The air feels heavier than it should tonight. Like it knows something I don’t.
I glance at the door again, the seconds stretching into forever.
What’s taking Emma and Jayla so long? There’s no yelling, so hopefully, they’re working things out on the porch.
Imani’s spoon clatters against her plate, snatching me out of my thoughts. My eyes dart to hers, and I catch the flash of silver creeping into her irises. My stomach tightens.
Her body stiffens, her blue-and-silver ponytail swaying like it’s yanked by an invisible hand. Her lips tremble, and for a terrifying moment, she looks like a broken marionette—until her eyes go fully silver.
“Imani?” I want to step closer, but Pop-Pop and Charles beat me to it, steadying her as her body jerks violently. Her plate crashes to the floor, shattering.
“No… no…” she mumbles, tears streaking her cheeks while her handsclaw at the tablecloth. Her voice is thin, raw. “Ravens… red gloves… blood… Jayla!”
The sound of my twin’s name hits me like a punch to the gut. My chair scrapes against the carpet as I jolt to my feet, knocking it over in my rush.
“What about Jayla?”
Imani shudders, clutching the edge of the tablecloth like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her voice breaks through hitched breaths. “She’s coming… Oh God, she’s coming for her!”
“Who?” I demand.
“I don’t know,” Imani replies, her voice cracking.
And—
BOOM!
The explosion rips through the house, shaking the walls like an angry beast. The chandelier above us sways wildly. The floor groans beneath my shoes, and somewhere in the distance, glass shatters with the sharpness of a scream.
“No!” Imani cries, clutching her head like it’s about to split open. Charles grips her shoulder, trying to steady her.
My shoes skid across the slick marble floor as I sprint toward the front door, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The door looms ahead, warped and quaking, but when I grab the handle, it doesn’t budge.
“It’s jammed!” I shout, ramming my shoulder into it.
Pop-Pop appears beside me, his face grim. Emma’s dad joins us, his jaw clenched, eyes wild with panic. Together, we throw our weight against the door. It groans, splinters slightly, then bursts outward, spilling us onto the porch.
The sight waiting for us freezes me.
Blood.
Pools of it flow across the porch in waving streaks, so dark it reminds me of black sand under the moonlight. A faint breeze stirs the air, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of sugar and dirt. A single raven feather drifts down, landing softly in the center of the chaos. It sticks there, spotted with blood, like deadly confetti.
“Jayla?” My voice cracks.
No answer.
I step onto the porch, my shoes crunching against the debris. The world tilts, wrong and broken.
And then I see her.
Emma.
Her curls are slick with gore, their black streaked with crimson. Blood splatters the porch columns behind her, as if the house has been painted with grief.
Red stains bloom on her champagne-colored dress, darkening it. Emma’s arm is bent at an impossible angle.
