Page 3

I looked past the fire pit where some of the kids were huddled together. The woods loomed dark beyond the backyard’s landscaping lights, Blackwell Creek — which was really more of a river thanks to the waterfall that fed it — a distant rush of sound.

Shit.

The river was a favorite party spot in summer when everyone would load up their cars with booze, chairs, and blankets and set up at the base, sometimes even stripping to their underwear — or nothing — to swim in the pool under the waterfall that poured from a towering granite cliff.

The guys had probably left the party to drink or smoke weed by the river. In another couple months, the trails would be knee deep with snow.

I sighed, headed for the well-worn trail leading through the trees, and turned my phone light on to guide my way.

I wasn’t surprised there was a trail from the house to the river. The Morton house was in a prime location. If I lived here, I’d be at the water every day.

It made me think about the big house at the top of the cliff.

My house.

I didn’t live there with my dad and Blake. No one did. It was a big, empty falling-apart house at the top of the falls, built by my great-great-great grandfather when he’d helped found the town.

I’d only been there a few times, with my mom before she died. She’d walk me around the high-ceilinged rooms and tell me someday it would be mine, that it was the only thing she had left that was really hers.

I hadn’t known what that meant when I was little, but I knew now.

Anyway, I wasn’t scared of the woods, even alone. Blackwell Falls was in my blood. I knew every business owner on Main Street but I also knew the woods surrounding the Falls like the back of my hand.

The only place I stayed away from was Aventine University, a private college on the outskirts of town that catered to the kids of criminals.

Because I was at home in Blackwell Falls, not stupid.

The trail wound through the woods, away from the house, and the sounds of the party got fainter. Dead leaves crunched under my feet and I rubbed my arms, wishing I’d brought a jacket, or at least a sweater. The rushing of the river got louder until the music and laughter disappeared completely.

The trail widened as I came close to the river and I called out, “Thanks for ditching me, you guys. You’re my ride, you know."

I spilled into the clearing at the riverbank. It was empty.

I looked around, expecting to see Blake holding court. Otis would be looking at something no one else was paying attention to, his shaggy blond hair half covering his face while Wolf, looking like a disinterested god, would be leaning on the big boulder by the water. Jace would send a shiver up my spine with that cold-eyed stare in the moment before he looked away, like I was Medusa, too hideous and terrifying to look at for too long.

But they weren’t there. No one was.

I moved closer to the river — maybe they were tucked into the trees that hung close to the water — and that was when I saw the body, lying on the sandy dirt, more like a beach than a riverbank.

“Hey!” I called out, walking over to the person. “Are you okay?”

Someone had gotten wasted, stumbled to the river, and passed out. I got closer and saw a shock of short brown hair. It was definitely a guy.

He was on his back, his face turned away from me, one of his arms thrown out as if in welcome.

A ring glinted from one of his fingers, an initial set into a gold crest.

And I knew that ring.

“Blake?” My brother definitely knew how to party, but he wasn’t a blackout-drunk kind of guy. I walked over to him, wondering where Jace, Wolf, and Otis had gone. They were inseparable unless one of them was fucking someone — and rumor had it sometimes not even then. “Are you okay?”

It took me a second to realize what I was seeing. To realize my brother was definitely not okay, the dark stain on the front of his white T-shirt not dirt from the riverbank but blood.

I fell to my knees, turned his head.

His eyes were open and sightless, staring past me at something only he could see. His body felt empty.

A shell.