“Ask your question.” Sam stops the watch from spinning, making sure that there’s no movement before Tate asks his question.

“Ready?” He’s completely focused on her. We could all disappear and neither of them would probably notice.

Biting her lip, she nods.

The tension between them tips into the red zone.

“Should I cut off my hair?” he asks, completely serious.

I roll my eyes and shake my head at what a goofball he is around her. I’d smack him if I could. Instead, I flick the watch harder than I need to.

“That’s a yes, right?” Grinning, Tate pats the table. “Okay, we can proceed.”

Sam frowns. “Why did you ask that particular question?”

“Easiest way to verify we are dealing with a true Winthrop. There’s no way any member of my family would approve of my choice in hair.”

That’s not exactly true. I’m all for pushing the boundaries of acceptability, but I’m not here for him being stupid.

His ridiculous grin forces one from Sam. “Well played.”

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” Andrew asks, clearly not amused by Tate. “Or do we need Tate’s ancestor’s opinion on all of our hairstyles before we can get answers?”

This makes me laugh. I like him. Madison too. I definitely would’ve been friends with them in college.

“Carry on,” Madison says.

Sam stops the watch. “Ready. Remember, yes or no questions only. Don’t make them too complicated.”

“Got it.” Andrew focuses on her hand. “Is the Sewell grave related to the Corey bone theft?”

Yes! Finally a question that might lead them to the right answers.

Samuel Sewell was on the wrong side of the Salem witch trials and one of the first to suffer from the curse against all who persecuted witches and the innocents caught up in the hysteria. His wives died early, babies were stillborn, or died young. Unhappiness and failure befell him and his family over and over again. Until he repented and married his last wife, who unbeknownst to him was a witch.

Of course he didn’t know why his bad luck ended. None of them did at first.

Not until centuries later when the likes of Stanford Bradford and the Putnams clued into the benefits of marrying into a magical lineage.

Andrew is the product of one such alliance. He turned out okay because his mother, Sarah Wildes, is a powerful witch and cast a spell of protection on him at birth that kept the worst of Bradford’s energy from latching onto her son. Powerful and brilliant. She’s who I wanted to be when I grew up.

“Yes.” Sam sounds unsure even though my hand guides the pendulum toward a yes. “Your turn, Maddy.”

“Oh, right. Um … let me think.” She stares at me. Hoping she’s good at charades, I cross my arms in front of my chest and pretend to be dead by lying flat along the top of the bookcase and closing my eyes. “Where is Alice buried?”

Close enough. I need them to find out when I died and how. Each answer will send this mystery toppling like the Jenga tower of lies and deception it is.

“Must be a yes or no answer,” Sam reminds her.

Madison bites her lip and narrows her eyes before nodding. “Okay. Is Lucy really a cat?”

Ugh, who cares? Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. She wants to be a cat because she’s lazy and spoiled. Let’s keep our focus on the dead girl, please.

Jumping down from the bookcase, I bat the watch chain and watch it spin.

“I think that’s a maybe?” Andrew laughs.

“Did Lucy steal the bones from the farm?” Madison asks.

Much better. Cat girl is nothing but a pawn. I swing the watch to indicate yes.

“Did she act alone?” Tate asks.

As if. She’s incapable of doing something that interesting on her own.

“No. Without a doubt.” Sam confirms what they can all clearly see.

“Alice?” Maddy says, squinting at me.

I shrug and wait for her to ask a real question. From the alley, I hear a car stop, its engine softly idling. Seriously? He’s going to show up now while we’re finally getting somewhere that might lead to information? He has the worst timing. The absolute worse. Well, next to me dying young.

“Is that a question?” Sam asks.

“No, she flashed bright blue and then disappeared. She’s never done that before. Just poof! And she seemed pissed off.”

I’m still in the room, but no longer visible to her. It’s my new skill I’ve been working on ever since she first spotted me in Marblehead. Pretty pleased with myself.

“Should we stop?” Sam asks the group.

“No, definitely not.” Tate leans closer to her. “Will we find the answers we seek in the black book?”

Hmm, that’s definitely a yes and no answer.

Sam gasps. “Oh, it was going to respond with a yes, but did you see that? It shifted to no at the last second.”

“Are we missing something obvious?” Tate asks again.

I roll my eyes. They’re missing everything obvious.

“Yes,” Sam says, matter of fact.

“Are we on the right track?” Andrew’s growing restless.

“Yes.”

“Can we trust Geoffrey?” Madison asks.

