“Like what?” she asks. When I don’t respond, mostly because I don’t want to worry her, she adds, “If you tell me, maybe I can help you.”
She may be right. After all, my sister was what a lot of townspeople considered a witch genius.
“I need a bottle of moonlight, which I have no clue how to get since no supply store has it.” I pace the table, counting down on my fingers. “A demon scale, which I have no clue how I’m going to get that one. A mermaid’s scale, and every mermaid I’ve asked so far has told me no in a very not-so-nice way. Seriously, mermaids have dirty, potty, pee mouths.”
She chuckles, life fleetingly sparkling in her eyes. “Dirty, potty, pee mouths? What are you, like, seven years old?”
“No, but it got you to laugh.” Smiling, I stop beside her head. “I haven’t heard you laugh since I brought you down here.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry, I’ve been having a pity party. It’s been a long three weeks.”
“I’ve been told that while you’re dead time moves a lot slower.” I bite on my thumbnail, debating whether or not to ask the question that’s been tickling at the tip of my tongue all morning. “I know you told me a few days ago that you haven’t, but I wanted to check and see if, by chance, you remembered how you died … Mom called me this morning and told me that the police declared your death accidental—that you accidentally cast the spell on yourself.”
Her gaze returns to the ceiling, the spark of life in her eyes extinguishing. “I’m sure if they declared it, then that’s what happened. The police aren’t morons.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” And not my opinion, or anyone else who pays attention to the abundance of accidental deaths that have happened in Mystic Willow Bay over the last seven to eight months.
Sure, we’ve always had a higher death rate than any human town, but that death rate has frequently spiked way, way up lately. And many of the deaths have been super strange, like my sister who was found petrified to death beside her car. There are only two known ways that a person can die of petrification. One being from a spell, and the other from ingesting bark from the ancient aurora tree growing in the center of Mystic Willow Bay Forest.
At first, the police thought perhaps someone snuck up on my sister and attacked her with the spell. After looking into the details of her death, though, they decided she unintentionally disarmed her wand and blasted herself with the spell. I’m not buying into that theory, and anyone who knew Ryleigh would agree with me.
“You’re way too smart and talented to accidentally blast yourself with a spell,” I tell her. “That sounds more like something I’d do.”
Her gaze darts to me. “How many times have I told you to stop being so hard on yourself?”
“I’m not being hard on myself. I just know what I am and don’t like pretending I’m anything different.”
“You’re not what you think you are. You just have a warped self-perception because of all those years of specialists and kids lying to you, telling you how weird you are. They don’t get that you are just a little different, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Just a little different?” I question, motioning at the basement. “I’m standing in a basement, eating cereal and staring at photos of people with their heads cut open while talking to my dead sister’s body. I am a total weirdo.”
The edges of her lips droop. “No, you’re not. And I know a ton of people who’d agree with me.”
“You little liar.” I flash her a teasing smile. “But that’s okay. I love you for lying and trying to cheer me up.”
“I’m not lying,” she insists. “You’re not a weirdo.”
“Yes, I am. And I already accepted that a long time ago.” I lean over, resting my arms on the edge of the table. “I am who I am, and that will never change. Honestly, I kind of don’t want to. At least with some things.”
“I don’t want you to change. I just want you to realize how amazing you are.” Her gaze strays toward her feet and the corners of her lips tug into a ghost smile. “And here’s someone who will back me up.”
I whirl around while reaching for my wand, worried one of my roommates got past my illusion spell and found the basement. But my fear goes poof at the sight of the lean, tall, and ridiculously sexy wizard standing in front of me, who knows about my weird little gift and me digging up my sister’s dead body from the grave.
I move my fingers away from my wand. “Oh, it’s just you.”
Hunter—aka one of my best friends in the entire world, who I’m secretly in love with—presses his hand to his chest, pretending to feign hurt. “Just me? You wound my heart deeply, Evalee.”
“Easy, wannabe Shakespeare. I reached my cheesiness tolerance with you last night.” I sneak a glance at my reflection on the steel table. My long, light brown hair is a tangled mess, bags reside under my iridescent eyes, and my skin looks paler than a ghost. I look like a hot mess.
He taps his finger to his lips, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why? What happened last night?”
I turn my back to him, mostly to hide any hurt that might be rising in my expression. “Like you don’t know.”
He moves up behind me, his arm brushing against my hip as he rests his hand on the table beside me. “I said a lot of cheesy things last night, so please enlighten me on which one you’re talking about.”
“All of them.” I make eye contact with my sister, and I swear the redness in her eyes has faded into a sea of pity. “You’re seriously the biggest flirt I’ve ever met.”
“Hey, I thought you liked that about me?” His tone carries a hint of playfulness. “If you want me to stop, you can always say so.”
My sister gives me a pressing look, silently begging me to do it.
Ha, yeah right. The last thing my popular, adored by everyone, magically skilled, too gorgeous and charming for hi
s own good friend wants to hear is that his spacey, uncoordinated, average looking, hangs out with dead bodies in the basement friend has secretly been in love with him since she was fourteen. Yep, I bet he’d be doing cartwheels and shaking pompoms right after he ran away screaming.
“If you want to flirt, then go ahead.” My eyelids involuntarily shut as his breath dusts across my neck.
For a lunatic of a moment, I get lost in the scent of his cologne, the feel of his chest brushing against my back, and the daydreaming images of me backing him into the wall and crashing my lips against his. Then I open my eyes to see my dead sister watching me curiously, and reality douses over me, reminding me of who I am—a person Hunter sees as a friend.
Clearing my throat, I step forward to put some distance between us, and then turn around to face him. “Just don’t come complaining to me about all the girls stalking you. It’s your own damn fault for leading them on.”
His lips part in shock. “How the hell do I lead them on?”
Jeez. Guys can be so dense sometimes.
“By flirting with them and telling them they’re pretty.”
He aims a finger at me, seeming a little irritated, which is strange for Hunter since he’s usually all jokes and smiles. “Hey, I don’t tell them they’re pretty.”
“You so do.”
“Do not.” His lips expand into a charming grin as he sweeps his chin length blond hair out of his eyes. “In fact, you’re the only girl I’ve ever told is pretty.”
I lightly pinch his chest, causing him to chuckle. “Don’t try to charm your way out of this.”
“I’m not trying to charm my way out of anything. I’m giving you a compliment,” he insists, stealing a bit of my cereal. Then his face bunches in disgust. “That’s super soggy.”
I try to breeze over his compliment and not let my stomach turn into a bundle of crazy butterflies. As much as I’d love to get all girlie, girlie, ah, that’s so sweet, let me swoon now, I’ve known Hunter since middle school, and he’s been a natural flirt pretty much since freshman year when he went from a gangly, bean pole to a lean, too-hot-for-his-own-good hottie.