Bewitched Read online

  Most of the toad-guys have names beginning with E: Ethan, Eli and Ev are followed by Eddie and Edgar, who doesn’t appreciate being asked if he is named for Poe.

  Over loud music, Poe sounds a lot like poo. Apparently.

  No Prince Charming to rescue me tonight. I’d be better off back in our room, studying.

  I finish my cider and look for Sam. I locate her in the kitchen talking to a short, skinny guy, who enthusiastically tells her all about his ninja costume for Halloween.

  “I’m working on the suction cups for the hands and feet.”

  “Suction cups?” Sam fakes interest.

  “For climbing buildings.” He doesn’t say “duh”, but it’s implied.

  “Oh, right. Look, it’s Madison!” She hugs me and whispers, “Help me.”

  By the time we break apart, Ninja Boy has moved on to sharing his ninja plans with the girl to his left.

  “Let’s go,” I beg.

  “They might still show.”

  “It’s almost one o’clock. They’re not coming. And neither is Prince Charming.”

  “Were you expecting him tonight? Halloween is a couple weeks away. It’s too early for men in tights.”

  I laugh. “Not by much. A few more weeks and this town will be covered with them.”

  She groans. “I wish you were joking.”

  New Orleans has Mardi Gras; Salem has Halloween—a month-long party downtown with every sexy version of a normal costume possible. Last year we saw nine women dressed as the sexy version of the Supreme Court, including Ruth Bader Ginsberg in hot pants.

  “Me too,” I agree.

  “We need to start planning our costumes.” She tugs me out of the kitchen and down the narrow hall where a partial parade of toads are lined up with their beers, waiting for the bathroom. At least they appear to be housebroken.

  Sam continues plotting out her costume as we walk home. The night has turned cold and I wish I wore a coat instead of a sweater.

  “Shouldn’t you be picking out robes for a coven gathering in the woods or something? I don’t think Wiccans approve of sexy cat costumes.”

  “I’m multi-denominational when it comes to Halloween.”

  “No candy at coven gatherings?”

  She chuckles. “Busted. And zero cute guys.”

  “No guy witches?”

  “There are some, but most of them are ancient and smell of patchouli.”

  We both stick out our tongues.

  “Maybe instead of Prince Charming, we’ll meet a handsome monster, wicked cool Phantom of the Opera, or smoking hot Beast.” She sighs.

  “Stalkers and kidnappers? Are you sure you didn’t watch princess movies?” I ask.

  “You have no sense of romance, Maddy. Zero. You’re too young to be so cynical. And too pretty.”

  I snort.

  “Stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Dismissing every compliment you’re given. You’re gorgeous. Like a totally hot Audrey Hepburn.”

  “Meaning flat chested and pointy?"

  “No, petite and gamine. With the way he couldn’t take his eyes off you earlier, I think Andrew approved.”

  It’s my turn to sigh. “I doubt it. He didn’t even show at the party.”

  “He and Tate probably had other plans. Like playing Dungeons & Dragons. Or Magic.” She giggles. “Can you imagine?”

  I can. The thought of gorgeous guys being into role playing games is both ridiculous and kind of hot, depending on the role play.

  “You don’t think they have girlfriends, do you? Or boyfriends? I’ve never seen Tate with anyone, but that doesn’t really mean anything.” Her uncertainty raises her voice to an unfamiliar, girly whine.

  “That would suck if they did.”

  “Tate’s totally dreamy. He’s like a modern day philosopher. Did you know he rides a skateboard?”

  “Nothing says wicked smart philosopher like an old school long board.” I nudge her with my elbow. “You have it bad.”

  She sighs again and nods. “I don’t know why, but it’s so bad it’s good. We might need to crash his Halloween party this year and charm him.”

  “We?”

  “Trust me, this is our year. I can feel it in my bones.” She knocks on her head.

  I stare at the cloudless sky above us and find a star to make a wish.

  Please let Andrew be straight and single.

  And not be into Dungeons & Dragons.

  Thank you.

