Bewitched

by Prescott, Daisy

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

  “Because casting spells on Mabon is powerful stuff. I wouldn’t want you to get it wrong and end up summoning a legion of toads.”

  I gulp. “Is that possible?”

  “Anything is possible. Like us going to Tate Winthrop’s party!” She flutter-kicks her feet in the air a few times to emphasize her excitement. “We have to find you a costume tomorrow!”

  “What the hell am I going to wear to this party?”

  “You need something sexy to wear.”

  “Sexy? Really?”

  “I know, we’ll make an exception, but something with a lot of leg.”

  “Spider?”

  “Not more legs, just your two. And nothing creepy. Although, Andrew does seem the type to like the dark side. Sexy zombie?”

  I laugh. “Sexy zombie nurse? Do animals become zombies? I could be a sexy zombie black cat.” I have to stop talking because I’m laughing at my own joke so hard I can’t breathe. “Or bunny. A dead bunny, but sexy.”

  “All right, all right. Nothing too sexy or dead. We’ll think of something perfect.”

  Six

  This week, Andrew sits next to me in seminar. His arm sometimes brushes mine when he takes notes. I pretend to focus on whatever Dr. Philips is saying about the three-name author of the week: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and Louisa May Alcott. Why do so many nineteenth century authors have three names?

  “Want to grab a coffee?” Andrew asks as we walk out of today’s Alcott class. With his hands in his pockets, he seems unsure of himself, unlike the typical, cool, aloof Andrew.

  “I’m supposed to meet Sam.” I regret rejecting him immediately. This is what I wished for the other night. Tall, dark and brooding, my own Heathcliff is asking me out for coffee.

  “Oh.” He frowns and plays with the straps of his backpack.

  “You could join us.”

  Please let him join us I silently beg. Andrew wants to have coffee. With me. I could ditch Sam and explain later. Why hadn’t I thought before I opened my mouth? She’ll understand. She would totally do the same and without a second thought if Tate asked her out.

  Not that Andrew is asking me out. This isn’t a date. It’s coffee. I want to go and am willing to ditch my best friend for a guy. I might be turning into one of those girls, but Andrew Wildes wants to get coffee with me. I close my eyes and wish for Sam to understand before pulling out my phone to text her. My screen shows a new text alert from Sam:

  Got a costume idea. Heading into Boston. Sorry to bail on coffee. Catch you later. :)

  “Or not.” Delight echoes in my voice. I should sound bummed she ditched me for a trip to Boston, but I can’t even fake feeling sad about the change of plans.

  Andrew stops walking, waiting for me to finish. Confusion clouds his eyes as he blinks behind his thick frames. “No, you don’t want me to join you?”

  “No, not join us. No.” His frown returns and I realize I’m completely jumbling this. “She just canceled.” I grin, waving my phone in front of me.

  His lips lift in a lopsided smile. “Well, in that case, shall we?” He gestures toward the edge of campus.

  “No campus cafe?” I walk in the direction of the gate.

  He easily matches my stride. With a shake of his head, he meets my eyes. “I know a better place.”

  He leads me through the wrought iron gates and past ivy-covered stone walls marking the edge of our little campus. After a few twists and turns through narrow streets decorated for Halloween, we stand in front of a tiny house covered in black-painted clapboards, diamond-patterned panes of glass crisscrossing its small windows. I’ve never seen it before. I’m not sure if I’ve even walked down this street. Or could find my way back to campus. Salem isn’t a big town, but its old streets and alleys still confuse me. I gaze at the dark house in front of us. It feels … unwelcoming? Foreboding? Creepy? Even the few stalks of dried corn and twin stacks of white pumpkins make the place appear anything but festive. It’s definitely a little creepy and probably a lot haunted.

  “Here?” My voice squeaks.

  “Sure. They make the best hot chocolate.” He opens the little door and ducks inside.

  The door is that small.

  I follow him into the dark space, bells chiming as the door closes behind me.

  What’s with all of the bells in this town?

