“But I can’t have your magic running amuck in the coven or outside these walls. We can’t afford attention from the families. Vampires, wolves, Dark Fae—they don’t tolerate witches who can’t control their power.”
I shuddered. Witches like me didn’t get help. We got contained… or erased.
“So, then what do we do?”
“You’re a Ravencrest, but I think there’s Nightshade blood in you. Or maybe something else entirely.”
My stomach clenched. Nightshade. The name carried weight—power, danger, enemies. Just what I needed. Another target painted on my back.
I’d never fit into the Moon Coven. I wasn’t just a Ravencrest with broken magic. I was something else. Something more.
Something dangerous.
She took my wrist, turning it over. Her thumb traced the tattoo—a raven holding a rose. I’d had it as long as I could remember. No memory of getting it. No explanation.
Beneath it, faint as a ghost of ink, something else lingered: lines that never quite formed, like a design waiting for permission.
“I think the answer is in the Nightshade crypt,” she said.
“But I’m not a Nightshade. I’m a Ravencrest.”
Tinker Bell placed my hand in hers and squeezed lightly. “Alice, you need to believe in the impossible. That’s where the magic lives.”
“You always see the possibilities.”
“That’s what you need to do. Think of it as believing in six impossible things before breakfast,” she said softly. “See the thread before it breaks. That’s the key to your magic. The Nightshades were meticulous historians. Their tomes go back centuries. If anyone recorded what’s happening to you, it would be them.”
“You think they’ll let us into the crypt?” I was a walking risk. Why would they trust me anywhere near their sacred vault?
“I have already texted Rose Dragan. She’s going to meet us over there at ten this morning.”
My cheeks burned. Rose had witnessed the worst of it. How my magic flared on its own and caught Margot’s dress on fire at Bourbon Street Burgers. I hadn’t even meant to cast. It just… lashed out. Tinker Bell had smothered the flames before the vampires noticed, but a few seconds more and the whole place could’ve gone up. Including Margot.
As if reading my thoughts, Tinker Bell said, “Are you still thinking about what happened with Margot?”
“Yes. It’s just one more thing going wrong with my magic. If Angelo Santi were to find out, we’d have been in real trouble.”
“Well, he won’t. What the vampire king doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She took another sip of coffee. “And don’t worry; Rose won’t tell him. Even though her brother-in-law works for Santi.”
I hoped she was right, but Angelo Santi wasn’t easily fooled.
When Tinker Bell and I met Rose at the Nightshade Crypt, sunlight softened the cemetery, making it almost beautiful—weathered angels, ivy creeping over old stone. But St. Christopher Church loomed at the edge of it all, and no amount of sunshine could make that place feel safe. Shattered windows. Claw marks gouged deep into the walls. Scorch marks where magic had hit stone and won.
The supernatural wars ended months ago. The church still remembered.
“Hi,” I whispered, the word barely making it past my lips. I kept my gaze locked on my tennis shoes, blinking hard so I wouldn’t have to look at Rose. If I met her eyes—if I saw even a flicker of the resentment I’d endured from the Moon Coven—I wasn’t sure I could hold myself together.
Rose clasped my arm. “Don’t worry about your magic. It took me years to get mine under control. I didn’t even know I was a witch until I went to Red Rose Academy.” She winked. “Born vampire, surprise witch. Trust me, you’re not alone.”
I flashed her a grateful smile. At least someone didn’t look at me like a disaster waiting to happen.
But Rose had finally been accepted. She’d found her place.
I wasn’t sure the same fate was in the cards for me. Not in New Orleans. Maybe not anywhere.
But where else would I go? This was the only home I’d ever known.
And now I was about to step inside a crypt that could either prove I wasn’t a danger… or expose exactly how broken my magic really was. My stomach twisted. What if I made everything worse? What if the crypt reacted to me the way everyone feared I would react to it—unpredictably, disastrously?
