Tori’s mind spun over the logbook. Jesse. Jesse was a volunteer. His mother had told them herself.

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Why Jesse had been rummaging in her room and digging in the cemetery. Why he felt so guilty about what had happened to Will. The house—it was supposed to be his. His entire future had been tied up in it. He’d said it himself. He was tired of losing to her.

Tori raced out the front door, eyes peeled for Drew’s car, but it was gone. The sun had already set, the purple horizon dotted pink and orange and the parking lot lights already flickering on. Magda had warned her they couldn’t wait around long.

The dance would be starting soon.

The bonfire. It was supposed to be tonight, after the dance. Jesse and his friends would be there soon, and she’d left Nathaniel alone. He didn’t know. He was still as convinced as Tori had been that Alistair was behind all of this.

Tori ran back to Matilda’s old room and dug around in her mother’s purse for her car keys. She hadn’t been behind the wheel since she’d gotten her learner’s permit when she was fifteen, and she felt a flutter of panic as she crossed the parking lot to the car.

Knuckles white on the steering wheel, she tried to remember everything her father had taught her. She released the emergency brake, put the car in reverse, and rolled slowly past the first of the parked police cars, hearing her father’s voice in her head. Breathe.

The police were everywhere, or maybe it just felt that way as she took the car at a crawl through the center of town. As she passed the turnoff to the Academy, two squad cars were setting up cones for a DUI checkpoint on the opposite side of the road.

Tori fought the urge to press down on the accelerator. Soon she would have the proof she needed to show everyone that land was rightfully hers. To expose Alistair’s family’s secrets. And if she was right, all she’d have to do was destroy the old bottle and shed Slaughter blood to untangle Emmeline’s spells and break the curse. If Nathaniel was right and Tori was the one to break the bottle, it would turn the protective spell in her favor. Then, she would tell Magda’s dad and the police what she knew about Jesse, and hope someone believed her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Tori rolled slowly up the driveway to her house, barely able to distinguish the gravel from the grass. No porch lights, no ambient glow drifted from the kitchen or the bedrooms. The house sagged like a dark, rotting corpse, the breeze off the river blowing the choking smell of it right to her. She shut the car door, and the hollow sound echoed back to her.

Tori ran to the back of the house, to the opening under the porch where she’d hidden Emmeline’s bottle that morning. She reached tentatively into the hole, waiting for a spider to crawl across her knuckles, or a snake or a possum to jump out and bite her. But all she felt was chilled, wet ground. Her groping became panicked, her hands scraping the dirt inside the lattice and coming away empty. She ducked her head inside, her eyes burning from a smell like wet charcoal and struggling to see in the dark. She stretched as far as her arms would reach and felt nothing.

The bottle was gone.

Tori pulled her head out from under the house, sucking the cold, fresh air into her lungs while she tried to figure out what to do. But something about the air smelled strange. The wind had shifted. Instead of coming off the river, it was blowing from the west. From the field. It carried the smell of smoke—not the charred reek of the house, more like fresh poplar and pine. As Tori followed it toward the path to the cemetery, the steady pulse of bass thudded through the ground and she walked faster until she was stumbling through the dark at a run, her jeans and sleeves catching on thorns and brambles as the music grew louder. The crackling bonfire blazed orange through the branches, casting a wide halo of light close to the oak.

Tori paused in the shadow of the tree line, her fists clenched at the sight of the cemetery littered with coolers and crushed cans. Familiar faces from the hallways at school laughed in frilly, sequined gowns. Guys in crumpled tuxedos leaned against grave markers, drinking from red plastic cups, their suit jackets slung carelessly over the headstones. Jesse’s pickup truck had been backed up to the edge of the field, its stereo blasting, the keg pushed to the rear of the open tailgate where red cups spilled out onto the dead grass.

If Jesse and his friends had gone to the dance, they hadn’t stayed long. Tori scanned the faces for Jesse, but he was nowhere in sight. Mitch leaned against the tree, sucking down the last of his beer. His leg was set in a heavy cast, and a pair of crutches rested by his feet. He was the only one at the party who wasn’t smiling, and he cast anxious glances in her direction, as if he were expecting something to come bursting out of the trees.

Tori stepped forward and their eyes caught across the cemetery. Mitch crushed his can and tossed it as he called out to a group of his friends. Tori saw his lips form the words “Burns is here.”

