I hang there, my leg stuck, looking back toward the street where, thankfully, no one walks by as I remain tucked in this little corner of the town.
Until someone clears their throat behind me.
What are the odds?
“Do you want to tell me what you are doing up there?” Arlo questions as my sparkly unicorn panties shimmer down at him. I try to picture his face, but let’s be real here, I don’t want to.
Please, Earth, just swallow me up and prevent any further embarrassment.But this is not one of my favorite fantasy books, and I’m stuck here in the real world without a wand or a griffin to save me.
Why couldn’t I have been born in a fantasy book?
I swallow back the fear that led me to this point in my life. “I’m pretty sure I saw one of those witches fly right into your fenced-in area here, and I, ah, um came to check it out.” Totally believable.
“Huh.” He tsks under his breath, and I can almost feel the amusement wafting off of him.
“Wren?” Oh no. Oh no! I glance up, finding Deputy Davis staring at me from his cruiser that he parked on the side of the road. “What are you doing up there?”
“You called the po po?” I hiss at Arlo, who doesn’t reply, and I can’t see his face. “Rogue witch sighting!” I shout back at him, hoping we are close enough to Salem for that to be believable.
He does not believe me, and he gets out of his car with a phone pressed to his ear.
Behind me, Arlo’s phone rings, and I hang my head in shame. Why can’t I just process my feelings like a normal human? Instead, I choose chaos, always chaos.
“Yep,” I hear Arlo say. “Staring at a unicorn right now.” A few moments go by, and he continues, “I’ll let you know, thanks for looking out for me, man.”
I watch Davis climb into his cruiser, the lights sweeping once with a quick blare of his sirens.
Now I’m about to become the talk of the town.
“Why, Arlo? Why?”
“Most people use a front door, Birdie.”
“Front doors are overrated,” I grumble, trying to wiggle down, but my jeans just rip even more. I won’t win this moment, so I drop to the ground, hoping the damage won’t be that bad, but I’ve got the feeling the worst part is getting caught.
Here’s to hoping this won’t be as bad as the beating of my heart suggests.
CHAPTER 22
I can feelthe red burning under my skin as Arlo stares at my back. Not that I know he’s looking at my back. Despite what I tell Lark daily, I do not have eyes in the back of my head. I have that mom’s intuition, and right now, it’s telling me that Arlo is staring me down.
Naturally, I decide the black fence is a lovely structure. It may as well be a Michelangelo sculpture with the way I run my fingers across the knots.
“Incredible craftsmanship,” I tell Arlo, though I refuse to look at him. That’s what I get for being a crazy woman.
“Yes, I will have to thank my paint sprayer the next time I head to the woodshed.”
“Be sure to give it a little extra oil in thanks.”
Arlo grunts behind me. “What are you doing, Birdie?”
I sigh in defeat. No amount of snark is going to get me through this moment. I turn around to face the firing squad, but all I see is a little disappointment in Arlo’s eyes that makes me wince.
“Okay, hear me out?—”
“This ought to be good,” he mutters.
I hold up my hands and peer behind him to the strange garden. Is that a fern growing out of a car trunk? Shaking my head, I focus back on Arlo, though my curiosity for the garden backyard itches at my spine. I have so many questions.
