I balled my hands into fists, wishing I could hex his dick to disappear, but I knew that reckless magic in a place like this just might get me killed. I hustled to the door, holding my keys between my knuckles and looking straight ahead with a death stare.
He better not fuck with me. I came from a long line of man-hating witches. If ever I returned to Maple Hollow, I’d petition them to change the name back.
No wonder Gwen had built a hard, tough exterior to survive in places like this.
Ugh. I scolded myself for even thinking about her. Ripping stitches out would be less painful. Best to keep blaming it all on this place and not on my own choices.
I hated it here, but not as much as I hated myself.
Everyone I’d met seemed to love how harrowing the city was, how it was a big, unpredictable adventure. I’d thought I’d love it too. But it was loud and chaotic, and people were mean, and I was too poor to afford to go to all the concerts and shows and adventures that I thought I’d have here.
What had I been thinking?
I knew I would’ve seen the magic and fun of this place if Gwen had been there. She made my life feel magical, and as Iundid the last lock, I knew the real problem wasn’t the city. It was me.
Where I lived wasn’t the problem I should’ve been fixing. It was who I was living it with.
When I shouldered open our creaking front door, I was ready to collapse onto my mattress and pass out. At least the summer was over and the city didn’t smell like hot garbage anymore.
Now, it smelled like cold garbage.
It was almost Halloween, and I’d learned all the wind-tunnel streets that would practically bowl me over and slice into me like ice. I bet the Halloween Festival was going to look amazing this year. I saw they had an Instagram page, and I had only one guess as to who was running it. The town would be booming with more tourists than ever. I wished I could be there. I’d planned on going back home to see it, but now that I knew that Gwen was there, I couldn’t bring myself to. Also, I really didn’t want to bump into the coven leader and have to apologize for Darth Vader-ing her granddaughter.
But when I walked into the apartment and called, “Hey, Delia,” the person I barely acknowledged from my periphery wasn’t Delia at all.
“Hello, Sabine,” a familiar voice said, accompanied by the click of a beak.
I looked over to see Dagmar comically stuffed into our impossibly small armchair, Hera on her shoulder.
“Dagmar!” I said, surprised. I turned in a circle as if looking for whatever portal had brought her here. There was no way she’d driven all the way out here with her owl just to see me. “What are you doing here?”
“Coming to talk to you, obviously,” she said, folding her muscly arms across her chest. The armchair groaned with her movement. She looked too magical, too paranormal, to be sitting here in this filthy, too-cramped apartment.
“Come to talk to me about what?” I asked obstinately.
“About your attendance at camp next year,” she replied as if it were obvious.
“My what?”
“You didn’t finish your last day or get inducted into the coven properly.”
“But I was so close. One more hour. Surely, you can overlook that?”
“I also know about you and Gwen.”
I blanched. “You do?”
She scoffed as if offended that I’d underestimated her. “I have eyes everywhere.” She scratched Hera under the chin. “I knew the whole summer. I probably knew about your feelings for her before you did,” she said pointedly. “And then, of course, Astrid came to tell on you like the insufferable tattletale she is.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you seemed happy,” she replied as if that were answer enough. “And so did Gwen. Two of my least enthusiastic camp attendees were suddenly painting rocks and training for archery competitions. Despite all rumors to the contrary, my job isn’t to make your life miserable, Sabine,” she pushed. “It’s to make you a better witch, a valuable member of our coven.”
“I’m not coming back,” I said tightly.
“I’ve changed the rules,” she carried on, ignoring me. “Relationships disclosed before the start of camp between a camper and counselor are now permitted.”
“I’m not in a relationship with anyone,” I muttered, leaning against the kitchen countertop-slash-dresser-slash-bathroom-storage-cupboard.
