It was so easy to imagine—that clutch in the twilight, Elizabeth in Mateo’s arms as he confessed everything—

But Mateo shook his head. “I wanted to. But—I know it’s not only my secret to tell. It’s yours, too. I think we can trust Elizabeth. You have to think so, too, though. When you’re sure, we’ll go to her together.”

That seemed—epically unlikely. But Nadia remained focused. “We need to get more information first. About the curse, about witchcraft in this town, all of it. I’ve been meaning to dig into it for a while now. Really, I’d like to learn the history of your whole family, as far back as the curse goes. Do you have any older relatives who know more about it?”

“My grandmother. And no, you don’t want to meet her. Trust me on this.”

The suddenly haunted look in his eyes convinced Nadia not to argue, at least for now. “So what do we do? Hit the library?”

“We search through the newspaper archives—with the help of the intern,” Mateo said. When Nadia gave him a questioning look, he pointed across the quad, where Verlaine was loping toward them. Her expression was still wary, but Verlaine was taking it for granted, by now, that they would all hang out.

While it was still only her and Mateo, Nadia had to ask: “So, where’s Elizabeth today?” When Mateo frowned in apparent confusion, she added, “Since she wasn’t in class.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess not.” The question just rolled over him; even though he was worrying about Elizabeth being in danger, standing up for her honesty and goodness, Mateo didn’t seem to take any note of whether she was there or not.

Like he’s been told not to notice when she comes and goes, Nadia thought. Like he’s not able to notice. Like someone has stopped him.

Elizabeth walked along the street, staring down at the pavement where the blood drops fell. A couple of times, she heard cars come up behind her, but they always slowed down, steered neatly around her, and moved on. None of the drivers would remember anything about it later.

Overhead the crow flew, the beating of its wings entirely regular; the small cut she’d made should not have weakened it greatly. Even if it had, though, she’d commanded the bird to fly on, no matter what.

The blood trailed off the main road, spattered onto the curb. Near someone’s front step.

When she looked up, she stood in front of the house on Felicity, the Victorian that had been painted pale blue sometime in the past forty-five years. Even with Nadia at school, the outline of the building glowed slightly to Elizabeth’s eyes, a sinuous violet shade—the sign of magic at work.

The mother, she thought. It can only be the mother.

Nadia was too young to be a true challenge to Elizabeth, and yet already she showed signs of extraordinary power. Only a few possibilities allowed that to be true—and the most likely was that the greater power came from Nadia’s mother. She was the one who would have taught Nadia; she was the one who had tapped into her daughter’s potential.