“A man the police never caught. I described his build to them, because I saw him running out of the pharmacy. I described his voice, because he told me he was sorry. But they hardly even tried to find him. I guess some victims are more important than others,” he muttered, tracing his pale brown fingers along the sill. “That man is still out there because the police don’t care about her, Jack. They don’t care.”

“Come here.” She wrapped her arm around him, guiding him away from the window. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know. Before I heard about my stepmom? Before I saw my dad’s face, and I tried to get him to look at me, and he wouldn’t? He’s gone, Jack.”

“Worry about yourself right now, okay? You never do that.”

“You’re one to talk,” he said, but he let her peel back his blankets and guide him into bed. Let her tuck him in. “Aren’t you staying with me?” he whispered, and that boy was back again. The one with the timid voice and bright eyes.

Jack crawled onto the bed, staying outside the covers but curving her body around his. They’d never done this before. They’d never been able to lie in his bedroom, alone, because Belle had always been there. Watching. Now Belle was locked in a detention center on the edge of town. They didn’t have to worry about her walking in on them. Still, Jack felt a chill at the thought of what would happen once they’d proven her innocence. If Belle was exonerated, she could climb through Raven’s window whenever she wanted. Find them. Learn the secret they’d been keeping for all these years.

“Raven,” Jack whispered, leaning over him. She trailed her fingers across his cheek. “Do you remember what you said the night before you left for boarding school? About what would happen if Belle ever found out what we—”

“Yes,” Raven murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. He was already drifting. When she wrapped her arm around him, pressing her hand to his heart, he sighed softly, curling into her. “I said she’d kill us.”

8 Heartless

Belladonna Drake was going to sleep with her boyfriend. This was what she decided, the night before he left town. She put on a lacy black slip and thigh-high boots, then pulled a black trench over it to complete the look.

Sweet Raven didn’t stand a chance.

Still, she checked her reflection in the mirror. Dark waves fell around her shoulders, and her black eyeliner was smudged just enough. Tonight, the witch was going to seduce the prince, which was not in any fairy tale she’d ever read, but so what?

She’d rather write her own story.