Bewitched
“No one can. Unless she carries it. Find it. Tear it from her. Do not fail me, Tremaine.”
I reeled back, the blood draining from me. Spells. Stones. Bewitchment. Witches. The word clicked into place like a blade into flesh. They were witches. They all were. Tremaine, Anastasia, the whole lot of them. And my father—my father who had married her—what had she done to him?
I stumbled, the floor groaning underfoot, and panic drove me to flee. But something anchored me there. A need to see, to know. My hand closed on the knob and turned, inch by inch.
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