A few people sipped their beers, watching her over the tops of their cans and cups. The music died as someone leaned into the cab of Jesse’s truck to turn it off. Suddenly, the only sound was the snap and hiss of the fire as the sparks leapt toward the branches of the oak.

“Where’s Jesse?” Tori asked through a tight throat.

“He isn’t here.” Mitch’s eyes flicked to the path to the tobacco barn.

Tori’s heart lurched. Without thinking, she ran headlong into the trees. Crashing through the thicket, she was moving too fast to stumble, ignoring the twigs as they scraped across her face.

A dim light shone in the barn’s window, but when Tori threw open the door, the coals inside were cold and gray, the soot scattered as if someone had kicked them across the floor. A flashlight lay on the ground, shining a beam into the straw. It was strewn everywhere. The sawhorse had been knocked down, along with Nathaniel’s bucket of nails. A dark stain spattered the dirt floor.

Blood.

Thick and red.

“No!” She took the flashlight out with her, pointing it into the trees, listening for the sound of feet in the brush. They couldn’t have gone far.

“Your boyfriend’s got a few things to answer for,” a cold voice called out. Tori spun around, searching for Jesse’s face. “Like all this weird shit that started happening as soon as he showed up here.”

Jesse and Bobby stood about ten yards away at the trailhead to the cemetery. Nathaniel hunched between them, his chin resting on his chest and his hands hanging loosely together, bound at the wrist. One of them had been bandaged with scraps of torn fabric, probably from the wound she’d given him when she’d taken the cutting from the tree, and a fresh wave of fear crested inside her. The blood in the barn. The bandage on his hand. What if her bottle hadn’t worked? And where was the old witch bottle now?

“You let him go!”

At the sound of Tori’s voice, Nathaniel raised his head.

“You can have him after I get through with him. My dad and I…we’ve got a few questions for him.” A slur smudged the ends of Jesse’s sentences.

“I know you have the bottle, Jesse. Where is it?”

Tori could feel Nathaniel’s eyes on her in the dark, the questions rising off him. She was supposed to have it. She was supposed to have hidden it where no one would find it. He had trusted her. And she’d screwed it all up. Nathaniel dropped his head. They could kill him, right here, right this minute. Her stupid plastic witch bottle didn’t work, and now Jesse was holding Nathaniel’s life in his hands like it was some kind of present he was just waiting to tear into.

Jesse’s mouth hung open, his face a shadowed mask of disgust and disbelief. “You’re asking me where the bottle is after you stole it? Is this some kind of a joke?” He stared at Tori like she was the crazy one. “That’s all you people are. Fucking liars and thieves.”

Tori raised the light to Jesse’s face. He reeled to cover his eyes, but not before she saw the thick red stain under his nose. Blood streamed over his lips and down his chin. It stained the crisp white collar of his shirt. The blood in the barn…

“Get that thing out of my eyes!” Jesse shouted. Bobby started forward, his arm outstretched to snatch the flashlight from her. Suddenly, Bobby lurched, falling facedown in the underbrush with a swear.

“Son of a bitch tripped me!” he shouted, clamoring to his feet and rounding on Nathaniel. Nathaniel’s head snapped sideways as Bobby cuffed him hard in the cheek.

Slowly, Nathaniel opened his eyes. They were a livid emerald green, as bright as they had been the night Tori had pulled him from the dirt. He dragged his sleeve across his mouth and checked it for blood. The yellow streak stopped him cold. He licked his lips and glanced up at Tori, a smile curling into his cheek.

Suddenly, Nathaniel kicked out sideways, toppling Bobby backward as he swung his fists into Jesse’s ear. Tori charged into Bobby, throwing him to the ground, her flashlight wound back and ready to swing.

The metallic snap and click came from somewhere close.

Everything fell silent, all of them frozen by the sound of a bullet being chambered.

Alistair Slaughter stood a few yards away, sighting them down the length of his hunting rifle.

Tori eased off Bobby. Nathaniel slowly raised his hands.

“Is this him? Is this Bishop?”

Jesse nodded, rubbing his ear and scowling. He grabbed Nathaniel by his collar, making a show of it for his dad. “This is him.”

“You, boy!” Alistair’s eyes narrowed down the barrel at Nathaniel. “Where’d you come from?”

Nathaniel licked his swollen lip, stalling. “I already told your son. I’m from England. I’m here to visit a friend.”

