“Or is it something else?” the voice rasped.
The chant had become a growl. The wind picked up, out of nowhere, and flung Scarlett’s dark curls into her face, obscuring her vision.
The figure leaned in, so close that Scarlett could feel its hot breath on her cheek. Then it tore the hood from its head and Scarlett gasped.
Harper.
Her hair was tangled around her pale white skin. Her eyes were dark fathomless pools, wild and wide. A tear dripped down her cheek, leaving a blood-red trail. Around her neck was the silver heart-shaped locket she always wore. “Guilt will be the death of you, sister,” she whispered.
Without warning, she shoved Scarlett. Hard. Scarlett stumbled backwards and tripped over the railing. With a scream, she felt herself freefall toward the ground four stories below, her stomach in her throat, and—
“Scarlett!” Tiffany yelled. “Wake up.”
Scarlett startled upright in her bed, drenched in sweat. Tiffany stood over her, looking worried. “You were shouting in your sleep.”
Scarlett drank in her bedroom with a gasp of relief. It took a minute for her heart to return to its usual rhythm. She pressed her palm to her chest, shutting her eyes against the light streaming in through the sheer curtains. It was just a nightmare, she told herself. “Thanks for getting me. I hope I didn’t wake the whole house.”
“Sounded like a bad dream,” Tiffany said, perching on the side of the bed.
“That’s an understatement.” Scarlett shook her head.
“Well, it’s over now. You’re okay,” Tiffany said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “And everyone’s already up and getting ready for the selection ceremony.”
Tiffany’s eyes landed on Scarlett’s bedside table, where she’d laid out Minnie’s tarot cards the night before; she’d tucked the set her mother had given her in her desk drawer.
“I’ve always loved these cards,” Tiffany said, flipping through the deck and admiring the simple yet distinctive etchings. The cards were old but well preserved, and one of a kind. “That Minnie had excellent taste.”
“She did,” Scarlett said. “I’m just glad Eugenie didn’t get them.”
“Seriously. I guess I’m lucky I’m an only child. No one to fight me for my mom’s cards when she passes.” Tiffany’s eyes welled up.
“Tiff . . .” Scarlett said softly, putting a hand on her friend’s arm.
“I’m fine!” Tiffany said in an artificially bright tone, blinking away her tears as she set the cards back down reverently. “Now, up and at ’em—it’s time to pick our latest round of victims.”
After Tiffany bustled from the room, Scarlett groaned and forced herself out of bed. Note to self: be a better sister, she thought as she pushed aside her curtains and opened the windows to let in fresh air, hoping it would wake her up a little. From her balcony, she could see the red brick of the campus buildings that formed a rough square around the quad, a bell tower at its heart. In the other direction were the old, thick trees that marked the start of the woods on campus. One of the ravens from the aviary swooped toward the trees and disappeared from view.
It was all reassuringly normal, everything exactly as it should be. Except for one thing. There was a slight metallic glint in the ivy along the wrought-iron latticework of the balcony. Scarlett moved closer, brushed some of the leaves aside, and dug her fingers into the groove to free the object. Last year this room had belonged to a senior named Lyric; she’d since moved to New York City to work at a social-justice nonprofit. Perhaps she’d accidentally left something behind. Scarlett yanked away more of the ivy to get a better angle. She tugged at the object again, and it came loose and landed in her palm. Scarlett stared at it for a long moment, her pulse picking up. It was a silver necklace. The chain was kinked and tangled, and the small silver heart was tarnished.
It had been two years, but Scarlett would have recognized it anywhere. It looked exactly like the one Harper used to wear.
* * *
The sisters sat in a circle on the south lawn. Dahlia picked up a bottle of bubbles, the kind they’d all played with as kids, and blew them up into the air. A distraction spell, to keep the rest of campus from noticing what they were doing. Each girl held a Kappa Book in her lap. From far away, they looked like an ordinary study group. But from up close, they were deciding the fates of the next class of Ravens.
“In front of you, you’ll find a full profile on each girl whose ability was strong enough to ignite a sparkler last night,” Dahlia said. “Let’s start reviewing our potential sisters.”
Scarlett sat between Mei and Tiffany, only half paying attention as the book spread across her lap shimmered, its blank pages shifting to display images of the freshmen who’d attended their recruitment party the night before.
“The first girl is named Starla. She’s the oldest of three girls . . .”
Scarlett stared at the face of a white girl with wavy brown hair, and for a moment, it was almost like Harper was looking up at her. Her breath caught in her throat. But when she blinked, the picture rearranged itself. The girl’s hair was two shades lighter than Harper’s, her nose longer and her lips wider.
Scarlett shook her head slightly. She was just spooked because of her dream. But that was all it was. A dream.
Or was it?
A dream didn’t explain the necklace. Then again, there were a million necklaces like that out there. Even Scarlett had something similar in her jewelry box back home, a sweet-sixteen gift from her parents. There was no proof that the necklace had ever belonged to Harper. It had probably been wedged there for ages. It was just a coincidence that Scarlett happened to find it that morning.
Right?
Earth to Scarlett. Tiffany’s voice sounded in Scarlett’s head, and she felt a gentle nudge to her thigh.
Scarlett looked up, startled to find the entire circle’s gaze on her. One of Dahlia’s perfectly plucked eyebrows was raised as if she was waiting. “Um, yes. I agree,” Scarlett said uncertainly, hoping they were asking if she was on board with the first potential.
Dahlia nodded, seemingly pleased. “Cast your votes.” She opened a box of snow-white ravens’ feathers and passed them out, one for each of the twenty sisters. People often thought ravens were a sign of bad luck or ill intent, but, like witchcraft itself, their history was so much more complicated than that. As early as ancient Greece, they were associated with prophecy, singled out to keep the deity’s secrets and share its wisdom. Witches, like ravens, understood the secrets of the universe, and both got a bad rap for it.
It was why, hundreds of years ago, the founders of the coven had named themselves the Ravens. They’d continued to call themselves that even after they’d incorporated as a sorority, cloaking themselves in the protection of the Greek system. What better way to hide in plain sight while recruiting and initiating new members into their coven?
To vote a Raven in, one simply changed the color of the feather from white to black, a blank canvas transformed by knowledge and ability. By power. When Scarlett was a little girl, she’d dreamed of the day the feathers would transform for her.
Now Scarlett forced herself to focus on the task. One by one, starting with Dahlia’s, the feathers ruffled, as if disturbed by an unseen hand, the white slowly filling with an inky, iridescent black.