As always, as soon as I ended my chat with Henry, I wondered what Trey was doing at that very moment. Although I would have loved being able to FaceTime with him instead of writing letters, seeing him on a screen and talking to him might have just broken my heart. There was no way we would see each other again until July at the soonest, when he would turn eighteen and be released from Northern Reserve. Although Henry and I sometimes flirted with each other, it was always in a spirit of silliness. We never came near crossing any lines—not the way he had the night we were alone in his parents’ basement and almost kissed. I reassured myself that my dependency on him was because he’d taken on a brotherly role in my life, and not because I was in denial about having feelings for him.

I groaned, stretched, and climbed out of bed. Dad probably wouldn’t have been thrilled to know that I began every day by chatting with a friend from home since I’d failed to report having made any new friends in Tampa. Of course, he was right; I wasn’t making my semester there any easier by keeping to myself. But I had my reasons for not socially investing myself at my new school. First, I’d lived my entire life up until that point in a tiny town with just over four thousand residents, where I’d been acquainted with everyone and had never had to make new friends. Second, I’d just endured a pretty traumatic experience over the last five months, and I couldn’t discuss it with anyone. Not a single person, and especially not Ms. Hernández, the school counselor who I was required to spend my study hall with and who asked me relentless questions that I refused to answer about Violet, Trey, and all the trouble I’d gotten into at home.

The thing was, I viewed my life in Tampa as temporary. I didn’t want to settle in and get comfortable—not when I expected Trey would be released in July. I wasn’t sure what the future held for us, but finding a way to never be separated from him again superseded everything else.

And then… there was the matter of Mischa.

I didn’t want to get too comfortable in my new life at all, because of the frail balance on which it hung from a promise she’d made.

I never had the pleasure of hitting snooze on my alarm—even for ten minutes—because I had to cast my protection spell before I left for school. It was a spell given to me by Kirsten, the witch we’d met at the occult bookstore in Chicago. The incantation, meant to protect Mischa and her family members, had to be performed every day, at the same time.

Every single morning, in a clockwise direction, I carefully sprinkled salt around the four white candles on my nightstand in the shape of circle, making four complete circles—for Mischa, her sister, and both of their parents. As I lit each of the four candles, I whispered, “With this candle, I focus my intent and protect Mischa from all that would harm. With this candle, I focus my intent and protect Amanda from all that would harm.” And onward, until I’d protected all four members of the Portnoy family.