  Five

  Andrew sits across from me at seminar this week. Hamilton takes his old seat at the far end of the table, out of range for whispered or mumbled slurs. Unfortunately, that doesn’t keep him from making asshat comments for the whole group to hear. Andrew doesn’t contribute to the discussion of the witch trials, and after last week’s outburst, I keep my comments to a minimum.

  My only interaction with Andrew during class is when he loans me a pen after I can’t find one in my bag. It’s an old pen, maybe even antique, heavy and much fancier than my usual ballpoints. I’m tempted to write my name over and over on my notebook. Maybe even his name with a big sweeping W.

  Once again, I barely pay attention to the discussion. I’m still spaced out when class ends, and I find myself standing next to Hamilton.

  “This class blows,” he says.

  Not thinking before speaking, I ask, “Why are you even in this class?”

  Hamilton’s gaze settles on my boobs, which are thankfully protected beneath at least three layers of clothing. “Duh. Wicked easy A, like that Hester chick. Dude, it’s about New England—I’m from here. And it’s in English. No brainer.”

  My jaw should hit the floor with how fast and low it drops open. Hamilton’s eyes cloud with lust as he stares at my open mouth.

  Unbelievable. I clamp my mouth shut and cross my arms. “Idiot,” I mumble under my breath and step around him. Unfortunately, I should’ve held my breath. A wall of Axe body spray assaults me as I pass him. Gag.

  “Can you believe that idiot?” a deep, rumble of a voice asks once I hit the fresh air of the hallway.

  I snort and try to cover it with a laugh, but it evolves into more of a snort-cough. I cough again to cover up the snort-laugh-cough.

  Andrew chuckles and holds open the door for me.

  Wow. No guy has ever done that for me before.

  He matches his stride to mine as we exit and cross the quad. I stare at his Chucks and long legs in worn, ripped jeans as we walk along together, trying to think of something to say.

  “How was the party on Saturday?” he asks.

  “Okay.” My attempt at nonchalance goes too far, making me sound boring.

  “Sorry we didn’t show up. Tate’s planning his Halloween party and roped me into helping him.”

  Tate’s Halloween parties are legend. His family owns a summer house near Marblehead, a gigantic stone, Gothic mansion with a wide lawn leading down to the private beach.

  Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been invited to his parties before—neither has Sam, but she knows every detail.

  “Not into Halloween?” I ask, hoping to sound interested but not desperate.

  He shakes his head. “It’s okay. I get a little tired of all the mayhem downtown every year. Same witch hats and vomit in the streets gets a little old after a couple of decades.”

  “Are you from here?”

  “Yeah. Well, kind of. I grew up here, but my dad insisted I attend private school in Boston, so I spent most of the year with my dad in the city. I think he really just wanted me out of Salem.”

  My eyebrows lift in a silent question.

  “Long, boring story. Really boring fighting parents kind of story.” His voice changes and he doesn’t meet my eyes.

  There’s more behind his story, but we arrive at the campus center where I’m meeting Sam. I dig around inside my bag and offer him his pen.

  “Keep it,” he says with a small smile. “Consider it a gift.”

  I mat
ch his smile and thank him.

  Maybe not weird, but Andrew isn’t a typical college guy. I watch him walk away. His long stride and dark wardrobe stand out amongst all the other students milling around on the quad.

  * * *

  Saturday feels more like summer than the first day of fall. A hazy sun and humid air greet me on my morning jog around campus. For the record, jogging is girl-code for walking and drinking coffee with Sam. I sip my extra-large skinny extra-vanilla latte and listen to her share the details of last night’s date with some guy from her statistics class.

  “Everything was about the odds and percentages of relationships working out. He offered to show me a spreadsheet.”

  “Sounds like a keeper. No second date?”

  “Maybe. He was a pretty decent kisser.”

  “You kissed him?”

  She stares at me. “Sure. Statistically, the odds were in his favor he’d be a good kisser.”

  “Math is weird.” I laugh and pick up my pace.

