I squint closer at the painting. This must be Thalia. Except… there’s obviously no mention of Thalia being a mermaid. Can witches be mermaids? Also, why on earth would Frederick paint a picture of the witch who cursed his daughter? I fumble for the Book of Shadows, knocking Aunt Sage’s letter out in the process, and begin to scan through it. The Bells’ parties were legendary, an invitation something to brag about, and at some time or another nearly every townsperson was invited. The only exception was a young woman named Thalia Gray.

And here she is. My heart begins hammering again.

“What’s that?” Mason asks. He’s looking curiously at the letter, and I hastily shove it back in my backpack. If Mason is as big of a history buff as he seems to be, he’d probably love this story. But this is all happening so fast, and despite what the aunts said, I still don’t know him.

“Um… sort of. The thing is, I, ah…” I look over, meeting his eyes, and whatever words I was grasping at fly away immediately. I have no idea where to even start.

Well, you see, Mason. My family was cursed by this mermaid.

“Coming up.” He kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the bed next to me, stopping so he can get a closer look. He isn’t touching me, but the heat from his body spreads to me, and I’m having a hard time focusing again. “Who’s Thalia?”

“She’s from a family story. I don’t know why she’s painted as a mermaid. She’s…” Am I really going to say it? His eyes are bright on mine. I let the rest out in a tumble. “She’s a witch.”

I wait for him to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, his brows furrow, a look of interest spreading across his face. “Like your aunt?”

“Sort of.” I catch sight of his hand against the wall. He has very square fingernails, a deep scar on one of his knuckles. They’re extremely good hands. I did not actually know that hands could be good. What is it about him? “Well, yes. But this is an older witch, and she sort of… didn’t like my ancestor.”

His eyebrows go up. He’s clearly waiting for more. And the aunts said I should ask him to help me, but he’s way too close to me, and it’s making my tongue and brain refuse to cooperate.

“I could use some air,” I say quickly.

He holds my gaze for another moment, then gestures to the ladder. “Rooftop?”

The night is still hot and thick, and I’m feeling even more awkward because moonlight is apparently Mason’s place to shine.

Also. He’s sparkling. The glitter I noticed in the mermaid’s room isn’t only on his right temple; it’s also in his hair and on his eyelids.