Tears prickle my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I blurt. “I’m sorry for what happened. I was awful—”
Owen covers my hand with his, just for a moment, but it’s enough to cut me off. “Don’t. I don’t wanna talk about then. I wanna put it behind me—finally. What Felix said the other day… He was right.” He offers a smile. “He’s a good guy. Felix.”
It takes a second for his meaning to sink in. Heat rises in my cheeks. “No—we’re just friends. There’s nothing between me and Felix.”
“Oh.”
The air between us changes, charges. There’s a spark of possibility overshadowed by a wave of fear. I latch onto the first idea that strays into my mind. “So, which one do you think’ll be the next to drop?”
Owen raises an eyebrow and I nod toward the line. His posture relaxes and he presses his lips together. “Hard to say. See, at this point, you’ve gotta imagine what’s going through these people’s heads. They’re thinking about how long they’ve already waited and just how late they can be for their next engagement. And then there’s the fear that you’ll wait all this time and as soon as you walk out, everything’s gonna start working again. I’m thinking the two up front are in it for the long haul. The woman in yoga pants? I bet she’s next to go.”
“I don’t know. Yoga pants are pretty comfortable.”
Owen snorts. “What does that have to do with anything?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just, she probably won’t care how long she has to stand there because her clothes aren’t gonna start digging into her.”
Owen shakes his head, smiling.
I return his smile. Maybe this can work, a friendship between us. Things won’t ever be the way they were before, and maybe I don’t want them to be. We don’t have the same history. The Owen I knew, the one I was falling for, isn’t the same as this one. But if he can move beyond this reality’s history, I certainly can.
Behind the counter, Elle sighs. “Do you want me to try?”
“I think I can flip a switch by myself.” Millie’s tone is irritated. I can only see her arm from this angle, and I can hear the loud snaps as she flicks each breaker off and then on again. Snap. The overhead lights go out. A couple people call out in surprise. Snap. The lights are back on.
“I just want a coffee,” calls the man stationed third in line. “Can I just get a cup?”
“Are you paying with cash?” Elle asks.
The man looks at her like she’s crazy. “No.”
She points at the register. “I can’t ring any transactions right now. If you had cash...”
“Well, I have cash,” calls yoga pants.
The employee looks at her expectantly. “And you’d like coffee?”
“No. I want a skinny half-caf vanilla latte.”
“The espresso machine’s still not working.”
“Well, how do you know?” asks yoga pants. “You’re not testing it.”
The employee takes in a breath before responding. “There’s a light that glows green when the machine is on—”
“Maybe it’s broken,” snaps yoga pants.
“Yikes,” I murmur.
“Yeah, this is quickly dissolving into anarchy. How long do you think it’ll be before they organize and storm the counter?”
I squint at the patrons. “I dunno. I think there might be a power struggle. Yoga Pants isn’t going down without a fight.”
Owen laughs and I bask in the sound of it. I’ve missed him—not in the romantic way I longed for him when I first entered this reality, just him—his humor, his friendship. I almost forgot how easy it’s always been with him, how I’ve never felt like I need to pretend to be someone I’m not. My eyes prickle. I’ve missed having friends. When they associated with me, the circle didn’t really fill that hole. And even with Bria, West, and Felix, the energy we have together is different than the easy playfulness we enjoyed before. But here, now, with Owen, it’s like things are the same as they were before. I smile at him and as he turns his clear blue eyes on me, for the first time since I returned from the time-travel spell, I feel like I’m home.
“I give it two minutes before no-cash coffee guy steals a cup and gets his coffee,” Owen says, grinning.
I smile back, but the expression quickly slips from my face as a sensation overtakes me. My whole body prickles as a current of energy thrums through me. I scan the coffee house, coming up empty before it dawns on me what I’m searching for: the circle. The charge in the air is so similar to what I felt just before Dana fell down the stairs.
The shop is plunged into semidarkness again, and yoga pants lets out a yelp. A few seconds slip by and the light doesn’t return. The man at the head of the line begins grumbling about something, but his voice is drowned out by a scream. “Millie!”
I stand, suddenly on high alert. There’s something wrong. It’s not just the darkness: there’s a scent in the air, like burning, or something charred. I edge toward the counter, dreading what I’ll find there.
Lying on the ground below the breaker box is Millie, a wisp of smoke rising from her nose and mouth, catching the slanting light coming from the front window. Elle is bent over her, reaching toward her but not quite touching her.
“Call nine-one-one!” Owen calls.
No one moves.
Owen grabs my shoulder and shakes me. “Do you have your phone?”
I nod, numbly, my hand going to my back pocket.
“Mine’s dead. Give me yours.”
The man at the back of the line shoves forward. “I’m a nurse,” he says, rushing behind the counter.
Elle lets out a wail as the man displaces her. Owen takes my phone and dials three numbers. “Hello? There’s an emergency at Wide Awake Cafe on Main. I think... I think someone’s been electrocuted.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Owen and I stand on the sidewalk, watching as the paramedics slide the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. The lights aren’t flashing. There’s no need. The white sheet covering Millie’s face is final: She will not recover from what happened.