  “People think they ward off bad spirits and bring good energy to the home or business,” Andrew answers.

  “I asked that out loud?” My cheeks heat.

  Before he can answer, a round woman with a frizzy halo of gray hair greets him with a smile followed by an enveloping hug.

  “Andrew!”

  After extracting himself from her voluptuous curves, he introduces us. “Martha, this is my friend, Madison.”

  Grinning at him, she extends her hand. “Nice to meet a friend of Andrew’s. Finally.”

  I swear his cheeks pink, but it’s too dark to see clearly with the only light in the space coming from the small windows and table lamps with black shades. My eyes slowly adjust and I can see the walls are actually bookcases lined only with books with dark covers. In the nearest corner, a barista works an espresso machine. Even the cups are black.

  I’m worried if I drop something or break a cup, it will never be found again. “What is this place?”

  He presses his hand against my shoulder to steer me toward a table. “It’s had a lot of names over the years, but everyone I know calls it the Black Book, though I’m not sure why.”

  I chuckle as we sit down. “Because it’s lined with shelves holding black books?”

  His eyebrows do that furrowing thing where they disappeared into the frames of his glasses. “Huh, I’d never thought of that being the reason. I always figured it was because it was the perfect location for a secret rendezvous.”

  Is that what this is? It’s dark enough in here to have sex and no one would know. We could make out in the corner and no one could see us. And thankfully, it’s dark enough that Andrew can’t see me blushing over thoughts of us kissing. Maybe even making it to second base at a corner table.

  Luckily, my thoughts and blush are interrupted by the return of Martha bearing two steaming cups and a plate of brownies. At least they looked like brownies. It’s difficult to differentiate them from the black plate.

  “Death by chocolate. Andrew’s favorite,” she announces, squeezing his shoulder.

  After she walks away, I say, “She seems fond of you.”

  “I’ve known her my entire life. She and my mother are old friends.”

  “Does your mom still live here?”

  “She does.”

  I’m prying—I can tell by the tightness in his shoulders—but I can’t stop myself. He’s talking and I want to keep him speaking. I want to learn what makes him tick, what makes him such a loner. I want to know everything behind the mask he seems to wear.

  “Why don’t you live at home?”

  He laughs, but he doesn’t smile. “What twenty-one year old guy wants to live at home with his mother?”

  I giggle. “Right. That would be weird.”

  “The dorm is probably worse. Freshman are unbelievable.”

  “I remember being an idiot first year.” I sigh. More than an idiot. I hooked up with guys like Hamilton. I had terrible taste in men back then. Hence my no assholes policy which has led to my current love spell casting dateless status.

  “I probably shouldn’t say this, but the kneeing incident in the lounge with Hamilton is pretty legendary in Residence Life.”

  “Nooo.” I try to hide underneath the table, but then realize halfway bent over that I’m not bendy enough. Instead, I make myself invisible by covering my eyes with my hands.

  He chuckles.

  I peek at him from between my fingers. “Please say you are teasing.”

  He doesn’t answer, but his eyes dance with amusement.

&n
bsp; “Does everyone know?”

  His hand peels away my fingers. “I’m sure some of the freshman don’t. You’re a legend. Own it.”

  “This explains my lack of a love life. I’m the girl who knees boys in the balls. No wonder no one has asked me out in ages. I’m cursed.” I give up the fight and lay my head on the table where I’m eye level with the brownies. If only chocolate death were real and could save me from this conversation. “At least I can die from chocolate instead of humiliation. Nice knowing you.” I break off a big bite of brownie and eat it without lifting my head.

  Andrew still hasn’t said anything.

  I contemplate how much chocolate I’ll have to consume to actually die. I stuff another bite into my mouth.

  He tilts his head to the side to study me. After a few beats, he said, “You’re not cursed.”

  I feel a familiar tingle from his gaze. “I wish I could believe you, but I’m beginning to think someone put a hex on me.” I sigh.

  He laughs again. “Really?”

