AS CROWE AND I CUT ACROSS THE SCHOOLHOUSE PARKING lot, clouds rolled in, blocking out the early light of day. The air had turned chilly and brisk. A storm definitely seemed imminent.

Several paces ahead of me, Crowe threw on his Devils’ League vest. He glanced at me over a shoulder when he reached his motorcycle, the wind tousling his hair into a perfect mess.

“You want to ride together or meet me there?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

He didn’t answer, just slid on his black helmet, flipping the tinted visor closed with a definitive snap. While most of the Devils rode traditional Harleys with chrome everything, Crowe owned a 1960s model that he’d customized himself. The frame was matte black from rear to front, and so was just about everything else on it.

Though I knew very little about Harleys, I had to admit Crowe’s was practically a work of art. No one knew their way around a bike quite like he did. In fact, he had an annoying talent for fixing just about anything. Except our relationship, apparently.

Without waiting for me, he started the bike up and tore out of the lot, the roar of the engine echoing through the neighborhood. The sound of his bike used to make my heart do funny things. Now it just irritated me.

The Medici house was on the north side of town, tucked into the center of dense woods, and as I wound my way down the mile-long drive, I tried to prepare myself for what was about to happen. It wasn’t just that I was going to try to do magic on purpose, that I would have to brace myself for the smell and the sight and the feeling that was about to crush me like a tsunami. It was also the first time I would be alone in the Medici house with Crowe since the night we’d kissed.

When the trees finally gave way to the house and I saw Crowe’s bike sitting in front, I inhaled and exhaled three measured breaths. I’d read somewhere that doing so helped with anxiety and stress. Turns out it didn’t help me at all.

I parked and climbed out of the car. I entered one of the open garage bays and was greeted by the familiar scent of grease and gasoline. The Medici garage was not used for parking; it was used for wrenching. Several bikes were torn apart, their pieces strewn around in what looked like a nonsensical mess but was actually Crowe’s version of order.

The door to the house squeaked open, and Crowe handed me a bottle of water when I met him on the steps.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the offering.

Crowe passed the staircase and headed for the screened-in porch on the other side of the house. I hesitated in the living room, unsure if I should follow him or leave him be.

A glutton for punishment, I went to the porch, my heart pounding erratically in my chest.

A little over a year ago, I’d crashed with Alex after a night out to celebrate my seventeenth birthday. But when I couldn’t sleep, I’d gone to the kitchen to get a glass of water and noticed someone on the porch.

I’d found Crowe sitting out there alone in the dark, drinking straight from a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He’d never told me what propelled him from his own bed that night, and at the time, I hadn’t cared. The sight of him there was too thrilling, too tempting.

The older we got, the less time Crowe spent with Alex and me. By that point, I was starving for his attention, trying to remember what it was like before, when the thing I needed was plentiful, when I took it for granted.

He’d offered me the Jack and smiled a lazy smile. “Wanna join me?”

I did.

We drank and talked. We laughed at the stupid things we did when we were kids. In that late, first hour together, we’d closed the space between us on the couch until I was sitting right next to him, my knee touching his. I wasn’t sure when my feelings toward him had changed, when I’d stopped looking at him like an annoying older brother and started looking at him like something more. It had happened gradually, but by then I had been aware of it for at least a couple of years. And suddenly he was close and the air was warm, and I was drunk on something other than the Jack.

“I miss this,” I’d told him that night. “I miss you.”

He’d glanced at me, his stupidly handsome face painted in the glow of the moon. I ’d recognized that glint in his eyes right away because I felt it, too. I even had a name for it: hunger.

“Oh, Jemmie Carmichael,” he’d said, and then he kissed me, hard and fast, his hands ghosting over my skin.

When he pulled away, just enough to get a breath, lick his already wet lips, I shivered and tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him back in.

I’m not sure how far it would have gone if we’d been given the chance. But the sun had started to come up and footsteps thudded down the stairs, and Crowe and I lurched away from each other like we were on fire.

