Except… there are live goldfish flopping around on my kitchen counter! “Eeeeeeeh!”
“Jesus Christ.” Trace swats at the fish to keep them from flying off the counter. “Romy!”
“What!” I back up, hands over my mouth. “That wasn’t supposed to happen! They were supposed to be in a fishbowl!”
“Help! Grab that one on the floor.”
“I’m not touching a fish!” I’ll admire a pretty goldfish in an aquarium, but I sure don’t want to pick one up.
It takes Trace seconds to reverse the spell. However, there are tiny crackers spread all over my counter and floor.
I back into the counter opposite and stare. I think I’m in shock.
Trace looks up and sends me a vexed frown. Then he bites his lip. And starts laughing.
“Are you laughing at me?”
He presses his lips together. “Um… no?”
“You are.” My lips twitch too. “It’s okay; it is pretty funny.”
He laughs again. “The look on your face!”
“What?” I wheeze between laughs. “I don’t like fish!”
“Why did you choose to turn the crackers into fish then?”
“I told you, they were supposed to be in a bowl!” I love his laugh—deep and rumbly; I feel it low inside me. And his smile… God. His eyes crease up and gleam, two deep grooves forming in his cheeks from mouth to jaw. That smile makes me want to fall on my knees and…
Well.
Our eyes meet as we laugh, and something soft unfurls in my chest, tugging me toward him. I move the few steps to face him with only the dark granite counter separating us. “I’m really sorry.”
At least he’s not mad. “Now do you understand why we go to the Academy for two years?”
“Yes.”
“It’s amazing having power. But we need to be careful with it.”
“I get it. Good thing they weren’t animal crackers.”
He shakes his head. “Elephants and tigers and…”
“Monkeys. I love monkeys.”
“No monkeys.”
Our gazes connect again in a moment of shared humor and understanding, along with a sizzle that makes me want to leap over the counter and jump him.
He still feels it too. I know it. I lean over the counter. “Trace…”
He closes his eyes, looking like he’s got a bad toothache. “Romy.”
I swallow my sigh and push back. He wants me as much as I want him. I know it. He just won’t give in to it. I guess that’s why he’s such a powerful witch—he has so much self-control and discipline.
I used to be like that, but the more time I spend with him, the more I’m inclined to throw caution to the summer breeze and follow my desires. Maybe that’s why I’m not a good witch.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin. “We should get back to our lesson.”
“I think we’re done for today.”
“Oh.” A heavy disappointment fills me. “Okay.”
“Do you want some help cleaning this up?”
“No, no. It’s fine.” I pause and pick up a cracker off the counter. “Are they still okay to eat?”
He gives me a what-the-fuck look. “Of course.”
“Well, I don’t know!” Irritation shortens my patience. “They’ve been changed into real fish and back… Maybe they’ve been genetically modified or something.”
He stares at me. “They’re fine.”
“Okay then,” I snap. God, I feel like such an idiot. I hate this.
He moves to the door, and I follow.
“See you next week,” I say. “I imagine Cassie will be having us for dinner as usual.” Weekly family dinners are apparently a Candler routine.
“Yeah. Probably. Maybe.” He flashes a tight smile. “Don’t forget to do your homework.”
“I won’t.”
I close the door behind him glumly. Once again, I’m tempted to just give up. Why am I doing this? I don’t need to be a witch. I can go back to my normal life where I know what I’m doing. Okay, it was a little boring, but right now that sounds really good.
The next Saturday morning, I wake up with a sore throat and a nagging headache. I call the art gallery and tell them I won’t be there today. I don’t want to spread any germs to the kids.
But Trace is coming over for more tutoring, and I’m not canceling that. I’m going to cure this sore throat before he arrives. It doesn’t take me long to find an appropriate spell. Or something pretty close anyway. I light a candle, a black one I got from the Charming Chalice, and say the incantation:
Magic mend and candle burn,
Sore throat leave and not return.
A moment later, I swallow. It feels fine! I set my hand on my throat and smile. I did it!
Amazing. Is this for real? I swallow again. Wow. I’m learning to cast spells. It still seems bizarre, but… wow!
I blow out the candle and dance into my bedroom to get dressed.
It’s a warm summer day. I contemplate a pair of shorts and a tank top, which are casual and show lots of leg, or a sundress. I’ve been doing some of my reading out on my deck or in the park, so I’ve acquired a bit of a tan. I go with the sundress, patterned with pink and orange flowers, the skirt short and flippy.
I check out the full-length view in the mirror, turning to inspect my thighs. Is there a spell to cure cellulite? Mine’s not bad, but every woman wants smoother thighs, am I right?
When I open the door to him, as usual I’m struck breathless. He’s wearing long, loose shorts with a T-shirt that hugs his shoulders and drapes over his flat abs. I open my mouth to say hi… and nothing comes out.
I frown, clear my throat, and try again. Nothing. Zippo. Not even a squeak.
My eyes fly open wide. I clutch my throat and stare at Trace.
“What?” He steps in and closes the door behind him. “What’s wrong? Are you choking?”
He appears prepared to Heimlich me.
I shake my head violently and point at my throat.
“You lost your voice?” He tilts his head. “Does your throat hurt?”
I shake my head again. Then I nod. I try to speak but get only silence. Oh. My. God.
I rush over to my iPad and pick it up. I open a notes app and quickly type in a message. I thrust it at Trace. I had a sore throat and I tried a spell to fix it and it worked but now I can’t talk HELP
I watch his eyes move over the screen, widen as he takes in the message, his lips parting. “You tried a spell on your own?”
I nod, my mouth turned down into a sad pout. I type again. Don’t be mad. I’m sorry! HELP
What if this is permanent? What if Trace can’t fix it? What if I can never talk again? My eyes fill with tears.
“Easy,” Trace murmurs. He rubs my upper arm gently up and down.
Okay, that’s distracting. But my bottom lip is still quivering. I give him pleading eyes.
“Come on. Show me what you did.”
I follow him to my couch with my iPad, show him the candles I used and the spell.
I think he senses my panic, because he’s very patient and gentle, nodding. “Okay, I got this.” He curls his hand around my throat. It’s an ultimate gesture of domination because he could so easily squeeze the life out of me, but it doesn’t scare me. I feel safe with him. His hand is gentle, his gaze holds mine, and I trust him. It’s actually incredibly… erotic. He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them. “There.”