If she hadn’t been so tired, she might have pinched his arm. Instead, she shifted closer, nestling into him. Breathing in the clean smell of his freshly ironed shirt, Rune let herself relax for the first time all day.
Alex was familiar.
Alex was safe.
“Rune?”
But whatever he said next was lost in the sound of her snoring.
THIRTEEN
RUNE
TWO YEARS PRIOR
THE DAY RUNE LEARNED she was a witch, she was hosting Alex’s sixteenth birthday. She’d spent months planning the event at Thornwood Hall—ordering the decorations, hiring the entertainment, and deciding on the menu weeks in advance.
By the evening, Rune was tired and achy from being on her feet all day. But when the dancing began, there was a new ache in her body: an unfamiliar cramping low in her abdomen. It was so painful, she couldn’t hold a conversation, never mind concentrate on the steps of a waltz. But Rune was the hostess; she was determined to see the evening through to the end.
It was only when a sudden wetness appeared between her legs that she excused herself and made for the bathroom. There, she hiked up her skirts, pulled down her underwear, and found …
Blood.
Black blood.
That couldn’t be right.
It had soaked through the cotton. So she took the underwear off and ran the tap at the sink, shoving them under the water. Then she grabbed the soap and started to scrub.
And scrub.
And scrub.
The stain wouldn’t come out. In fact, it was spreading unnaturally fast.
I’m not a witch, she thought, as black water circled the drain. I can’t be a witch.
The cramping worsened. Rune wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor and rock until it went away. This will be fine, she told herself. I’ll hide these in my purse and go straight home to Wintersea. No one will even know.
But when Rune glanced over her shoulder to check the back of her dress, she found the stain seeping through its yellow silk, too.
If anyone saw—or had already seen—it wouldn’t only be humiliating, but incriminating.
Her breath sharpened. Desperation drove her now. She peeled off her dress and held it under the tap, scrubbing at the black blood. Scrubbing until her fingers felt raw and her arms hurt.
But the stain didn’t lift, only spread across the yellow silk.
She couldn’t deny it any longer.
The magic of her first bleeding was turning her dress black.
I’m a witch.
The realization turned her cold.
The doorknob rattled. Rune jerked her head toward it, found the door opening, and quickly threw herself against it.
“There’s another bathroom on the second floor!” called Rune, her heart beating in her throat.
“Oh!” Lola Parsons said from the other side. “Sorry, Rune.”
Naked now, Rune pressed herself against the painted wood, waiting until Lola was gone before locking the door.
This bathroom didn’t have a window she could sneak out of, and the only door led to the hallway where Alex’s guests walked back and forth. With her clothes not only wet, but growing blacker by the second, she couldn’t leave.
She was trapped.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Rune?” Alex called from the other side of the wood. “Everything all right? You’ve been gone for almost an hour.”
Alex, help! she wanted to say.
But that would require admitting the truth. And if she did, he’d report her. He might be her oldest friend, but he’d also murdered a witch queen and been rewarded for it.
Rune’s wet clothes slipped from her hands, landing on the floor with a splat.
“Rune?” Alex repeated.
“I’m n-not feeling well,” she managed.
The handle turned. But when Alex pushed, the lock held it shut.
She stepped back, fear zipping down her spine.
“Rune, let me in.”
“I’d really rather not,” she whispered.
“You’re scaring me,” he said. “I have the key, Rune. I can open the door myself, but I’d prefer that you do it.”
Knowing she couldn’t stay in here forever, knowing she had no other choice—if she was a witch, Alex was going to find out, one way or another—Rune grabbed one of the bath towels and wrapped it around herself. She brushed the tears from her cheeks, unlocked the door, and stepped back.
Alex opened it and the door swung in. He nearly stepped inside when the sight of her in nothing but a towel made him halt. “Why are you …？” Spots of pink appeared on his cheeks, and he seemed about to look away when he noticed her tear-streaked face—or perhaps her smudged makeup.