Nathaniel’s eyes flashed to Tori’s, betraying him.

“He’s lying. He’s been living in the old tobacco barn the whole time he’s been here. Tori’s been hiding him.” Jesse spit, freeing one hand to wipe the blood from his upper lip.

“Which would put you pretty damn close to every god-awful thing that’s happened ’round here. What did you do to my nephew Will? That boy couldn’t swim. He’d never’ve gone into that river like that. Not unless someone pushed him! And how ’bout that fire that started at Mrs. Rice’s house?”

Alistair started talking faster. There was a hint of hysteria in the rise of his voice. “And how ’bout my house, boy!” Alistair was shouting now, spittle flying with every word. “That house has been in my family for generations! It was gonna pay for my son’s college. Did the girl put you up to it? Did she tell you to do it?” Alistair jerked his chin at Tori. “Why’d you do it, girl? So you could claim the insurance and move someplace else?”

Tori looked to Jesse. Why wasn’t he confessing? But it wasn’t guilt or pride she saw in his eyes. They were glassy. Pinched with pain. It was as if all of his cockiness and bravado had slipped away, revealing the hurt and loss underneath.

The hair bristled on the back of Tori’s neck.

Something wasn’t right. Not right at all.

Suddenly, Tori’s mind broke the murky surface and her chest filled with an icy truth.

The murders, the fires…Tori saw all of Emmeline’s dreams anew, as a backdrop to Matilda’s words. Together, they fit to form a clearer picture.

We try to hide things, to bury our own shame….But the more you try to hold ’em down, the harder they’re gonna fight to come out.

Tori knew who was behind this. She knew who was holding down the truth, protecting the family from shame. Covering up their scandals.

Alistair’s booming voice startled her back to the moment.

“Why’d you do it, boy?” Alistair’s face swelled with rage. The color drained from Nathaniel’s cheeks as Alistair’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Answer me! Why’d you do it?”

Tori looked to Jesse and Bobby, her eyes pleading for help, hoping one of them would talk Alistair down. Neither of them looked at her. They were transfixed on Alistair’s gun. On the vein bulging in his sweaty forehead. On his trembling trigger finger.

In one quick motion, Tori brought the flashlight up and pointed the beam straight into Alistair’s face.

“Run!” she shouted to Nathaniel. Nathaniel hesitated a fraction of a second before crossing in front of Jesse for the shelter of the woods.

A deafening crack pierced the night. Tori ducked and covered her ears, and for a moment they rang so loudly it was as if she was being held underwater. Alistair’s gun smoked. Bobby’s mouth hung open and he stared wide-eyed into the brush, his chest heaving. He backed up, scrambling for the trailhead, tripping as he shot quick, terrified looks over his shoulder.

Tori ran to Nathaniel’s side. He and Jesse lay motionless in a tangle of limbs. The blow had thrown them backward, leaving Nathaniel resting on top of Jesse’s legs.

“Nathaniel!” His skin was cold and pale, and when she pried open one of his eyelids, the emerald-rimmed pupils were large and lifeless. Frantic, she ran her hands down the length of his shirt. They caught on a hole in the fabric, no bigger than the width of her finger. She drew up his shirt, exposing a small entry wound.

Using all her strength, she rolled Nathaniel onto his side and a cry escaped her. The skin of his back was roughly torn, open and angry where the bullet had gone through. A wide ribbon of sap streamed from it, clinging like webbing to Tori’s fingers. Under him, Jesse’s blue eyes stared vacantly at the sky. As Tori watched, a stain soaked through his dress shirt, blooming like a dark red rose.

Alistair had shot through Nathaniel. He’d killed his own son.

Tori eased Nathaniel back to the ground and his eyelids fluttered open. “Matilda…” he muttered, barely loud enough for Tori to hear. “Did you see her? Did you find the contracts? Do you have the proof you need?”

Tori nodded, stroking his hair back from his face and holding his head in her lap, waiting for some magic to heal him. He flinched with pain. His skin was slick with sweat and his chest moved up and down irregularly.

“Where’s the bottle?”

Hot tears welled in Tori’s eyes, blurring her vision. “I hid it. But it’s—”

“Then it’s time,” he said, fighting for breath. “You have to break the curse.”

“No!” she said urgently.

Behind her, Alistair roared and fell to his knees, the gun pointed skyward.