  “Good Goddess! What’s with the actual jogging?” She catches up with me. “We don’t really run, remember?”

  “I thought maybe we could benefit from some physical exertion.”

  “You need to get some action. And soon.”

  “Me running a 5K is more likely to happen before that.”

  “What’s going on with Wildes? My intuition tells me he likes you.”

  I’ve already told her about our chat after class, and of course she witnessed the smudging incident. “He’s had plenty of chances to ask me out, but hasn’t yet.”

  “He seems shy. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to make the first move?”

  “In what fairy tale does the princess ever make the first move?”

  She stares at me blankly.

  “Right, you wouldn’t know.” I sigh.

  “You’re just in a slump. You should come to the Mabon celebration tonight.”

  “Lots of dating material amongst the old and patchouli scented?”

  “Probably not, but some gratitude and apple pie might help your mood.”

  “Nah, but thanks. I’m going to stay home and study.”

  * * *

  Sam asks me to go with her again after dinner, but I stick to my plans of studying and maybe watching a few hours of Doctor Who with Grace down the hall. When I dig in my bag for a highlighter, my hand brushes against a small plastic bag. I’d forgotten all about the love spell.

  I pull it out and walk over to the trash can, fully planning to toss it in, but my hand freezes.

  I have nothing to lose.

  Andrew has landed in the friend zone. There has to be a guy out there somewhere between Gropemaster Hamilton and Nice-but-Elusive-Wildes.

  I open up the package and pour the contents on my desk to examine them. Reading over the instructions, I decide it seems simple enough. I’m out of other options, so why not? If I have to create a magical lover from peppercorns and wax, he’d still be better than a toad boy.

  I’m supposed to cleanse myself to be in the right mindset. Smudging counts as cleansing, so I skip that step even though I haven’t showered today, or changed out of my jogging clothes. It isn’t like I worked up a sweat this morning or anything.

  I’m not sure why the pink peppercorns, but decide to step out of my skepticism box. After I made a circle with them on the desk, I put the love potion oil on the red votive candle while thinking of what I wanted in a man. I go over the highlights of my list from the smudging:

  Smart.

  Funny.

  Chivalrous.

  Cute, but not a narcissist.

  Kind.

  Fit.

  Remembering Andrew’s story about Allison makes me laugh, but I set a saucer under the candle just in case. After the smudging incident, I don’t want him to discover me in the middle of a love spell induced dorm-room fire.

  I keep reading. I’m supposed to have something personal if the spell is intended to work on a specific person. Next to the candle lies the pen I’d borrowed from Andrew earlier in the week. I could use that. Is it personal enough? Is Andrew my intended target? I imagine myself with a bow and arrow aiming it straight at his chest. Nothing to lose. I put the pen inside of the circle and light the candle. I repeat my list, adding in dark hair and pale skin.

  All that’s left unused of the kit is a piece of red ribbon and the heart pendant, which are to be worn out in public, preferably at a large gathering of people. According to the instructions, when I drop the charm, my love will appear.

  By magic!

  At least the filigree silver heart is pretty. I string it on the ribbon and set it in my bowl of other jewelry.

  I don’t feel anything different. No gust of wind bursts through the window. Nothing tingles or stands up on end. The oil and the candle make the room smell nice, but that’s about it. Sighing, I text Grace to come down when she’s ready.

  I crumple up and throw away the spell instructions. I don’t know what to do about the peppercorns and hope she wouldn’t notice them if I turn off my desk lamp.

  Three episodes of David Tenant as the tenth Doctor, and a giant bowl of popcorn later, the candle sputters out with a blue flame and a few sparks. Grace and I both jump. The room settles into darkness except for the glow from my laptop.

  “What the hell!” She glances at the desk, and then at me. “What kind of candle was that?”

  “Some random candle Sam had lying around.” I answer nonchalantly, hoping she wouldn’t notice the peppercorns and pen.

  “Well, I think it’s a sign to call it a night.” With a yawn and a stretch, she peels herself off my bed.

