I laugh. Grateful for him, for our friendship. No matter how many songs we dance to, I swear I can still feel Sean’s gaze on me. But my eyes never stray from Trent again.
I forgave Sean on the first day of school, but this…I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him for tonight. One thing is sure. My crush on him is dead.
Chapter 3
Sean
SevenYearsLater
My bets are catching up to me. I just didn’t think it would take being chased through a strip mall by twenty members of the Arizona Witches Association for me to finally realize this. Yes, I said witches. As in acovenof witches. The average age is seventy-five, the dress code is black as death, and the facial expressions are, well, witchy? I’m not sure how they are keeping up with me.
I scan the shops ahead looking for one big enough to duck inside, then sneak out the back door.
“I will turn you into a feline you punk!” one of the witchy sisters screeches.
She’s been practicing; that was nearly perfect.
“Well go on, give it your best effort.”Low blow.
I’m aware of the scene I’m causing. Do I like attention? Yes. Do I seek it out occasionally? For sure. But do I want cameras aimed in my direction while I’m wearing my grandmother's wig and warlock robe?
Oh, did I not mention that part?
I know. I’ve hit rock bottom to be making desperate bets with my grandmother because all my siblings are happily in love, and my friends deserted me tonight.
This was a mission of justice, though—hardly the same.
I glance behind me to see if they’ve given up yet. The numbers have dwindled, but there are still five very angry witches hot on my trail, and is that… did that one just steal a moped?
Sh—
“Watch out!”
A stroller is headed for me, and I do the only thing I can think of to avoid a collision. I jump onto a planter—like a freaking ninja—and leap over a fake Santa sleigh, narrowly avoiding a decorative reindeer on my way down. My knee buckles as I land, but I propel myself up.
The strip mall was built along an old dried-up river, which is convenient because the shops farther up are situated twenty feet back from the others. If I can make it to the first one, then I can disappear out the alley entrance. With this new plan, I attempt to speed up but the warlock cape is severely limiting my movements. I need to ditch it, but Grandma will kill me.
Death might be a nice reprieve from my idiocy.
The curve in the building comes, and I make a sharp right through the first door I can find—a bakery. And luckily for me, it’s empty. I don’t think twice (which my sister Lennox would claim is one of my great faults) before vaulting myself over the serving counter. I’m vaguely aware I knocked something off the top of the counter, but I’m overly aware of whatever I smash on the way down. Pain explodes down my back.
I yelp, then clamp my mouth shut and slide farther behind the counter before the witches are alerted to my presence by their super hearing. But as of yet, I haven’t witnessed them do anything supernatural. A disappointment if I’m honest.
“Who are you? Get out!”
A woman emerges from the kitchen wielding a rolling pin in one hand. Now would be a bad time to appreciate the woman’s beauty, but my brain does it anyway.
It can’t be helped. She’s entirely too gorgeous. Dark black hair cascades down her right shoulder, falling into the dip in her waist.
“Wow, I might have to thank Grandma for this beautiful development.”
The woman's eyes turn murderous, the look oddly familiar, and then that rolling pin comes flying into my head.
Perhaps I should have thought twice, for once in my life.
Chapter 4
London
