House of Ivy & Sorrow

SEVENTEEN





No matter how much water Kat wipes away, the bubble stays in place. I’ve heard of the spell—it’s an easy combination of fish scales, raven hearts, and dew gathered from tombstones—but I’ve never seen it in action. How simple it is—almost comical in appearance, and yet terrifying in practice. When our eyes meet, hers start watering.

I’ve never seen Kat cry.

I want to tell her it’ll be okay. That’s the least I can do to calm her, and I can’t manage it with my stupid voice gone.

Her pale skin begins to turn blue, which makes the pain in my chest burst into something part agony, part will to survive. I rush to her side in time to keep her standing and scan the kitchen for any reagents I can use to stop this. It has to be something pure, something with life to purge the death.


The orchids.

Kat’s mom loves her orchids. They’re all over the house, and she treats them like babies. I once heard her singing to them as she sprayed special water over their leaves. She’ll freak when she finds them all dead . . . but it’s my only option.

Kat might weigh nothing, but when she goes limp in my arms the weight brings me to my knees. After lowering her to the floor, I hold my hand to the orchids on the table. I use my magic to suck out their life, and they shrivel into black husks. Their power radiates through my hand, pure and clear and hopeful. I rush for the next group around the TV, then the batch in the living room, until I have enough orchid life in me that it assuages the pain in my chest. The magic begs for me to keep it for myself, but I quickly push back the thought and run to Kat.

I put my trembling hand to her mouth. It’s cold and wet, still submersed in the bubble. The moment I release the orchid life, the water turns black and hot. My scream goes unheard as the death spell sears my hand, fighting against the life. It sputters and hisses, turning into steam the color of ash. I gag on the smell, putrid like the decaying carcasses we keep in the basement.

Before I lose my hand entirely, I force the rest of the spell out as fast as I can. The bubble gets hotter and hotter, until it’s all melting steam. When it’s gone, I pull back my hand, which is burned so bad there’s blood at my knuckles.

But Kat comes first. I put my head to her chest so I can hear her heartbeat. It’s there, but she’s not breathing.

I never did learn CPR, but I have to at least try. I open Kat’s mouth and put mine to hers. Her chest rises as I breathe out, and I wait for her to cough and sputter back to life like they do in the movies.

Except she doesn’t.

As I breathe into her mouth again, my panic intensifies to the point that I can barely get air myself. I promised to protect her, and I’ve already failed. I should have never let her do the binding. This is what happens when normal people get caught up in magic.

She can’t die. I need her.

“Wake up!” I scream despite being mute, shaking her because I don’t know what else to do. “You’re supposed to wake up!”

She coughs, and black water spews from her mouth as if she gulped down a whole lake of it. I hold her up, and she keeps going until I worry a lung will come out next. When she’s spent, she says, “I really thought I was going to die.”

Tears break free as I wrap my arms around her. She almost did. I don’t know if she understands how close it was.

“How did you stop it?” she asks.

I point to the table, where the orchids look like charred husks.

“My mom’s gonna kill me.” She looks at me, and I’m surprised to find her smiling.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” She leans her head on my shoulder. “Thanks, Jo.”

I squeeze her arm once, and then hold out my burned hand, which looks even worse now. Her eyes go wide. “Holy crap. What do you need? Ice?”

I nod.

Once she gets that, she cleans up the black water. I feel awful that she’s doing it all, seeing as she’s the one who almost died, but my hand still feels like it’s on fire.

How did this happen? I write on the fridge’s whiteboard.

Kat looks me in the eye, her fear washing over me. “It was a letter in the mail. I swear it looked totally normal, but the picture inside . . .” She points to the counter, where a shiny photo reflects the fluorescent lights. “I touched it, and that’s when the bubble came.”

From here, I can tell there’s no darkness left on the image, but I still approach it warily. Another cursed picture. If I had any doubt that this was related to our hunters, it’s gone now. I look down, and my friends stare back at me. This was taken the day we ate outside under the tree. Gwen is in the sun, chatting with Adam and looking like a freaking goddess. Kat’s sipping her drink, staring at the sky. There’s a big black X over her face.

The threat couldn’t be any clearer.

But there’s something that might help, except it’s as horrible as it is helpful—Winn is looking at the camera, his eyes locked in suspicion, while he holds me possessively. My oblivious smile looks silly, and I hate myself for not noticing whoever took this picture. Winn clearly did.

I turn the photo over, and chills run down my spine as I read: I spy with my little eye . . . a girl who has a lot to lose.

My breaths come fast and short as I process this simple little line. Whoever wrote it is pure evil. They can’t get through the magical barriers around the town and my house, so instead they hit me at my weakest point: the people I care about. It feels like they’re telling me to surrender now before it gets worse.

Kat stands next to me. “Don’t worry. We’ll get them first.”

I force a nod and write, We need to tell Nana.

“Right. Just let me change.” She heads for her room, and I follow closely behind. No leaving her alone. Ever.

I run my thumb back and forth over the picture as I wait outside her door. How will I protect them all? It seemed overwhelming enough to worry about Kat, but everyone I know? If the evil is this close, there’s no telling when or who it’ll attack.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kat says when she emerges, now wearing a purple-and-green striped shirt.

We head downstairs and out the front door, only to find another problem standing right in front of us—Gwen. She puts her hands on her hips, her anger crystal clear. “Sick, huh?”