Died immediately, the nurse said when the paramedics arrived. The shock stopped her heart, and the nurse couldn’t get it started again.
The paramedics close the back door before circling around to the cab of the ambulance. I stare until the vehicle has disappeared down Main Street.
Owen’s hand closes over my shoulder. “Hey, let me walk you back to Jodi’s shop.”
I shake my head. “I can’t... I can’t...” I can’t do it again, I want to say. I can’t tell her that one of her good friends is dead, not again. I was the one to tell her that her friend Shelly was dead in my other reality, and I can’t see that look on her face again.
“Okay,” Owen says, even though I haven’t made a coherent statement. “Okay. Walk down there with me. I’ll tell her. You don’t have to go in. I’ll tell her and then I’ll take you home.”
I want to disagree with him. I should stay and Jodi should go. I should be the one to close down the store so Jodi can go home, but I know I can’t do it. The aroma of burned flesh is still strong in my nostrils. I can’t close the shop right now. I’m not entirely sure I can walk.
Owen leads me back down the street. It’s not until we get to the front door of the shop that I realize I didn’t get Jodi her drink. I reflect on how disappointed she’ll be until I realize she won’t care about her drink once Owen tells her what happened. She might never drink coffee again.
True to his word, Owen goes into the store without me. I stare off across the street, not wanting to catch even a glimpse of Jodi’s face when she hears the news. My stomach twists. I should be in there, supporting her. But I can’t. I just... I can’t.
What was it I felt back there before it happened? Was it a premonition? Just my psychic senses hinting that something bad was about to happen? Or was it something else?
Owen is back at my side and I’m not sure how much time has passed. He places a tentative arm around my shoulder a
nd leads me toward his car, which is parked at the end of the block.
“I should be in there. I should help her.”
“No. Jodi wanted me to take you home.” Owen’s voice is firm, even if his hold on me isn’t. Still, it’s the closest the two of us have been in this new reality, and I’m forcibly reminded of all the other times he slung his arm around my shoulder or bumped my arm with his, the times he held my hand. It seems impossible to me that those things happened in a place where Owen will never be aware of them.
My stomach twists. How selfish am I? Someone just died, my aunt is probably a wreck, and here I am feeling sorry for myself because—what? I don’t have a boyfriend?
Owen opens the passenger side of his white Grand Prix and lets me in. I slide into the familiar seat, my eyes scanning the dashboard for the little cracks and dings I remember from the last time I was in the car. Only some of them are there. After all, this car isn’t exactly the same as the one I rode in before, just like this Owen isn’t exactly the same as the one I rode in it with.
I don’t ask Owen how he knows the way to my house, but he drives there without my input. When he pulls in the driveway, he cuts the ignition and comes around to my side to open the door. Ordinarily I would insist I could get the door myself, but these are not ordinary circumstances and I even need Owen’s help getting out of the car. His arm is once again around me as he leads me up the porch stairs and to the front door.
“Thank you,” I murmur when we reach the door. I’m not entirely sure what I’m thanking him for, but the words seem appropriate. Thanks for walking me to the door? Thanks for telling Jodi her friend died so I wouldn’t have to? Owen seems to accept that it’s a cover-all and nods.
He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair. “I just... I can’t believe that happened. We were just sitting there and...” He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m an awful person.”
His words jar me. “What?”
He sighs. “Someone was just electrocuted, and I’m thinking about how it ruined…” He turns, facing the driveway. “Felix was right. Completely right about me.”
I grab his arm, tugging him until he faces me. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve hated you. For the last three years, I’ve hated you, because it was easier to do that than to admit the truth. But these last couple weeks, you’ve been different. At first I tried to ignore it, tried to believe it wasn’t really there, but… I see her there, inside you. The girl you were when you first came to Clearwater. I see Krissa when I look at you—not Kristyl, not the girl you changed into when you started spending time with them.”
My heartbeat speeds up. “I can’t explain it, Owen, but I am her—I am Krissa.”
He blinks a few times, pressing his lips together. “We were friends—good friends. I’ve missed that. And then today, you show up and it was like old times, you know?” He reaches forward, caressing my cheek with his fingers. “It was going so well until...”
My breath catches, the force of a memory taking me by surprise. Owen stood on this porch once before—my Owen—and said those same words. And afterward, we kissed for the first time. I want so badly to kiss him right now, to relive that moment, to lose myself in it. But I can’t—we’re not the same people. I turn, heading toward the house. “I should get inside.”
By the time I reach the front door, Owen is at my side. He places his hand over mine when I grab for the doorknob. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t look at him, afraid of what might happen if I do. “Nothing.”
“Are you mad at me?” He removes his hand from mine. “Was it something I said?”