Lori had poked her head into the porch and given us the kind of look you give someone when they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

As we’d prepared to leave for the festival in New Orleans, I’d floated in a state of near-constant euphoria. Stupidly, I’d wondered whether Crowe would spend time with me there. I’d imagined us walking through the grounds, hand in hand. And then, the first night of the festival, I’d seen him with Katrina Niklos. He saw me, too. Looked me right in the eye. Then he’d pulled Katrina to him and kissed her on the mouth. He’d walked away with his arm around her waist, and I’d ended up drunk in a swamp. If it hadn’t been for Darek, I might have been eaten by a giant reptile.

Now Darek might be doing the same thing Crowe had done to me—only with my best friend, who had no idea Darek was my… actually, I didn’t know what he was. I didn’t know what I wanted from him. All I knew was that the memory of kissing Crowe was like an eclipse, blocking out the light that could have allowed any other feelings to grow.

Now here I was, back at the scene where it had all begun, rain pattering softly against the porch roof, and I couldn’t help but feel an impending sense of déjà vu. I realized, with startling, sickening clarity, that I wanted to kiss him again. For some insane, foolish reason, I wanted his hands on me and his lips on mine and I wanted the darkness crowding in around us, the outside world nothing but a smudge against the night.

I had to get out of there.

“I’m going to Alex’s room,” I said quickly. “You’ll wait here?”

Crowe dropped into a chair in the corner, avoiding the couch, as if he, too, was suffering from memories better left forgotten.

“I’ll be here,” he promised.

I nodded, rushed out the doorway and up the stairs, putting as much distance between us as I could.

Alex’s room reminded me a little of the Medici garage, complete and utter chaos organized in a way that only Alex understood. Clothing was piled in a chair beneath the window and on the end of her bed. Makeup and lotion bottles cluttered the top of her dresser. Shoes peppered the carpeting, not a single match in sight.

With a sigh, I scanned the mess, trying to decide what was best used in a locator spell. And then it hit me: cuts created by Alex that she’d been intending to sell. They’d contain her blood.

Alex’s room was large by my standards, with a lot of places to hide important things, but I knew exactly where she kept her casting kit and her unused cuts.

I went to her top dresser drawer and pulled it open, shoving aside a fair number of bras and tank tops. Finally reaching the bottom, I popped the false plank out and peered into the hiding spot, already able to smell the magic inside. There were a handful of Flynn’s cuts, and a few I knew were made by Crowe’s hand. Even though any person with venemon magic could have made them, as soon as my skin grazed the wood I could detect the subtle, masculine scent of Crowe. In fact, all of the venemon cuts were his. I couldn’t find a single one made by Alex.

I kept digging until my fingers brushed over a little leather notebook. I pulled it out, thinking perhaps it was Alex’s diary, or maybe a spell book.

But when I pushed open the cover, I didn’t immediately recognize the handwriting. It was small and slanted. Alex’s handwriting was big and looping.

I scanned a few pages, not wanting to infringe on anyone’s privacy, but it quickly became apparent that I was reading a dead man’s journal.

The notebook belonged to Michael Medici.

This must have been what Alex was trying to tell me about yesterday.

I dropped onto the corner of the bed and flipped to the last page.

Henry Delacroix had more secrets than we ever knew, and I’m about to expose the biggest. I have to make sure the threat is gone. I’m not going to let anyone get close to that kind of blood power ever again. The cost has been way too high.

Blood power… Alex had mentioned that exact phrase.

The date at the top of the page was from a week before Michael Medici died—and a chill ran down my spine as I realized it was the day before Crowe and I had kissed. I ran my fingers over that page and felt tiny ridges, so I flipped it to look at the back. There, in dark ink, like he’d been pressing the pen deep into the page, it read,

I don’t know if I regret convincing Old Lady Jane to touch me or not. The good news is I know exactly how much time I have left. I can say good-bye without really saying it. I can make sure the succession is planned. And even if it’s the last thing I ever do, I’m going to expose the truth and end the threat before anyone else is hurt.

My heart ached as I read his final words. Suddenly, I wondered if that was what Crowe had been brooding about the night I’d found him. Had his father been somehow trying to tell him good-bye and prepare him to take over?

