Perhaps Meredith merely needs to be cautious over the next few days.”
“You don’t think so, though, do you?” asked Meredith sharply.
Mrs. Flowers sighed. “This all feels rather malevolent to me. I think if someone wanted to warn you about the possibility of accidents, they could find a better way than names written in blood. Both of these names appeared as the results of rather violent incidents, correct? Bonnie cutting herself and Stefan ripping the scarf from Celia’s neck?”
Meredith nodded.
Looking troubled, Mrs. Flowers continued. “And, of course, the other possibility is that the appearance of the names is itself malicious. Perhaps the names’ appearance is an essential ingredient in or targeting method for some spell that is causing the danger.”
Stefan frowned. “You’re talking about dark magic, aren’t you?”
Mrs. Flowers met his eyes squarely. “I’m afraid so. Stefan, you’re the oldest and most experienced of us by far. I’ve never heard of anything like this, have you?”
Bonnie felt a bit surprised. Of course, she knew that Stefan was much older than even Mrs. Flowers—after all, he’d been alive before electricity, or running water, or cars, or anything they took for granted in the modern world, while Mrs. Flowers was probably only in her seventies.
But still, it was easy to forget how long Stefan had lived. He looked just like any other eighteen-year-old, except that he was exceptionally handsome. A traitorous thought flickered at the back of her mind, one she’d had before: How was it that Elena always got all the best-looking guys?
Stefan was shaking his head. “Nothing like this, no. But I think you’re right that it may be dark magic. Perhaps, if you spoke to your mother about it . . .”
Celia, who was starting to take more of an interest in what was going on, looked at Alaric quizzically. Then she cast a glance toward the door, as if expecting a hundred-year-old woman to wander in. Bonnie grinned to herself, despite the seriousness of the situation.
They had all gotten so matter-of-fact about Mrs. Flowers’s frequent conversations with the ghost of her mother that none of them blinked when Mrs. Flowers gazed off into space and started muttering rapidly, eyebrows lifting, eyes scanning unoccupied space as if someone unseen were speaking to her. But to Celia it must have seemed pretty strange.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Flowers, returning her attention to them. “Ma ma says there is indeed something dark stirring in Fell’s Church. But”—her hands lifted, palms empty—“she cannot tell what form it takes. She simply warns us to be careful. Whatever it is, she can sense that it’s deadly.”
Stefan and Meredith frowned, taking this in. Alaric was murmuring to Celia, probably explaining what was going on. Matt bowed his head.
Elena pushed on, already working on the next angle. “Bonnie, what about you?” she asked.
“Huh?” Bonnie asked. Then she realized what Elena meant. “No. Nuh-uh. I’m not going to know anything Mrs. Flowers’s mother doesn’t.”
Elena just looked at her, and Bonnie sighed. This was important, after all. Meredith’s name was next, and if there was one thing that was true, it was that she and Meredith and Elena had one another’s backs. Always. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll see if I can find out anything else. Can you light me a candle?”
“What now?” Celia asked in confusion.
“Bonnie’s psychic,” Elena explained simply.
“Fascinating,” Celia said brightly, but her eyes slid, cool and disbelieving, across Bonnie.
Well, whatever. Bonnie didn’t care what she thought. She could assume that Bonnie was pretending or crazy if she wanted to, but she’d see what happened eventually. Elena brought a candle over from its spot on the mantel, lit it, and placed it on the coffee table.
Bonnie swallowed, licked her lips, which were suddenly dry, and tried to focus on the candle flame. Although she’d
“You don’t think so, though, do you?” asked Meredith sharply.
Mrs. Flowers sighed. “This all feels rather malevolent to me. I think if someone wanted to warn you about the possibility of accidents, they could find a better way than names written in blood. Both of these names appeared as the results of rather violent incidents, correct? Bonnie cutting herself and Stefan ripping the scarf from Celia’s neck?”
Meredith nodded.
Looking troubled, Mrs. Flowers continued. “And, of course, the other possibility is that the appearance of the names is itself malicious. Perhaps the names’ appearance is an essential ingredient in or targeting method for some spell that is causing the danger.”
Stefan frowned. “You’re talking about dark magic, aren’t you?”
Mrs. Flowers met his eyes squarely. “I’m afraid so. Stefan, you’re the oldest and most experienced of us by far. I’ve never heard of anything like this, have you?”
Bonnie felt a bit surprised. Of course, she knew that Stefan was much older than even Mrs. Flowers—after all, he’d been alive before electricity, or running water, or cars, or anything they took for granted in the modern world, while Mrs. Flowers was probably only in her seventies.
But still, it was easy to forget how long Stefan had lived. He looked just like any other eighteen-year-old, except that he was exceptionally handsome. A traitorous thought flickered at the back of her mind, one she’d had before: How was it that Elena always got all the best-looking guys?
Stefan was shaking his head. “Nothing like this, no. But I think you’re right that it may be dark magic. Perhaps, if you spoke to your mother about it . . .”
Celia, who was starting to take more of an interest in what was going on, looked at Alaric quizzically. Then she cast a glance toward the door, as if expecting a hundred-year-old woman to wander in. Bonnie grinned to herself, despite the seriousness of the situation.
They had all gotten so matter-of-fact about Mrs. Flowers’s frequent conversations with the ghost of her mother that none of them blinked when Mrs. Flowers gazed off into space and started muttering rapidly, eyebrows lifting, eyes scanning unoccupied space as if someone unseen were speaking to her. But to Celia it must have seemed pretty strange.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Flowers, returning her attention to them. “Ma ma says there is indeed something dark stirring in Fell’s Church. But”—her hands lifted, palms empty—“she cannot tell what form it takes. She simply warns us to be careful. Whatever it is, she can sense that it’s deadly.”
Stefan and Meredith frowned, taking this in. Alaric was murmuring to Celia, probably explaining what was going on. Matt bowed his head.
Elena pushed on, already working on the next angle. “Bonnie, what about you?” she asked.
“Huh?” Bonnie asked. Then she realized what Elena meant. “No. Nuh-uh. I’m not going to know anything Mrs. Flowers’s mother doesn’t.”
Elena just looked at her, and Bonnie sighed. This was important, after all. Meredith’s name was next, and if there was one thing that was true, it was that she and Meredith and Elena had one another’s backs. Always. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll see if I can find out anything else. Can you light me a candle?”
“What now?” Celia asked in confusion.
“Bonnie’s psychic,” Elena explained simply.
“Fascinating,” Celia said brightly, but her eyes slid, cool and disbelieving, across Bonnie.
Well, whatever. Bonnie didn’t care what she thought. She could assume that Bonnie was pretending or crazy if she wanted to, but she’d see what happened eventually. Elena brought a candle over from its spot on the mantel, lit it, and placed it on the coffee table.
Bonnie swallowed, licked her lips, which were suddenly dry, and tried to focus on the candle flame. Although she’d
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