Then she heard a rustling in the hedge next to the house she shared with her dads. Though the sound made her ears prick up, Verlaine thought little of it; probably one of the neighborhood dogs got out again.
Then she heard it again—and louder. And that wasn’t a dog. That sounded like footsteps.
“Uncle Gary?” she called. “Uncle Dave?” Verlaine hurried from her room—but Uncle Dave had his headphones on, because apparently his World of Warcraft guild had a major raid tonight, and Uncle Gary was on the phone with his sister in Nebraska. She considered making one of them hang up, or both, but that was stupid. She’d heard footsteps, no more than that. It was legal for people to walk around in their neighborhood. Even this late at night. This close to the house.
Verlaine snapped on the outside lights. Once again, some rustling—all right, that’s enough.
She grabbed a flashlight from the hall cabinet—the big, heavy one that would hurt like hell if she swung into the side of someone’s head. Then she fished around in her purse and found her rape-whistle key chain, the one Uncle Dave made her promise to carry at all times, and stuck the whistle between her lips. Verlaine hesitated for one moment with her free hand on the doorknob, wondering if this was a good idea or not. Very not. As in, actually intensely dumb.
Either it’s nothing out there, and you need to see it’s nothing before you can go to sleep, she rationalized, or it’s some dark-magic mojo that can get you even through your walls. So you might as well go outside.
The outdoor lights shone in tight beams, which meant some places were extremely bright and others were still dark. Verlaine edged down the front walk, then toward the side of the house where she’d heard the rustling—right by her room. She swept her flashlight in front of her, but saw only the feeble brown grass. Her heart was pounding, even though it was nothing; it had to be nothing—
A hand closed over her shoulder and she gasped, the whistle falling from her lips, but then she sagged back. “Uncle Gary!”
“Honey, what are you doing? Did you hear something?”
“No. I mean, yes, but it’s probably nothing.”
“Well, let’s see.” He took the flashlight from her and stepped in front. Verlaine couldn’t help feeling amused at the thought of Uncle Gary putting himself between her and the forces of evil—if he only knew!
Then she realized he’d do it even if he did know, and she hugged him from behind. He laughed. “Now, what was that for?”
“Just for being awesome.”
When they got to the side hedge, Uncle Gary pushed some of the branches aside. “Look at that. Somebody vandalized Bradford’s little garden. Who would do that to a gnome?”
The garden gnome that usually watched over their neighbor’s vegetable patch had been torn up—no. Melted. It had melted right where it stood, like it had been exposed to some terrible heat.
She remembered Asa, and the unearthly, demonic heat that emanated from him every time he came near.
As Uncle Gary went next door to give them the bad news, Verlaine prodded the melted stuff with the toe of her shoe. Then she looked over at her house. This exact scorched spot was the very best place to see the light from her bedroom window.
Asa walked home through the dark, hands in the pockets of his black coat. He’d been playing spy for Elizabeth—tracking and observing Nadia and her closest friends, the better to learn their habits and vulnerabilities.
With Nadia and Mateo that was simple enough. But he found himself getting distracted when he watched Verlaine.
There was something about her that intrigued him.
He found himself walking home without seeing the houses around him, or the stars overhead. In his mind he saw only the silver fall of Verlaine’s hair.
8
NADIA SAT BENEATH THE PROTECTIVE BLUE CEILING OF her attic, poring through the Book of Shadows that had belonged to Goodwife Hale centuries before. So much information was written down in here—spells Nadia had never heard of before, the history that had told her the truth about Elizabeth Pike—but there wasn’t anything about whatever had happened to Mrs. Purdhy a couple of days ago.
She had been able to find specifics about demons, but almost wished she hadn’t. They were only called upon for the darkest, most dangerous magic. And now he was following Verlaine.
Probably he’s following all of us, Nadia thought. Spying for Elizabeth.
Well, let Elizabeth learn what she could. If Nadia perfected this spell of forgetting, Elizabeth would lose this information as well as all her magic.
Right now, though, she was distracted. She’d gotten an email from Faye Walsh today, asking Nadia to schedule a conference. There was no reason for them to have a conference. Not unless Ms. Walsh was about to start asking questions Nadia couldn’t answer.
The way she’d stared at Nadia after the incident at town hall—had Ms. Walsh guessed the truth? Did she somehow know Nadia was a witch?
“Naaaaaaadiaaaaa!” Cole yelled from downstairs. “Dad says we all need to get out of the house for a while!”
Probably that really meant that he’d botched making dinner again. But eating out meant going to a restaurant, which meant Mateo. “Be right there!”
“See, buddy?” Nadia ruffled Cole’s hair as the entire family got settled in their booth at La Catrina. “We made it just fine.”
“Something always happens when we try to go here.” Her little brother looked around at the skeletons on the walls; he didn’t seem to care that they were all happily playing guitars or dancing. “Every time.”