For several seconds, Lily paced, clearly fuming. Then she stopped abruptly, turning to her sister and Sophie. “Yes,” she said, with a sudden, chilling calm. “We will respond forcefully and unapologetically. This week’s column will produce one of two outcomes. It will either silence the opposition to our column, or…”

“Or?” Sophie asked as gooseflesh rose on her arms.

Lily rubbed her palms together. “Or it will whip them into such a frenzy that they’ll expose themselves as the small, hypocritical, unenlightened heathens they are.”

Sophie and Fiona glanced at each other and shrugged. Sophie almost felt sorry for the poor saps who were about to face the wrath of Lily’s pen—almost.

“What sort of drawing would be appropriate to accompany the column you intend to write?” Fiona asked.

Lily pressed a finger to her lips, thoughtful.

“I have an idea,” Sophie ventured, rising to her feet. When her friends looked at her expectantly, she said. “What if we were to embrace the label of witch? Why not claim it and make it our own?”

Fiona’s blue eyes turned distant and dreamy—as though she were picturing the sketch in her mind’s eye. “Yes,” she said softly. “I believe I can work with that.”

Lily joined Sophie and Fiona and took one of their hands in each of hers, forming an intimate circle. “I think it’s very fitting that we’re doing something special for our last column with Sophie.”

“As do I,” said Fiona. “Do you remember the day we first toasted to the debutante diaries? We joined hands just like this and vowed we’d write down our most intimate thoughts about our first seasons. It wasn’t that long ago … but look at how our lives have changed since then.”

Sophie remembered that day—the headiness of setting out on a bold new adventure, the naïve confidence that love would prevail in the end. For Fiona and Lily, love had prevailed.

Two out of three wasn’t bad, she supposed.

As though privy to her thoughts, Lily gazed at Sophie, her gorgeous green eyes flashing like she was … well, a witch. “Never underestimate the power of the diaries,” she said solemnly. “There may be a little magic left in them yet.”

Chapter 30

Reese bolted upright in bed, sweating and shivering at the same time. His blood pounded in his ears, and his chest heaved like he’d sprinted up twenty flights of stairs.

Christ. He dragged his hands down his face, scrubbing his eyes as if that could erase the remnants of his nightmare—one that had been different from the usual terrifying visions, but equally as haunting.

He’d seen Sophie’s beautiful face reflected in the pool at the base of the waterfall, her eyes so full of sadness that his throat ached. But then the water rippled, she vanished into the depths, and Edmund’s face appeared in her place.