It was almost too tragic to contemplate, but that wasn’t all—there was this secret that Michael had discovered. Had it led directly to his death?

“Did you find anything?”

The sound of Crowe’s voice made me jump a mile, and the notebook slid out of my lap. I retrieved it from the floor and handed it over. “Not yet. But look at the last page.”

He flipped to the back and locked his jaw, brows furrowed deeply.

“This is my dad’s handwriting.”

“I know. Turn the page.”

He did. When the words settled in, he collapsed on the end of the bed next to me, his arms heavy in his lap, the notebook flopping open on his knee. “The other day, Jane told me what he’d done, how he fooled her into touching him so he’d know when he was going to die. It made so much sense.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He was acting so strange before last year’s festival. Right before we left, he told me I was about to be made president.” He swallowed and looked out the window. “He told me I’d have to do whatever it took to protect the club.”

“But he didn’t tell you…”

“That he was about to die?” Crowe shook his head. “I thought he was going to leave like your dad did or something. I was so angry at him. But I was also determined to do as he said, for the sake of the Devils.” He turned and met my gaze. “I couldn’t afford to think of anything else,” he added quietly.

And that was it. The explanation for what happened between us. No apology, no request for forgiveness, but I understood it. This was why he’d pushed me away. No time for distractions.

Apparently, that’s all I was. “Did he tell you what Henry Delacroix’s secret was?” I asked in a husky voice.

“No. He didn’t even mention it. But I’ll bet his little brother Killian was right at the center of it.”

We sat there in silence for a few long moments. “What now?” I finally asked.

“Do you have what you need to cast the spell?”

“No. I found that first.”

He got to his feet, scanned the room, and grabbed the little stuffed bear propped against Alex’s pillows. “Use this.” He looked at the notebook lying discarded on the bed. “Now I’m even more worried about what Killian is up to. He must be behind Alex’s disappearance.”

“And if I find her?”

“If you find her, then we’ll go get her. And if someone took her by force, I’ll murder them. Not with magic. With my bare hands.”

“What if she’s just… holed up with someone?”

His eyes narrowed. “Like that prospect?”

I swallowed hard. “No idea.” I wasn’t sure what to think. I was imagining Darek and Alex wrapped around each other, and although it didn’t make me happy, it also didn’t fill me with jealous rage the way seeing Crowe with Katrina had.

I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

“Jemmie,” Crowe said impatiently. “Sometime today, please.”

I slid from the bed to the floor and sat cross-legged, the stuffed animal in my lap. My dad had tried to teach me a locator spell when I was little, and of course the magic had overwhelmed my senses. I understood the mechanics of the spell, but I’d never successfully cast one. It should be easy for someone with my kind of magic, but here I was, my upper lip beaded with sweat, my gut rolling with anxiety over what was about to happen.

A warm hand closed over mine, and I looked up to see Crowe on the floor next to me. “When my dad first taught me to cast, I didn’t want to,” he said. “I was scared. I had so much venemon inside of me that it was almost like it was trying to tear its way out.”

I knew Crowe was crazy-powerful, but I’d never considered what it must have felt like as a child, to discover that power, to know what a great burden and responsibility it was to possess it.

“How did you get over it?” I asked.

“I accepted it. And then I practiced.”

I groaned. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It wasn’t. My hands used to shake so badly that I couldn’t control what was happening. One time I accidentally broke my mom’s leg because she was hanging laundry nearby. My dad healed her, but…” He shook his head at the memory. “All I’m trying to say is that you can learn to do this if you just work at it.”

“You don’t understand,” I whispered.

“Then make me.”

I hung my head. “It would change everything.” He’d push harder to convince me to move away from Hawthorne. He’d—

His fingers tipped my chin up. “Try me, Jem. I know we haven’t been close lately, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know you. Whatever’s holding you back, you can overcome it. And I’ll help however you need me to.”

I looked up into his dark eyes, and I felt his gaze inside me, picking the locks I’d clamped onto all my secrets. Could he really help? Or, at least, understand? “I… can feel magic.”

