Last night was—I really don’t know how to put into words how last night felt. On the one hand, I felt completely sexually liberated, had the best orgasms of my life, and I’m in the middle of what’s clearly a sexual awakening. The second half terrifies me. After Mara—Paige—whoever the fuck grabbed Stevie, it’s like I blacked out. Like something dark was seeping out of me and I had no control of it, like I wasn’t the one driving the wheel. One might compare it to being possessed. That train of thought has me freaking the Hell out.

I’ve always been a witch. It’s who I am, what I am. But now… now, I’m not so sure. Maybe I’m something else too, and that’s why I never fit in. Why my coven never truly accepted me and why I’ve never felt like I belonged. Maybe I belong with some other group of supernaturals.

The chances of my mom speaking to me, or me being able to find her, are low. But there’s someone who might be able to help. Stevie isn’t going to like it.

When I walk downstairs, I hear crying from the basement, and I roll my eyes. Who knew keeping a human alive was so much fucking work? Honestly, it’s not surprising so many kidnappers kill their victims. If Clover didn’t have an eviction date for after the full moon, I might just strangle her.

Against my own volition, I make her a cup of noodles, grab some crackers and a bottle of water, and carry them downstairs. I had to take the silencing charm off the room because we kept forgetting to feed her when we couldn’t hear her.

The low tone of “Look What You Made Me Do” by Taylor Swift plays, and I smile. It’s been a few days since Stevie just let it play on repeat. When I open the door, I find Clover huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Brought you breakfast,” I say.

“Please turn the music off. I’m begging you.”

I place the food on top of the dresser and tap my finger to my chin a few times, contemplating her request. Logically, I know that maybe I’ve taken this too far. But she fucked my boyfriend and tried to kill me, so I squash that negative way of thinking quickly.

“What information can you give me? If it’s good enough, maybe I will turn the music off.”

Her eyes scan the room like a crazed person as she tries to come up with something valuable.

“I think I might know where your mom is,” she says, looking down.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I said I might. Not that I know for sure.”

“What do you know?”