  When she opens the door to leave, loud voices carry inside from the hall. One of those voices is Sam’s. The other two voices are male.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  One of the voices belongs to the owner of the pen currently sitting on my desk.

  Shit!

  There’s time to slam the door shut and pretend I’m not here.

  I leap out of bed and sweep the candle, pen, and saucer into my drawer, scattering warm wax and peppercorns everywhere. I’m on my hands and knees picking them up when I hear Sam’s voice.

  “Maddy? Are you in here? I just saw Grace leave. Hello? Why is the room dark?” She flips the switch to the hideous overhead fluorescent light, which hums and flickers to life.

  While wondering if I could crawl completely under my desk and hide, it dawns on me my ass is probably sticking up in the air, facing the door.

  Great.

  “Hey, there you are.” Sam’s and two other sets of footsteps enter the room.

  Even better.

  Tate and Andrew are with her.

  Too big to fit under the desk, I shuffle back and kneel, brushing my hair out of my face with the hand not holding peppercorns. “Hey.”

  “You okay?” Andrew looks both confused and amused.

  “Oh, fine. I dropped something and was trying to find it.”

  “In the dark?” Sam asks.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Did you find it?” Andrew raises an eyebrow and his lips twitch with a suppressed smile.

  “No, I’ll look later.” I attempt to straighten my sweatshirt over my running tights. I am a complete mess.

  “What’s in your hand?” Tate asks.

  “Nothing.” I shove it behind my back like a toddler.

  “Come on, share.” Andrew teases.

  They’re just peppercorns, not magic beans. “Peppercorns.”

  “Random seasonings?” Andrew gives into the smile and tilts his head. “Stealing from the dining hall?” I’m distracted by how tall and good looking he is standing in my room. Again. He should smile more often. Preferably while standing in my room. Or lying in my bed.

  “Sam steals spoons,” I blurt out to change the subject and distract myself from thoughts of Andrew in my bed. I blush and dump the contents of my hand into the trash. “What have you three been doing?” I ignore Sam
’s scowl.

  Andrew’s attention lingers on the trash can for a few beats before he replies, “We ran into Sam out front. She’s been telling us all about Mabon.”

  “It’s fascinating.” Tate adds, keeping his eyes on Sam.

  She gazes back at him, a faint pink tinting her cheeks. “You should have come, Maddy. It was incredible—out in the woods and lit only with candles. I brought you some totally amazing apple crisp.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Tate was just inviting us to their Halloween party next weekend. Doesn’t that sound wicked cool?” She attempts, and almost succeeds, to sound aloof.

  “You’ll come, won’t you?” Andrew’s sincerity is clear in his voice. Not even Linus waiting in the pumpkin patch could sound more sincere. It sounds like he’s asking me out on a date until he says, “You really should. It’s a great party.”

  Tate faces me, echoing the invitation while Sam stands behind him, making begging gestures.

  “Sure, of course, we’d love it,” I reply. “Is there a theme?”

  “Nah,” Tate answers. “Come as your wildest fantasy, darkest fear, or yourself, in a costume. No rules, no expectations. Just be there before midnight.”

  “Will you turn back into pumpkins when the clock strikes twelve?” I’m only slightly kidding.

  Andrew stares at me with a serious expression. “Yes.” He holds his face still for a moment before his rare smile lights up his eyes and he laughs.

  I might like his laugh even more than his smile. I return his grin. “Okay. We’ll be there.”

  “Great,” Tate and Andrew say at the same time.

  As soon as the door clicks closed behind them, Sam does a little jig. “Holy whoopie pies! We’re going to the best Halloween party ever, and got a personal invitation from Tate!”

  She grabs my hands and jumps on my bed. I join her and we squeal.

  After a few minutes of bouncing, we collapse into a heap on top of my comforter. Our chests heaving and out of breath, we giggle and kick our legs like tween fangirls over their first boy band crush.

  “Do I want to know about the peppercorns?” She turns her face to me.

  “No.”

  “You weren’t doing magic, were you?”