“Y-you’re a witch,” I said.

“Am I?” She bore down on me, her eyes as wild as her hair. “Nice for someone to tell me. My mother insisted it was all in my head. She shipped me off to Lyle House, had me diagnosed as bipolar, and gave me a cartload of meds. And I gulped them because I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

She slammed down her hands. Lightning bolts flew from her fingertips, heading straight for me.

Tori’s eyes went wide with shock, her lips parting in a silent no!

I tried to scramble out of the way, but I wasn’t fast enough. As those crackling bolts came at me, a figure materialized—a girl in a nightgown. Liz. She shoved the dresser, and it shot from the wall and into the bolt’s path. Wood splintered. The mirror glass shattered, raining shards down on me as I crouched, head down.

When I lifted my head, the room was silent and Liz was gone. The dresser lay on its side with a smoldering hole through it, and all I could think was: That could have been me.

Tori sat huddled on the floor, her knees pulled up, her face buried against them as she rocked. “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it. I get so mad, so mad. And it just happens.”

Like Liz, making things fly when she got angry. Like Rae, burning her mom in a fight. Like Derek, throwing a kid and breaking his back. What would happen if I got mad enough?

Uncontrollable powers. That wasn’t normal for supernaturals. It couldn’t be.

I took a slow step toward Tori. “Tori, I—”

The door whacked open, and Tori’s mom barreled in. She stopped short when she saw the destruction.

“Victoria Enright!” The name came out in a snarl worthy of a werewolf. “What have you done?”

“I-it wasn’t her,” I said. “It was me. We argued and I—I…”