  “It’s worse than you know.”

  “I’d be able to tell, trust me. No hex, no curse.” His hand brushes my arm, sending a shiver over my skin, raising goose bumps in its wake. It’s the exact opposite of unpleasant. He should do that again. Maybe never stop. I’m tempted to rub up against his hand like a cat.

  “Sam thinks I’m a witch,” I blurt out.

  He chokes on his hot chocolate.

  “I know, right? Something about family ancestors and matrilineal genes or something. I think she’s confusing magic and Judaism.” I lift my head off the table and sip my drink, which tastes exactly like melted chocolate. It’s amazing. I stare at his mouth as he drinks from his cup. I wonder if Andrew’s kiss would taste like chocolate after this.

  “That explains the smudging last weekend.”

  Smudging? Oh, right. “Sam is into Wicca this year.”

  “And you? Do you believe in magic?”

  “Not really.” I meet his beautiful brown eyes, which remind me of warm melted milk chocolate. There’s a chocolate I’d like to die by. Death by Andrew. A familiar feeling flutters low in my belly and I cross my legs. It’s been ages since anything fluttered.

  “Just curses and hexes, but not the good stuff?” His fingers play with his cup, suddenly interested in studying the grain of the wood on the table.

  “Being able to hex someone sounds pretty good to me.” I remember wishing Hamilton would fall and my delight when he did. “Or do you mean magical potions and flying brooms? Do you believe in those?”

  He shrugged. “Growing up in Salem, you begin to believe in all sorts of things, both light and darkness.”

  Sarah and Sam’s words about Mabon echo in my head … the balance between light and dark. Hexes and love spells.

  “I think Philips’ class is getting to me,” I say. “Everything so far this semester has turned into the same conversation.”

  “Then let’s talk about something else. You know more about me than I do about you. Tell me something I don’t know.” He smiles, and when he leaned back into the shadows, the low table light emphasized his angular jaw and high cheekbones.

  “I’m an English major, but you probably already guessed as much since we have class together. Minor in business.”

  “Business, eh?”

  “Not a lot of jobs out there for English majors. It was my father’s idea at first, but I love my marketing classes.”

  “Smart man.”

  “And your major?”

  “Bio-chemistry.”

  I’m not surprised. He looks like a chemistry major. All glasses and smarts.

  “How does an upper level English class fit into that?”

  “I like to read.” He gives me a small smile. “I know, it’s weird.”

  I match his expression. “I like boys who read.”

  His smile falters and is quickly replaced by a grin. “Good to know.”

  We chat about classes, majors, and life in the dorms as the dim light from the windows grows darker. Andrew isn’t as weird as I imagined—more serious than weird. Kind of an old soul. And cute. Very cute. Even in a dark bookstore café.

  Okay, this place is still a little weird.

  Andrew walks me back to my dorm, explaining it’s not out of his way because he’s meeting up with Tate. When he pauses before the wide steps to the entrance, I end up standing two steps above him, making us about the same height. I can see the layers of brown in his eyes and a slim line of silver near his pupil. He has a fine layer of dark stubble along his pale jaw, which only accentuates the deep red of his lips. Women would kill for his lip color.

  “Hey.” He grabs my hand, sending warmth up my arm.

  I glance down to where his fingers touch mine, then back up at his face.

  My breath stalls at the emotion in his eyes; it’s lust, pure and new.

  “I had fun this afternoon.” His gaze flicks down to my lips.

  “Me too.” I lean slightly forward and inhale, waiting.

  Anticipation warms my skin. My lips part in hope. Without a doubt, this is one of those moments before a kiss. The air between us crackles as our bodies draw together like magnets. Allowing my eyes to drift closed, I slowly inhale and wait.

  His fingers flex against mine for a second before he lets go, but I don’t feel him step away.

  I slowly blink open my eyes to meet his.

  He has an eyelash on his cheek. I reach up to touch it, transferring it to my finger. “Make a wish,” I whisper, holding out the tip of my finger for him to see it.

