Georgia is beautiful and warm. There are trees everywhere—so many that sometimes it’s like we’re driving through tunnels carved right through them. It’s almost suffocating, like the corn gets in late summer. Finally, we find Blossom Ridge, which is the complete opposite of what I expected.
Basically, it looks like a rainbow threw up all over it.
As we get out of the car, I can’t get past the multicolored picket fence. Something that bright and friendly shouldn’t have such a menacing barrier spell on it. I stare at the pink plantation home, in awe of its similarities to a Barbie dollhouse I once had. If this is anything like our house, the barriers should warn someone that we’re here, so all we have to do is wait for them to let us in.
A woman emerges from the house, her white hair the only plain thing I’ve seen thus far. The closer she comes, the more I see that her outfit makes up for it. Red polka-dot dress with a bright teal belt. Yellow stockings and purple shoes. Green and orange jewelry. She’s a walking bag of Skittles.
“Hello there, darlings,” she says in a sugary-sweet way, as if we’re in preschool. “Are you looking for something?”
“Someone, actually,” I say. “Sylvia Black?”
She puts her hand on her ample chest. “Why, you’re looking at her.”
Yes, yes, I am. I can’t look away from all the color, in fact. “I’m Josephine Hemlock. You sent Rose to tell us about finding Stacia?”
“Oh, yes! Of course.” She unlatches the gate. “So nice to meet you. I remember how much Stacia would talk about Carmina. They were so close.”
“Really?” For the first time in a while, I feel hope. If there are answers anywhere, they must be here.
“Come on in.” Sylvia heads back up the path, which is lined with cheesy garden sculptures. Mostly bunnies. “I’ll see if I can get ahold of Stacia for you. She’s been traveling a lot, so it might take some time to track her down.”
“We’re fine waiting,” I say, my heart pounding with excitement.
The house is as strange on the inside as it is on the outside. A large chandelier of glass eyeballs dominates the entryway. They stare down at me not in a creepy way, but as if they’re curious. Everything seems to be made from eccentric components like this—a side table with taxidermy animal legs, a rug of what I’m sure is some kind of hair, and mosaics very much like the one I saw in Fanny’s house.
“The kitchen is right through there,” Sylvia says. “I’ll go upstairs and see what I can do about tracking down Stacia. Have whatever you’d like to eat. You must be hungry from your travels.”
“Thank you.” I head to the kitchen, Maggie right on my tail. I try to stay on my guard despite the fact that Sylvia seems like your average head of house, complete with strange hobbies and appearance.
The kitchen is tiled with old glass bottles, their bottoms colorful and bumpy underfoot. We sit at the table, which is weathered wood with a sheet of glass over it.
“What do you think of her?” Maggie whispers.
I shrug.
She bites her lip. “That’s the craziest getup I’ve ever seen!”
I restrain a laugh. “I know, right? But hey, if she’s willing to help us, I don’t care what she wears while she’s doing it.”
Maggie nods, and then we sit there staring at the clocks on the wall. Hundreds of clocks in all shapes and sizes. Only one of them ticks—a small brass one with black numbers.
We jump when a door slams beyond the kitchen, down a dim hall. Footsteps come closer, and I feel like a fool for not realizing someone else would live here. Maybe another daughter or a granddaughter my age.
The person appears, half dressed and hair messy. When our eyes meet, Levi looks truly surprised. My heart sinks, along with all my hope.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“What are you doing here?” we both say at the same time.
“Wait, who is . . .” Maggie starts to ask, but then she seems to pick up on all the shadows. “Holy crap, is that Levi?”
I shoot her a look. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t say he was freaking gorgeous; I was expecting pure evil!”
That cocky smile is right back on Levi’s lips. “I like your friend.”
“Shut up!” I stand, prepared to fight or run if I have to. “I can’t believe you conned an old lady into letting you Curse her. What, did you charm her with a spell?”
“You’re sick.” He opens the fridge and chugs orange juice straight from the jug. I’m so glad I didn’t get anything to drink. “And a total idiot.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Then what is it? You obviously live here.”
He gives me this look, like I couldn’t be more dense. The magic in me boils. It begs me to do awful things, and I have to breathe deep to control it. Levi leans on the counter, his eyes glittering like chocolate diamonds. “Remember when I said witches aren’t exactly blameless in all this?”
A lump forms in my throat. “Oh, no . . .”
Maggie swings her giant braid over her shoulder. “Can we stop being cryptic? It’s really annoying.”
Levi smiles wider. “That old lady she accused me of seducing is, in fact, my grandmother. She’s evil, by the way, so you really shouldn’t be here if you like being alive. This is what you would call a trap, and you idiots walked right into it.”
Maggie snorts. “No way. She’s helping us find Stacia.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“We’re here to see Stacia.” Maggie stares at Levi way more than I’d like. “We were hoping she’d know more about who is hunting the Hemlocks, since she knew Carmina so well.”
Something is wrong. I can feel it all around me now, closing in like a predator. The Blacks . . . could they really be in on this? Or is he lying? Levi crosses the kitchen and looks out the hall where we entered. “You need to get out of here. Right now.”
“Then can you contact Stacia?” I try to hide how desperate I am. “I need answers. I’ve waited years for answers.”
He looks down at me. “You won’t get any from Stacia.”
“And why’s that?”
Levi’s expression is dark, and the pause before he speaks is longer than normal. “Because she died years ago. From the Curse.”
My eyes go wide, and I shake my head back and forth. She can’t be dead. “You’re lying. You’re just trying to stop me from finding the truth, because then you’ll have nothing to keep you safe.”
He comes over to me, puts his hands on my arms. “I’m not lying. You want answers? Fine. The Blacks are the ones after you and your land—me, the others like me, are pawns in their game. They’ve been snuffing out other, more powerful families for hundreds of years using us. And if you don’t go now you’re dead.”
He’s not lying. It makes too much sense to be anything but the truth. This is the big secret we’ve been missing all these years.
“Why are you doing this?” I pull away from him, pissed because now I have to be grateful he told me.
He leans on the doorframe. “What do you mean?”
I take the opposite side. “You obviously hate me. And now you’re saying you belong to a family that wants me and Nana dead so they can take my land. But you’re ruining your grandmother’s plan.”
He looks at his feet, as if he’s trying to stuff his emotions down, and then back to me. “Maybe I know what it’s like to watch your mother hack up black blood, to be helpless to stop it, to hate the person who did it so much all you think about is revenge.”
“What? Witches can’t have sons!” But I know the agony on his face, hidden well to those who’ve never lost a close family member. “That’s impossible.”
“Not when your father has magic, too.”
I can’t breathe right. So much about this is wrong, and yet it feels true. “Stacia . . . was your mother.”