“A witch,” I say, laying out the words as carefully as I’ve seen the Grays lay out candles and herbs and polished stones. “It could explain some of this. What if Imogen knew someone else who had power? Someone who might be willing to use it in ways the Grays won’t?”

“You’re ignoring the obvious,” Rush says, picking at the neck of her sweater. “Imogen met someone else. Someone better.” Her voice fades until it’s nearly gone. “She was just . . . killing time with me.”

“That doesn’t sound like Imogen,” I say, although I don’t really know her. But I think they cared about each other. If they didn’t, I would have closed the space between us on this bed. I would have fistfuls of Rush’s dark hair running through my hands like water.

“You think this other girl . . . Emma . . . hurt her?” Rush asks. She twitches, shaking her head. “If Imogen knew another witch, she would tell the Grays.”

“Really?” It’s starting to feel like I could dig a grave and fill it with all of Imogen’s secrets. “Let’s find the wards,” I say. I rattle through the belongings in Imogen’s drawers, her clothes that only come in shades of black and white. Cream, snow, crow, coal. Rush checks the closet. The more she looks around, the more sharply I realize that she’s avoiding a certain spot — the far side of Imogen’s bed. I get the feeling it might be the spot where Rush’s most personal memories of Imogen are hidden.

I climb over the mattress on my knees, slow and clumsy, and dangle my hand into the crack on the far side, where the bed doesn’t quite meet the wall. My fingers skim air until I feel something. I start grabbing and I don’t stop. Rush stares from across the room. I beckon her to come closer. I don’t want to do this alone. She sits down on the bleeding-sunset comforter. She crosses her legs. We’re stuck in the middle of Imogen’s bed together.

Staring at her magic.

Haven: Now

Haven’s parents are home.

Mrs. Lilly parks at the end of the driveway. Haven expects Imogen’s friends to scatter and flee, but they’re the kind of stupid that passes for loyal. They stay right where they are on the front lawn. Lelia even waves at Haven’s mom, baring a smile. Haven watches from the shadows of the long, cracked-open window in the living room.

Mrs. Lilly snaps her car door shut. “Are you here to bother my daughters? They’re sick.”

Haven touches her clammy cheek. She smells like old sweat, like salt, no matter how many times she showers. It didn’t take much convincing to get her parents to keep her home. If she’s not at school, Imogen can’t go, either.