“It’s done,” she said, her voice breaking. “It’s done, isn’t it? He killed Jesse. He spilled Slaughter blood! It’s all over now. It has to be.” Even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t true. Something was wrong. She felt Emmeline’s anger simmering everywhere. In the cold wind rustling along the belly of the woods. In the ghostly damp chill that clung to her breath and made it curl from her lips.

“It’s the only way,” he said. “You have to be the one. The one to satisfy the curse. The spells are tangled and you’re the common thread between them. It has to be you. The bottle and the blood. You have to spill them together.”

Tori panicked. She didn’t even know where the bottle was. Or what would happen to him if she couldn’t find it. “I can’t! I can’t do it!”

“Look at me, Tori.” He gritted his teeth and winced through the pain as he reached into his pocket. “This isn’t like before, when I cut myself. I know. I feel it. I’m not strong enough to heal from this.” He searched for Tori’s hand and pressed something into it. Emmeline’s doll. His fingers were cold and weak when they closed over hers. “Finish this.”

“But—”

“Victoria,” he whispered. “Do not let your grief make you forget who you are.”

Tears streamed down her face. She knew what she had to do. She knew this was what he wanted. If she let him die here—if she let the police or the Slaughters or anyone else find him—he’d be painted into history as some kind of deranged drifter….The strange boy with no identity who systematically tore apart Slaughter Farm and all its residents. He deserved better than a phony legacy. He deserved more than to be labeled a liar and a thief. She could give him that. She could exhume the truth. She could tear the lid from the coffin of lies Archibald and Elizabeth Slaughter had nailed shut over him.

She pressed her forehead to his, their noses brushing, his last few breaths mingling with hers. “I’ll remember you, Nathaniel Bishop,” she whispered against his lips.

A resounding crack split the night. Tori spun just in time to see Alistair’s eyes roll back in his head as he fell sideways. Drew stood behind him, his tie askew and the jacket of his tux loose around his cummerbund, a rock clutched in his hands. Magda peered around him, her corsage hand gripping his shoulder and her high heels sinking in the dirt.

“What are you doing here?”

“We were late to the dance. Jesse and his friends had already left by the time we got there. We asked around and heard that Jesse was planning to have the bonfire even though you told him he couldn’t. We came to try to get rid of them.”

When Tori turned back to Nathaniel, his eyes were closed. His chest was still. She pressed a hand to it, but couldn’t feel his heart beating.

“What the hell happened?” Drew asked, reaching for Magda’s hand as they took in Jesse’s and Nathaniel’s limp bodies.

“Alistair…he shot Jesse. I think it was an accident.” Tori’s breath hitched, her mind reeling over what to do next. “Where’s Bobby? He ran for help and he—”

Drew looked incredulous. “Bobby didn’t run for help. He just ran. Magda was arguing with Mitch, and she threatened to report them. Then we all heard the shot, and everyone at the bonfire scattered. Everyone’s gone, except us.”

Nobody had called for help. Nobody was coming. She looked down at Nathaniel’s pale face, unsure what to do, all their voices echoing in her mind. Nathaniel and Matilda and Emmeline.

Finish this.

Her grip tightened around Emmeline’s doll. It was all she had left of Nathaniel. And she knew what he wanted her to do. She shoved it in her pocket with the knife and ran for the tree. She heard Magda and Drew running behind her. When she reached the old oak, it was empty. Everyone was gone. She pulled the knife from her pocket and sank into the dirt.

“Um…Tori?” Drew’s voice pitched high with concern. He probably thought she was insane. She wouldn’t even know where to begin to explain. But Drew and Magda weren’t looking at her. She wasn’t even sure they were listening. Their eyes were fixed behind her.

Tori turned.

Across the field, Dorothy Slaughter walked fast toward the fire, pausing every few steps to take in the abandoned bottles and cups that littered the ground, then the deep tire ruts left behind by Jesse’s truck where Bobby and Mitch must have peeled out. As she neared, Tori saw the old stone witch bottle cradled in the crook of her arm.

“Go,” she whispered to Drew. “Check on Alistair. Keep an eye on his rifle and make sure he doesn’t run.” She turned to Magda. “Go with him. Call the police.”

They both hesitated a moment, then took off into the trees. Tori didn’t have long.

She stepped out from around the fire and pointed to the bottle. “What are you doing with that?”

