Page 67 of Death Card

“I can’t say the same.” I jolt at the rudeness of his tone. “My daughter told me that you’ve been harassing her.”

“What?! She’s lying—”

“Isn’t it enough that the school deemed you their charity case? They got to preen over their Black valedictorian and use it to bolster their own standing.” He scoffs. “It’s sickening that people are so afraid of upsetting the woke mob that they’ll strip the accomplishments of their white students.”

He’s so happy to spout the same conservative agenda we’ve had shoved down our throats since the MAGA crowd took over. I’m so sick of people diminishing the hard work that I put in solely because of the color of my skin.

“Mr.Dupree, I really don’t think this is an appropriate conversation to have. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my grandfather.”

He sidesteps me, blocking my escape. “Stay away from my daughter, or I’ll be forced to involve the police.”

“I’m not harassing your daughter.” She’s the one who keeps appearing out of nowhere. I don’t even want to see her ugly mug. If I could, I wouldn’t want to see anyone from the Dupree family ever again.

I’m about to tell him so when my gaze drops to his lapel pin. It’s so small that it’s difficult to make out the details, but I can see enough to know that’s a maroon-colored family crest. Something about it sets off alarm bells in my head.

“Excuse me.” I turn on my heel and dart from the building before he can say another word.

Once I’m safely outside, I sit down on a bench near the entrance and pull out my phone. It takes a minute of scrolling, but when I find the photo I’m looking for, my blood runs cold.

Mike Dupree’s pin looks a whole lot like the family crest that appeared in my scrying mirror.

“What could he possibly have to do with this?” I wonder aloud.

I sit in shock, running over everything that I’ve learned these past couple weeks.

The mysterious illness is caused by a demon stealing the power of witches. The Hightowers have a history of dealing with demons. They have a vested interest in destroying our coven because they don’t want to be cast out of the city like how their ancestors were run out of Salem.

Mike Dupree wants to destroy our family, but for political, not magical, reasons. He’s a racist and he’ll probably do whatever he can to win this election.

So, what if they’re connected?

I Google both their names, but nothing relevant appears. After following a rabbit hole of Mike Dupree’s campaign, I finally stumble across a link to his political donors. It’s a long list of various Republican groups and then a smaller list of individual donors.

And right there near the bottom is Gloria Hightower’s name.

This doesn’t prove anything other than the fact that Gloria’s a Republican, which tracks, honestly. But it does make this whole conundrum a lot more confusing.

Something tells me that while I’ve been staring up at the spiderweb of clues, the spider itself has been winding its thread around me.

“Mikaela?”

I look up to find Gramps standing before me, wearing one of those neon-orange volunteer shirts and a pair of khakis. A man of the people, always.

“What are you doing here?”

I stuff my phone into my pocket and force a smile. “I wanted to see if I could help,” I say.

His forehead crinkles. “From out here?”

“Oh, uh, I got a little sidetracked. One of my friends texted me.”

He squints at me for a moment before turning away. “Well, the event’s over now. Come on. Let’s go home.”

My stomach bubbles the entire drive back to the house, but I don’t open my mouth once. Instead, Gramps talks the whole time, telling me about the people he met while volunteering. Even though I fully intended to tell him about the visit with Sabine, I don’t dare mention a word—not while I’m still sortingthrough the sheer amount of information swirling around in my head. Seeing that crest on Mike Dupree’s lapel has completely unsettled me.

Time is running out, and I feel like I’m more in the dark than I was to begin with.

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