“What?” Morgan calls back. I ignore him, straining to listen.
“Old and new,”the voice goes on, light as a flower. I step just a foot backward, and the voice fades away. Maybe I heard somebody’s radio.
“Where did it go?” Morgan asks, joining me at my side. “What was it?”
I stare into the darkness.
“Zelda.” He waves a large hand in front of my face. “Hey. You here? You can tell me the truth, you know. A lot of witches keep it secret, they don’t go around advertising like your sisters do—”
“I already told you the truth.” My patience is running thin. “Anybody who says magic is real is trying to sell you something.”
He seizes a fistful of his hair. “Two hundred and fifty dollars! In this economy!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I spent two hundred and fifty dollars for this date, when I am, frankly, pretty broke, and you’re not even a witch.”
I don’t know if I have ever been this confused. I need a gallon of chamomile tea and a five-hundred-page book to stabilize. “Why does that matter?”
“How else am I supposed to get powers?” He begins to pace. “I wasn’t born with them. If I’m gonna acquire magic, the easiest way to get it is the same way Alex did—by getting a witch to fall in love with me. One day he was a regular, boring guy, and the next he was a boring guy with a supernatural gift for finding lost objects.”
My mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”
He smears the heel of his hand over one eye. “Never mind. Sorry, I didn’t mean—” He stares at me, pleading. “Are yousureyou aren’t a witch?”
I start walking. Grab my purse out of his car, then take off down the road on foot.
“Hey! Where are you going?” he shouts.
“I’m not getting back into that car with you. Please give me a fifteen-minute head start so that I don’t get run over.”
“Oh c’mon, it’s too dangerous to walk. Guess what? Ninety-nine percent of run-over-by-a-car incidents happen between ten and ten thirty p.m.”
“I’ll take my chances.” And he made that up.
“I’ll drive front-facing. Please get in the car, Zelda.”
I do not get into the car. He does, following behind me at a cautious distance, headlights revealing my way forward.
I am barely cognizant of my journey to Piedmont Road, thedownhill trek carrying me faster than my feet want to step, my breaths loud and even, eyes focused straight ahead. I replay that haunting image of the thing that wasn’t a deer, wasn’t a dog, wasn’t a coyote. The strange voice in the forest. And, most of all:How else am I supposed to get powers?
So that’s why.
The late-night phone call. The flirtation. The switch from sort-of-friendly to invading my personal space, calling me gorgeous. Morgan’s only been pretending to like me because he thinks I’m a witch, and he thinks he can get powers if I fall in love with him.
I am such an idiot. Not as much of an idiot as he is, apparently, but still. I am too old to have been tricked like this.
When I finally reach the turnoff, back in civilization where there are sidewalks and streetlights, the backs of my knees are slippery with sweat. “At least let me drop you off at home,” Morgan barks out his window.
“No.”
“You saw something weird back there, didn’t you? Was it a ghost?”
“Might’ve been a fairy.”
“Really?” He perks up. “What’d it look like?”
“She was a few inches tall. Blond hair, green dress. Told me she was on her way back to Neverland.”
