing. If I’d only known Paige had been taken hostage by Leo the night of homecoming instead of safely watching a marathon of Jeopardy! at Jessie’s house, I never would have let him die. Not until we’d found her. And now we’re reduced to questioning various lowlifes of Bishop’s acquaintance for information, and though he won’t say it, I know he’s wondering if it’s hopeless.
But I won’t give up.
When that thought even dares to flicker into my mind, all I have to do is think of Paige—of her bangs falling over thick-rimmed leopard-print glasses, of the violin case hiked over her shoulders, of her unlaced Doc Martens and fishnets worn way before hipster clothes went mainstream, of her dashing across the street at two in the morning when I needed help, just to be a good friend—and I know I won’t give up. I’m her only hope. It’s too late for Mom, but not Paige. Not yet.
My phone vibrates on the end table, Bishop’s name flashing across the screen. I remember I was supposed to call him.
“Bonding with your aunt yet?” he asks.
“Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it.” I wipe my nose with my sleeve, because no one’s watching and I can.
“So it didn’t go well then, huh? Are you upset?”
“I’ll be fine,” I answer unconvincingly. I start picking at a loose thread on my quilt.
“So I have a plan,” he says. “It involves a violin and a fat man.”
“I’m not in the mood for joking,” I mutter.
“I’m serious. About the violin part, anyway. Can you get Paige’s violin? Unless you’d rather we sneak into her bedroom, which is also doable.”
“What?” I sit up, like it’s going to help me understand his crazy talk a bit better.
“We’re going to try a locating spell. Paige was always lugging that violin around, so I figured it’d be good for the personal-object part of the ceremony.”
“A locating spell? But I thought you said we couldn’t do one because we were missing the key ingredient—the magic mushroom or whatever.”
“I did. And we were. I found it.”
“You said it was impossible. If it was so easy, then why didn’t you find it earlier?”
“Who said it was easy? I got a tip. And I had all this free time on my hands after my girlfriend moved out, so it was either follow that tip or turn to booze and strippers. It was a tough call but the tip won out.”
I huff. “So where did you find the mushroom?”
“In this delightful little west-facing valley in Erlbach. We should really go there sometime. You’d love—”
“Erlbach?”
“Yeah. In Germany.”
“You went to Germany,” I say, incredulous.
“Yep.”
“In the last couple of hours?”
“Yep.”
“After I left your house?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” he says. “I’m getting offended. I am a practiced warlock, you know. So think you can get it? The violin.”
My mind slips back to the morning after Paige went missing, when I’d knocked on her front door. I’d expected Mrs. Abernathy to be a mess of snot and tears, but instead our conversation went something like this:
Me: OMG, is Paige here? Please, dear God, tell me she’s here!
Mrs. Abernathy: Would you like some tea? You seem like you could use a cup of tea.
Me: I don’t think you understand: I’m looking for your daughter. I think she’s in grave danger.
Mrs. Abernathy: I have mint and chamomile. Doesn’t that sound nice?
Me: She could be dead—her guts could be spilled out in some alley for rats to feast on.
Mrs. Abernathy: Chamomile it is!