Dorothy started. It took her a moment to find Tori against the light of the fire, and Tori came closer so she could get a good look. Tori fingered the knife through the fabric of her pocket. A cold wind stirred, tossing empty cups and dead leaves across the brittle grass.

The fire hissed. Sparks and flames reflected in Mrs. Slaughter’s eyes. Her long hair was coming loose from her bun. It blew across her lips, catching in the corners of her crooked smile. “This?” she asked, holding up the bottle.

“It’s mine. You took it from my property. Give it back.” Tori flexed her fingers, itching to take it.

“Yours?” she spat. “You entitled little brat! Nothing about this place is yours!”

“The house is mine. The land too.”

“That’s a lie!”

“I can prove it. I’m a descendant of Archibald Slaughter and Emmeline Bishop. She was an indentured servant, and Archibald owed her and her brother twenty acres of land. Al Senior knew it. He had proof. And he wanted to do the right thing.”

Mrs. Slaughter’s smile twisted into a sneer. “That’s what’s in this bottle, isn’t it? This is where the old man hid them.” She shook the fragile stone jug. “This is where Alistair’s father buried the secrets he was determined to keep from us.”

Lightning flashed, thunder clapped. The wind swirled harder, rattling the branches of the tree.

Tori couldn’t let Dorothy open that bottle. Not if it shifted the power of the bottle in Dorothy’s favor.

“Was it worth it?” Tori eyed the fire, reaching into her pocket. “Killing your nephew and an old woman to keep everyone from learning the truth? Ironic, isn’t it? The things you were willing to do to keep people from discovering what a terrible person you are.”

Mrs. Slaughter’s step faltered less than ten feet from the fire. She clutched the bottle to her chest and her smile crumbled and blew away. “What did you say?” Her eyes hardened.

“I know everything,” Tori told her. “I know what you did.”

“I didn’t do any of those things!” Dorothy’s face was a smug mask of false innocence. “It was that boy, Nathaniel Bishop. The one the police are looking for. The strange boy that’s been hanging around here.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Nathaniel doesn’t exist.”

“Of course he exists! Just ask Jesse. He’ll tell you—”

“Have you ever seen him?”

Dorothy scowled, growing annoyed. “Will wrote about him. In his journal. The boy worshipped him like he was some kind of hero! He kept writing about him, saying Nathaniel was coming back to Slaughter Farm to seek revenge for what happened to Emmeline. Clearly, the young man is disturbed,” she said disdainfully, “to be consumed by such a ridiculous legend. I hope the police find him before he can hurt anyone else.”

“Nathaniel’s dead.” Hot tears prickled Tori’s eyelids and she blinked them back. It took everything inside her not to scream.

Mrs. Slaughter stared at her, her mouth parted.

“Nathaniel Bishop was murdered, hanged from this tree by Archibald and Elizabeth Slaughter three hundred years ago. He couldn’t be the one who pushed Will into the river. Or the one who set the fires. Or the one who murdered Matilda Rice. The Nathaniel Will wrote about in his journal? He died a long time ago.”

Mrs. Slaughter blanched. She stared into the flames with a vacant expression, as if she were seeing the pages of Will’s journal anew, watching her alibi burn. “Don’t be foolish. No one would ever believe a ghost did those things,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“No. They’ll believe you did.” Dorothy’s eyes snapped to Tori’s. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who pushed Will into the river, because he knew why Al Senior left me this land. You knew he’d found proof, and he wouldn’t tell you where it was. And the deeper you dug into your family’s past trying to find it, the worse all that history started to look.”

“No!” She shook her head, hugging the bottle. Her eyes darted around them into the woods.

“You’d figured out who your family was by reading Will’s journal. You read the books he brought home from the library about Emmeline.”

“I was only concerned! The boy was obsessed! He wouldn’t stop digging!”

“What were you afraid he would find? That the stories about Emmeline were true? That your pristine estate was built on the backs of kidnapped children and abused girls? That you have all that you have now because your ancestors broke contracts and murdered slaves?” Dorothy grimaced. “Or were you most afraid of finding out that you were related to me?”

She charged at Tori, her finger pointed like Alistair’s. “You’re no Slaughter! You have no proof!”