  “You keep it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His eyes settle back on my lips. When he shakes his head, his hair flops over his eyes. “No.”

  I frown and blow on the lash, but don’t make a wish.

  Time pauses as I wait for him to do something.

  I expect him to walk away. I hope he doesn’t. After a moment of quiet with only the sound of a light breeze rustling the dying leaves, I turn to step away.

  However, he lifts his hand to my cheek to stop me.

  “Madison …” he whispers, inching closer to my lips. His eyes remain locked with mine until they began to blur.

  Once again, I close my eyes. This time I feel his breath brush lightly across my lips. It’s a split second that contains an infinity before his mouth finally establishes contact with mine.

  I press against him. My lips, my chest, my hips are magnets seeking connection. I gasp at the sensation of his hand wrapping around my neck, tilting my head back. He accepts my open parted lips as invitation to explore, claiming my mouth with his tongue. My own hands grip his shoulders before winding their way into the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft, so soft. I want to bury my nose in it.

  All too soon he pauses and then breaks off the kiss, letting his hand drop away from my skin.

  I stand for a moment with my eyes closed, waiting for him to kiss me again. The cool air replaces the warmth between our bodies, forcing me to open my eyes and accept the kiss is over.

  He slowly comes back into focus. My brain feels fuzzy from kissing him. I’m a little blissed out and my body wants more. However, I don’t think he’s feeling the same. His expression is torn between joy and uncertainty; both emotions flickering across his face.

  “I, um …” He pauses. “I’ll see you in class.” He spins and swiftly strides away from me.

  I guess he isn’t visiting Tate after all.

  I know one thing for certain: the love spell seems to be working.

  Andrew totally kissed me. With tongue. He’s an amazing kisser. Kissing should be his sport, but only one on one, not a team sport. I want to be the only girl he kisses. As an only child, I never learned to share my toys. Same applies for boys. After all of our conversation today, I still don’t know his relationship status. I assume he’s single, since he asked me out, but then again he took me to a secret rendezvous place where no one would see us.

  It’s a week before Hal
loween and my head is spinning with magic and mysterious boys. Well, one boy. Runes, magic spells, smudging … oh boy.

  I shake my head to clear my brain. I should stick with sci-fi. All this hocus-pocus is too confusing. I should have double-checked for a guaranteed outcome on the love spell. Do spells even have guarantees? They should.

  Seven

  I stare at my yellow and black reflection in the full-length mirror on my closet door.

  “This? Why?” I pluck at the black tutu barely covering my ass. “Sexy bee? Sexy insect?” I shriek. “If I was going as a sexy insect, shouldn’t I be a praying mantis?”

  Sam glares at me. It’s kind of scary. “No, they eat their males after sex. Not the message you want to be sending tonight.” She snort-laughs. “Bee sending,” she repeats.

  “Help. I can’t be a bee. The puns will kill me.”

  “Hold on and quit your moaning. I’m not finished with the costume.” She places a headband with a tiny, black witch’s hat on my head.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Think about it.”

  “I am! I look ridiculous.” My costume includes neon-colored diamond-patterned tights, the aforementioned microscopic tutu, and a yellow and black striped top. “Don’t forget these.” I spin to show her my wings.

  “You’re bee-witched!” She claps her hands together with glee. “Get it? It’s brilliant.”

  “If you do say so yourself.” I fight a smile. “Fine. It’s clever.”

  “Andrew’s going to love it!”

  “Does he have a bee fetish I’m not aware of? A passion for all things honey?” I attempt to tug my nonexistent skirt lower only to have my hands swatted away by Sam.

  “Not that I know of, but you look super- hot. He won’t be able to resist.”

  The last part is true. The love spell is clearly working. Our chocolate date and the kiss proved it, right? He sat next to me in class again. We exchanged numbers, and have texted a bunch of times.

  Which is all great, but it isn’t. He hasn’t even tried to kiss me again or ask me out on another date.

  Does he really like me, or is it the spell?