And then there’s Sage. I can practically feel their friendship soaked into the pages. Was there a betrayal? A fight? It had to have been something big. I flip through the pages, running my finger along the spell names. Spells for Luck. Friendship Knot Spell. Spell for Getting Rid of an Unwanted Guest. My finger lands on a section that looks completely different. Dense text that looks like it’s been written on a typewriter has been glued across two pages with the words LILY BELL at the top.

Lily. She’s the one Violet and Poppy were talking about, the one who planted the tea roses. I pull the book closer to me, squinting at the small writing.

The story began, as many stories do, with a girl who bloomed too big for the space the world had carved out for her. Her name was Cordelia Bell, but everyone called her—

Suddenly a piercing noise rips through the silence, and I jump so high, I send the Book of Shadows flying across the room.

Phone. It’s my phone.

I scramble to dig it out of my pocket, my ringtone piercing the air. My heart is pounding, but I feel huge relief when I see that it isn’t my mom. I quickly hit answer. “Bea, you scared me,” I practically yell into the phone. “I’m clutching my chest and everything.”

“I scared you?” she demands. “What was that text about? About you doing something stupid.”

“I snuck into the house. One of the aunts gave me a key.” I have to get down on my hands and knees to retrieve the book from where it slid under the sofa. “And I found this incredible book. It’s called a Book of Shadows, and it belonged to my mom and Sage. They practiced witchcraft together.”

“Of course you’re from a family of witches in Salem,” Bea says. “Of course you are.”

My stomach flutters with excitement. “The book is full of spells, I think—” But then I stop. Dead. Because, was that my imagination, or did I just…? I turn my face slowly up to the ceiling and wait.

A thud, thud, bump. My breath hitches.

“Willow, are you there?” Bea says.

“Shh.” I strain my ears, but it’s hard to hear anything over the pounding of my heart. Blood is rushing to my head. Am I imagining it?

And then again, directly above my head, too distinct to be imagined—

Muffled footsteps. My hand flies to my chest, almost like I’m trying to keep my heart from beating out of my chest.

“Bea,” I whisper. “Someone’s here.”

She inhales sharply. “In your aunt’s house? Is it one of your mom’s aunts?”