“Of course not.” I don’t turn to him and he puts one hand firmly on each of my shoulders, turning me so I’m facing him. The air outside is cold, but it’s nothing compared to the icy sensation that engulfs me when my eyes lock on Owen’s. The air is pressed from my lungs as memories of my life—my former life—flip through my consciousness like a movie on fast-forward. My first day at Clearwater High, when Crystal Jamison spilled her coffee over my clothes. Owen finding me in an empty stairwell and offering me his sweatshirt. His smile from across the lunch table. The first time he hugged me outside Spanish class. Our hands full of deep, rich compost when we helped the science teacher take care of the plants in the courtyard at school. The school dance when we slow danced in the corridor off the commons, the feel of his hand on the side of my face as he leaned forward... The panic in Owen’s face and voice the morning after the dance when he admitted he’d foreseen an accident Felix was involved in. The confusion and elation at learning that he and I are the same—we both have psychic abilities. The rage that coursed through him the night Tucker tried to attack me, and the feel of his lips against mine when we kissed here on this porch.
Owen releases my shoulders, swaying slightly in his spot. His eyebrows cinch together and he shakes his head vaguely. “I should… go.”
A shaky breath passes over my lips. Suddenly, I’m exhausted, my legs like jelly. I reach for the door to steady myself. “Thanks for the ride home.”
He nods, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Yeah.” He reaches for my face and leans toward me. My breath catches and my stomach flutters. Just when I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, he straightens, taking a step back. His mouth twitches and he starts for the steps. “Bye, Krissa. See you tomorrow.”
I watch as he crosses the lawn to the driveway, as he opens the door to his Grand Prix and climbs in, as he backs out of the driveway and heads off down the street.
What just happened? I know why this exchange was strange for me—because I remember the last time we spoke similar words in this very spot. But why would Owen suddenly start acting strange? And why did he almost kiss me?
Chapter Twenty-Three
I barely get a chance to catch my breath for the next few days. Mom insists Jodi take some time off work, which means Devin, Seth, and I have to pick up the slack. Come Monday, I convince Mom to let me work instead of going to school because Devin has a morning class and Seth can’t handle things alone yet. She agrees, with the caveat that I have someone bring home all the work I miss so I don’t get behind.
Millie’s funeral is Tuesday.
Outside my bedroom window, the world is frosted. A light snow fell during the night, dusting rooftops and roadways with a powder that snakes in the light breeze. I stare at the clothes in my closet for a long time before deciding on black pants and a gray sweater. Because my hair is extra-staticky today, I pull it back, wrestling it into a strange clawed clip that’s been hanging out on the counter in the bathroom.
By the time I make it downstairs, breakfast is ready. All weekend, Mom has been keeping up a steady stream of one-sided conversation, occasionally asking me questions about what’s happening at the shop, just so we’re not eating in silence. This morning, however, she elects to remain quiet.
Somber is the tone of the morning. Although the tone of the funeral is lighthearted, with people sharing stories about Millie and laughing, my eyes are consistently drawn to the two sets of small, shaking shoulders at the front of the room—Millie’s children. No matter how many comical stories are shared, I can’t get out of my head the fact that these two kids no longer have a mom.
We cut out right after the funeral to get me to school. Mom’s plan is to drop me off and get back at the funeral home before the procession to the graveyard begins.
I walk to the front office in a daze, my mind still on Millie. For the past few days, I’ve kept myself busy—too busy to replay the afternoon she died. But now, in the silent hallway, the click of my boots against the stone floor, the memory floods back. There’s nothing I could’ve done to stop it. It was an accident—something that gives me shivers each time my mom says it. Still, I had a feeling just before it happened. What could that sensation have meant? Was it a warning? Was I supposed to stop it?
“Signing in?”
I blink rapidly. I’m in the front office, standing in front of the
secretary, but I don’t remember arriving. She repeats her question and I manage to nod. When I sign in on the clipboard she indicates, shivering when I fill in the reason square, she directs me to lunch. The day is already half over.
Although I’m still wearing my coat, I don’t bother stopping by my locker before heading to the cafeteria. It strikes me, as the buzz of voices reaches my ears, that I don’t have a lunch, but I’m also not very hungry, so it doesn’t really matter. I make my way through the commons and into the lunch room, weaving around clumps of people who are either slowly making their way to their table or stopped completely, chatting. When I plop down in my chair, Bria immediately wraps her arms around me, squeezing me so hard I can’t draw breath until she releases me. Felix reaches across the table, covering my hand with his, and West pushes a cookie so it rests in front of me. For something to do, I start picking at the cookie, plopping chunks in my mouth and chewing. I don’t taste it.
“So,” Bria says after a minute, drawing out the word. “Do you have anything going on tonight? Working at the shop, or… other plans?”
I chew and swallow. “No. Shop’s closed for the day. We were all at the funeral this morning and Jodi didn’t want anyone to have to work afterward. Tonight, Jodi’s going out with some people who came in from out of town for the funeral. Mom’s going with her because she’s pretty sure Jodi’s gonna drink her weight in rum.”
“Does that mean you can come out, too?” Bria asks.
“Probably.” I break off another piece of cookie but don’t eat it. Instead, I work on breaking it half, and then half again, and again. “Why? You guys wanna practice blocking magic again?” I sigh, not sure I’m up for it. But being able to stop the circle from casting spells is more important than me sitting in my room, replaying whether or not I could have done something to keep Millie from dying. “Yeah, sure. We can do that.”
Clearwater Witches Boxset Page 42
