“The app knows he’s HERE!”
Margaret picked up my phone, studied the screen, and made a thoughtful noise. “This is quite sophisticated magic. Whoever your great-aunt was, she was powerful.”
“She wasn’t anything. She was just a weird old lady who smelled like lavender and made everyone uncomfortable at quinceañeras.”
“That describes most powerful witches, dear.”
Outside, I could hear the greaser asking Jimmy if he wanted to drag race, and Jimmy trying to explain that his mom’s minivan didn’t really “drag.”
“I need to get out of here,” I said. “I can’t stay in this house with a fifties greaser critiquing my prom date’s fashion choices.”
I grabbed my jacket. “I’m leaving. I’m going somewhere—anywhere—that isn’t here.”
“Di, wait—” Cassie started.
“I’ll be back. Probably. If I don’t get kidnapped by the ghost of boyfriends past.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking. There’s a man on my lawn who keeps calling me ‘foxy mama’ and I need to leave before I commit a crime.”
Margaret didn’t look up from my phone. “The magic will follow you, dear. Running won’t help.”
“Maybe not. But it’ll help my sanity.”
I was out the door before anyone could stop me.
Jimmy’s face lit up when he saw me. “DIANE! You look different. Did you do something with your?—”
“CAN’T TALK. EMERGENCY. STAY HERE.”
I sprinted for my car, phone buzzing in my pocket, ignoring the chorus of confused voices behind me.
“Diane? Diane, wait! I have so many questions!”
“Is she always like this?”
“Far out, man. She’s really booking it.”
I peeled out of my driveway like a woman fleeing a crime scene.
Which, in a way, I was.
2
THE ANTIQUE SHOP GUY
WHERE I DISCOVER THE ONLY QUIET PLACE IN THE UNIVERSE, AND IT’S GUARDED BY A MAN WHO HATES ME.
Downtown Fairhaven on a Tuesday morning was usually quiet. Sleepy, even. The kind of place where the biggest drama was whether the coffee shop had run out of pumpkin spice syrup or if someone had parked in front of the fire hydrant again.
Today, it felt like a minefield.
I saw him first—a guy in a neon pink mesh crop top and short shorts, standing on the corner still doing something complicated with a Rubik’s cube—and ducked into the nearest doorway before he could spot me.
My phone buzzed. 847 matches now. The guy appeared in my notifications:Brad wants to connect! You matched in 1985!
So that was his name. Brad. Of course it was Brad.