Tori could feel her blood begin to boil. “That’s it, isn’t it? You couldn’t find the proof Al Senior had hidden. So instead, you tried to erase it. You got rid of the journal and you killed Will to keep him from telling anyone. You burned Will’s old house down, hoping to destroy it. Matilda’s too. And then you killed her, to keep her from telling her stories to anyone else. And when Jesse came home complaining about some stranger named Nathaniel, you thought you’d found your scapegoat. But you never figured out who Nathaniel is. That he doesn’t exist anymore.” It was the truth. Tori could see it all over Dorothy’s face as Dorothy advanced on her. Her eyes weren’t mournful or shocked. They were calculating and aware.

“My father-in-law had no idea the poison he was inviting into our lives. That stupid hobby—all that ridiculous research he was doing behind closed doors, all those stories he was filling the boy’s head with—it all would have ruined us! And I won’t let that happen.” Dorothy’s expression was wild, feral in the firelight. Her hair had come loose from her bun. It whipped around her face, dark smudges of mascara sliding below her eyes. Sparks blew across the small space between them, and she stared into the fire with a maniacal focus. “Sometimes,” she said coldly, “when invasive weeds get too thick, we have to burn our fields to rid ourselves of competition…to encourage growth.” She reached down, grabbing the end of a piece of long kindling from the fire. She brandished the smoking orange end with one hand, cradling the bottle in the other. “And that’s all you people are—weeds! Rooting where you don’t belong and choking out my family! When you’re gone, we’ll be healthy again.”

Dorothy snarled. She sliced the air with the searing wood, close enough for Tori to feel the heat of it. She backed away, unable to retaliate for fear of hitting the bottle. With a grunt, Dorothy swung again, hard and fast. Tori sidestepped, but Dorothy pressed in, edging her closer to the fire until Tori could feel the heat of it at her back. Dorothy lashed out again with an angry shout, the scorching tip of the wood whistling past Tori’s face.

“I’m sorry Jesse is dead,” Tori shouted, narrowly avoiding the blow. “But hurting me won’t bring him back!”

Mrs. Slaughter stumbled, her face registering the words before her body did. She righted herself and took a step backward, the kindling poised in her hands as she looked around her at the abandoned coolers of beer and the freshly built fire. The wood slipped from her fingers.

“What happened here? Where’s Jesse?” she demanded, still clutching the bottle tightly against her, her breath coming in rapid pants. “Whose blood is that?” she shouted, pointing at the red smear on Tori’s sleeve.

Tori eased a safe distance from the fire, her eyes fixed on the bottle. “Alistair came here with his rifle, looking for the person who killed Will. He was angry and confused. He made a mistake. And he shot Jesse—”

Dorothy’s face contorted with rage, and she dropped the bottle. Tori held her breath as it fell and rolled off Dorothy’s shoe.

“Liar!”

Tori leapt for the bottle, but Dorothy charged and tackled her to the ground, knocking the knife from Tori’s hand. She closed her fingers around Tori’s throat. Tori twisted sideways, and they rolled together toward the heat of the fire while Tori struggled to breathe. One hand fumbled in the grass for the knife, the other pushed against Mrs. Slaughter’s chest. Finally, her fingers closed around the handle and Tori brought it up to Dorothy’s arm in one quick motion, slashing her skin.

Dorothy screamed, releasing Tori like a hot coal. She clutched her arm, baring her teeth. The wind threw a cascade of sparks from the fire, and a cold rain started to fall. Dorothy launched for Tori again, and Tori dodged her, putting the bonfire between them. They circled it, staring each other down over the flames.

“There is no proof, you bastard child!” Dorothy yelled. Lightning flashed and thunder rocked the ground. Rain pelted her face and dripped off her chin. “Nobody knows who you are!”

The rain was as cold as the river, and Tori’s clothes were heavy on her skin.

Who I am is in my blood.

She wiped the rain and tears from her eyes.

Dorothy feinted once across the fire, then launched around it for Tori again. Tori darted around the other side, snatching the bottle from the ground.

“You’re wrong.” Tori pressed the blade to her own forearm, making Dorothy stumble and pause. Blood ran fast down the length of her arm, ushered by the rain down her fingers and over the bottle. She didn’t wait to see what Emmeline would do. Didn’t wait for signs that the curse had lifted. She knew who she was, who she’d been before all of this. She knew exactly what she needed to do. She took a deep breath and raised the witch bottle over her head.

“What are you doing?” Dorothy shouted, her voice cracking.

Then Tori threw it down and watched it shatter in the flames.