Page 33 of Death Card

I don’t dare move a muscle or even breathe as Aria peers around the backyard. She’s mere feet away from me. I don’t think she can see me, but she must sense my presence becauseshe takes a step onto the patio. I’m mentally preparing which spell I’ll use to distract her when one of the kittens darts outside.

“No you don’t!” Quick on her feet, she scoops it up and cradles it to her chest, rewarding it with scratches beneath its chin. “You’re a menace to society. Get back in here with your sisters.”

The door slides shut with a resounding click of the lock.

There goes any opportunity to break into the house, which is probably for the best. If they catch me, I don’t have a solid plan to escape. More importantly, it would start a war between our covens before I’ve even found evidence that the Hightowers are attacking our witches.

The sound of voices drifts over from an open window on the first floor. I crawl on my hands and knees until I’m directly underneath and open a new voice memo on my phone.

An older female voice speaks loud and clear. “Did you get them?”

“Yes, they’ll be ready for tonight,” Aria responds.

“Good. It’s been far too long since our last ritual. A few of the members have grown restless.” There’s a crunchy sound, like that of a hairbrush being yanked through dry hair. The woman has to be the Hightower Matron, Gloria. This must be her bedroom.

“Must it really be kittens, Grandmother?” Aria’s voice is hesitant. “It seems…cruel.”

“How many times must I explain myself? Youth offers the most potential and therefore the most power when life is cut short.” There’s a loudsmackas something drops onto the floor or a table. “Don’t act as if you don’t benefit,” Gloria snaps.

Aria doesn’t speak for a long moment. When she does, her voice sounds closer. I shrink down lower to avoid being spotted.

“I think I saw the Broussard girl today.”

Gloria harrumphs. “More importantly, did she see you?”

“I lost her in the crowd.”

“Good girl.” A chair scrapes against the floor. “Their suffering has only just begun. Serves them right.”

I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from gasping. Is that a confession?

Gloria’s and Aria’s voices retreat, so I take the chance to peek through the window. It seems to be some sort of office or dressing room with a chaise in one corner and a vanity near the window. A mason jar filled with a thick red liquid is perched on the table next to an assortment of lipstick and hair products.

I snap a photo of the room and make a beeline for the fence.

It sounds like Gloria Hightower has grown tired of sacrificing animals for power. This recording is proof enough that they’ve made the jump to humans, and they’ve set their sights on us.

As far as we know, witches are the most powerful beings this world has ever known. To the Hightowers, we’re both a threat and the perfect target.

14

Thursday is awhirlwind. Gramps spends the day preparing for his first debate with Mike Dupree and retreats to the third floor as soon as he gets home. When I catch a glimpse of his face, he looks haggard. I try to bring him dinner, but he refuses to eat. The enormity of the election weighs heavily on his shoulders.

Orion doesn’t come home at all. His read receipts tell me that he’s at least still alive. I swallow down my disappointment, but the bitter taste still lingers. He’s wasting the little time we have left together drowning his sorrows in partying and booze. It makes me sick to my stomach.

Every now and again, I open up Joelle’s contact and stare at her number. I’ve practically memorized it at this point. I should text her and dig into her past further, but my own rising tide of responsibilities is threatening to bury me beneath the surf.

I use my time off work to read more coven history. Grandma Rose mentions the Hightowers in her journal several times.

That white coven is dangerous.

They came to us begging friendship, an alliance of sorts. It seems they got run out of Salem back when theyhung witches. Their Matron says they’re here to stay, and she don’t want no trouble.

But something’s off about her. The way her eyes are a bottomless pit with no end. The ancestors told me she’s got no soul. They said she sold hers long ago.

I scour through all the books, searching for any specific mention of a family crest, but find nothing. From the internet, I discover that the tree I saw on the crest is a blackthorn, sometimes known as the “witch’s tree.” That leads me to believe that the crest must belong to the Hightowers. I’m sure I’ll find definitive proof soon. Hopefully, before someone else loses their life.

Friday, after finallygiving in and taking my car to the shop, I arrive at the building where the debate is being held. I decided to put my best foot forward and make a good impression, so I’m burning up in a blazer and slacks. But the temporary discomfort is worth it to help Gramps win this race. He’s presenting himself as a family man and a servant of the community. It isn’t a show for him because that’s exactly who he is. I want these people to see that his family loves and supports him, too.