“Alright, Oaks. Get in there.” I shuffled over, standing on the other side of Aspen so he was situated between us like an adorable feline buffer. “Perfect. Now get closer so we can recreate the movie poster.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said quickly. On the cover of the movie, Kim Novak is kissing right next to James Stewart’s lips, him holding Pyewacket between them. She looks sultry and seductive over her shoulder, showing off her backless top, and his eyes are wide, in shock.
Maybe this pose hit a little too close to home at the moment: me the seductive witch and him, the one feeling duped.Betrayed.
“Hazel’s right.” He was much too calm. “Have to commemorate the full effect.”
I took a deep breath, hovering my lips over his cheek. He was so close… The only thing that felt like it was truly holding me back from actually kissing him was the knowledge he probably hated me. That and the fact I could never actually be with him.
“You know, on the poster she’s more at the corner of his mouth,” Hazel corrected, showing us the picture pulled up on her phone. She was right, of course, but I still shot her a glare. She knew what she was doing.
She knew.
My body heated, and I slid my lips farther down his cheek, accidentally grazing the corner of his lip.
The world washed away, and there was just Atlas’s hand gripping my throat, the air constricting in my lungs, aqua pools sucking me into his penetrating gaze.
What the hell?
His other hand reached into his chest and tore out his heart, holding it out for me to see.
My body shook, dizzy, my hand coming up to my neck.
“Oakley?” Hazel’s voice called, and a second later I was back in the front yard, jack-o’-lanterns bobbing in the trees overhead with Aspen curled up to my chest, the tips of his furry ears tapping my chin.
My voice was a rasp, still shaky from the illusion. “Atlas…”
He cut me a silencing glare. Then he pressed a kiss to our son’s cheek before turning to my sister. “You get the shot?”
“Got it!” Hazel said, pleased. Oblivious to the illusion Atlas had shoved into my mind.
Anger. Hurt. It was all there. One thing was certain—I’d either misread his emotions or he’d completely brushed aside the lust from when he’d caught Saros and I together.
Atlas got our Pyewacket situated in his stroller, and I went over to pop the trunk of my SUV, setting out the candy and decorations within. Hazel would be handing out treats while we took Aspen around. A Ferris wheel spun at the top of a shoot with a slat at the end. Hazel had found a small enchantment to keep the wheel spinning without a crank. It would scoop up candy and dispense it for the trunk-or-treaters so Hazel could use her floating lens to capture photos from above to share with the neighborhood. When she told me the idea, I knew the other parents would love seeing the giddy and pure moments of their little ones trunk-or-treating.
But I still wished she’d come with us instead.
“You’ve got this, sis,” Hazel said, snagging me in for a hug.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and grabbed a lollipop, sticking it into my mouth before walking down the drive to meet Atlas.
We headed toward Ruby’s house first, her sedan down at the bottom of the drive with tiny discs spinning above, glowing like little UFOs. Aspen’s eyes lit up as one plopped into the bag attached to his snack tray.
“Thank you,” Atlas and I said in awkward unison.
“Bell, Book and Candle.” Ruby smiled appreciatively. “One of my favorites growing up.”
“Same!” I replied, slightly slurred with the lollipop in my mouth.
“Surprising to see someone so young know the reference.” She beckoned behind her, and a set of glowing purple vials floated toward Atlas and me. “Some home-brewed liquid mettle for Mom and Dad.”
She winked, and I smiled.
Atlas sloshed it between his fingers, his charming grin seeming to dazzle the coveness. Then he popped off the cap, sniffed it twice, and swigged it down in one gulp, finishing with a satisfied smack of his lips.
“Thanks,” I croaked, slightly uneasy about whatever this courage potion would stir in Atlas, considering the last twenty-four hours and the illusion he’d shown me minutes ago.
We continued strolling, stopping by Orion Archer’s pickup truck to watch our coven’s young witches compete in his trunk-or-treat challenge, an obstacle course he’d set around his house. They hopped across rocks floating over a mini moat, crawled through hollowed logs, and jumped through literal hoops, smuggling any treats they reached along the way. Aspen giggled, watching a little witchling dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West lose her balance and hit the moat with a splash. She screeched, but a moment later, Orion raised his hands and she was dry, as if she’d never fallen in the first place. Giving her a kind smile, he waved her over to her parents while the rest of those competing continued to try to beat his course, seeing who would make it the farthest and snag the most candy.