His brow furrowed. “We can all feel it.”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about. When I’m around magic, I just… I can smell it. And see it. The magic itself, not the effects of it.” I huffed. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try. Because I don’t—”

“Venemon magic is gold. It loops out of you so thick sometimes that I can’t see past it. It smells like—” My gaze flicked to his and away. “Wood smoke. Honey. Yours is muskier than Alex’s. Deeper. It hangs in the air around you like glitter sometimes. Even when you’re not casting.”

He was so quiet that I glanced at him again and found him staring. “No shit?” he whispered.

“No shit,” I said ruefully. “Hardy’s invictus magic is orange and smells like cloves. Terra magic is pinkish. Cinnamon, flowers, grass, depending on the person and the charm. Do I need to go on?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell anyone about this? That kind of power would be useful. It makes you invaluable.”

“Yeah, well, it also makes me dizzy and sick, especially when I’m around a lot of kindled. Sometimes I feel like it’s suffocating me.” I swallowed hard. “Sometimes I feel like it’s driving me crazy. It’s too much. I can’t take it. It’s like an illness with no cure.”

“And that’s why you drink. You’re trying to self-medicate.”

I winced and bowed my head.

“I still don’t get why you’ve kept this a secret. You’re close to your mom—why haven’t you told her?”

“That’s complicated,” I said. “But mostly I don’t want to give her one more thing to worry about.” Or to feel helpless about. I didn’t want to rub her face in her own powerlessness, not after what Dad had put her through.

“What about your dad, though? Haven’t you—”

“I can’t believe you’re even asking me about him. He left me, Crowe.”

“But Alex. She loves you—”

“Exactly!” I threw my hands up and let them fall into my lap. “But there’s nothing she or anyone can do, so why make her worry about it? It would change the way she looks at me, and that would only feel worse.”

“So you’ve shut out the people who love you most.”

“Because I keep hoping it’ll go away! Because no one else has this problem. I just want to be a part of our community, Crowe. But I don’t fit, and I hate it.” Tears stung my eyes. “I just want to be normal. And you said it yourself last night—I don’t belong.”

He cursed under his breath. “I was angry. And worried about you. I didn’t understand any of this. In my defense, that’s because you’re damn good at keeping a secret.”

“I don’t want people to look at me like I’m defective.” I let out a shuddery sigh and laid myself bare. “Especially you.”

“Look me in the eye.” His voice was so authoritative that I obeyed. His eyes captured mine and refused to let go. “We’ve all got problems, Jemmie. We’ve all got sore spots and flaws and shit from our past and mistakes we’re still dealing with. You want me to tell you you’re perfect? I can’t. But I can tell you this: You’re brave enough to push through this. You’re strong enough not to let it hold you back. And that’s what actually matters.”

He said this with complete certainty, and it reminded me of Alex. But while her faith in me was warm and comforting, his was both exhilarating and terrifying. It felt like flying. And I was afraid of crashing and burning. “Please keep this between us.”

“It’s not my story to tell. You’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.”

He sighed. “But I need you to help me find Alex. You know she’d risk anything for you without even thinking.” He grunted. “Though the not-thinking part is always kind of worrisome.” He offered me a tentative smile laced with all the complexity of the last few minutes. “Please?”

He was right again—Alex would dive into hell to save me. What kind of crappy friend was I if I wasn’t willing to risk the same for her? “Okay. I’m going to try this.”

He withdrew to sit on the bed again, and the only sound in the room was my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. I closed my eyes and inhaled, picking up the very faint whiff of venemon magic in the room. In the next moment, my own magic rushed forward and overtook it. My nose stung with it, and when I opened my eyes, sapphire ribbons danced before me, awaiting my command. Fighting the urge to cough or try to contain it, I clutched harder to the teddy bear. I pictured the Medici house, the driveway, the woods around it, and flung my magic outward. The ribbons pulled taut, stretching beyond the house, reaching for Alex.

When the tug came, I gasped. “Oh my God.”

The bed squeaked as Crowe stood. “What is it? Did you find her?” He seemed a little breathless, anxious, hopeful. But most of all scared.

I smiled as I felt another vague pull at the thin thread of my magic—the essence of Alex fizzed faintly along the connection, shimmering gold. “I think I did.”