“Are you not jealous that your prospective mate was cozy with another woman so recently?” Bray asked.
“I think I’m far more concerned with your preoccupation with my love life,” Willow said, backing away with a grimace. She turned away, leaving his question unanswered for a moment as she moved to pass Susannah and George. “But to answer your question, no. I am not bothered. Unlike some here, I know it’s far more fun when you’re willing to share.”
I choked. The look on Bray’s face as she strode past me was nothing short of incredulous, and Willow left us behind without a second thought.
“Follow her,” Susannah ordered, and it took me gathering myself for a moment to remember to swallow before my sharp laughter followed after the Witchling. “The school is no longer safe for Willow. Maintaining her safety is now our greatest priority.”
“Shouldn’t you be concerned about the other eleven students remaining who may be slaughtered and harvested for organs at any given time?” I asked, but I’d already turned to follow after Willow. The Covenant didn’t need to know of the bargain we’d struck, or that I had a very vested interest in keeping Willow safe from harm because of it.
“The other eleven students are not the last of an entire bloodline. You know what happens with each one that is lost.” Susannah’s voice followed after me. It was not lost on me that Willow would not welcome my presence in her room.
It also wasn’t lost on me that Willow could do whatever she wanted. She could commit nearly any crime within the walls of Hollow’s Grove, and she would survive the aftermath.
The Coven’s desperation to restore her blood had created the perfect weapon to bring about the downfall of everything they’d created—corrupted. She would either be their undoing or our salvation, and the most satisfying part of it all was that they wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop her when she took everything from them.
She wouldn’t settle for anything less.
19
WILLOW
I shuddered. The voice that surrounded me was so unfamiliar. It took me moments to realize it wasn’t mine, though it came from me. The husky, feminine sound that clawed its way up my throat wasn’t mine. I pressed a hand to my throat, attempting to trap the foreign sound there; to keep it from making the air around me feel as if it burned with the fires of Hell itself.
A woman wandered the halls, her deep ebony hair flowing to her waist as she moved as if in slow motion. She held a piece of onyx in her palm, her fingers wrapped so tightly around it that I thought it might pierce her skin. I recognized her from the photos my father had shown me, from the portraits he’d commissioned in her memory. His home hadn’t been much, a cabin hidden in the woods to help protect him from the prying eyes of the Coven that would kill him if they found out he existed. But what little money he’d had, he spent on those portraits, on preserving the memory of the sister he loved more than anything.
Her eyes sparkled in a light blue. The color was unnatural, making me think of the coldest ice on the lake when it shimmered in the moonlight. There was an almost purple tint to it, the same way my one eye tended toward the color of lilac. Her forehead was twisted into a frown, her lips parting on a silent scream. She turned to look over her shoulder, dropping the onyx at whatever she saw behind her.
I saw nothing, stepping into the darkness of the hallway in an attempt to reach her. I followed after her as she curved around the corner, glancing over her shoulder as if she were being chased. I couldn’t see anything, but I felt it.
The growl that shook the floor, that made the windows rattle in the walls.
Loralei clutched something at her hip, and it was only then that I realized what the small, black pouch must have been. It was only then that I heard the call of the bones, heard them whispering at me to come closer.
To take what was mine.
It was unassuming, looking like any tarot bag or a bag of stones and bones used for scrying. The chain that wrapped around her hip was a bright, shimmering gold that sparkled against the black of her school uniform.
“I don’t have what you seek,” she said into the nothingness. Her stare remained fixed at the end of the hall, her body flinching with each step that invisible force took.
I faltered, only barely catching myself with a hand pressed against the wall. The next step closer nearly took me off my feet. The air around me plunged into cold so harsh it burned my heated skin, and it was then that I could see the breath before my face.
I gasped, my breath rattling in my chest. I couldn’t even see what was coming for her, could do nothing to stop it from happening all over again.
“Loralei!” I called in my panic. Her head snapped to the side sharply, that eerie blue stare landing on mine. Her eyes widened, as if she recognized me. She dropped her hand away from the bones that gave her power, standing still as she held my gaze.
“Run, Charlotte. Run!” she screamed as I stepped toward her.
It was just a dream, I reminded myself. I wasn’t in my body, not truly.
A burst of red filled my vision as whatever it was that I couldn’t see struck. Her chest exploded with three deep slash marks, her blood splattering all over my face. Her hand touched my arm, the warmth of her seeping out from me. Her face fell as she stared at me, as horror filled her vision. She dropped to her knees as the ground beneath her shook, as the thing came a step closer.
“Wake up, Willow,” she said, her voice soft as her eyes rolled back.
Pain tore through my back, setting my skin on fire as I fought to pull her to her feet.
“Wake up!” she screamed.
The windows at the end of the hall shattered with her voice. Her panic took me, claiming me for itself. I fell as the ground shook once more, waiting for the impact on my knees.
But it never came.
I woke, gasping for breath. I bolted out of bed, barely making it to the bathroom before my stomach purged. My back burned as I shoved my hair back out of my face, the skin splitting as I curled forward. Clutching the edge of the toilet, I waited for the heaves to end.
As soon as I could, I pushed to my feet and went for the mirror above the sink. Rinsing out my mouth, I hesitated to turn to look at my spine. It had only been a dream, and the pain I felt surely had to be a figment of the fear I felt upon waking.
But my shirt clung to my skin, feeling wet as it shifted. I pulled it over my head, moving slowly as I twisted to look at it in the mirror.
Three slash marks in the odd shape of a triangle marred the ink of my tattoo, cutting through the black shading of the curving branches of the tree tattoo that crawled up my spine. Blood trickled down from them, sliding down the back of my ribcage.