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“Did you hear anyone when you were walking through our house?”

My brows furrow further. “Why does that even matter—?”

“The rest of our housemates are already at the party, which yes, is across the Everwoods on lycanthrope territory, and yes, the world is a dangerous place, but the world hasalwaysbeen a dangerous place for witches, Selene.”

Other witches were already out in those woods? The thought chills my blood. Why is no one else taking this seriously?

Sybil continues. “The Marin Pack is patrolling the forest, and the coven’s head witches have cast protective wards on the area. Whoever is killing witches would be unable to hurt any witch without the entire coven and the shifters knowing.

“Besides,” she throws in casually, “they’re saying the women weren’t killed in the woods, just moved there.”

A shiver wracks my body.

As if that’s much better.

“And you’re going to walk through those woods alone?” I ask.

“Goddess, Selene, I was going to walk over withyou, but I can find another witch to head over with if you’re not coming.”

Hell will freeze over before I let my best friend travel across those woods with some random housemate who may not be looking out for her the way I will.

Even if it gets me freaking murdered in the process.

I blow out a breath. “Fine,” I say, “I’ll come along, but only so you don’t get yourself killed in your quest to get drunk and laid.”

Sybil lets out an excited squeal. “You’re not going to regret it.”

I highly doubt that.

* * *

“Pretty sure the people who invented heels were fans of waterboarding, iron maidens, and the Spanish Inquisition,” I mutter as I pull on a thigh-high boot from Sybil’s closet. I wear a deep-blue minidress with exaggerated bell sleeves. “AndI’mthe loser who’s wearing them,” I continue, “all so I can drink cheap booze and make poor decisions.”

“My goddess, Selene, stop channeling your inner eighty-two-year-old and cut loose a little.”

I make a face as I pull the other boot on. “My inner eighty-two-year-old has figured some things out,” I retort.

“Don’t you want to see the werewolves’ territory?”

Not really.

“Plus, Kane is going to be there—”

I groan. “For the love of our goddess, please stop with Kane,” I say.

“Only if you go. If not, I’m going to find him and tell him you’re wildly in love with him and want to have his little wolfy babies.”

Horrified, I glance at my friend.“Sybil.”

It might’ve once been true. Now, when I close my eyes, it’s a different face I think about. One that makes my stomach twist with both dread and desire.

Sybil cackles, every inch the villainous witch.

“You wouldn’t,” I say.

“No, but only because you’re going.”

Sybil braids a small section of my hair on either side of my temples, then secures them away from my face with clips painted to look like real butterflies. She murmurs a spell under her breath, and the next time I look in the mirror, I see the wings of my clips flutter and resettle, as though they were real.