I focus on work for the rest of the day, but when I get home, I sink down onto my couch and put my feet up. I stare at the colorful print on my wall that says magic in making.
There’s no way my mom could have been even part witch. She was in no way magical. She was down-to-earth, no-nonsense, and steady.
But then… not every witch I’ve met is like Felise—vivacious, creative, impulsive. There are some witches who are… well, dull.
If Mom was part witch, how could she have denied me knowing that about myself? How could she not have nurtured that part of me? Was she in denial about that part of herself?
“Mom.” I look up at the ceiling. I’m not sure if I believe in an afterlife, but yes, I’m talking to my deceased mother. “Why do you have to be gone now? Why couldn’t you have told me things before you went?” I swipe at a tear that escapes my eye. “Damn.”
Sometimes there are questions we never get answers to. I wouldn’t have these questions if Mom were still alive though. It’s only been finding my witch family that has raised all these issues for me.
Be careful what you wish for.
Maybe I should have left well enough alone. Maybe I never should have started digging around into my family background. Maybe I would have been happier just leading my old, mundane life.
Maybe.
I’ve been studying like mad for weeks now, and I’m sick of it. Trace keeps testing me and telling me I’m doing “okay,” and I’m frustrated and annoyed. He won’t let me try to use my magic powers on anything interesting yet, and I’m tempted to start trying things on my own.
I’ve never been a rule breaker, but sometimes a girl is pushed to her limits.
I created a Pinterest board to use for some of my ideas for my grimoire. Trace freaked out when I showed it to him because he thought everyone could see it. I assured him it was a secret board, but he’s still concerned that someone could hack into my account. I don’t know why anyone would do that, and besides, there are lots of magical pins on Pinterest. Anyway, he did some kind of spell to keep hackers from accessing my account.
Felise and Magan invited me to join a Facebook group called Witchy Women. Some of their witch friends are in there. I still feel a little lost, but the questions and tips they share are starting to make more sense. Apparently, they also have a Facebook spell to prevent hackers.
And every week it gets harder and harder to resist Trace.
After the art class I teach Saturday mornings, the kids all get picked up by their parents, but today one boy is still waiting for his ride. “Who’s picking you up, Danny?”
“My sister.”
I nod. It’s always his sister who picks him up. She’s about my age, and we’ve chatted a few times. “I guess she’s running a little late.” I peek at the time on my phone. Damn. I need to get out of here.
“I really liked the painting you did today,” I tell Danny.
“I’m going to give it to my mom.”
“She’ll love it.”
Today we did watercolors, and I found myself with an urge to paint my own creation. I haven’t painted for a while, but watercolors were always something I loved. I plan to pick up some supplies tomorrow.
“What are we doing next week?” Danny asks.
“Next week we’re going to paint with magnets.”
“Huh?”
I grin. “Just wait, you’ll see.”
Danny’s sister rushes in. “Sorry I’m late!”
I smile at her. “No worries.”
Danny shows her his picture, and she exclaims over it, which tells me she’s kind. She smiles at me. “I love the things you do.”
“Thanks!”
I hate to shoo them out, but I need to get home for Trace. When I’m alone, I pause and look around the room. What if…?
I close my eyes and think through what I want to happen. Then I twirl a finger in the air and open my eyes.
Oh shit.
It looks like a cyclone hit the room.
I could cry. Now I have even more work to do. I consider trying again, but maybe I shouldn’t push it. Biting my lip, I rush around, putting away supplies, wiping up paint and water, cleaning brushes.
Then I dash home, even later than I expected. I wish I had time to change and make myself look pretty, but oh well, not today.
I usually try to look my best when Trace comes over. I know it’s stupid and wrong and out of bounds, but… I want him to think I’m beautiful. I want him to look at me like he did that night at the Singing Horse. I can see he’s trying to keep his distance, but I know he feels it too. I feel like he wants to kiss me and touch me and make my clothes disappear. Wait. Is there a spell for that?
It’s really a pain in the ass, looking up stuff in all those old books.
Anyway, he’s kind of serious and a know-it-all when it comes to magic, but I’m still ravenously attracted to him. I wish he’d let loose like he did that night, cheering and laughing at the turtle races and making a spontaneous visit to a haunted house at night to dance in the ballroom with no music. And kissing. I can’t forget the kissing.
Every time I think about it, I get that fluttery, aching feeling low down inside me. Hell, every time I sit beside him for our study sessions I get that feeling. It’s getting harder and harder to not think about it when he’s around. Which makes things a little tense. For me, anyway. I try to pretend I’m all relaxed and he’s not gorgeous and radiating sexy vibes that make me think I want to undo your buttons with my teeth and lick your abs.
When we’re sitting side by side, I’m hyperaware of him, my skin tingling, my hands almost involuntarily reaching out to touch his arm or his—cough—thigh. I have to hold myself back from leaning in closer to sniff him. That would be weird, but he smells so good, like the sea and cypress and musk. Intoxicating. If I ever get close enough to press my nose to his skin, I’ll probably get dizzy and pass out.
We commence this week’s lesson with a recess for cookies and iced tea. I always make sure I have some kind of sweet treat for Trace. Maybe the way to his heart is through his sweet tooth. He eats two big cookies while I check my phone and guzzle down my icy drink to cool me off. I’ve been feeling overheated ever since he got here, for various reasons.
After the break, Trace seems to take pity on me and suggests we try some simple transformation spells.
My irritation eases. “Okay! What are we transforming?”
“Let’s start in your kitchen.”
“Sure.” I stand and take him over to the kitchen counter. My kitchen’s a small U-shape, open to the living and dining area. I walk inside it, and he stands at the counter. I look at him expectantly.
“Do you have a box of crackers?”
“Sure.” I open a cupboard and pull out a package of Goldfish.
His eyebrows shoot up, but he shrugs.
“What are we going to do?” I set the crackers on the counter.
“You’re going to transform them.”
“Into what?”
“Whatever you want. I suggest not an elephant.”
I snort-laugh. “Good advice.”
“Think it through.”
I focus the power of my mind on the crackers. And holy shit, I do it!