My eyes widen. Why would she ever think she couldn’t? I flick the watch. Geoffrey’s one of the few people they can trust one-hundred percent. Geoffrey and Sarah. Even their beloved Dr. Philips has a few skeletons in his closet they don’t want to know about.

“Yes.”

“Is Sam a real witch?” Tate grins at her.

“Yes.” She gives him a soft look that edges on embarrassment.

“See? You are one of us. Stuck with us.” Madison’s smile is full of pride.

They ask a few more questions before bouncing around between random pop culture and outright fortune telling requests like will one of them win the lottery. Focus people!

“Let’s focus.” Andrew finally gets frustrated. “Will my father come out of his coma?”

“Yes.” Sam shifts focus to him. “Have there been any changes? Improvements?”

I continue swinging the watch in the yes pattern until Sam places it on the table.

“He’s still comatose but the doctors think they can bring him out of the coma soon. We can’t get our hopes up that he’ll be able, or willing, to tell us anything. I don’t know what the connection is between him and Mrs. Putnam.” His frown deepens.

“Ask the watch,” Madison prompts.

Sam lifts the chain again.

“Is Mrs. Putnam behind the rise of dark magic?”

Hmm, how to answer this one. While I’m mulling over how to reply, I hear Geoffrey’s voice as he climbs the back stairs into the kitchen. He’s speaking with Mrs. Peale about something, but I hear my name. Distracted, I loose my concentration. The chain vibrates and shakes, almost bouncing.

“What does that mean? What are you doing differently?” Tate asks Sam.

“Nothing. I swear. Nothing different from all of the other questions.”

My nerves cause the watch to swing wildly, before swatting Sam in the palm. I reach for it again and press my hand against the gold, feeling her body heat doubled through our connection on the metal. Poor Sam yanks her hand away before it can burn her.

“What are you doing?” Geoffrey enters the room.

I hold my breath at the sight of him. He’s dressed in tailored gray trousers and a crisp white shirt; his dark hair is mussed and looks like he’s been running his hands through it. Something he does when he’s stressed or sad. I resist the urge to break my no touching rule again to slip my fingers into his hair. Once upon a time, he’d lay his head in my lap and I’d gently scratch his scalp, making him practically purr like a satisfied cat at my touch.

He rolls his cuffs up to his elbows and I softly moan as he slowly reveals his strong forearms. “Please tell me you weren’t using the watch as a pendulum.”

Why is he always so cranky?

Madison speaks for the group, clearly not intimidated by his accusations. “We learned a lot of helpful information that you might want to hear about.”

“Did you ask it about the Putnam or Howe families?” He frowns in disapproval.

“Of course.” Sam lifts her chin.

“Oh.” Geoffrey pauses when he reaches the circle of salt. He toes the white powder on the floor before lifting his gaze to the ceiling “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

Here it comes. Geoffrey has become the king party pooper over the years. Sometimes I think his sense of humor died with me.

“Why?” Sam asks the question I would. “We received confirmation that they’re behind the hexes and the thefts.”

“Anytime you focus magic, or even a thought, at someone, they’ll receive a message, a tiny burst of energy caused by you thinking about them. Sitting within a sacred circle and asking questions about the Howe branch is equivalent to sending up a smoke signal or a giant beacon of light to the other party even if it’s only on a subconscious level.”

Oops. He makes a good point.

“Flipping flapjacks,” Sam mumbles. “I didn’t think this through.”

“Don’t blame Sam,” Tate says, “we encouraged her to do the reading. Blame all of us for bullying her into it.”

“For the love of Shawn Mendes, stop. No one bullied me. Or even used peer pressure. This was my idea and I’ll own it. I’m an adult. This is what we’re supposed to do. Own our mistakes, right?”

Good for Sam.

“I appreciate you taking responsibility, Sam. However, I know you had help.” Geoffrey focuses on Andrew and Tate.

Both of them shrug, not ruffled by his annoyed parental tone.

“Are you going to kick us out of the Society?” Madison sounds nervous.

“No, of course not.” Geoffrey sighs and then laughs. “Nor will I give you demerits or make you eat gruel for every meal. We’re all adults here.”

Wait, did he laugh? And make a joke? Who is he?

“Ugh, gruel.” Tate gags. “Not that.”

Geoffrey’s mouth curves into a smile before he stops himself.

“I believe Mrs. Peale is about finished making lunch. She mentioned nothing about porridge. Shall we sit down and you can fill me in on your morning?” Geoffrey returns to being poised and unflappable as he steps away from our salt border. “Don’t forget to properly open the circle and sweep up the salt.”

And then he leaves. Of course, I follow him.